#just name them after heathen gods or musicians or something

[crown-ov-horns]

I had another Good Omens fanfiction dream this morning.

Basically, Crowley was due to give birth. You might ask, Pestilence, what's with you and Crowley being pregnant?.. The answer is, I don't know, and neither does my therapist.

So, Crowley's due to give birth, he's scared and in pain. Beelzebub shows up, along with a few other demons (I guess I'll look through the Key of Solomon, I remember a few have to do with healing). She told him they'll support him. I have a feeling, the dream adhered to my idea that Crowley and Beelzebub are siblings (in spite Beelzebub looking like she does in S2, so Indian).

Crowley had to change to his snake form, because while his human form was male (so he couldn't give birth without surgery, which was too dangerous), his snake form was female. The demons put him in a whelping box (genius idea). Crowley gave birth to either 4 or 6 baby snakes (apparently, they're called snakelets). It was a live birth, which, fun fact, some snakes do give (i think boa constrictors, and snake Crowley kind of looks like one, aside from the colouring). The baby snakes then morphed to human form. I don't think Crowley nearly died, but he lost a lot of blood, and got extremely exhausted. No, it probably wasn't realistic to how snakes actually give birth.

(They were far larger, though)

Oh, and at some point, Aziraphale found out, but someone (possibly Beelzebub) forbade him from coming, because an angel's presence would distress the babies, and they wouldn't take human form. They could also die.

No, I don't think Aziraphale was the "father". The babies were demons, while, according to my headcanons, when an angel procreates with a demon, the baby's an angel, as it's the original form (though, they do retain some demonic features). Maybe, Crowley mated with an actual snake, or something... It would be very Greek and Norse god of him, but what the Heaven, dude... I guess, Beelzebub could act as the litter's she-father, once the two had reconciled. Which, is a word I use for maternal figures who, traditionally, would be considered more paternal. You know, kind of emotionally detached, more provider than carer, often absent, that sort of deal.

This is incoherent, but I only remember fragments. I guess, I will put it down in my notes for the future. I already did. (I'm kind of tempted to write the birth scene, I like writing birth scenes, they're brutal).

Don't you just have a love/hate relationship with when you are already swamped with WIPs, but the Fanfiction Gods send you another vision?..

Also, don't you just hate it when you give birth to a litter of snakelets, with the help of your coworkers, and your estranged sister.

What the Hell do you even name that many damn whelps...

[iamnesta]

SUMMER. (pt. 1)

Prompt: “You’re hiding something and I don’t know what it is but I’m sick of the lies.”

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2.9k+

Warnings: Mild language. Infinity War spoilers. 

A/N: Sam Wilson deserves more love, so I decided to write about him for @hollandroos‘s 12k Writing Challenge. This piece takes place after Thanos’s snap and describes Sam’s time in the afterlife or whatever parallel universe the soul stone took him to. I may have used Anthony Mackie’s comment about Jamaica from the dreaded ACE Comic Con panel as inspiration. I apologize in advance if this fanfic is boring; it’s more of a character-driven story than a plot-driven story. Anywho, I hope I do Sam’s character justice, as this is my first time writing for him. Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

***

Death was far less painful than Sam Wilson imagined it would be. He had been dragging himself across the forest floor of Wakanda, his fingers clutching at dirt and brush as he desperately tried to haul himself upright, and then — nothing. Darkness enveloped his mind and body, caressing his skin and pressing chilly kisses against his cheeks. He felt weightless, his limbs held aloft by some unknown force, the once-incessant pounding in his skull now gone. If he had known dying would be this pleasant, Sam would never have feared it. He may have even welcomed it.

Thoughts drifted through Sam’s head but floated away before they fully formed. Soon, he had no recollection of who he had once been. His struggles and successes were eaten up by that soft, encompassing darkness until he was nothing but a name. The rage and guilt and sorrow that had plagued Sam when he was alive vanished, and the sensation was so liberating that he did not notice when he could no longer recognize his friends’ laugher or his mother’s face.

All of Sam’s cares and worries had spiraled into nothing like smoke on a summer breeze; he lost any concept of time as seconds or hours or decades passed. Eventually, the comfort of cold shadows slowly melted away and Sam’s body began to regain its normal heaviness, though his soul remained airy and light and empty.

Wooden slats dug into Sam’s bare back as he lay beneath a harsh sun that heated his bones. A salty wind lazily soothed the sweat already beginning to pinprick Sam’s skin, the sound of gulls and gently rolling waves lapping against a sandy shore reawakening his senses. He cracked his eyes open, blinking rapidly and bringing a hand up to protect his gaze from the bright white light that beat down on him.

Sam eased himself into a seated position, observing the reclined chair beneath him and the thin linen shorts he wore. In front of him a calm blue-green ocean burbled happily, and everywhere else there was fine, pale sand that stretched for miles. For as far as Sam could see, the beach was flat and empty, completely devoid of any life other than himself.

Once, Sam might have found the abandoned expanse of land and utter lack of human voices or activity to be eerie. But as he swung his legs over the side of the chair and buried his toes in the scalding sand, all Sam felt was peace within his deceased heart.

With nothing else to do, Sam began to walk along the surf of the sea, savoring every deep inhale of briny air.

He walked until the sun fell and the sky blackened, billions upon billions of stars blinking to life. Sam was not tired, but he lowered himself to the ground nonetheless, curling up in the frothing foam and willing his eyelids to slide shut.

The warm water crept forward, sliding over Sam’s legs and shoulders and neck. Salt clung to his lips, although perhaps the saline was from the tears sliding down the bridge of his nose rather than the ocean waves. Sam did not know why he was crying, as he had no memories, but the sobs wracked his entire body. He wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged himself tight, his breath slowing as sleep claimed him.

***

Sam was sixteen and sitting in the kitchen of his childhood home in Harlem. He was wearing ratty plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt depicting the album art of an old jazz musician as he hurriedly shoveled cereal into his mouth. He was hoping to finish breakfast and slip out the back door before —

“Sam, baby?” His mother poked her head into the cramped kitchen, immediately frowning when she saw him scarfing down cheerios in his sleepwear. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

Glancing guiltily at his mother’s church attire and the decorative blue hat she held in her hands, Sam said, “I’m not going to church today, Mama.”

Mrs. Wilson’s face twisted and her cheeks reddened as if she had just been slapped. Her voice was low and deadly, fury fluttering beneath her words as she uttered, “Excuse me?”

Sam sat up a little straighter. “I said I’m not going to church with you.”

A child’s hands appeared, little fingers grasping at her mother’s skirt as Sarah Wilson peered into the room to stare at her eldest brother. From the hall, Minister Wilson called, “Is everybody ready? If we don’t leave soon, we’re gonna be late.”

Sam’s mother crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Samuel says he ain’t goin’. Thinks he’s above the Lord, now.”

“Mama,” Sam tried to protest, his spoon falling from his hand and hitting the bottom of the bowl noisily.

Another head poked its way into the kitchen doorway, and the middle Wilson child declared, “If Sam’s not goin’ to church, then I’m not either!”

Mrs. Wilson gave Sam a withering glare before turning and saying in a placating voice, “Gideon, baby, if you wanna be a minister like your daddy then you gotta go to church.”

Gideon looked down, kicking at the floor with the toe of one of his scuffed dress shoes. “I don’t wanna be a minister like Daddy,” he said under his breath.

Before Mrs. Wilson could start yelling, Minister Wilson squeezed himself into the doorway. He placed one of his large hands on his wife’s shoulder and ruffled his daughter’s messy curls with the other. “What’s going on?”

“Tell your eldest son to get off his ass and get ready for church,” Mrs. Wilson demanded.

Minister Wilson tilted his head to one side, squinting his eyes and running his tongue along his lower lip like he always did when he was thinking. “What’s wrong, son?”

Sam slouched in his chair, the woven wicker seat groaning beneath him. “I just don’t wanna go,” he muttered.

“What was that, boy?” Mrs. Wilson snapped.

“Hey, now,” Minister Wilson tried to cool his wife’s temper before it could fully explode.

Mrs. Wilson stepped away from her husband’s touch and stalked closer to Sam, her expression stormy. “I just don’t understand why Samuel thinks he’s so high an’ mighty all of a sudden,” she seethed, “What’s wrong with goin’ to church, huh? Got a problem with God?”

Sam’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenching with anger. His gaze darted to his father, who was still contemplating the situation at hand, before returning to his livid mother. “I ain’t got a problem with God, Mama.”

“Then what is it?” She snarled. “I didn’t raise no heathen.”

Uncoiling from the corner of the kitchen that he had shrunken into, Sam sprung to his feet and yelled, “It’s not God, Mama, it’s you! I got a problem with you. You act like there ain’t nothin’ wrong so long as we got food on the table and the Lord up above. You’re blind, Mama! People — our people — are dying out there and you just turn the other way be-because what? You think black men and women would stop being shot at if they started prayin’ like you do? I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit!”

“You watch your mouth, boy,” Mrs. Wilson breathed, fury simmering in her deep brown gaze. Beside her, Gideon’s face was torn between awe and horror at his brother’s recklessness, and Sarah looked like she was about to cry. 

Minister Wilson had been watching the exchange very carefully, his infinite wisdom missing nothing. He cleared his throat. “Darlene,” he said sharply, “Let’s get goin’ now. I got a service to preach in fifteen minutes. Samuel’s old enough to make his own decisions; he can stay home if he wants to.”

Mrs. Wilson gritted her teeth but didn’t argue. “Sarah, Gideon, let’s go,” she ordered, taking each of them by the hand and storming out of the room. Neither child dared to argue as they scrambled to keep up with their mother.

Sam slowly met his father’s gaze, his shoulders tense with fear of what he would say. Minister Wilson, however, simply looked sad. Understanding filled his eyes, and he gestured for his son to come forward. Sam tentatively stepped in front of his father. He froze with surprise as Minister Wilson swept him into a tight embrace. When the shock wore off, Sam wrapped his arms around his father’s shoulders.

“I know it’s not easy, son,” Minister Wilson murmured, his voice thick with emotion, “The world is a fucked up place and your mama…well, she doesn’t always know how to cope with it.” Minister Wilson pulled away so he could examine Sam properly. Tears shone in both of their eyes. “Stay strong for me, Sam-boy, a’ight? We’ll make it through this.”

Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak without crying. With a final smile, Minister Wilson clapped Sam on the shoulder and left. This would be the last time Sam ever saw his father.

***

A gull shrieked and a violent wave crashed against the sand, startling Sam awake. He gasped, his throat working, his fists opening and closing, all of his muscles tight from a visceral reaction to a dream he could not remember. Squinting up at the sun, his brain wracked itself for some recollection of the images that had played on the backs of his eyelids just moments before. But nothing surfaced, and the hollowness that rested beneath Sam’s ribcage remained.

Beside him, a page crinkled as it turned.

Sam scrambled to sit up and looked over at the source of the noise. You sat atop a wooden chair identical to his, your legs crossed one over the other and a magazine balanced on your knees. Oversized sunglasses perched themselves on the bridge of your nose, but your feet were bare and you wore an outfit made of the same white linen as Sam’s shorts. You licked your slightly chapped lips and turned another page.

“Hello,” Sam said, his voice rough with disuse. You did not reply; you didn’t even glance his way. Frowning, Sam slid his legs off the side of his chair so that he way fully facing you. He cleared his throat and tried again: “Hello.”

A sigh hissed through your teeth. “Hello,” you echoed, your attention never drifting from the magazine.

Many quiet minutes passed. You continued flipping pages and Sam stared at you as if expecting you to start explaining who you were and what this place was. When you didn’t speak up, Sam introduced himself, “My name is Sam. Sam Wilson.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, contemplating whether or not you should reply. Finally, you said, “I’m (Y/N).”

“Where are we?” Sam asked.

“Paradise.” Your gaze flickered briefly toward him. “Yours, specifically.”

Sam’s forehead creased as his brows drew together in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

It was as if Sam’s mind was short circuiting. He had no idea what events had led to his arrival in this so-called paradise, but when he pressed his fingers to the inside of his wrist, the shadow of a pulse still persisted. If he was not dead, then he must be —

A bitter smile twisted your mouth, your focus never shifting from the magazine in your lap. “You aren’t dreaming.”

Sam’s expression remained baffled. “If this is my paradise,” he said slowly, “Then why are you here?”

You coughed, amusement coloring your words as you replied, “I would imagine it’s difficult to come up with entirely unique utopias for half the universe. But I’ll try not to be too offended that you’d rather spend eternity alone.”

“Eternity?” Sam echoed, that dreadful, lonely word heavy with despair.

There was a pause. Then, rather abruptly, you snapped your magazine shut and stood up. Folding the glossy papers and tucking them beneath your arm, you tilted your head and gestured toward Sam with coaxing fingers. “Follow me.”

Sam obliged, trailing after you as you led him away from the water. The journey proceeded in silence, the only sounds coming from the shifting sand underfoot. After what felt like hours, you stopped atop a particularly large dune, smiling softly as Sam’s feet froze and his jaw dropped. Before him lay a sprawling oasis, towering palm trees casting shade over tiny waterfalls that cascaded into a natural pool of sparkling blue. A quaint, wooden structure with a straw roof and honey-gold fairy lights dotting the porch railing overlooked the slice of perfection.

You spread your arms wide and said proudly, “Welcome to your paradise, Sam Wilson. It takes the form of wherever you feel most at peace.”

A low, impressed whistle slipped from Sam’s lips, and he felt as if he were levitating as he entered the oasis. The beauty of the land surrounding him was more than surreal — it was impossible. But as you pushed past him and marched over to the glittering pool, Sam forgot about impossibility and instead joined you by the rocks bordering the water.

Sitting on a large, flat stone, you dangled your feet in the pool, kicking them absentmindedly and creating ripples along the otherwise tranquil surface. The magazine from earlier was once again open and resting upon your thighs, your rapt gaze fervently scanning its pages.

Sam lowered himself beside you, leaving a comfortable space between your bodies. He stole glances at the paper that had ensnared your attention, but the magazine appeared to be entirely blank; each page that you flipped was completely white. He couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “Why’re you reading a blank magazine?”

You blinked up at him, looking mildly surprised. “Is that what you see?”

Sam frowned, scooting closer to you by a fraction of an inch. “What are you seeing?”

Taking one last peek at the magazine before shutting it and setting it out of reach, you gave Sam a strained smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes. But your voice still sounded cool and unruffled as you replied, “Just a blank magazine. Shall we?” You gestured toward the glinting water.

Something snagged in Sam’s mind, and he couldn’t help the inexplicable apprehension that washed over him. The feeling was heavy, palpable — he could taste the wrongness on his tongue. But the more he tried to place where the foreboding in his gut had come from, the less it seemed to plague him. Eventually the sensation wilted and withered away, the lingering residue of uneasiness gobbled up by the glaring sun.

Shaking himself out of his daze, Sam squinted at you. “Sorry?”

You let out a breathy laugh and pushed yourself off the rock, gracefully slipping into the pool. “Come on,” you urged him, “It’s nice.”

Sam sighed, but followed you nonetheless. The water was not very deep, and only reached the middle of his torso. Small waves lapped at his ribcage, the temperature pleasant and cooling in the dense heat. He peered down at his hands through the translucent, aquamarine water, the corners of his lips tugging upward in a bemused smile at the sight of his fingers appearing to ripple and bend.

When Sam lifted his gaze, he found you already watching him from where you stood a few feet away. You looked pensive, your brows pinched and your mouth pulled into a tiny frown. Sensing his shift in focus, you quickly wiped away your concern. “Eternity here doesn’t seem so bad, right?” You asked, trying to keep your words casual and devoid of the hope that gripped your heart.

Tipping his head back and closing his eyes, Sam breathed deeply. “I guess it could be worse.”

Without even thinking about it, you confessed, “Honestly, this place is everything I needed after what happened.” 

The instant the sentence left your lips you knew it had been a mistake. You swore inwardly, mentally bashing yourself for your stupidity. Sam straightened abruptly, his attention snapping to you. His voice was low as he uttered, “What?”

You shrugged, suddenly finding your nails extremely interesting. Your eyes darted to him before swiftly lowering once more. “Never mind.”

Sam surged toward you, ignoring your alarm as you steadily backed away. He halted when you were pressed against the edge of the spring and he could feel your rapid breathing on his chest. He didn’t say anything for a moment, fighting the startling impulse to glance down at your body, which was now on full display since the water had turned your white clothes transparent. He struggled to keep his voice even and prayed that he wasn’t staring at your lips as he demanded, “What do you mean after what happened?”

You gulped nervously. “I don’t — nothing. I don’t know. Forget it.”

The two of you lapsed into a tense silence, frozen in place and unwilling to back down. Finally, you tore your gaze away from Sam’s and looked toward the sky. Calmly, you remarked, “It’s going to rain tomorrow.”

Sam glanced upward. The sky was an endless swath of cloudless, brilliant blue. “Doesn’t look like it,” he told you.

A taunting smirk quirked your lips. “Wanna bet?”

With an annoyed grunt, Sam turned away. You watched as he heaved himself out of the pool and onto the rocky shore, water sluicing off his body and dripping in his wake as he began to walk away. “I’m gonna go explore,” he said over his shoulder.

Your shoulders slumped with disappointment, although you weren’t entirely sure why you were so crestfallen to see him leave. It wasn’t like you were friends with him; all you knew about Sam was what you remembered from when you were alive, and your memory was hazy at best.

You sighed. “Have fun,” you called dully after Sam.

***

Part Two (coming soon!)

[it-all-went-wrong]

I Told The Truth

Lottie: Oh shit, I’m so sorry! * I scurried to the small alcove, crouching down beside the now laughing man.  I was trying to hide my smile but the sound was infectious and he brushed me away with a shake of his head as he stood and sat back down on the bench in front of the piano.  He was really, really pretty and that was not anything I needed right now, not in the slightest.*  I’m still sorry.  I’m Charlotte Davis, my  Aunt said you needed a piano player for services but if you’re here, I have no clue why she said that.  You’re really, really good. *The paradise may have been a bit much, but it was honest at least; I wasn’t one to compliment musicians unless I had meant it, I’d seen far too much downfall from that in the past.*

Dec: * To say I had been thrown off my game was an understatement; I’d always been fairly unflappable, another great consequence of being the baby of six, but even I had my moments.  I declined the woman’s attempts at assistance with a laugh, more at myself than anything else, and fiddled with my scarf as I settled back down on the piano bench, my fingers trailing across the keys again*  We actually do, I can’t play during services.  *It was an understatement but felt accurate anyway.*  I’m Declan O’Connor, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Davis. Please sit, I’d love to hear you play if you don’t mind? *I wasn’t quite able to get up before she settled beside me, blowing out a long breath before running through a quick set of scales; I could smell the rain that was thundering outside of the windows as she warmed up, and my gaze bounced from her fingers on the keys to her face as she looked at the music open on the stand with a grimace.*  Not a fan of Amazing Grace?

Lottie: I think it’s pandering and overdone, but not the worst there is. * It had been a bit since I’d shared a bench with anyone, and I wasn’t going to complain in this instance, odd as it was.  The piano was old but well-tuned and meticulously cared for; whoever was in charge of the miniature here was very, very good.*  It’s Miss Davis, although my students do the same thing.  It’s Charlotte or Lottie, I’m good with either. *Running through the songs I knew by memory, settling on one that may have been the least appropriate for a church, humming under my breath.* 

Declan:  * Making a  mental note of the young woman’s preferred name, I was about to speak again when she started to play.  The song was familiar of course, it was something of a modern classic, although perhaps one that shouldn’t be played in a church. I think, when it came to music, He would be forgiving as long as the intent wasn’t to cause any malice. And really, she was a beautiful player so I couldn’t, and wouldn’t complain.  I could just barely hear her humming along under her breath, the words familiar after giving numerous covers and endless repetitions of the original. The slight hesitancy to sing had intrigued me and I  paused for the briefest of moments before I started singing along, keeping time with my heel.* It goes like this, the fourth the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift, the baffled king composing hallelujah….

Lottie:   *It took a lot to surprise me, it really did, especially when it came to singers but holy shit. Declan was good.  Like…really fucking good, like I’d been on Broadway with people who couldn’t sing like that good. I’d missed a few notes fawning like a goddamn idiot, and forced myself to focus, chiming in on the second verse.* Your faith was strong but you needed proof, you saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you… * It was almost organic, in a strange sense, and I hadn’t found myself lost in music like that in a long, long time. It was easy, and almost weirdly instinctive, to harmonize as the song continued and when it finally came to the crescendo at the end, and the last note finally died off in the air, I stilled my hands and closed my eyes, ignoring the goosebumps that had popped up on my arms.  There were moments, for me anyway, where music, truly good, pure, HONEST music, played or sung for no other reason that the utter joy of it, was better than any high that I could have ever experienced; this moment, as the silence slowly fell in in old church smack in the middle of nowhere, Georgia, was one of them. Swallowing heavily, I gave a tiny laugh, opening my eyes and glancing at Declan.  The tips of his ears were read and it was endearing as all hell.* Well shit, Dec. You can play piano, sing LIKE THAT, and you’re pretty hot. That begs the question of what exactly are you doing HERE? 

Dec: *If I was a man who believed that God actually looked down on music, and even judged us on it, I might have held back but, he has created all of us in his image, and that includes musicians.  It had been a very long time since I had considered myself one, at this point, I was a Priest first, as it should be, but that love, the fact that I did have what I considered a gift from Him, wasn’t something that I was ever ashamed of, although I didn’t indulge in singing much outside of my car and mass.  It wasn’t until after the last note had died off, drifting and then disappearing into the vast expanse of the sanctuary, that I came back to myself, such as it was. Miss Davis’s words, and her blatant assessment that held something more than she said, had me shaking my head with a laugh as I realized she had absolutely no clue who I was but then again, I hadn’t exactly told her either. * Thank you, that’s very kind on all counts. And I’m here because it’s where I was sent. *Shifting slightly, I unwound my scarf to reveal the stiff collar at my throat.*  I go where I am needed, and Father Matthew, bless his soul, passed not long ago. Someone at the archdiocese in Boston knew someone here and well… *I trailed off with a shrug and glanced over at Miss Davis who looked a bit startled, her cheeks pink.* Sorry, I forgot about the scarf and just assume people know. 

Lottie: You’re a priest?  You’re a legit priest and I’m not being like… punked, right? *Running my hands through my tangled hair, I give a resigned laugh even as my face warmed as Declan- FATHER Declan- shook his head with a smile..* You’re a priest and I just told you that you're hot. It’s true, by the way, but oh my god. The day was going so well too. *I couldn't help but laugh, a longstanding nervous habit, and glanced at Father Declan out of the corner if my eye. He was smiling.*

Dec: I'm an actual priest, yes, you're not being punked, I assure you. And you did, which I'll take as a compliment, thank you. *I couldn't help but smile, despite myself; vanity and pride were not normally in my wheelhouse, but I was human and it was nice to hear, I couldn't deny that no matter how much I wanted to. I wouldn't lie, even to myself and so I changed the topic easily.* It can still be a good day, Miss Davis. I promise I won't hold it against you. Now that we've got all of that out of the way, we still need a pianist until Edna is able to recover from her injury. Would you be interested? We can't pay you, but I can promise all of the mediocre coffee and breakfast casserole you could want.*It was a genuine offer, and one that I could always make; there was a sense of community within my small congregation, and the after-service coffee and refreshments always brought a delightful spread, only some of it questionable, as well as whispers of gossip that I tried my best to tune out.* What do you say, Miss Davis? 

Lottie: Well, with an offer like that, how can I refuse? *I couldn't help but laugh, playing a brief snippet of a U2 song and earning a chuckle.* As long as you don't have a problem with an atheist sitting in on your service and there is cream and sugar for that coffee, you've got yourself a deal, Father. *The words were accompanied with an offered hand for a shake and it was granted with a grin.*

Dec: I'll even throw in some flavored creamer and a homily about Charlie Brown just for your heathen soul. *I didn't often get the opportunity to joke, many of the members of my church were older and held clergy in high and somber esteem, and so the easy conversation was more than slightly welcome. Sifting through the selection of sheet music, I pulled out the selection for tomorrow's services and handed them over. Outside the sound of the rain lightened against the windows just a bit, and I stole a glance past the stained glass.*  I don't want to take up too much of your day and it sounds like the storm is easing up a bit if you wanted to try and stay a bit drier. 

Lottie: *Accepting the music with a smile, I follow Father Declan's gaze and wrinkle my nose.* I think Im already in that mess, but Im sure you have important duties to finish before tomorrow. *Gathering up the music and tucking it under my coat, I give a smile.* I'm gonna hold you to that Charlie Brown, Father. *Giving a small wave, I head back down the aisle and out into the rain, flashing back to my car  as the skies opened once again, just as I closed the door. Cranking the stereo, I scrolled through Spotify unto Leonard Choen's voice filled the car, and I sang along the whole way home.* 

[doomedandstoned]

THAL Pave Way For The Heathen Invasion

~By Billy Goate~

I knew there was something special about this band when I first picked up their trail a few years back and listening to their debut album confirms this. It's especially effective listening in the dead cold of night, I've noticed. You've picked up on a badass stripe of stoner metal known as THAL. The Columbus duo of John "Vince Green" Walker (vox, guitar, bass) and Kevin Hartnell (drums, guitars, synth) proves yet again that the Ohio heavy underground is a definite force of reckoning. THAL's new album is called 'Reach for the Dragon's Eye' (2018), the band's second full-length following 2016's Glitter   (which I remember playing a track from back then on The Doomed & Stoned Podcast).

The new record has THAL continuing to kick major, major behind, but with a renewed sense of purpose and resolve. It's as if Down and Kyuss had met for a handshake and bumped into Acid Bath on the way to the head shop as I listen to a song like, "Under Earth." Others, like "Her Gods Demand War," give us a groovy Goatsnake beat fueled by some genuine Midwestern metal steam. You'll delight in the vocal collaboration with Sophie Steff at this point in the record, a musician I know little about but suspect we'll be hearing more from in the future.

You came here for hard-driving, riff-driven southern-fueled American stoner-doom, though, right? "Thoughtform" scratches that itch and then some, putting it in good company with bands like Pale Divine. There's a purity and simple forthrightness to the music-making here (see: "Soulshank") that pulls in a lot of what I love about Jerry Cantrell's Boggy Depot . The vocals jockey between clean and Neil Fallon dirty. All eight tracks have kept me company on the drive to and from work and I suspect you'll be riding them just as hard.

THAL's Reach For The Dragon's Eye drops Friday, February 16th in digital and CD formats via Argonauta Records. You can hear the record right here, right now on our bitchin' lil blog!

Give ear...

Interviewing THAL's Vince Green

What inspired you guys to start THAL?

I actually never touched a guitar until I was in my 20’s. I was into producing and recording hip-hop back in the 90’s. As I started getting older and maturing, my tastes started to change and I was feeling very limited by the hip-hop genre. Around that time my friend in college introduced me to Clutch and I was immediately hooked. THAT is the kind of music I wanted to make. So I started learning the guitar by playing an acoustic along to Howling Wolf and Muddy Waters records; learning basic chords and such. I also began to digest as much heavy music as I could. Obviously Sabbath was at the top of the list and I also got into Hendrix, Buffalo, Sir Lord Baltimore, Pentagram, The Obsessed, Kyuss and literally hundreds of others -- I have a very large record collection.

Finally, after getting to the point that I felt competent enough to record. I started making heavy music under the THAL name. It was just my solo thing for a few years. I played all the instruments and wrote/sang all of the lyrics. After I met David Jones -- my guitar partner in wytCHord-- and he introduced me to Kevin Hartnell, who came onboard as our drummer. Making the first wytCHord album with those guys was some of the most fun I’ve ever had creating music. In the meantime, I kept writing THAL songs on the side and decided to see if Kevin would have interest in drumming on my next record. He said yes and not only drummed, but provided quite a bit of additional instrumentation including two songs on the album, "Thoughtform" and "Death of the Sun," that are completely his instrumentals. I’m hoping Kevin would like to continue making music as THAL with me and that we can continue to evolve the band.

I know THAL is an acronym, but I thought I’d let you explain its meaning to the readers and tell us exactly how you came up with this for the name of your band.

THAL stands for The Heathens Are Loose. It was meant to be a tongue-in-cheek representation of modern society. Rock & roll is “music for heathens,” right? So I wear the title proudly. I also wanted something that when you broke it down into an acronym sounded primitive and heavy. THAL. As an interesting side note, I recently found out that Thal, Austria is the birthplace of Arnold Schwarzenegger whom I admired greatly as a bodybuilder. Totally unplanned.

You’re no new kids on the block – you’ve been making music for 4 or 5 years, right? Has the band evolved musically, stylistically, thematically from your earliest singles to your last record, ‘Glitter’ (2016), and the new album, ‘Reach For The Dragon’s Eye’ (2018)?

I posted the first THAL song up on YouTube in 2013. Listening to that, I think the biggest thing that has changed is the quality of the recordings. As I’ve added to my arsenal of tools and had more practice, the sound quality gets better each time. Also, I was not as confident vocally in 2013 and was still trying to find my voice. In 2016 Sam Durango of the mighty Rage of Samedi released Glitter on his Voodoo Chamber Records label in Germany. That was a great experience and was the first time a larger group of people were exposed to what I was doing and it was very well received. At this point, I am relatively comfortable with my range and do my best to work within that. I am far from the world’s best singer, so taking more chances with harmony and phrasing has “improved” things, at least in my mind. Ha! Thematically, I think my earlier stuff was more occult based and over time I am reflecting more on the struggles of modern life; although still from an esoteric viewpoint.

I’m really excited about debuting the new album. Can you take some time to walk us through each of the songs and tell us a little something about each? Could be the song’s history and development or meaning.

Absolutely! We are excited and honored that you are debuting the album, so thank you! Keep in mind that I think a song can mean something different to each person, so my intentions when I wrote the song may not match up to the meaning when you hear it and that is 100% okay.

"Rebreather": This is actually the last song we recorded. I was sent a piece of poetry by a friend named Randy Blood. That poem ended up being the words in the chorus and I built the narrative around it. It’s about us as a society being thrown into the deep end of the pool with all the snakes and trying to breathe for as long as we can. The title is homage to an amazing band from Ohio.

"Under Earth": I had written the riffs on this one for another vocalist that I thought I might work with at some point. That ended up not happening and it became the first THAL song that Kevin and I collaborated on. He sent it back to me with drums and a working title of “Under Earth”. Those words conjured images in my mind and it almost wrote itself. Each generation buries meaningful truths before it until we have a false representation of the way some things are meant to be.

"Her Gods Demand War": Ever since I came across Sophie Steff’s Sound Cloud, I wanted to collaborate with her. She has a crystal clear voice that conveys a lot of emotion. I sent her the instrumental along with the title and told her to write what came to her. She recorded that as the chorus and sent it back to me -- all the way from France! It was gorgeous. I wrote my parts around her choruses and added some harmony as well. In addition to the drums, Kevin added the beautiful guitar harmonies. One of my favorite songs on the record.

"ThoughtForm": Kevin sent me an instrumental he had been working on and it felt like Christmas morning to receive this track. Of course I was going to add vocals to it! This song has more groove than any other song on the album and is more about a personal struggle with the world kicking you when you’re down.

"Soulshank": I wrote this song not long after I was out of the hospital. I had just been through a surgery; hence the lyrics “Stick the knife into my soul and twist.” It’s an imagining of someone dying and returning to take the world back from the pieces of garbage that are running it now.

"Death of the Sun": This is the other track where all instruments are played by Kevin. It’s as “soulful” as I’m going to get when I sing. Haha! The concept was Kevin’s about the world ending and the words son/sun being used interchangeably at times. Basically, when the end comes we are all going to be in it together. The time for judging each other is done and whatever is going to happen is going to happen.

"Punish": I don’t normally call people out specifically when I write my music. I prefer to be more metaphorical. But in this case, I will gladly say it is about three pieces of shit (Shawn Whaley, Brandy Shaver and Gary Bubis) that tied a little girl to their truck and dragged her in addition to other abuses. Her mother was also complicit! The story horrified me and broke my heart. This song is basically my hope for their complete and utter destruction.

"Reach For The Dragon’s Eye": The “Dragon’s Eye” is an esoteric representation of knowledge and light, both spiritually and physically. You can assign whatever deity you want -- or no deity at all. Maybe the Dragon is your inner strength. Either way, the Dragon is meant to be a positive although sometimes we must go through a lot of negative to get there. That is what the album is about…ascending against the forces of negativity.

What message are you hoping to get across, if any, through THAL’s sophomore LP?

In the fall of 2016, I was in the hospital for a time and was in pretty bad shape. I had a lot of time to lay there and reflect. With that came internal realizations and “proof” to me of the things that are important in life. At that time, the US election season was in full force with many negative things happening in the United States and the world at large. It’s a helpless feeling seeing the country being manipulated and turning on each other. The only outlet I really have is writing songs, so those thoughts and feelings got tangled up into the lyrics.

How’d you get hooked up with Gero at Argonauta Records?

My good buddy Aaron Wall of the killer band Red Beard Wall is an Argonauta Records artist. I had contacted him for advice on what my next steps should be regarding signing with a label and distribution in general. He was very encouraging and recommended sending the album -- it had already been recorded and mastered at this point -- to Gero, the lead man at Argonauta to see what he thought. About a week later, he reached out and said he would like to sign THAL and put the album out on his label. Gero has been very good to work with. Since he is involved as a musician himself, he knows what it is like on both sides. He is relatively hands off and is all about the artist keeping control of their own music. I still handle my own Bandcamp and he gives advice on when to do certain things, etc. Not to mention, his stable of artists is amazing and Argonauta is the fastest rising label in the underground. It was really a no-brainer for me. It is an honor to be part of the family!

Tell us a bit about the recording, production, and mastering process – who did you work with to lay down tracks, how long did it take, and what instruments, pedals, and amps did you find most helpful in this process?

In terms of who I worked with, the whole thing is DIY. I recorded all guitars, bass and vocal parts in my home studio. Kevin tracked his drums and synths from his home studio (we live about two hours apart). Typically a song will start with a guitar riff idea. I’ll usually program some scratch drums to flesh out the arrangement and record bass parts as well. I’ll do a pre-mix of those tracks so that they sound generally “right” and then send the files to Kevin. He will track drums and additional parts on top. He will then do a more final mix of the whole instrumental and send those files back over to me. I then have the instrumental to write and record vocals over. I will do a final tweak to the mix, make sure the vocals are sitting correctly and then I will master the mix in my studio. I use a combination of rack gear and a software called Ozone for mastering. Everything is tracked in Cubase.

My go-to guitars are Les Pauls. I have a 2013 Gibson Tobacco Burst, a '77 Ibanez Custom and an Epiphone Les Paul Custom Silverburst that I am in the process of modifying. The low end comes from a black Squier Classic 70’s Precision Bass run directly into the board through an Ampeg DI box. An Orange OR50 stack and a 70’s Sunn Concert Lead are my workhorse amps, although I recently acquired a 100 watt Marshall DSL head and 4x12 cab that I am falling in love with. As far as pedals go, I use mostly Black Arts Toneworks for my dirt (Pharaoh Fuzz, Black Forest, Oath, Boneshaker), a Jimi Hendrix Crybaby Wah, and a Carbon Copy delay, EHX Small Stone and Small Clone for phaser/chorus effects. Kevin’s drum kit is a Tama with Zildjian and Paiste cymbals, and Vic Firth drum sticks. He uses a Korg Triton for keyboard parts.

What is in THAL’s crystal ball for 2018 and beyond?

I will always make music as THAL. It started out as a solo thing for me to get my musical ideas out and has now grown to include an outstanding drummer/multi-instrumentalist. I like how things are developing organically at their own pace. It is possible that we continue to add members such as a bassist and a second guitarist. Possibly some regional shows? The most satisfying part for me is the songwriting and recording process. It is truly a release. Reach For The Dragon’s Eye comes out on February 16th. After that, we may take a short break but we’ve already thrown a couple of new ideas back and forth. It wouldn’t surprise me if we released another album or EP by the end of this year. Otherwise, 2019 for sure. We want to thank our beautiful families and friends including everyone that has shown us support by purchasing an album, writing a review, or leaving us encouraging messages. Thank you Doomed & Stoned for highlighting what we are doing and for spreading the word about great music for as long as you have. Getting respect from those that appreciate music is the best part of the whole thing!

Follow The Band.

Get Their Music.

[trickstercheebs]

Sheep Song Prophet

just a little musing of the games events from Sammy’s pov. Dudes a unhinged but is he the only one to blame?

The studios weren’t always this run down and silent were they? No of course they weren’t..Once they were clean and sang with life from music and art working hand in hand. A shaky unity of sorts but one that had made many happy years ago. One would never think such a dark and empty shell of a building had once been bursting with creativity..But it had been.

It had gone quiet some untold time ago, how long wasn’t important any longer..The halls had fallen silent in wait, the building itself slowly falling into ruin. But that was fine to those few souls inside. A lone figure stalked the halls attending to what little chores kept him awake, his lord would always come first after all..A true labor of love was made of each of these shrines devoted to him that would set them all free..But all good followers need to sleep, and soon he settles down for a rest once more...

-----

“Sammy how’s that last chorus coming along? We’re almost done with the shots if you wanna get a idea of things for the final piece.”

“Agh..thanks Henry I’ll be over in a moment..I’ve been having trouble getting any ideas for the last part but Joey wants this song done by the end of the week..I don’t know how you put up with that man and his idea of scheduling..”

“Trust me it’s not easy..he gets one idea into his head and out onto paper..the next thing we know five other ideas pop up..But he does have his moments I guess and it all works out. Don’t worry about it Sammy we’ll get it all done.”

Life had been hectic but manageable, but life liked throwing curveballs and things shifted and changed. A war had came and many left to help fight for the good cause, he had missed it thanks to some reason or another..but a few in the studios had left..including that one animator that seemed to have kept the peace between the studio branches and the head. He didn’t think much on them leaving..what was one animator to a musician after all?

He remembered the war being hell on all fronts, cartoons weren’t doing so well and supplies were getting hard to find along with a audience..The studio was shut down for a brief time then, Joey claiming he was “remodeling for the long run, and we’d thank him in the end.” What that meant he couldn’t care to know, Joey never made sense when he met him..and he felt he’d never make sense. When he and the others returned they were showed this so called glorious..”Ink Machine” as Joey so excitedly dubbed it....The entire studio had been worked over to make room for this wonky looking thing and all the pipes it apparently needed to be able to run.

The first pipe explosion should of told him what to expect of all this nonsense Joey kept raving about. His clean music studio was soon marred by this foul ink in growing pools and “accidents” with the piping flooding and bursting throughout the rest of the studio. He was furious when two of his finished pieces were destroyed, he remembered wanting to trudge through that ink and socking Joeys front teeth out. They fought for hours with Joey finally conceding to “fixing” the problem. The solution was to stick a pump in his studio..and the main controls for it in his own office, a personal jab at him for back talking most likely....typical of Joey Drew.

The distractions only grew with time, the flooding kept on happening and staff were getting irritated at getting their clothes stained with the ink, a few more unfortunate souls getting caught under broken pipes and drenched with the stuff. Something about this ink was insufferably hard to wash out, of both clothes and skin, it clung on desperately like a lost child to the point he had scrubbed himself raw more than once to be rid of it..His clothing were either ruined or tossed out, having to get clothing that could withstand a brutal cleaning without coming out looking horrible. But sacrifices must be made after all..his love of music was the only thing keeping him there..it wasn’t like he couldn’t find work elsewhere, he felt drawn back to the studio every morning anew..like a lost sheep being called by its Shepard..

To combat the distractions and bothersome outsiders, he began staying later and later into the night..The cleaning staff soon seeing him regularly before deadlines with hardly any sleep and practically soaked through with ink. Some of his more closer musician staff would voice their worries for his health, that he was growing thin and gaunt now. But he would press on, it wasn’t like the ink was going to bother him once he got going strong..Some days he didn’t even bother with the long process of scrubbing it all off and slept at the studio in his “private sanctuary” away from Joey and the world. They needed to be finished after all, they demanded it and who was he to deny..his lord his proper offerings? He slept little, toiling on the perfect songs for them for countless hours, not bothering to leave his studio for days on end now. He started eating less as the general need or want for such things left him..they both were distractions from his craft, only when he felt himself grow faint would he bother with something quick..Those cans of soup did wonders despite the taste. Not even the ink soaking him to the bone would deter him any longer..it was them telling him they were pleased with his music. Such a lovely voice his god had..crooning softly into his ear when all else had fallen silent. The others had fled such a promising life, he couldn’t understand why..the world outside was no longer deserving of his talents..He had found a much better audience now wanting his music, and him as well...

He could still hear his lords soft voice in the stillness of the dark, urging him on to continue his ways..To lead his lost sheep and cull the non-believers from the flock..He had worked so hard..he had been chosen by their dark lord to be his prophet..and he would not disappoint. He couldn’t wait to obtain his lord’s attention at last..he has waited so long after all...

----

A deep churning groan woke Sammy from his fitful slumber..He didn’t really remember what he dreamt of..none of it mattered or made sense anymore...That wasn’t his lord moving about was it? No..the pipes..they were alive with his ink once more..they hadn’t moved in so long. It was quiet enough to hear the faint stumbling about above him..a lost little sheep had found it’s way to them..It didn’t take long for them to be led astray and fall down to his part of the studio..Perhaps this was a sign? Perhaps this was the sheep he had been waiting for to give to his lord..

Slinking out from his sleeping spot he spied the other..a man slinking about one of his altars listening to one of his recordings..How cute. When the man didn’t follow his old voice asking for a amen..he spoke up wondering if this was a heathen unbeliever wandering about. The man whipped about, scared of his sins being found out no doubt...He’d do nicely. Moving ahead he grabbed one of his other altar pieces to move back into place..the searchers tended to move them now and again, poor mindless things..He heard the mans voice calling out to him for help..Oh he’d help soon enough, once the man had come closer to his personal altar...

It took patience, watching his poor searchers fall to that non believers axe, and for them to tamper with his personal sanctuary and instruments..but it had all paid off didn’t it? A quick swing to the back of the head and they were out like a light..The man coming too as he tied the last knot in place.

“Wh..what’s going on here, what are you do-”

“Shhh shh...hush now my little sheep..I’m so honored you came down here to visit me..it almost makes what I’m about to do seem...cruel..”

The sheeps face sparked a memory..did..did he know this sheep? A name tugged at the back of his mind..No..that part of his life no longer mattered, and neither did this sheep. He needed Bendy to notice his most devoted and beloved prophet. Hearing the other struggle uselessly he slipped away to summon his lord..They were close he told them, crawling above in wait...

He didn’t expect his lord to come to him..why not his sheep? His sacrifice?? Had he not been true? Had he not be devoted for so long, forgoing the world outside to pledge his undying love and devotion to no one else..? He let out one last scream of fear as his beloved “God” took him into his arms at last..but not in the way he expected..

[fxckinginsaneinthebrain]

All the unusual asks for mun

1.      who’s your celebrity crush?

Uh, I mean have you seen Ruby Rose? Like, sure, she’s a perfect fit for Chloe (hence why she’s her FC) but, like, making icons is a fun process for me, too. Also Emma Watson, because hot DAMN dude.

2.      are you single or taken?

I… Don’t want to talk about that right now, if that’s okay? Personal shit going on atm.

3.      rant. just do it

The way universities have handled the Covid-19 Outbreak is disgusting, and to expect students (Games Art students in particular) to complete their assignments without the specialist equipment they’re paying to use at the university is a complete joke. Then for lecturers to simply upload slideshows instead of recording lectures (like theyre being paid to do) should be classed as a sackable offence.

4.      do you think its ok to separate the artist from the art?

Yes, absolutely. I, for one, still listen to my LostProphets CDs despite knowing what Ian Watkins did. Do I condone his actions? No. Does he deserve his jail sentence? Yes, ten times over. But Is their music shit because of his actions? Not at all. I still blast Rooftops on the regular.

5.      how many accounts do you have?

You’re looking at it. Only one.

6.      how many pairs of shoes do you have?

Since I broke my ankle, I have one pair that I can use (and even then ive had to buy them specifically). Before the accident? I had four. One for work, One for formal settings, one for the gym, and an everyday pair.

7.      opinion on… (specify to the person you’re asking to)

My opinion on Anons not doing the thing that memes ask for? Heathens.

8.      how many accounts do you follow?

420 (totally accidental btw)

9.      favorite brand of clothing?

I’m a brand ambassador for MyProtein and I work at H&M, so… Take a guess!

10.  name a dog

Cat.

11.  what unusual talent do you have?

I’m very, very strong. My bodyweight in December was 43kg yet I could deadlift 110kg easily.

For you Yanks, I weighed 95lbs and could lift 242lbs

12.  what’s the most interesting schools gossip you’ve ever heard?

A girl had sex with someone at lunch time and got paid with a mars bar.

13.  ever prank called a store?

Nahhhh I don’t have time. Besides, I know what it’s like working in a shop so I ain’t gonna be a dick to them.

14.  what’s your coffee order?

Black. No milk, no sugar. Just plain black.

15.  what’s a question do you constantly get asked?

“Are you a boy or a girl?”

I legit got asked this, despite having stubble and a deep voice… God, I hate being small. I also get told I look like Daniel Radcliffe.

16.   if you had to get a tattoo right now, what would you get and where?

Getting my next tattoo in August so you’ll have to wait and see. I’ve got 2, though, on my left arm. One of a firefly symbol from TLoU, and Lucille from The Walking Dead.

17.  google the top song from the year you were born

“Something About The Way You Look Tonight / Candle In The Wind” by Elton John

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18.  rant about your favorite musician

I don’t need to. Kurt Cobain is perfect. Conversation over.

19.  what’s your favorite teacher you’ve ever had?

Oh God… Probably my university Lecturers, Shaf or Casto. Both have worked in the Video Game Industry for decades, even working on some of my favourite games. I was, like, a complete fanboy when I met them.

20.  describe your blog in 3-5 words

“Fucking Insane In The Brain”

21.  what’s a conspiracy you believe in?

I believe Jack The Ripper didn’t kill himself when the Whitechapel Murders stopped. I think he just moved out of the country.

22.  if you could see any concert tonight what would you choose?

Nirvana.

23.  if you could break one of your bad habits which would you choose?

Anorexia.

24.  can you dance? sing?

I can sing. I was once in a band called Afterthought. We even recorded a song in a studio. 

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25.   what’s something you can’t stop buying?

Nothing. I save my money. Don’t really impulse buy anything.

26.   crowds or small groups?

Small groups, yo. I’m an introverted prick.

27.   how long before a trip do you pack?

Hahahahaha the night before.

28.   what celebrity would you rate a PERFECT 10?

Emma Watson. The girl went to Uni after finishing Harry Potter, got her degree, does humanitarian shit, and is just all round amazing.

29.   what quote or inspirational setting do you think is bs?

“Good things come to those who wait”.

It’s bullshit. You work for what you get in this world.

30.   if you had to dye your hair an unnatural color right now, what would you choose?

Blue, yo!

31.  you can change one thing about your life right now. what are you changing?

I wouldn’t have a metal ankle.

32.   how old do you get mistaken for?

12.

33.  what do you think about a lot?

The sweet relief of death, to be honest.

34.   do you like your hogwarts house or do you wish you were a different one?

Gryffindor Pride baby!

35.   what does home mean to you?

Home means being with those you love. Home means comfort; it means you’re loved and embraced for who you are, despite what people otherwise think.

36.   what do you think you’d be arrested for?

Probably swearing too much, or for playing too much music.

37.  have you ever been called down to the principals office?

Toooooo many times, yo.

38.   post a picture of the outfit you would choose if you could have any outfit you wanted

Like, honestly, I love anything Camouflage so just google that.

39.   describe your aesthetic

Gym Bro meets Video Game nerd meets heavy metal fan

40.   answer with one of your ‘school memes’ (inside jokes you have with your class/grade) with no explanation

“PAUL! PAUL! PAUL! PAUL!”

[royal-despair-threads]

Seojun & Petra [Prologue]

Seojun thought back on the fight that a certain duo had gone through earlier, as he had the moment to just sit down and let his thoughts wander for a bit.  While it was rather unorthodox and childish to have been fist fighting at a time where they needed to cooperate with one another, he could understand why.  Tensions were high; especially since you didn't know who these people were.  Perhaps, he should check on the both of them.

He went over to Petra first.  Why?  It was a good question, but she did mention that she liked Jazz, and not in a meme-kind of way.  While he liked it both ways, hearing that she was a Jazz Singer caught his eye.  She felt familiar, and even though he knew they never met, he's felt like he's heard of her somewhere.

Tapping on her shoulder, he offers a polite smile.  "How're you holding up, considering the odds?"  Not the best starter to a conversation, but not the worst, either.

As she always was, Petra was in a rather sour mood. This whole situation was beyond infuriating and the people were easily, easily the worst part. Approaching Petra in general was a poor idea, but approaching her when she was at a whole new level of annoyed? That was a worse idea.

"Obviously fucking NOT, you idiot," Petra scoffed. "In case you haven't fucking noticed, that freckly bitch punched my in the goddamn face, so now not only am I trapped in a cramped room with a bunch of fucking idiots, but now I've gotta deal with my face throbbing. So you tell me, how do you think you would be doing?"

Wow.   Wow, okay, now that was a bit explosive in itself, and he hadn’t even tried to annoy her yet.  Damn, she really was a mega-bitch.  Normally, this would be the point where he walked away and just told himself “fuck this shit, i’m out”.  Considering that she was in a pretty bad state though, it was almost bound to happen, so he stayed a little longer.

“I’d probably bitching everyone out like you are right now, honestly.”  Seojun took a seat next to the red-head, letting a sigh pass his lips.  “There’s too many big personalities in such a little space, and there’s still a couple knocked out.  With no way out...yeah, bad timing, I know.”

“But since I’m here, I wanted to know a bit about you.”  He turns his head towards her, raising an eyebrow.  “You mentioned that you were the Ultimate Jazz Singer, right?”

Yeah, 'too many big personalities in one place' was a bit of an understatement. Just replace 'big' with annoying, and you've basically figured out exactly what Petra was thinking.

"Well thank fucking god you're using your logical reasoning skills," Petra snapped and rolled her eyes.

"So you want to know about me, huh? Yeah, I'm the Ultimate Jazz Singer. Do you want me to sing you a fucking lullaby or something?" Petra asked. "Why do you even care? Are you a musician or something?"

Actually, she was sort of hoping he was. She really hoped the only other musician here wasn't that blue-haired guitarist.

Well...

“Ahh...Yes, and no?  I do sing, but even though people have told me I sound like some kind of mix between Frank Sinatra and Michael Buble, I know I’m not on an Ultimate level of skill like you, or that guitarist over there.”  His answers were ended by a shrug of his shoulders.  This would probably displease her, but what else could Seojun do?

“As for why I care?   You might be surprised by this....or you might not be, who knows.  But, I’ve listened to some of your work, Petra.”  A smile dawned upon his lips once again, as he flicked his hair to the side.  “You are definitely worthy of your title, I’ll just put it that way.”

Ah yes, a compliment. As if she’d never come across those before. It was pretty common for people to shoot her a compliment in hopes she would suddenly warm up to them. It usually didn’t work.

“You know what? Normally my standards wouldn’t be this low, but thank fucking god someone here actually knows what Jazz is. I thought this place was just full of moronic heathens, but I guess you managed to be a step above every other idiot here,” Petra said with a cruel laugh.

“Well obviously I’m worthy of my title, I worked my fucking ass off to train my voice,” Petra said. “But enough about me, you still haven’t even mentioned your fucking name.”

Technically, he did, but he supposed that she wasn’t around to hear what it was with all of the commotion going on.  He was rather shell-shocked to hear that he managed to be tolerable around her, but when she asked for his information...oh dear, he was definitely going to sink back to the bottom, knowing her personality.

“Right, I haven’t, have I?  The name’s Seojun Tsoi.  My talent is, uh...”  He gave a laugh himself, facing away for a moment, before facing back towards her.  “If I’m a step above every other idiot here now, then you don’t wanna hear my talent.”

“Regardless, an introduction is an introduction.  I received the title of the Ultimate Internet Troll.”  Aaaand here comes the onslaught.

Petra.exe has stopped working. She honestly, for a second there, completely blanked out. Did this guy really just say his talent was being an Internet Troll? Did he actually say that with sincerity, no joking?

She let out a loud laugh. She could already feel tears coming to her eyes as she held onto her stomach for dear life. Oh my god, this was rich! She couldn’t breathe!

“Y-You seriously mean to tell me that Hope’s Peak seriously have you the title of ‘Internet Troll’? What the fuck? That’s gotta be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!! What the fuck!!!” She honestly couldn’t stop laughing. There was no way to tell if it was real laughter or not.

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking joke,” Petra said and wiped tears away from her eyes. “How the fuck do you even get a talent like that? Make incel jokes on reddit all day?”

As soon as his title came out of his lips, Seojun knew that he was in for a helluva roasting himself, by someone that he respected over the sound waves of her music.  He had to admit, some of these insults that she gave out were harsh as hell.  He braced himself for the worst.

And, it was bad.  It truly was, especially the part with the incel jokes.  The Internet Troll knew he wouldn't be taken seriously as soon as his talent was exposed.  That was the irony of it all; he'd have to impress everyone because of his disadvantage of a useless title.

Was it useless?  Who knows.  "I'll give you this; the incel jokes are probably saved for the "men are stronger than women" guy known as Takuma.  Making incel jokes is low, and aren't witty at all." A smile dawned across his face, though it almost seemed forced.  Seojun stared down at his hand for a moment.  "I told someone here that it's like being a stand up comedian; it takes luck, wit, and the right words to say.  If you've ever seen some of these Twitter accounts nowadays, think of something like that."

"Yeah, I know it's a dumb talent on the surface.  Hope's Peak really fucked me over in bestowing such a title, but I'm not that much of an asshole...I think."

“Well Jesus Christ, don’t you wish Hope’s Peak had given you the title of ‘Social Media Personality’ or some shit?” Petra snorted. “God, Internet Troll, that’s gotta be the worst talent I’ve ever heard. It’s even worse than that stupid shit like ‘Ultimate Fortune Teller’ or other bullshit supernatural talents.”

She flicked her hair over her shoulder. It was still a bit tangled from when that bitch grabbed it.

“Hey Troll Doll, I’ll stop laughing at you if happen to have a comb I can use on you,” Petra said.

Seojun couldn’t help but let out a slight snicker himself.  These insults may have been directed towards him, but something he learned was that if he laughed them off, they won’t bother him as much.  “To be honest, I believe there could be much, much worse.  I’ve heard people were accepted as magical girls at one point.  Cute, but...I don’t see how that’s a talent, you know?”

“As for a comb, I usually keep one on me, but since I can’t find most of my things, I can’t hold too many promises.  Still, I’ll check.”  With that, he checks inside all of his pockets.  Jacket pockets, pants pockets, even the pocket inside his button up shirt, which was under the blue and red one.  Any luck on finding a comb?

After a while of searching, he felt something in his shirt pocket.  "....Ah-"  Quickly, he snatched, and flung it out.  Indeed, there was a black comb ready to use.  A smile grew onto his lips, before made a small "a-ha" sound.  "It's your lucky day, Miss Sakai."

He held this new item out towards her, in case she wanted to take it.  "Now, do you want me to comb it out, or are you good?"

Petra snatched the comb from his hand.

"What am I? Four? I'm not a little kid, I can comb my own hair," Petra scoffed. She removed the bow from her hair and began to comb it out with the comb so graciously provided by Seojun. Ah, better already. She carefully combed it through a couple of times and continued speaking, "For the record, magical girls is a fucking stupid ass talent too and Hope's Peak needs to get its act together...but as promised, I'll stop laughing at you and your weird talent."

She finished combing and fixed her bow back in place before tossing the comb back for Seojun to catch.

"So you like Jazz. Any favorites?" she asked, referring to both artists and songs.

As the comb was snatched out of the man’s hands so quickly, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, listening to her rant about the various talents that were considered to be unacceptable upon her standards.  As she tossed him back the comb, he caught it with his left hand, giving a thank you in response.  Hearing her question, though, that sent him chuckling.  That was always a hard question, you could say.

“I figured you’d ask this.  I do have some favorites.  Frank Foster’s ’Here and Now’, Julia London’s ’Cry Me a River’...There’s also Kurt Elling and his music in general, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald...And how can I forget about your music?  Like I said, I’ve listened to some of it before.”  He paused for a moment, thinking back on something.  “...Though, I’m not sure if ’Late Nights and Heartbreak’ would also count.  That’s a really good one.”

“Your turn.  Any favorites you may have?”

"Hm, not bad," Petra replied, particularly his mention of Ella Fitzgerald. Complimenting Petra's muse was a good, quick way to get her to consider to be less of a demon. Less of, not stop entirely.

"You really shouldn't try so hard to kiss my ass. Am I really supposed to believe my two fucking original songs were life changing enough to be put on the same level of Ella Fitzgerald. I'm not gonna fucking kid myself and you shouldn't either," Petra said. "Late Nights and Heartbreak has Jazz influence, so I'll give you that one. But that's it."

Her favorites? "I'm impartial to Ella Fitzgerald and Dizzy Gillespie. Obviously Duke Ellington is fantastic as well and Miles Davis. A Night in Tunisia is a song my parents would often play in the house during their murders, so I have some strong fucking memories associated with that one."

Kissing her ass?  He was just being honest - he was kind of a sucker for jazz, and even though he loved rock, hip-hop, and other genres, there was something about the old fashioned music that had him captivated.  "Ah, I'm glad that I wasn't wrong about that song."  Oh, and Duke Ellington was quite a talent himself as well, how could he forget about-

Hold on.  Rewind.  Did Petra just say...?

"...Ah, don't mean to be invading your privacy or anything, but..."  Seojun blinked rapidly for a few seconds, as if he was making sure the information was actually registering properly.  "...Can you explain what you mean by...their murders?  And why they played A Night in Tunisia for that?"

Petra just examined her nails as though this whole thing was the opposite of a big deal, as though she was used to explaining it.

“Valentin and Alena Voronov were my real parents. You might not have heard of them if don’t have an interest in true crime, but they were the Honeymoon Killers,” Petra explained almost...eagerly, as though she was deeply excited to discuss this. “Basically, they were famous serial killers. They used to blast Jazz through the house so  the neighbors wouldn’t hear the victims scream. They were particularly fond of playing rowdier Jazz such as bebop for their murders. I think it got them more excited.”

She grinned, waiting for any reaction out of him. “Satisfied with that answer, Troll Doll?”

He seemed to have been stunned for a moment, after hearing the full explanation to the melodious vixen's mention to the murders comment.  Seojun definitely...was not expecting to hear some horror tales in this room today.  The blonde ran a hand through his hair, still processing all of this information.  Finally, his eyes darted to meet with her hazel, and let's just say they were wide as saucers.

"...God, damn."  He hissed out, nervously laughing.  This was a little intimidating.  Turns out, someone that he's listened to was the daughter of the Honeymoon Killers.  "...Uh...Did they ever...y'know...get caught?  That's gotta be some...pretty dark shit right there, Petra."

Petra began to pick at her nails. Yeah, she definitely needed a fresh coat of paint.

“Obviously they got caught,” Petra scoffed. “Why the fuck do you think my last name is Sakai and not Voronov? I’d still be living with them if they hadn’t been found out. What? Do you think they just abandoned me or some shit to live a life on the run from the cops? Fat fucking chance.”

She stopped looking at nails to grin at him. “You’re not the first fucking person to freak out so much about this. It’s not even a big deal. They’re not even fucking alive anymore.”

Damn.  She took it all like it was some kind of joke, and the reason why was a big fat mystery to Seojun.  "I didn't mean that they'd do that to you."  The man reassured lightly, giving another sheepish smile back towards the Jazz Singer.  At the mention of her parents not being alive anymore, he couldn't help but shift his gaze slightly, scratching the back of his head.

"In regards to that last part...Well, looks like we sort of have something in common, huh?"

He stopped.  Shit, this wasn't his moment to be revealing parts of his own past.  Not right now.  He turned back to the red-headed vixen with a smile, laughing once again.  "Sorry.  Forget I said that.  I guess I don't usually hear something like what you told me every day."

“Yeah, dead parents, isn’t that a fucking trope?” Petra snorted. “Its a fucking stupid one, anyway. I dunno how your parents died,  but I’m guessing people don’t at least spit on their graves.”

She sighed and shook her head, something strangely pensive about her expression.

“Whatever. I’ll ‘forget’ what you said even though I don’t really care that much,” Petra said. “Whatever, though, find someone else to troll for a bit. This has gotten boring.”

Petra gave him a lazy wave before walking away.

[rainbow-squirrels-7]

Highlights from tonight’s murder mystery episode of my DND campaign, The Kleos Guild!

-We began with the PCs waiting for word when to go out to set the trap for the Song Thief

-My Druid (Bec, half-orc) was cheating at playing pool

-My Paladin (Gixa, white dragonborn) was eating ice in the cafeteria 

-And my Bard (Alexander, half-dark elf) was actually composing a sincere apology for acting so shady behind Peregrine and Gixa;s backs last episode. It was very sweet actually

-He said that his bardic mentor said ‘words have power, especially for bards’ or something, and that gave me SO much backstory fodder. But it’s kind of ironic because none of them know their backstories actually happened in the future

-Anyway, then Daisy (the orc guildmaster of the Sapphire Division) came in and announced that at the location of the last Song Crystal... there’s been a murder

-So the crew warps out there and ends up in the ski-lodge like town of King’s Reach. Gixa is very happy to finally be in a place that is not sweltering 

-They go up to Bremen manor and admire the Tree of Life and none of my players get the Musicians of Bremen reference I made with the statue of the animals on top of the fountains and I had to explain it to those heathens 

-Agatha Bremen, daughter of the murdered man Edgar Bremen is outside waiting for them. Inside, they meet the suspects: Beatrice the tabaxi maid, Crispin the human who’s a one-armed retired Paladin, Darren the human (Agatha’s child), and Jeremy the halfling chef

-Agatha shows them the scene of the crime, seeing some impressionist paintings on the walls of the portrait gallery just before

-They find Edgar Bremen dead from three parallel slash marks on his throat. I was hoping this would make them immediately suspect Beatrice, but alas

-Right as they left that room, they heard a crash from downstairs and a scream

-Alexander and Bec then Feather Fall over the balcony, and Gixa slides down the bannister

-They go into the kitchen to find that Jeremy the chef has just been murdered in the same way as Edgar was. It was Beatrice who screamed

-Beatrice had a high, very scared of everything voice. She was constantly freaking out (as I was trying to hype up her red herring-ness). Crispin had my very best Barry Bluejeans impression voice. If Darren talked, I don’t remember their voice, and I don’t think Jeremy talked at all. Agatha just had a regular voice, but Gixa’s player said she pictured her with a British accent. I did a British accent for another character back in episode 3, and I didn’t like it, so I didn’t do it again. 

-Crispin also talked with Gixa at one point, as they have Paladin in common, and Crispin explained that he was part of Phineas’ legion when they were defending Bard City a few months back from the monster attack, and the monster bit off his arm, so he retired from being a Paladin. 

-The players then began going through all the Clue-style rooms (my original plan was to just plop down a Clue board, but I didn’t have one) looking for clues

-I did manage to red herring them with the silverware set up, which was really just Jeremy not getting to set the rest of the table, but Alexander thought it was suspicious that six of the knives were missing, and there were six slash marks total. 

-They found Edgar’s will in the study, which included the name Leonard, whom was someone who wasn’t present in the manor, and also had one crossed off name at the bottom. In the lounge, they found more paintings, and found that they were signed by Leonard. Agatha then told them Leonard is her husband and a painter who works in Ferryrock. She also says he’s been into music lately, and that they just got a new piano. In one of the paintings, they see the staff of the manor, and one tabaxi man who isn’t present either, but he’s dressed like a butler 

-In the ballroom, they found a grand piano and some sheet music. It’s described to have been written in pencil and a title was there but erased and rewritten multiple times before the writer just wrote ‘title goes here’. The writer turned out to be Charlie Jones, the bard kid who travels with the salesman Gerald, and who is a fan favorite. He and Gerald came through town recently, and Charlie had been working on this composition, and Leonard had asked for a copy to try to learn to play. The song was unfinished though, and is the first 30 seconds of this:

-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arIymDYA2y8

-Anyway, they ask Agatha about the butler, and she says that he’s Virgil, and he worked for Edgar, but he was fired a few years back after he was caught embezzling money

-The PCs then go upstairs to continue the investigation, only after Alexander goes back in the kitchen and finds the flatware that had not been set. He takes the knives

-Upstairs, they find Darren’s room, which is a typical messy teenager room. They also find some papers that we would recognize as characters sheets, and also a set of dice. It’s all from the hot tabletop fantasy game popular across The Land: Suburbs and Sedans

-In Agatha and Leonard’s room, they find a book called Bardic Inspiration: For Dummies. Gixa shows it to Alexander saying “Hey, this’ll be your next birthday present.”

-They also find some messed up wallpaper, but nothing but a wall behind it

-Down the hallway, they find the library, which is the first real library they’ve been to, since the other library in the very first episode in the Town of Heroes was full of fake books

-They find that the wallpaper in this room has been messed up too, and behind it, they find a door that leads to the vault room

-Inside, they find the floating cat ghost form of Virgil, trying to steal the money from the safe. I tried to give Virgil an impression of Jenkins’ voice, but idk if it was accurate. Either way, it was pretty good.

-And it all freaking dissolved into ghost humor

-”Why does a ghost need money? IS THERE GHOST CAPITALISM??”

-But yeah, they fought the ghost Virgil, and I quickly realized that my fights are way too easy. Virgil didn’t even land a hit on them. I made a mental note to make my enemies stronger

-Anyway, after Virgil “went poof into a poof of ghost mist”, there was a bit of banter when Alexander opened the safe and Gixa was afraid he would steal the money. She poked him with her halberd, and Alexander then closed the door on the other two and Mended the wallpaper back. They got out pretty quickly, though.

-Once they got back to the balcony, they heard music coming from outside. Alexander’s player immediately said he was going to the window so he could climb on the roof, but then I realized I forgot to say that it wasn’t piano music (which would point to the Song Thief), but cello and violin music.

-Bec and Alexander Feather Fall off the balcony again and Gixa Misty Steps (or she “BAMFs down to the first floor like Nightcrawler” as I described it) and they all rush outside

-Just in time to see Daisy swing around her cello and konk the Song Thief in the back of the head. Bec immediately falls in love

-Agatha gives the players a 150 gold reward for solving the crime and ghostbusting, and Peregrine reminds everyone of the urgent Song Thief business and they all head back to Ferryrock

-Bec also asked Daisy if when this all is over, if they could get drinks sometime. Daisy was flustered and it was real cute and she said “Yeah, that would be really nice,”

-Though in my head I was thinking ‘oh heck they’re about to be sent to the future I’m wrecking this date’ even though I really want it to happen. I’ll make it happen later, after they save the world. Because I really like it. Reminds me of Aubrey and Danny

-Anyway, they warp back to Ferryrock, and Peregrine calls another town meeting to tell everyone of the Song Thief’s capture. My players manage to find Leonard in the crowd and inform him “your wife’s okay! the butler did it!”

-Oh and the Song Thief is paraded down to the city center, and my players see him without his mask for the first time. So that’s cool

-Peregrine then makes a speech about the hard work of the Kleos Guild and everything good and all that, but that she has to leave and take the Song Thief back to the future

-my players laughed too much at the ‘back to the future’ line

-She then does a magic prayer, making a time portal doorway appear. It looks like a floating rectangle of white light with a circle in the middle. Not exactly a PMD Dimensional Hole

-She was praying to Mother Time, by the way

-And she pushes the Song Thief into the portal and calls up the PCs for heroic recognition. She thanks them and the crowd loves them. And she echoes Alexander saying ‘words have power’ and she says that she wants to play one more song for them

-and she plays the Tree of Life

-which freezes them in place

-and she pushes them into the portal

-they all black out and wake up in complete darkness. not even Darkvision people could see. And they couldn’t hear anything. They tried to make sound, but it didn’t work. Any light spells they cast only lasted for a fraction of the time they’re supposed to. I ‘opened up this can of worms’ when Gixa also tried to pray to her goddess, Selune, but it didn’t work, she didn’t get any response a la Merle in The Suffering Game

-it’s cause all the gods except for Mother Time abandoned the silent future

-They all also decided that Peregrine was the evil one now (no one is evil stop putting my complex morality story into such black and white terms) and Gica tried to stumble around in the dark to release the Song Thief who was still knocked out in the room with them. 

-and I ended with “and thus begins... Arc Three.”

-I want this time in the silent future to be like as bad as the hero and partner felt in their dark future, or maybe even something like The Suffering Game. I want there to be real stakes. I’m planning to make the enemies harder and have there actually be danger. And they’re going to have to decide where they stand and who they trust. Because they thought they knew Peregrine was ‘good’ and the Song Theif was ‘bad’ but Peregrine just pushed them into the portal so...

-I also accidentally established immediate silence, which I didn’t want to do because it’s going to make the next part difficult. I did need some dialogue. But Peregrine and Kes know Drow sign language, and it was already established that Alexander knows a bit of it. So maybe that’ll work. It’ll at least give me the added bonus of the PCs only getting part of the information since they’ll only be able to get fractured conversations. 

-at least I have three months to figure it out. This was my last session before summer vacation. So I left them on a cliffhanger ahah. I really want Kes in the next episode to do K E S in sign language to them, so they at least know his name. 

-but yeah! I’m gonna construct a very bad time for my players in this silent future! fun times!