#st uniforms really hide her shape

[janewaykove]

Kate Mulgrew as Janeway/Arachnia in Star Trek: Voyager (S5E12, 1999)

Happy birthday to our queen!

[aplacetosharemyfics]

The Downfall of Susan St. Clair: A Return to the Scoreboard Hut

Maisie returns to the little hut behind the scoreboard believing that her encounters with Susan had finished. Unsurprisingly, she was very wrong.

Susan glanced over at the football field. It was lunchtime, and the football players often took over the field to practice. As the star player, Buddy was out there as well, calling suggestions to his teammates. He had asked her to be his campaign manager. It was a step down from girlfriend, but his earnest way had made her heart flutter all over again. But she had turned and found herself watching Maisie’s back as she walked down the corridor.

They hadn’t talked since the party, which was now over a week ago. Obviously, they hadn’t talked, that incident was the first time they’d really had a conversation, so why would things change because of it? But Susan kept remembering boldly hugging her, and the soft eyes filled with concern for her. She kept watching her as they passed in the corridor. Rosemary thought she was lusting after another boy, and she made sure to keep extra close to Wally. As it was completely incorrect, Susan didn’t bother trying to correct the rumour, particularly when it appeared that Buddy was getting jealous. Each time she found herself distracted by Maisie; Buddy was there to bring her back to what was really important. Winning the election and getting back together.

Buddy looked particularly dashing in his football uniform. But Susan’s eye had been stolen by Maisie carefully making her way around the edge of the field. She was just curious, she told herself. Maisie glanced nervously at the field, hurrying her walk a little as the ball started to make its way up the field towards her. She quickly rounded the edge and slipped behind the old scoreboard. Susan waited for her to appear at the other side. She waited a few more minutes. Maisie still hadn’t reappeared. Following her path, Susan approached the old scoreboard. She’d never looked closely at it but hidden away behind it was a little hut. With a final glance towards the field where Buddy was playing, she ducked inside.

A muffled scream came from the darkness within, accompanied by a clatter. Susan squinted in the darkness, trying to make out the shapes within. She didn’t want to have walked in on two people making out. Thankfully, when her eyes had adjusted a little more, she recognized Maisie pressed against the back wall, her hands covering her mouth, an unturned chair between them.

Maisie swallowed. While Susan definitely remembered the events that happened at the fateful party, she had seemed to want to forget them as much as Maisie did. Thus, she’d gone out of her way to avoid the cheerleader in the corridors. They’d poured their hearts out, and now they were strangers again. That was the way things were supposed to be. Maisie reached forwards and straightened the chair.

“I -”

Susan’s voice rang around the little hut, the rest cut off by Maisie’s hands covering her mouth. The sound of Football suddenly sounded so much closer. They listened for a second, but there was no indication that anyone had heard. Maisie turned back to Susan, ready to tell her off for almost revealing their location. But she paused at the sight of her standing quietly, Maisie’s hands still pressed against her lips. A red flush covered her cheeks and she quickly turned away, crouching down to pick up her book. She’d just meant to protect her hiding spot. There was nothing else behind the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” Susan whispered.

Maisie stiffened, still crouched down, hand frozen in the act of brushing dust from the book’s cover.

“I wanted to apologize,” Susan continued. “I shouldn’t have hugged you without your permission.”

Maisie didn’t move. Somehow, she knew that, if she responded now, her life would change.

“I was drunk.”

Susan winced at the poor excuse. It was one that Buddy had used in the past, and she knew how pitiful it had sounded.

“I know that doesn’t excuse my actions but …”

The correct words failed to come, and she trailed off. How was she supposed to explain how desperate she was to hold Maisie in her arms? That she’d been watching her since the start of term and had been dreaming of becoming her friend? It all sounded crazy.

“I’m sorry,” she finished, lamely.

Maisie slowly straightened up. Was Susan worried that she would expose her secret to the world? But when she looked at her, felt the pale eyes staring back at her, she knew there was more than just that. Susan was truly sorry. She had been thinking the worst of her, and Susan was merely trying to sincerely apologize.

“It’s okay,” Maisie mumbled.

Before she could see Susan’s reaction, or Susan could see the blush on her cheeks (though it was too late for that), she sat down on the chair, burying her face into her book. She didn’t even bother trying to find the page she’d been reading. Instead, she stared at the words until they melted into scrambles, trying to forget that Susan was still standing on the other side of the book.

Susan smiled to herself, watching as the blush crept up to reach Maisie’s ears. She’d been forgiven. Maisie had forgiven her. Why was this bringing her so much happiness? Outside sounds of the football practice continued, but she couldn’t bare to leave now. Instead, taking advantage of the fact that Maisie was trying to ignore her, she settled down on the ground beside her, spreading her skirt out, and leaning against the chair. Slowly, she laid her head onto Maisie’s thigh. It tensed under her touch, but Maisie didn’t say anything. Closing her eyes, Susan let the silence inside the hut wash over her. As the time passed, Maisie relaxed, and the turning of pages became more constant. They stayed like that, sitting in silence, until the bell rang.

Dot sighed as she reached the football field only to find it empty. Why did she have to be the one to run all over the place after the others? Pouting, she sat down on the bleachers to finish her lollipop. She had been sent to find Susan, which normally would be as easy as glancing across the corridor or looking in the nearest toilets. Today, however, she’d searched all over the school, even sneaking into the office to check she wasn’t in there. And nothing. Biting the last scraps off, she flicked the stick towards the bin. Things had been different since that party. Her father refused to tell her anything else about the Angel. And Susan had been acting distant, even though Buddy was finally paying her the attention she deserved. Not that that was any of her business. Climbing to her feet, she glanced around for a last time before heading back in. Susan was on the other side of the field.

“Susan!”

Dot’s excitement to rush over to her friend meant she missed spotting the vital clues. The falter in Susan’s step as she called her name. The half-turn as she spoke to someone behind her. And the shadow that ducked back behind the old scoreboard. She missed all of this. Instead, she arrived out of breath and bursting with gossip. After all, she’d been sent to find Susan for a reason. Someone had spotted Jane in the Country Club!

There had been many speculations tossed around during lunch, which Dot happily filled Susan in on as they walked to class. The corridors were, thankfully, empty. Not even a hall monitor in sight. As they reached their classroom, another girl came hurrying up the corridor. Dot, being a good citizen, held the door open and received a mumbled thanks in return as the girl slipped past her into the classroom.

Neither Susan nor Maisie looked at each other as they took their seats. The teacher glared at the latecomers over his spectacles, annoyed at being interrupted, before returning to the chalkboard. Maisie slowly let out the breath she’d been holding. If it had just been her, she would have received at least a minute of lecture on how important this class is to her future. Pulling her notebook out onto her desk, she glanced over at Dot. Unlike Susan, there had been no indication that the girl recognized her at all. They were safe. For now. Turning back to the board, she quickly started taking notes.

Susan neatly filled each row with her perfect handwriting, catching up to the teacher in no time. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a note being passed around the classroom, blatantly dropped onto the neighbour’s desk behind the teacher’s back. As it had originated from Rosemary’s desk at the back of the classroom, Susan wasn’t surprised when it arrived, a few seconds later, upon her desk, her name scrawled on the front. Susan didn’t like note-passing. It distracted from the lesson and encouraged disrespect towards the teacher. But, as it had already distracted most of the class, she quietly unfolded and smoothed it out on her desk.

“You already abandoning us for your new boyfriend?”

Twisting around in her seat, she looked back at Rosemary who was watching her with a smirk on her face. Slowly, she raised her eyebrows. It was the same expression as when she revealed that she was going out with Wally, only a few days after Susan had broken up with Buddy. Roughly translated: “You think you can keep the position of Queen Bee for long?” Susan smiled back at her. She’d kept her position back then, and she wasn’t going to lose it now. However, she thought, turning back to the board, she was going to need a better excuse for the next time she met with Maisie.

Dot wiggled in her seat, chewing on the end of a pen. She wasn’t paying attention to the class, and lollipops had been banned during class time. In front of her, Susan sat straight upright, meticulously writing down everything the teacher said. What was Susan doing all lunchtime? She hadn’t thought about it as they were walking to class, but one second there was nobody on the field, and the next Susan had appeared out of thin air. Frowning, she made a mental note to ask her father for a strawberry-flavoured pen. Everyone was sure that Susan had caught herself a new boyfriend, undoubtedly to make Buddy jealous. But no one had thought of a decent reason why Susan had yet to introduce him to the group. After all, Buddy had introduced Jane only a few minutes after asking her out. Dot, though, had insider information. She was sure the mystery boyfriend was the Angel who’d saved her and slept with Susan the night of the party. Unfortunately, all she could remember was a cream-coloured jacket and a look of sincere worry. The question niggled at her brain until she couldn’t stand it. So, she resolved, pulling the pen from between her teeth, she was going to follow Susan and solve this mystery.

[enterprisetrampstamp]

Request: TOS Spock and Bones being an adorable married couple while aboard the Enterprise!

"All I'm saying is, you could've warned me," Bones was complaining, before the fabric of his uniform pants had even touched the plastic of the bench across the table from his Captain.

Jim, his focus directed at the PADD containing the paperwork that Yeoman Rand would be coming to fetch in less than five minutes, hummed a neutral acknowledgement and trusted his Chief Medical Officer to continue his diatribe with only that minimum of prompting.

"A chance to prepare--" Bones's fork flicked through the air-- "A chance to brace myself. Pretty sure that after everything you've put me through over the years, Jimmy, I deserved one."

"Almost certainly," Jim agreed, dashing off another signature with the rubber tip of his stylus.

"Good of you to admit it. Spock didn't!"

"What didn't I do, Doctor?" Spock asked, and-- unlike when Bones had sat down-- Jim looked up to shoot his Number One a crooked grin of welcome. (It wasn't about Spock, specifically-- it was about that, that warm feeling of vicarious happiness he got at seeing his two best friends oh-so-casually brush their fingers against each other in a gentle "Good morning" kiss.)

Bones rolled his eyes; Spock raised an eyebrow.

"You wouldn't admit I deserved a bit of warning before you dumped an entire crop of fresh-faced, bushy-tailed morons in my lap." Bones stabbed at his eggs vindictively, his expression sour. "Do you know how much work--"

Oh, that's what this was about? The new nurses and interns who'd joined the crew at their last pit stop?

"They're not morons," Jim told him, amused, as hebturned back to scrolling through his PADD. "And you did have warning, Bones; you had to sign off on all of them."

"I was told that I was offering my opinion on their placement on other ships!" Bones threw his hands wide, his left hand smacking into Spock's chest unapologetically. "Not mine!"

Spock gently removed Bones's hand from his personal space, and Jim sighed. "At the time, you were," he said dryly. "But several of your nurses have resigned their commissions recently, and this mission has been turning out a lot differently than we anticipated at the start; you could always use some additional hands in surgery--"

"Like I would trust these fools with a scalpel--!"

"They aren't even fresh out of the Academy, Bones," Jim reminded him. "Every one of them has at least a year of prior experience in a hospital and performed admirably--" he looked up, eyebrows raised. "At least, according to your own assessment."

"Have they yet shown themselves to be unsatisfactory?" Spock asked, calmly cutting to the center of Bones's ranting, and Bones scowled as he buttered his toast.

"They're fine," he said, shortly. "But not a one of them is prepared for the differences between traditional hospital practices and those of a starship, Jim. On another ship--" he waved a hand. "They'd have time to ease into things. But here? On the Enterprise? They need their hands held, Jim, and Chris, Geoff, and I only have so many hands to go around."

Spock looked to be considering this point deeply, so Jim left him to it for the moment, glancing guiltily at the chronometer on the far wall of the mess and resuming the race to finish his paperwork. It's not that Bones was wrong, in Jim's opinion; it was just that they didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. The CMO and the indomitable Nurse Chapel would simply have to ride herd on the new kids until they either shaped up or washed out-- no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

"You believe they are likely to freeze the first time they're placed under pressure," Spock surmised.

Bones-- when Jim glanced up into the silence of hesitation-- pulled a face and shook his head. "All hospitals are, by definition, life or death situations; they've already proven they can handle 'pressure'," he said. "But basic xenobiology credits don't do justice to the realities of practicing your craft on biological systems you barely understand-- present company included-- with diseases no one's ever seen before and half the equipment you would have wanted. It's their imaginations I'm worried about, Mr. Spock."

"Then perhaps it is their imagination you should focus on training, Doctor."

"There are a couple security officers trying to put an improv comedy club together," Jim suggested, hiding his grin by ducking his head further towards the PADD as he dashed off another signature, and a bit of toasted crust bounced off of his temple after Bones threw it at him. "That was assault of a commanding officer, I'll have you know."

"Shove it, Jim. The grown ups are actually brainstorming solutions over here."

"Of course," Jim agreed, smoothly, and pretended that "brainstorming" was the only reason Bones had laid his hand over Spock's when Spock placed it palm up on the table.

"Sims, maybe?" Bones murmured. "I could write something up, if you'd be willing to code it. No right answers, only better ones; see what they come up with."

"It would be my pleasure, Doctor."

A beat, a shit-eating grin in his periphery, and Spock repeated, sharply-- "Doctor."

"My virgin ears and I are glad Bones kept that one telepathic," Jim said, hiding his own shit eating grin behind his cup of coffee as he took a sip, and Bones laughed.

"Not in front of the Captain, Mr. Spock, or whatever will appear on your next performance review?"

Spock sighed. "You have a singularly frustrating personality, Doctor."

"You're one to talk. You know, Jim, he uses cinnamon toothpaste?"

"Perish the thought." Jim signed another dotted line, his feeling of foreboding growing as he scrolled further and further down towards the next. Janice was going to be here in--

"Your yeoman has just walked into the mess, Captain," Spock told him.

"And she's a woman on a mission," Bones added, eith a thread of laughter lacing through his tone. "A tactical retreat may be in order, Jim boy."

Captain James Tiberius Kirk did not turn to look over his shoulder, because that would be a sign of weakness. "Buy me five minutes," he said, his tone just shy of an order. "I'll speed read."

"How are we supposed to do that?" Bones demanded, but Spock-- bless those pointed ears of his-- was already rising to his feet.

"Accompany me, Doctor," he requested.

And, with a sigh, Bones took a few quick bites of his toast and then rose to his feet, wiping his fingers on a napkin as he trailed behind Spock. Jim paused his reading only long enough to watch them intercept Janice--

What they said couldn't be heard from across the room, but Bones's right hand found the small of Spock's back, his wedding ring glinting under the light as he waved the other about enthusiastically, and his exuberance combined with Spock's quiet intensity commanded Janice's attention quite completely. By the time she'd wormed her way free, Jim was outting the last flourishing signature on the paperwork, and he handed the PADD over to her with his most charming smile.

"Thank you, Yeoman."

"No, Captain," she said, with a smile that was far too shark-like for the sweetness of her tone. "Thank you." And then-- laughing-- she was gone.

Bones looked smug, and Spock's eyes glittered with Vulcan amusement, and suddenly, Jim was feeling much less charitable towards the man's ears.

"Gentlemen," he said suspiciously. "May I ask what price I've just paid for those five minutes?"

"You know, Yeoman Rand has a lot of friends on the ship, in all kinds of departments," Bones said, as he tucked into his remaining eggs. "Including Security."

"She's a popular woman," Jim agreed, slowly.

"Ensigns Martinez and Harper will be most grateful to hear of your interest in joining their improvisational comedy group, Captain."

Jim stared at Spock. "No."

Bones smiled. "Oh, yes."

"No!"

"His idea," Bones said, jerking his thumb at Spock.

"I was under the impression you had been looking for a method of engendering further goodwill between yourself and the crew," he said, with a perfect Vulcan poker face.

"Wouldn't do to back out on a promise now, Captain," Bones told him cheerfully. "Say, they still encourage audience participation st these things, don't they?"

"A staple of the genre, Doctor."

"My," Bones said, smiling into the horror dawning across Jim's face. "I guess I'll just have to make sure I never miss a show."

Spock hummed as he returned to his own breakfast. "I believe I shall have to miss every show, for fear that you would volunteer me for a sketch."

"Well." Bones wiped his mouth on a napkin, blue eyes twinkling. "Even so, Mr. Spock. I'll see you at lunch."

Spock bid him a pleasant morning shift, and-- with a brush of their fingertips-- Bones was gone.

"You didn't really promise Janice that I'd be doing improv comedy, did you?" Jim asked, weakly. "I'll forgive you for the implication if you simply admit--"

"No, Captain, I did not." But the way he said it...

Jim closed his eyes. "Spock. Did Dr. McCoy promise it?"

"Yes, Captain, he did."

"I know you love him, Spock, but I'd like your permission to ship him back to Earth--"

"Negative."

"He'll be happy there," Jim promised. "I'll set him up on a nice farmstead in Georgia--"

"I don't believe that the life of a farmer would especially agree with me."

"I'm not planning on sending you."

Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim sighed, relenting. "I suppose you would follow him, wouldn't you?"

"Of course, Captain."

"Of course," Jim agreed, with a ghost of a smile breaking through his glum mood. It was nice, seeing his two best friends in love--

Even when they ganged up on him.

[mandoinevarro]

Cara’s Restless Week

Words: 4k

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut, vaginal intercourse, masturbation, voyeurism, choking, cuckolding? Not sure :/ 

a/n: I’m once again ignoring baby yoda. He’s at a sleepover at Omera’s, also he and all children go deaf at night, don’t worry about them. 

Cara Dune can’t sleep.

The night is still and warm, and the steady rhythm of drizzle batting against the roof of her shelter would’ve been enough to lull her to sleep under any other circumstances. Even the crickets outside seem to have fallen into a uniform, soothing symphony.

And yet, Cara can’t sleep.

She’s no stranger to restless nights—Maker, she’s no stranger to restless weeks, but she never thought she’d have bedtime troubles inside a comfortable bungalow in Sorgan, days after they’ve driven away the threats to the peaceful community. She tosses and turns on her cot, presses a straw pillow against her face, tries counting blurgs, but it’s no use. No matter what Cara does, she can’t stop hearing the choked moans coming from the cabin next to hers. She kicks the covers away and stumps around in circles inside her cramped hut.

It’s not like it came as a surprise to her.  

She suspected something was brewing under the surface from the first day she met the Mandalorian. Settling things with him was easy enough after they learnt that no, he didn’t have a fob on her, and no she wasn’t after a green baby growing wings out of his head. She smiled when the pretty woman feeding broth to said kid giggled at her description.

Cara’s first impression of you was pleasant enough; you smiled easily and contributed every now and then with your own sharp observations, not to mention how much the shock trooper liked the feeling between her legs every time your breasts bounced with each hearty laugh. She even thought of making a move, but stopped the lewd come-on from tumbling past her teeth once she noticed the way your gaze followed your Mandalorian’s every move. Inside some buried corner in the back of her mind, Cara recognized the look. If not something deeper (because softer passions are hard to nurture in this harsh galaxy), it was—at the very least—a look of profound longing. And, although those gentle sentiments had abandoned Cara somewhere in the blur of her past, she’d lived enough to know that glimpse in your pupils whenever he’d get too close to you was there to stay.

The drizzle turns into rain. Instead of drowning them, the loud pebbling clatter of fat droplets only gives the mewls a vibration and solidity that they lacked before. She steps out of the lodge, hoping the pouring water will clear her mind and send her back to bed. But—like if you were purposefully working to lengthen her insomnia— as soon as her head pokes out, the whimpers that hit her are noisier and clearer, and she immediately goes back inside. She sits on a stool, impatiently grabs at her trimmed hair, searches her warrior’s brain for a solution.

She kept her distance that afternoon and thought she’d never see either of you again, and hadn’t at all expected the leather hand that dropped a pouch of credits at her feet in the dark Sorgan woods.

A little action and some pocket money were a good bargain, so Cara took the job. She promised herself, though, to keep her cravings for you at bay. It wasn’t very hard at first. Everyone in the community spent weeks doing little but prepare for the impending attack of the raiders. Cara and the Mandalorian trained the villagers, planned the defense strategy, went over the plan over and over again, helped dig ditches, and neither of them had much time to think about you.

It wasn’t until after their victory—after the Imperial AT-ST was destroyed and, with it, the invaders’ oppressive grip on the fishing village—that they both allowed themselves to occupy their heads on something—or rather, someone—a lot more pleasant.

By that point, Cara had gotten pretty good at reading Mando’s body language. Gestures that she’d once thought were signs of indifference or trained stoicism picked up completely different meanings. She remarked how his spine would relax and he’d lose a few inches whenever he’d see his son playing with the village’s children. She took note of the way his helmet would tilt to the side and his modulated voice would drag a little at the end on the rare occasion he made a joke. She was next to him on the afternoon his dark visor fixated on you when, in front of a particularly orange sunset, the last beams of light melted over your glowing figure, painting your skin and hair with changing colors. She definitely didn’t miss the sore sigh that fractured at the sight before it even left the helmet.

Cara cements her legs on the ground for stability and cracks her knuckles once, twice, until the joints go mushy and they stop clicking.

She can tell you’re trying to hush your sounds as best as you can. She can tell because every time a notably loud whine defies your restraint, it is instantly muffled by a hand or some other utensil you’ve learned you need after your long nights of pleasure.

It’s been going on for a couple of days now, and Cara is starting to find it fucking insufferable. She honestly doesn’t know what’s worse: the sleepless nights or the mornings that follow. For the uninitiated, your morning greetings and seemingly innocent small talk would be polite, but unremarkable. Cara, though, knows better. She’s there for every conspiring smile, every brush of his gloves against your hips. She even catches some of the furtive whispers and caresses you exchange sometimes, when you think nobody’s looking. How you blush when he crowds you with his superior stature; how he sneaks out of your tent at dawn.

And, it’s not like Cara is jealous of Mando. Although you’re nice and easy to talk to, she knows that her feelings for you are purely physical, and she’s spent enough time around you both to know that whatever is going on between you two had been ballooning for a pretty long time until it inevitably burst. If anything, she’s relieved that, after such a torturous period of mutual pining, you’ve finally found an outlet for your affection. She’s happy for her friends. But she can’t fucking sleep.

The relentless moaning starts bending the humid air into clearer shapes. You’re talking to each other. Against all her instincts, Cara drops to the floor in all fours and crawls closer to barrier of her lodging. She presses her ear to the scratchy wall. The sounds are swallowed, and she only makes out an attuned voice that says, “…wanted…from…first day…”

What she can hear loud and clear is a wet, squelching noise that goes to the beat of the dropping rain. The warrior feels like an anvil drops on her chest and slumps on the floor.

If she’s being honest, it’s not even the lack of rest that’s really bothering her—although it does contribute to her daily grumpiness. The reason she finds it unbearable to sit through the rich sounds of your consummated lust night after night is that she knows exactly what she’s missing.

Because she’s been to almost every system and fought every fight. She’s witnessed the destruction of planets and their birth. She’s slept on empty deserts, under the watchful eye of their celestial vault. She’s cheated death. But there’s nothing, absolutely nothing she’s found on her long voyages across the galaxy that compares to the electric current that shocks her nerve endings when someone’s flesh presses against hers. Nothing like having someone strip down bare and let her learn them, inside and out.

So, Cara sits and listens, sits and listens, sits and listens…, until—stubborn, willful woman that she is—she decides that enough is enough.

She stands and struts outside with heavy steps like she’s battlebound, lets the rain—now a storm—drench her skin and underclothes, lets her boots sink in mud. She stops at the entrance of your tent, where the cries are loudest and barely concealed by the rainfall. Her plan is to come in quickly, averting her gaze, and sternly tell you two to keep it down or find another place to fuck. She pushes the flap of the entrance open.

Neither of you see her. How could you, when your nude back is facing her, and Mando, on his underarmor and beneath you, has his helmet thrown back against the floor, probably staring directly at the way your breasts bob gently with your leisurely up-and-down movements.

Cara stays at the entrance, partially hidden by the shadows that the oil lamp beside you can’t reach. She really does try to move. She wills her legs to step forward and make her presence known, but a wave of heat hits her hard when she sees the low, orange light embrace your lower back and drop to your ass with your languid movements. She tells her head to turn around, but her limbs have rebelled against her and remain frozen in front of the show.

Defeated, she stands in the gloom. The mythic warrior Carasynthia Dune helplessly stares at the lovers, pathetically wet and overcome with the desire to simply witness.

A part of her doesn’t care about the morality of it. Not when she sees your trembling thighs rock particularly hard over the Mandalorian, which draws a strangled sob from you and a low grumble from him, both of which can probably be heard three huts over. He quickly lifts one of the gloved hands holding your hips and presses it against your gaping mouth, like he wasn’t the one who moaned the loudest. Still, his grip does nothing to hide the obscene sound of your cunt taking his veins and ridges inside, your juices blending with his.

She’s entranced by the way your fists are clamped on his undershirt and whines seem to knot in your throat as he brings a hand to your back drawing soothing circles. You’re both so laughably bad at keeping quiet.

I could stay here, she thinks after a moment, here in the dark, where they won’t see me.

The hair on the nape of the neck stands up.

You look so elated, doing your best to pleasure each other. Neither of you speak, but you seem to be communicating through grunts, erotic movements, and caresses that carry more meaning than Cara could decipher. It looks like you’re confessing something unspeakable to each other.

Cara whimpers. It’s only a tiny syllable, but it apparently draws the Mandalorian’s attention, because the helmet rolls to side and focuses on the spot where shadows camouflage her. She freezes.

He grabs your thighs tightly and groans, “Fuck—C-cara?”

You immediately stop moving and remove your hands from his chest in indignation. “What?”

“N-no, no. I mean…” He points towards the general area where she’s hiding. Your upper body follows his finger.

Cara hasn’t blushed from embarrassment in years, so she’s confused when she feels blood stab at her cheeks. For a fleeting moment, she thinks that if she’s just very quiet and stays very still, you’ll go back to your motions and wave off the feeling that someone’s watching. It’s stupid and Cara knows it. Cursing herself, she steps out of the shadows, slickness sticking to her inner thighs with the shifting of her legs.

Her voice is dusty when she speaks, looking down at the floor like a child caught awake after bedtime. “I…I’m sorry I just—” The rain outside rings in her ears. She cracks her knuckles nervously and shifts her weight from leg to leg, thinking of a way to get out of it. “You were being too fucking loud. Stars, I’m sure they can hear you in Nevarro. You’ll have bounty hunters find you in no time if you keep this shit up.” Her words and tone are aggressive, but her eyes tell a different story, as they remain fixated on your heaving chest.

Neither of you move. Between the partial darkness and the helmet, she can’t really bring herself to try to read what Mando’s thinking. You, on the other hand, just look confused…and then, when you draw a line from the woman’s gaze to your naked chest, something else crosses your features. Not anger, not shame—something soft. Compassion, maybe?

Cara doesn’t stay to find out. She drags her feet across the floor to see herself out, as you turn to Mando and seem to tell him something in that secret, silent language of yours. He squeezes your thighs. Her name on your airy voice makes her stop.

“Cara,” you start, “w-would you—um—would you like to stay?”

The mercenary is sure she’s starting to hallucinate shit in an attempt to keep some of her dignity, until she indulges in one final look back and sees you with your arm extended, inviting her to join you.

She doesn’t notice when her legs come to life and drag her towards the couple, nor when her joints bend and sink to your level, kneeling and petrified. It’s only when your fingers brush her inner wrist and she pulls it back instinctively that she comes back to her senses.

Mando’s thumbs are drawing circles below your breasts. “Give her time.”

“You can touch me,” you tell the statue in front of you, but quickly add, “if you want. Or you can—” the bounty hunter must be cramping under your weight, because he repositions his hips, which makes him grunt and cuts you off, “—or you can only watch if you prefer. It’s okay.”

With a smile, you turn your attention back to the man trapped between your legs and resume your grinding. Whether you do it to put up a show for your guest, she’s not sure, but your rocking is stronger this time around, making sure you sink to the hilt and then pull almost completely out, before falling back down. Cara’s holding her breath. Maker, why is she acting like a fucking virgin? Her hands roll into fists when you throw your head back and pull a lustful wail from your insides.

Mando isn’t doing any better when he locks his fingers firmly on the curve of your ass and pants out, “You—you really enjoy the extra attention, don’t—don’t you?”

You exhale through your mouth with a smile and turn to stare straight into Cara’s eyes. “Maybe I d-do.”

It’s the playful glint your eyes and the way you sigh out the last word that make Cara think that a challenge was masked behind the simple statement. It snaps her back into reality.

Okay, then.

While your hunter caresses your backside, two strong hands grab your ribs and lift you a few inches, before bringing you down hard on the girthy phallus that splits you open. You and Mando both cry out at the suddenness of the satisfaction that burns a hole in your insides.

“Maybe Mando stands for your attitude,” Cara tells you as she pinches your right nipple and her face gets close to the other one, “but I don’t.” She traps your left breast in her hot mouth and nibbles at the peak. The Mandalorian—still trapped under—tries thrusting harder, and you grind down faster, short, high whimpers leaving your reddened lips.  In the back of Cara’s mind, she feels bad for their generous Sorgan hosts, because there’s no way the whole village hasn’t woken up for the noise. The storm rages more violently, but—somehow—the thunder outside serves as a vessel for your frenzied moans and amplifies them.

Mando grabs two handfuls of your lower cheeks and pushes you further towards his chest, which forces Cara to lean back on her elbows.  In the new position, your tits slap around her face and, even though she tries to pull them to her mouth, your whole body is being manhandled too swiftly by the Mandalorian for her to get a hold of you.

Annoyed, Cara places a heavy open palm on your sternum and pushes you back. “Fuck, keep still.” You lean back with no resistance, too limp with pleasure to put up a fight. She climbs back on you and sucks bruises on your collarbone, until her gaze falls on the union where the base of Mando’s sex ends and yours begins. She sees the creamy cum piling down there and—although she can’t tell which one of you is responsible for it—she scoops some with her fingers and uses it to massage it up and down your tense clit.

The muscles of your face cramp and your usual lovely expression contorts into a desperate frown. Her fingers collect more moisture and move faster against your bud, earning her a low purr, but it’s Mando’s head that turns to face her.

“Don’t s-stop,” he forces out, “y-you—th-that…’s m-making her t-tight.” He lets a shaky gasp out through the modulator. “You’re making her s-so fuck-fucking tight.” His member pushes against the snugness of your cunt as he tries to bury himself as deeply as your swollen walls will let him.

Cara complies and pulls the hood of your clit up. The direct pressure makes you jump and lose your balance, but the man below you catches your arms and holds you steady over him. You’re a mess, trembling and sobbing at the ceiling, so the Mandalorian lets go of one of your arms and brings his gloved palm to the back of your neck, working it so that you’re looking down at him. His hips are shaking with anticipation, but he still slows down and his thumb circles the soft skin of your neck. Cara lifts her attention from your soaked folds when she notices you’ve both stopped moving.

If her sleepless nights are any indication, you’ve only been having sex for about a week, but the way he holds you and calms you down tugs at something uncomfortable in Cara. It’s like he has you memorized already. He knows exactly how to touch you and how much you can take. He knows—much to his own detriment—when to stop.

Your breathing falls back to its normal pace and you’re starting to move again when she removes her fingers. You both groan in protest, but Cara just leans back out of the reach of the lamp’s flame and watches your bodies bathe in warm light. Panting, she sees you hold on to each other and comes to terms with the fact that she doesn’t belong wedged between your bodies, where you share something unknown to her. The realization isn’t as devastating as she thought it would be, and she figures it’s better to leave your carnal diversions between you two.

A helmet and a face stare expectantly, much like Rebel troops once focused on her awaiting orders.

Still, she muses with a light grin, that doesn’t mean I can’t teach them anything.

She scoots closer to your cot, and stops where only half of her body is covered in light. Surprisingly, Mando doesn’t pull away when she grabs his hand and guides it towards your upper body.

“You two really have a volume problem,” she quips as she beckons you closer and wraps his hand around your delicate neck. She signals the hunter to squeeze, but he turns to you first in a wordless question. You nod, and Cara’s fingers leave his when he clasps them on the sides of your neck. You sigh.

She then takes your hand and guides it to the base of your lover’s manhood. You mimic the squeeze on your neck. Mando gasps.

The former Rebel leader pulls back to admire her work and—once she’s satisfies with it—leans back on her elbows and slithers a hand inside her pants. The couple is still fixed in position, waiting for an instruction.

“Go ahead,” Cara allows, as she pushes her underwear to the side and mixes the leftover cum on her fingers with her own.

She can tell you’re already exhausted, but you still make an effort to lift your dripping pussy and bear down until your lips hit your palm. She sees your knuckles go white as they clutch harder around Mando’s base. He does the same to your neck, still testing and careful. It’s not until a potentially loud whine threatens to leave you that he intuitively squeezes harder to stop it from touching the damp air. The stronger hold on you makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. It doesn’t take either of you very long to fall into a frantic and vulgar pace, much different from the leisurely one you were working with at the start of the night.

Cara knows you’re teased and tired of waiting and doesn’t expect you to last much longer, so she skips any foreplay with herself and goes straight for her own sensitive button, swiping it with a roughness that she didn’t dare apply on yours. The sensation makes her her legs shake. She goes harder. Within seconds, she’s breathless, just as desperate as you two to reach her release.

“Fuck—fuck her harder,” she orders the Mandalorian when a calloused finger draws quick circles around her clit.

You’re basically bouncing on him now, but the disciplined man still manages to obey. His grip on your neck turns to steel, as he clasps his free fingers on the fat of your backside and slams you down to meet his thrusts. Your mouth gapes open and, if not for the gloved fingers around you, Cara’s sure your screams would make the walls tremble. The lamp—almost out of oil—shines on the plump tears of satisfaction that slide down your cheeks and fall on your partner’s shirt.

Finally, an invisible force seems to shove you forwards into Mando’s chest. You’re still convulsing on top of him when he brings both hands to your lower back to fuck himself into you with all the stamina left in his system. Unfortunately, there’s nobody to grasp his throat when it spits out a long groan. Cara sees his arousal seep out of you.

She gives you a moment to breathe, then stands and rounds the collapsed bodies, kneeling in front of your legs. She taps your thigh, hoping you haven’t passed out yet.

“Open your legs for me, sweetheart. Let me see.” But you don’t respond, so Mando uses his remaining energy to push your legs apart for Cara’s enjoyment. His hands drop with a stump on your back, and she’s startled by the raucous snores that leave the helmet.

She shakes her head and mumbles to herself, “Maker, they can’t even sleep quietly.”

Her digits go back inside her underwear while she absorbs the way your pussy flutters and twitches around nothing, dripping with your cum and your beau’s seed. The sight and her fingers are enough to summon a strong but quiet orgasm from her. Her walls are still clenching and she’s trying to control her breathing when the oil lamp finally dies out.

Once again, Cara Dune is engulfed in darkness. This time around, though, her eyes have learned to adjust to it; she can make out the outline of your conjoined bodies. Tasting her fingers, she stands and walks to the exit.

Her arm is lifting the cloth that acts as a door when she glances back over her shoulder. You’re sleeping noisily, but peacefully, lost in each other. She wonders if she could ever allow herself to be that vulnerable with someone else.

Someday, she reflects, someday.

Outside the tent, Cara’s surprised she’s not met with a monsoon. She didn’t even notice when the rain stopped. She shrugs and continues on her short way to her hut, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep.

The sun is coming up on the horizon.

[harveywritings92]

This Life is mine: Jacob Frye x OC

The following is a non profit fan based story Assassin's creed belongs to Ubisoft please support the official release.

_

I gain no profit from this nor do I own anything other then OCs  and whatever sprouts from my imagination. Thanks for reading!

[Elliott "Ellie" Addison Morgan novice assassin also a daughter and victim of a Templar wannabe. Was raised to be her father's perfect little doll, Elliott knew nothing but scorn and disapproval from her father, who viewed her as nothing more then a bargaining chip to marry off and increase his social status, just like her sister who is now missing, Elliott would be damned if she going end up like her sister, especially when she found out her father planned to wed her to Crawford Starrick, she escaped and stowed-away on a train not thinking it was occupied by a couple of Assassins...]

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She did it... she actually did it! Elliott wanted to laugh out loud and scream with joy from the rooftops that she was free! She was finally free! the brunette had her doubts that her plan would work, but it did!

She knew her father wanted Starrick's approval so badly and his bullheaded thirst to win, caused his fat head to be shoved so far up his own ass; he wouldn't have noticed that his own daughter had switched places with a maid!

Elliott slowed down pulled the brown trench coat closer to body adjusted her hat when someone ran passed her, she when she was sure the coast was clear she used eagle vision to follow the clues to the hiding spot where Clyde had hid her gear, The blue eyed girl smiled when she found it, grabbed the suitcase and ran down the street towards the train station.

Elliott's smile faltered a bit when she saw the empty terminal save for a single train, she quietly approached a man who appeared to be the repair man, Elliott hesitated before the sounds of her father's search party got closer in the distance. "Hey are there seats available?" She asked quickly causing the man to jump by her sudden appearance.

"Wha-What" the man stammered "Seats man, are there any seats available?"the blue eyed woman asked glancing over her shoulder the back at the man who looked very confused. "Uh, no this a private train ma'am it don't-" Elliott handed him a stunning sum of money about 200 pounds, the man eyes bugged out of his skull and counted it before nodding. "Alright, you can hide out in the fourth car, no one uses it. but if we get caught? you're on your own." He said leading her to the unused storage car he unlocked it and helped Elliott inside.

"Thank you." the man just nodded and closed the door leaving Elliott alone in the dark and with her thoughts, Soon she felt the train lurch as it started to move away from the station, Elliot wasn't sure how she sat there staring out the small window at the sky or how long it had been since she'd escaped, but soon she sighed contently and drifted off to sleep.

the following morning Agnes was was and ready to switch her shift with Bob when she found him looking like a kid on Christmas counting a wad of cash, her brow furrowed as she approached him "Where'd you get that money?" she demanded as he tried to hide the notes behind his back. "Uh, I found it?" the portly woman wasn't having it! she held her hand out and Bob pouted and reluctantly handed the money over she counted and gawked the amount.

"There's over 200 pounds here! where did yo-" The Frye twins who overheard the commotion came to see what the problem was? Agnes explained how she just came to switch with Bob and found him counting a wad of notes, Both were stunned at the amount and asked how he obtained it? The engineer stuck to his guns that he found it! But the twins clearly weren't buying it, After going back and fourth Bob finally gave in.

"Car four, she's in car four...Can I have my money back?"

"No." Both Evie and Jacob huffed as the male twin pocketed the cash in his jacket intending to give it back to whoever snuck onto their train...Then kick them off. "Aww.." Bob moaned dismayed before Agnes berated him that it served him right taking money from strangers and letting them stowaway on Bertha.

Both Jacob and Evie were hesitant about entering the car they weren't sure what to expect, Jacob went in first much to his sister's annoyance, they were both highly skilled assassin's she didn't need him protecting her! But that didn't stop him from trying. Both scanned the dusty car for any signs of someone life, before Evie's eyes landed on a small figure curled up between two crates, she nudged her brother who followed her gaze.

The two found the figure to be a sleeping girl around their age maybe younger, with brown wavy hair wearing a worn out brown jacket and maid's uniform sleeping without a care in the world hugging a suitcase to her side. Both twins looked at each other before Jacob tapped the girl in the ribs with his foot. "Oi you, time to wake up!" he ordered the girl gasped and her eyes fluttered opened looked around confused as Evie yanked her brother back.

"You could've just asked her to wake-up, you didn't need to kick her!"

"I didn't kick her! I tapped her, there's difference!"

The two argued hospitality methods as Elliott awkwardly watched them, she assumed Braids and Top-hat were the owners of the train she had snuck on to for the night, not really sure how to talk to them she just kind of stayed quiet, until she felt sneeze coming on she let it loose both twins turned to her and barked. "Bless you!" then went back to arguing before Jacob remembered what they were doing and shook his head. "Wait no, not bless you! Who are you?" the male twin demanded as his sister butted in "And why are you on our train?" Looks like Elliott's assumptions were correct before she could answer the door to the car opened and Henry walked in.

"Ah, So this is were the two of...Elliott?! the Indian assassin exclaimed pointing at the the brunette who in turn pointed back at him "Henry?!" causing the top-hat man to laugh "Jacob!" he quipped while pointing at himself then he got elbowed in the ribs by his sister."You know her?" Evie asked to the stunned man who nodded immediately pulled the short girl into hug. "Yes, she's Elliott Morgan an Assassin...But how did you?" pulled away then noticed her suitcase and outfit.

"Maybe we should explain this in the study?" He suggested as the twins followed them, Elliott removed the old trench coat showing off a large hand shaped bruise on her arm as she sat down across from Henry who frowned when he saw it, Elliott covered it with her over hand, the twins shifted uncomfortable. "What happened?" The brunette shrugged "A parting gift from Aric..." She hissed out her father's name out venomously, Henry told her to elaborate, the brunette sighed a slouched in her seat. "Let's see about three weeks ago..."

{My father called me into his study, I assumed he was upset about some mundane thing that his paranoid mind saw as offensive! Maybe he saw me moving some lose hair out of my face or holding a damn book wrong? Who knows! everything I did always seem to set him off...anyhow, He explained that St. James concert hall had contacted him, They invited me to sing for their 10th anniversary and charity event, and that I should start preparing for the big night.  

Rejection was not an option with my father, but my suspicions were irked and he wouldn't stop trying to pick out songs that he wanted, And you course know he's never been the charitable sort unless it benefited him in some way, nor was he ever interested in my singing. So stupid me had to ask "Are you asking if I'd like to sing? or ordering me to sing?" He was not happy when I said that way he looked at me still causes me freeze up. "Don't you ever speak to me like that again...Or I'll-" I don't want to think about what he was going to say, his secretary interrupted us.

He snapped at me to go practice and when the big night came around, I found out why he had accepted the invitation, and push me to nearly losing my voice for an otherwise calm event. it wasn't just a charity event! It was also a congratulatory party for my engagement to Crawford Starrick... I remember feeling sick as my father led me to the Templar's grand master! I felt disgusted,angry and just devastated that this was happening a second time...He did the same thing to my sister...I saw what she went through and I didn't want it!

So, I took a risk! I tried to sneak away while he Crawford were talking about dates and business, he saw me and grabbed my wrist hard trying to keep me from leaving I told him I was just going to get a drink, and he let me go,Then I ran into Susanne. [ Henry grimaced hearing that name, having met that beastly bigot of a woman before; she left a very unfavorable impression in the Indian assassin.] Yes...that Susanne the snobby maid who fell in love with "Showroom Aric" as I call my father's public face. practically worships the ground he walks on, and thinks I was just being an ungrateful rotten brat to my dear sweet father! She was extra nasty that night, of course I ignored her... and was more focused on her body thought. "Ey, we're about the same size and build..."

So, I asked if she wanted to get up close to my father? She took me into a back room and we switched clothes, luckily it was a masquerade party so no one noticed. I ran out the back and straight into my butler and assassin mentor Clyde. The old man knew about the engagement before I did, he didn't tell me because I'd panic, and tip my father off that I was gonna run. Clyde knows I do my best thinking when time and the odds are stack high against my favor, He saw me switch places with the maid and knew the game was on, He gave me his hat and his jacket and told me he had feeling I going do something drastic. and told me where he stashed a suitcase I had hidden in my closet ages ago! Found it and then I made my way to the train station...}    

"...And that's how I got here." Elliott said pointing at car floor as Henry and the Frye twins took in her story Henry was was obviously relieved, Evie's reaction was one pity and distrust, Which didn't surprise Elliott in the least; Since she just confessed to being Crawford Starrick's Fiancee. While Jacob's reaction seemed...Well, the brunette didn't really know what to make of his expression, There was some distrust. but it was overshadowed by fascination and zeal, Maybe? The blue eyed girl wasn't too sure as she was really used seeing someone look at her like that.

"And what of mentor McCormick?" Henry voice broke her stare off with Jacob to answer her friend "Clyde? he did a good job at hiding our lessons..." The Indian arched brow knowing full well that there was a But coming."But, father is starting to get suspicious, it would seem my odd hours of staying out and waking up late was starting to get on his nerves." She winced recalling her father throwing a tantrum for her yawning during a business meeting, one of his clients and accusing her of sneaking off with men and embarrassing the family by whoring around. "No surprises he started limiting my time outside and kept me locked in the library or my room to teach me a lesson." She hissed answering Henry's next question as to why the novice suddenly stopped taking contracts and disappeared.

"And you're sure he didn't see you leave?" Henry asked cautiously just wanting to make sure no Templars were coming knocking their door down. "Positive, Daddy dearest was so sure that his submissive little doll was nothing without him, so he let me out of his sight for that split second, it was enough for me come up wit plan A." Elliott purred with a grin obviously picturing how pissed her father must've been when he found out he'd been had! and that ice cold bucket of reality Susanne got slapped with probably shattered her image of Aric forever.

"Oh-ho!~ I'll bite Girly, What was plan B?" Jacob suddenly chimed in on the edge of his seat obviously enjoying the new girl's on the dime quick-wittedness. "Start a fire get lost in the panic and just wing it from there!" she shrugged rubbing the back of her head with slight frown causing the man the chuckle he looked at Henry while pointing at the short girl. "I like her, she's alrig-" He yanked back by his sister who was clearly paranoid about their guest.

"Miss Morgan was it?" Evie asked causing the brunette to nodded. "Though you may be one of us, you're still tied the Templars so you'll have be monitored until such time as passed-" She was cut off by her brother who clearly upset with his sister's assumption. "What the hell Evie? She escaped one cage and now you want to put her in another one?!" He exclaimed in disbelief at what he was hearing the girl obviously escaped a monster and came to them for sanctuary only to be told we don't trust you, that's just not fair!

"I have agree with your brother miss Frye, I've know Lily for-" Henry threw his hand over his mouth, Elliot blanched as Evie slowly turned to Henry clearly affronted "Jacob take your novice and go..." she hissed as her brother blinked incredulously "My novice?... Wha-" His sister's icy tone silenced him. "Now..." Jacob jumped to his feet "Right, let's go Girly!" He grabbed Elliott's arm and dragged her to his car, leaving Henry to deal with Evie and whatever crawled up her backside.

The two could hear the muffled arguing as Jacob proudly showed his apparent student off to the Rooks, before showing her around his room, the brunette looked around as the curiosity started gnawing at him "So, what exactly was that back there?" he inquired while Elliott looked through some hidden blade sketches on his desk, The brunette blushed before gesturing for him to come down to her level and she whispered it to him, Jacob's green eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"YOU AND GREENIE USED BE ENGAGED?!?!" he bellowed loud enough to be heard throughout the train causing a few Rooks outside to stumble or spit their drinks out. "t-That's just arg...h-How old are you? 14-16?!" he stammered Elliott looked at him oddly "I'll be twenty in three months!..do I really look that young?" She asked unsure if she should be offended or flattered?

Jacob's mouth hung open as he gave her a once over, he didn't how answer that. "I-it's that coat! it makes you look tiny!" he sputtered gestured at Clyde's jacket, Elliott brow furrowed and went to take it off, only for Jacob to to stiffen and the back of his neck heat up. He hadn't realized how short the maid uniform was [the skirt stops just passed her knees and she wearing stockings], or how tight it was in the chest area; he swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat and immediately pulled the jacket back on, causing his novice to give him a look that screamed what the hell? Jacob backed away and coughed "Let's sort that out later, and figure out sleeping arrangements shall we?"

They came to an understanding that Elliott will have his couch and half his cart; considering Evie was still pouting and wasn't a huge fan of Elliott at the moment speaking of which..."Who names their daughter Elliott?" the male Frye twin asked genuinely curious as Elliott's lips twitched "The same man who thought he had control over gender, and was sure my older sister and I were going to be boys." Jacob suddenly had the urge to apologize, But the brunette continue. "He eventually did get his boy, Issac father's favorite little parrot." She spat looking exhausted and listless just thinking about the boy.

She explained that both her brother and father had this gift of sucking the life out of someone just by sheer thought. "I think that's why Starrick hasn't initiated them into the order, but likes to keep him around, y'know? just to have a laugh at how many days Aric & his son can ruin in one hour or less?" That caused Jacob to stall.

"Wait, so your father isn't a Templar?"

"No, he more like their stooge, Starrick's been stringing him a long for years, and my father is a narcissistic fool."

"But why would he agree to marry you, if he's just playin' with your father?"

"I wondered that myself, until I remembered reading through my mother's journal, Turns out Starrick and my mother were sweet on each other back in the day, Till my father weaseled his way into my grandfather's favor and soon after forced my parents into marriage..."

Jacob stomach suddenly did flops and not in a good way, Starrick couldn't have the mother so he'd settle for his ex-lover's daughter as some kind of  substitute? "I get wanting a young bride, but your ex's daughter?" He shuddered in disgust just when he thought Templars couldn't get any worst. "I'm just glad I've never crossed paths with him until yesterday." Elliott grimaced not wanting to think what would've happened if her father gotten desperate before she had joined the Assassins and tried curry favor with Starrick when she was younger...just like he did to her sister and Roth.

"I'm trying not to think about it, haven forbid if they ever find me." she muttered Jacob patted Elliott on the shoulder nearly knocking her over. "They won't touch you Girly, I promise." He assured before springing up from the couch "Now let's do a bit scouting show me how much you know little novice!" Jacob winked before leading Elliott off the train on her first training mission.

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[[ Elliott's older sister is named Campbell Joseph Morgan five years older then Elliott and usually goes by "Belle" she was married off to Roth when she was only 15; Elliott hasn't seen her sister in four years and doesn't even know if she's alive or not!

Then there's their younger brother...His name is Issac Douglas Morgan, and their father's favorite he's a spoiled brat who looks down on his siblings and verbally abuses his older sister when he doesn't get his way!

Much like their father his name is Aric Peter Morgan [nee Sinclair.] their father surname wasn't Morgan he married into the Morgan family, and runs their trading and sweet company like a goddamn dictator, worker safety is at a low and equipment is in somewhat poor maintenance, their financial choices have been in a gray area as of late.

Elliott believes that Starrick is trying to manipulate her father into adding the same drug in his syrup to their candy, surprisingly her father has been as of late; very hesitant about the idea.

So when Starrick seemed like he was losing interest and going to cut Aric lose, he offered Crawford Elliott's hand in marriage! Knowing full well Starrick was his dead wife's ex lover. And has seen the way the Templar's grand master has been eyeing his youngest daughter, Starrick and Aric wasted no time cutting a deal. Good thing they didn't take into account of Elliott's cunning wit and a pair of meddlesome twin assassin's being thrown into the mix.]]    

[writersblock2point0]

Twilight, Alec Love Story- Seeing Nightmares Chapter 1

Hello! I’ve actually got a lot written for this, and I found it while I was cleaning out my google docs! It’s about a young girl, Emberly, being taken and held against her will. Alec has been tasked with impregnating a young human girl so he can give Arg a gifted half breed. There will be major trigger warnings, later on, but for right now there isn’t really much to say. 

Prologue

Volterra, Italy

2016

“Brothers,” Aro’s dry but light voice broke the silence of the library, the two vampires sitting in large chairs turned their heads to him. “What do you think of the half breed?”

“The Cullen’s newest member?” Caius snarled, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Aro through his eyelashes. Aro hummed in response, turning the page in his book, but the two looking at him knew he wasn’t reading the words. “I think it’s disastrous, a threat to our kind.” Caius returned to his book, before pausing and shifted in his chair, narrowing his eyes at his coven mate. “Why?”

A sigh escaped Aro’s lips, another page was flipped. “You aren’t looking at the bigger picture here, brother.” A book slammed shut, and Aro lifted a brow and glanced at Caius who was leaned forward with a harsh stare.

“What bigger picture is there to see?”

“My my,” Aro stood from his seat, a devilish grin on his face. His book was set on the large wooden table, both eyes on him. “Think of it brother, that child has power from her father, Edward…”

“And?” Caius raised his eyebrow, his eyes flashed with amusement. “You want one? You? A child?” A light laugh left his chest.

“Not me, brother.” Aro shook his head, “No. Someone more capable and…” He turned around to look at his guards, “fitting.” Alec looked up into his master’s eyes, a bright red meeting a dulled scarlet. “Alec!” Aro practically sang, walking down the steps to one of his most prised members. Alec met him halfway, standing tall before his master, making Aro smirk as he lightly held Alec’s face with his hands. “Would you, be so kind and search for someone, who would make a fine and strong childbearing mother?”

Alec’s eyebrows furrowed, “For you?” Alec shook his head, “My apologies Master, but I am not sure I would pick what you prefer.”

Aro giggled, clapping his hands and spinning before peering back at Alec, a manic look in his red eyes. “No, my sweet child, for you.”

“Me?” Alec questioned, confusion written on his face.

“Find someone, bring her back here.” Aro said sternly, but kept his smile on his lips. “She will bare your child. Go.”

“Master.” Alec bowed before he was gone.

Present Time

Chapter 1

“Ciao Italia!” Ashley stated as she pulled her luggage behind her, Tessa walking on the other side of me as we left the airport. The sun beat down on the city of Pisa, and I couldn’t help but smile. Ashley’s been to Italy before, but only in San Marino. This time, she was guiding us to Volterra. She wanted to go to this festival, St. Marcus’s Day or whatever, and got us to come along for an early summer vacation.

Ashley had bleach blond hair, which fell in long wavy curls down her back. She was stick thin, wanting to be a model and all. Her blue eyes were the brightest I’ve ever seen, looking like a sparkling ocean. Her button nose held a cute diamond ring, no blemishes or imperfections were visible on her smooth skin. Ashley wore a floral print tank top, white shorts, and white sandals.

Tessa had black hair that was cut evenly all the way around, the ends reaching her shoulder blades. Her skin was dark, her eyes holding a deep rich caramel color to them. She was of hispanic background, so the dark complexion was an obvious give away to that. She was also thin, but her bust was larger than Ashley’s, and her long toned legs were from years of soccer. She had a large prominent nose, her face oval and but those are traits that made her stunning. She wore a baby blue dress with white flip flops, her perfect hair pulled into a bun.

Me, however, I was dressed in a pair of old jean shorts that rolled to the upper thigh. A plain red tank, a size too big, was tucked into my shorts and a white flannel was open and flapping in the soft breeze as I walked between my friends. I also wore a tan ball cap, my dirty brown hair separated into two french braids. My all white converse tapped on the pavement as I walked, looking at the ground as to not fall on my face.

“It’s just a short walk to the hotel.” Ashley stated, looking at the map she had on her phone. She popped a bubble, pink gum deflating slowly before she pulled it back into her mouth and worked her jaw.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

“I’m dying for a shower.” Tessa groaned, making me smile.

“I’m okay, but I’d like to get something other than peanuts in my system before eight thirty.” Ashley laughed, agreeing with me that the flights crappy food wasn’t all that filling. We got into our hotel and ordered room service, Tessa taking a quick shower to ‘wash the filth’ off her.  Tessa loved sports but hated sweating, often saying she showered twice a day. Ashley was laying on her bed, playing with her phone and chuckling every once in awhile, probably texting Daniel, her boy toy.

“You ready to party Em?”

I glanced up and saw Ashley smirking at me, Tessa behind her eating a few fries. I let my eyebrows raise up, “What?”

I groaned, my throat feeling like it was shredded to bits as I coughed, tasting the grossness of the espresso from last night. Yeah, party my butt. I held my head, the caffeine working it’s way around my brain, banging a sledgehammer behind my eyes. I screamed as my legs were tangled in my sheets and I fell, catching myself as I almost face planted on the floor.

“Damnit Em!” I felt the covers around my ankles tug, pulling my feet into the air.

“Morning to you too.” I mutter to Tessa who was hiding under a mass of blankets. I patted into the bathroom and shut the door, turning on the shower and quickly undressing, my eyes still barely open. When I was done, I dried myself off and walked out, dressed in a pair of black high waisted shorts, a dark grey shirt that was tied in a small knot at my hip to accent my curves. I put on my all black converse and looked at my hair, grumbling before throwing my towel in the hamper. A black choker clung to my neck, a small silver diamond shaped pendant dangled in the front, a green gem sitting in the middle.

“Oh no!” Ashley shook her head, “Heck no! Sit your ass down and let me do your hair!”

I chuckled and sat on the bed, hearing her crawl up and kneel behind me and start to part my hair. She was soon done and I had two small buns on the top of my head. I smiled and thanked her, but she told me to shut up and let her do my make up.

“Nothing too...flashy.” I said softly and let her do her magic. Soft peach colored eyeshadow, black winged eyeliner, mascara, and some contour and blush made me look perfect. I wasn’t vain, but I knew I wasn’t ugly. I liked how I looked, and I was fine with myself. Ashley also knows how to make someone look amazing with little makeup.

“Thanks girl.”

“We ready?” Tessa called from the bathroom, opening the door to show us her black tights, pink tank, and white sandals. She had in all her earrings, and she wore dark shadowed makeup, and pink lip gloss. Her hair was in a high ponytail, her hair straightened. Ashley was dressed in a neon pink shirt, white shorts, and her sandals as well. Her hair was french braided, a single braid swinging down her back until it reached her tailbone.

“Yes! Let’s go!” Ashley practically ran out of the room, making me shake my head as I made sure I had our room key, IDs, and money in my bag before following her and Tessa out. My camera was around my neck, the weight comfortable as I held it gently with one hand.

The festival was lovely, and the village of Volterra was gorgeous with history and the richness of european architecture. I was snapping picture after picture of everything. I wanted to snap some of the castle, but I didn’t know if we were allowed inside. The sun wasn’t out, the clouds covering the sky, but it was still warm and pleasant. I focused my camera on a hooded figure, as the person was positioned at the opening of a alley, their face covered by the black hood. He stood out from the other red hooded tourists and residents celebrating the St. Marcus’s Day. I snapped the picture, but paused when they looked directly at me. His eyes, from what I could see in my camera, were a bright red. Contacts? His skin was pale and almost chalk white, making his dark hair stick out from under his black hood. His lips were a natural light red color, his cheekbones high and defined. It was like seeing an angel, a beautiful statue staring right at you.

My finger snapped a photo and he was gone. I looked down, seeing the one with his face covered and the second one was a black blur. I sighed, knowing that whatever picture it was supposed to look like would have been amazing.

“Em!” I turned to see my friends, eating some ‘authentic’ food and smiling as Tessa practically inhaled hers. “Come on, we wanna go shopping.” I nodded and tagged alone, snapping a few fast shots, much to the annoyance of my companions. We stopped at a small little tourist spot, where the jewelry and clothing, and crappy trinkets were severely over priced for their value. I sighed and looked out the window, freezing when I see him again. This time, closer than before. He was there, right across the street, leaning against the brick wall, once again standing at the mouth of an alley. I could see his clothing this time. It almost looked like a uniform. A deep dirty maroon button up shirt, a thin black suit jacket unbuttoned, showing his slim torso. His pants were black, along with his belt and shoes. The cloak was black but red on the inside, the hood was down also. His hair was a deep chocolate brown, shaggy around the neck and ears and I could see how tall he was.

I met his stare, seeing the stoic but, dare if I say, playful gleam to those red eyes. His brows furrowed just a tad, making him look angry yet his body language told me he was relaxed, comfortable as he had his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. I felt heat rise to my neck and cheeks as his eyes fell, clearly checking me out before he pulled up his hood, starting to retreat back into the alley.

“Hey,” I gasped and flinched as Ashley and Tessa came out with bags. Both of them jumped when I did, scaring them as well. “Whoa! Dude, are you okay?” She asked, and I felt my heart hammer in my chest.

I smiled as I placed a hand to my chest, nodding. “Yeah, just startled me, that’s all.”

Tessa smiled, “Well, we wanted to drop these off and then look at the Volterra castle…”

I beamed, “Sounds great!”

There turns out, was an open tour for people and then a private tour that seemed to let people see more of the castle. I wasn’t interested in the private tour so we just agreed to do the normal one and then go eat. I was snapping some pictures, admiring the architecture of the place. I snapped a picture of the paintings on the ceiling when I turned down a hallway and gasped at the portraits of the royalty. One painting was of three men, two brunettes and a blonde. They were both pale in face, and had beautiful faces and seemed young yet old around the eyes. The eyes. Red. Though not bright like the boy from earlier, but these men had a deep and dull red that reminded me of wilted roses. Dead roses. I walked down the hall, snapping a picture of each painting before looking around.

Ashley and Tessa were conversing with a woman and her husband about us being from America. The conversation was in Italian, so I didn’t bother with paying attention. I nearly gasped as I saw him, once again, standing at the very end of the hall. His cloak was off, just leaving him in his uniform looking suit clothing.

I watched as he lifted a hand, beckoning me to come towards him with his finger. A slow smirk pulled his mouth to the right side of his face-or was it his left?-as I started to walk towards him. I got a few paintings down, almost thirty meters away from him before someone called out to me.

“Emberly?” I blinked, not seeing him at all at the end of the hall and turned to see Ashley and Tessa looking at me like I was a chicken with its head cut off. “Are you okay?” Tessa continued.

I blinked, nodding my head. “Yeah,” I smoothed out my shorts, my hands clammy and warm. “I’m fine...are you ready to eat?” I asked, sending them a fake but polite smile. Ashley nodded, hooking her arm in mine, Tessa doing the same to my right arm, before leading us out of the castle quickly. We ate at a small restaurant. Tessa got some weird chicken dinner, Ashley a salad, and I got some pasta.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Ashley asked, brushing out her hair as she looked at me. Tessa decided to sleep with her, claiming she wouldn’t steal the covers like I did. I smiled at her, a book in my lap as I sat by the bedside lamp, reading an older book I loved as a kid. The Clockwork Angel.

“I’m completely fine, I promise you.” I send her a smile, turning back to my novel and reading. The two crawled into bed, their side of the room was dark but mine was simply lit for my book. It wasn’t long before the tv lulled them to sleep, and I closed my book, slowly crawling out of my covers and grabbing my camera.

I walk out to our balcony, the moon lighting up the sky, along with the city lights. I place my camera strap around my neck, leaning my elbows on the railing and flick through my photos. I stopped when I made it to the ones of that boy. Now that I went back and actually took the time to look at the photo of his face covered. Only I now saw that the only thing I couldn’t see was his eyes, forehead, and his jaw. It was impossible to make out his features, or actually stare at him. I sighed and looked up at the stars, seeing very few out tonight. I let my eyes fall, but I jumped back when I saw him. He was across the street, standing on the roof of whatever building was directly across from the hotel.

My mouth fell open as he tilted his head to the side, and I slowly brought my camera to my eyes, focusing close on his face. My camera caught the detail, and he stood still, almost posing for the picture as my camera silently took a photo...or two. Okay, maybe three. I dropped my camera, letting it dangle at my stomach and backed away. Furrowing my brow when I saw him step onto the ledge, I paused in the doorway, wondering if he would jump.

“Oh don’t be silly,” I shook my head and muttered to myself. “Just your imagination.” I left the door open, liking the feel of the breeze as I crawled into bed. Turning off the light and setting my camera on the table, I laid on my side, facing the door to the balcony. My bed was the one right next to it, and I felt my eyes start to droop, sleep pulling me in.

“Wakey, wakey…” I moaned, turning in my sleep. “Emberly…”

“What?” I whined, wincing at the bright light of the morning. I pulled the blanket over my head, hiding my face from my friends.

“We want breakfast!” Tessa sang softly, making me huff.

“I’m not hungry.” I mumbled, my voice muffled by the covers. “Can I stay here?”

“Well we planned to go shopping after words…” Ashley trailed off and I pulled the covers off.

“You know I don’t enjoy those types of things, I’ll just be a party pooper.” I shrugged, and they give me smiles.

“You sure?”

I nodded, “Yup.” I watched as they gathered their things and hurried out, sending me air kisses and waves. I laughed, shaking my head at their antics before sighing, looking over at the balcony to see the door was closed. I frowned, I left that open last night. Hmm, maybe one of the girls closed it. I shrugged and got up, walking to the bathroom and peeing, brushing my teeth and throwing my hair up into a small bun. It was a little chilly today, and seemed like it might rain. I pulled on a pair of skinny jeans, my black converse, and a deep grey sweater that fell off one shoulder, exposing a black tank top.

I didn’t bother with makeup, ignoring the bags under my eyes. I turned on the tv, but it was in Italian so I couldn’t understand it. I flipped it off and fell back on the bed, rubbing my eyes. I sighed when my stomach growled, I wasn’t hungry like twenty minutes ago. I stood up and looked for my wallet with my ID and money inside, but I couldn’t find it. I had it laying on the bedside table, beside my camera...but that wasn’t there either. I rubbed my face, maybe the girls took it?

I grabbed my phone and the extra room key and made my way out, sending them a text asking where they were at.

They were at a small little breakfast place that served coffee and bagels and stuff. It sounded good, so I made my way down there. It seemed to be about a ten minute walk. Maybe fifteen if I get lost. I stopped and waited for traffic, the sun hidden from the dark stormy clouds. It thundered, making me jump and turn to look up. A drop fell on my face. I muttered curses under my breath and run to take shelter under a small ledge in an alley, pressing myself against the brick wall to stay dry. It was pouring down rain, water running down the sidewalk into a drain, carrying small pieces of dirt or rocks.

“Are you alright?” I jumped, chuckling as I pressed a hand to my chest.

“Yeah I just-” I stopped when I looked into deep red eyes, my body freezing in shock as he leaned in closer, a smirk on his face as his hood blocked his face from the rain. “You…” I breathed, making him chuckle, and I gasped as his gloved fingers traced a line up my collar bone, along my jugular, and gripped my chin and forcing me to look to the right.

He pressed his face in my neck, his nose and lips brushing my skin softly. I heard him inhale deeply.

“You’ll do just fine.”

[stone-man-warrior]

December 29, 2020: 5:53 pm:

I just returned from a shopping trip to Dystopia in Grants Pass Oregon where the conditions are Socio-Terrific.

I went to:

6th St. Market

Walmart

As I left the house, opened the door and stepped outside, four deer were there, the usual suspects, they want some tortilla’s, but the ones I have are poisoned, so, no tortillas were handed out. “Sorry, I don’t have anything right now for you guys”... I lit my lighter, slowly stepped over towards the car, as I did, I noticed that the deer are in some kind of distress, I don‘t know what the problem is, but the deer are behaving as if they are concerned about a Lion nearby, as if they want me to let them come into the house. They moved away nervously, as they did, a strange and scratchy, rough sounding coughing sort of loud sound was heard in the woods behind 520 at the bottom of the creek bed there. I walked over there, but that part of the creek bottom is about 15 feet lower than the surrounding area, so, from my fence line, I am never able to see who is hiding down in that draw area. The scratchy cough sound stopped as I reached the fence, there was nothing there that I could see.

In the car, to the gate, I saw that the vehicle that is parked at the Offensive Monroe Surveillance Travel Trailer is a rust/copper colored stolen new model of a Toyota Tacoma, or, is a GMC Canyon pick-up truck. They have had that one for about one year there at Monroe’s, cars change-out there at a rapid rate, same as at Clyde Baum’s terror cell, cars and trucks seem to be drawn there magnetically, and stay, new-ish and very expensive ones. There is a white tarp over top of the Monroe Trailer now, to mimic the trailer that is at Chapman’s County Courts terror cell, which always has a white tarp over it, for the past ten years. The tarp at Monroe Offensive Trailer is arranged as a porch patio cover over the steps at the entrance to the trailer with one central support making a ridge sort of arrangement with the tarp. I opened the gate to get on my way, and there was Sandy Monroe, about ten feet away, on the Monroe side of the fence, at the place where the yard waste and brush clearing has been done to remove a patch of bamboo reed grass, and that really cleared away much of what little privacy remains between my yard and Monroe’s yard, while at the same time, is another one of those tall heaps of brush that Monroe’s are famous for, are used as a place to hide behind, and that is what she was doing, tucked and squatting, behind a tall heap of brush, near the cleared away area, at the yard waste fire, by the pond at Monroe’s.

She was crouched into a ball, head down, hair all wet as if she had been out there in the drizzle for many hours, wearing a maroon colored coat, looking as if in distress.... but I know better than that. It was “Save the Princess” set-up. The next part for that was along the road, as I left, someone driving that black Honda with the dent on the rear fender was coming towards me in hurry as I drove on my way down Jackpine. That person is supposed to be a 17 year old boy, but the driver looked more like the leader at Bad Guy Auto terror cell at the corner of Russell Rd and Three Pines Rd, a Google sponsored terror cell disguised as a neighborhood auto mechanic.

I don‘t know what was supposed to happen, but whoever was in the creek making those scratchy coughing sounds was part of it, so was Sandy, and the driver of the small black Honda. It was a set-up for something that did not happen. There is a creek there by my gate too, goes under the driveway through a culvert, it’s dry right now, as are all of the creeks in and around here, they are season run-off creeks, no water in them yet. So, when I saw Sandy crouched there, in the trees by the creek, naturally, the only thing to do, is sing!

“... in a tree by the brook, there’s a songbird who sings, ‘sometimes all of our thought’s are miss-given’... and it makes me wonder...”

I got on my way, avoided the “Chartrand Bad Google Guy Auto”, and proceeded to the freeway.

I noticed that at Chartrand’s, there is a new Electric Power Sub-Panel installed along with new water spigot there, at a place where no electronic operated things are near in a large dog kennel enclosure. It’s all underground water pipe and electric panel stub-out to a substantial sub-panel that seems to operate nothing other than the water spigot, witch looks like any other hand operated water spigot. It’s a Pac-Pow mystery.

Today, I pretty much disregarded all of the Three Dimensional terror comm that was present on the route to the store.

“My head is humming and it won‘t go, in case you don‘t know”

... with exception of one Big-Rig truck & trailer with the words: “Royal Package Transport” on the trailer, big lettering, can‘t miss that one.

At 6th Street Market was the next part of the Monroe/Google “Save the Princess” terror play. There was a Grants Pass Police Ford Explorer Police Interceptor there parked out front of 6th Street Market. Two Grants Pass SAG Police Actors were out front, standing in the parking lot in full uniform, black. One of them was wearing a Corona/COVID Mask, black. That is how I know from a hundred feet away that they are SAG Actors portraying City Police, serving as real police, in a town where there are no real police.... hence, “Socio-Terrific Conditions”.

I just ignored them, as if to switch the channel on the TV.

I parked, walked past the Police Interceptor, waved at the onboard Dash Cam, and went inside the store, got my things. The clerk is the Hot Chick that I wonder if she is single and available, she flirted with me, said: “Today is my Friday”, so, naturally the only response on a Tuesday is: “You get the Hump Weekend then?” She agreed, acknowledged, indeed it is the “Hump Weekend”.

The clerk gal is also one of the one’s who tosses a handful of glass dust into my eyes from time to time.

The police officer came into the store just then, and advised the “Hump Clerk” that the person who was of interest, is gone, or otherwise had been dealt with. I asked “why are police here?”, she said: “They just needed to take someone out is all”,  I replied: “You make it sound so permanent”, she acknowledged somehow about permanence of the situation, she went on to repeat twice that someone had been in the 6th Street Market bothering her, and that she usually would handle that on her own, but, since it’s her Friday, she does not want to do that today, on Tuesday/Friday.

There was a number of “the people who drive around doing the same exact thing everyday”, one of them was a Jeep that is in tow on 6th St., with a rope or chain on 6th St, as they drive past the two police in the parking at the market, who look at them, then look the other way.

I went to Walmart, where at the parking lot entrance where a group of people, about 8 or 9 people all arranged there the same way Christmas Carolers stand all in a crescent shape. I did not hear any singing, and there was a Santa representative character among them, and two people playing role of the audience, as you enter the parking lot.

At Walmart, the Big Foghorn in the Sky sort of guided me in to the parking spot where it wants me to park, where a man walked by as I got out of my car, and commented about the way I got out of the car, “it’s easy to get into the car, but it just keeps getting harder, and harder to get out as time goes by”. “Yeah” I said, I could use a taller car, or a ladder to get out of this low one.”

I went towards the front of the store. Immediately I noticed that the “Circus” conditions were less evident at the entrance. The usual ropes, barriers, stuff they use to make a entrance lane, was reduced to one sign on a stand, and one trash can out by the front main entrance as you go in, outside of the store. The “In/Out divider is still there once you go through the front door.

“Tablet Man” was not there!

There was only one Walmart Vested person that I recall at the entrance today, who selected a shopping cart for me, and made a signal in the form of when the Christian people touch their chest on each side, then their belly and chin. I don‘t know what that is called, but he did that as he rolled the cart towards me.

There was someone handing out n-95 style masks at the entrance, but I did not see where that person was at, only saw some people who had just been given a mask to wear, the associate must have been around the corner where the video games are at in that front narrow hallway. That side door that leads to that hallway did not have the usual signage out front saying that it’s for store associates only.

Inside the store: GREEN

Green on the packaging, on much of the items, boxes, lots of green.

I am a red marble in all green collection at Walmart.

Totally out of place.

Today was a different kind of Walmart experience, I can’t really pin-point why it was any different, other than the offensive behavior is reduced. I did not feel entirely scared out of mind as I shopped on today’s visit, so, a lot of nitrous gas is probably why I felt that false sense of security there. I lit my lighter a lot, but did not see any ceiling tiles fall, or people flying to other departments today.

=======================

That colorful Walmart logo is worthy of some discussion.

Look at it. I see a clock. On the real vests at the store, I see a clock that has a 12 and a 6. I see a:

12:00 = Orange

2:00 = Light Blue

4:00 = Yellow

6:00 = Pink

8:00= Dark Blue

10:00 = Green

================================================

12-30-2020: 12:51 am:

I am a poor judge of time:

I made some necessary adjustments to the Walmart Color Clock, I had miss-labeled it, for the record as follows: 12:00; 2:30; 4:30; 6:00; 7:30; 9:30. Upon closer inspection, the thing is “Two-Hour Clock”, not a “30 Clock”, so, I have to go make the changes where I mislabeled the “Walmart 2 Hour Color Clock” throughout this entry here as a “30 Clock”. Sorry about the confusion. The newly discovered “Two-Hours” changes everything I was thinking about it before seeing the mistake. So, note to self: This entry was written while thinking the clock was at the marks mentioned at the 30 minute intervals. Some of what is written here will not apply because of that oversight.

================================================

(the color of that example is slightly different than the colors on the actual vests at the store)

If I had to use that Walmart clock to say what time it is today, then, it’s 10:00, (edit from 9:30 correction) today at Walmart.

(When I left the store, the sky was beautiful, there were some scattered clouds and the Sun had set behind the coastal mountains to the west, there was a reflection of orange on the bottoms of the clouds, and the most beautiful orange pillar of light that was reflecting in a way I don‘t recall having seen before. The thing I saw in the sky in the distant west looked a lot like that orange 12 on the Walmart logo... I had been thinking about that logo while in the store, made some assessments about the “Two-Hour Clock”, and then when I got onto the freeway, that pillar of light was there, like nothing I have ever seen in the sky before that I can recall. Amazing. Maybe others saw what I saw. Like a one color orange vertical rainbow post, holding up and supporting the entire sky with a delicate balance to carry all of that weight of all of those orange bottomed clouds)

On my way home, I was thinking about people who are held captive. There were so many of the regular fake shoppers who are always there. The woman who wears a giant grey sweat shirt with matching grey leotard pants and a white purse who is always at the soda aisle when I get to where the potato salad is in the “Coffin“ floor freezer near the dairy area was there, as she is so often.

There was the tall man with the shoulder length blonde hair who stairs at the ceiling as I pass by at the coffee aisle near the tortilla rack where frozen chicken is at, and the old woman who seems to block the access to the eggs just at the time I want to get some, and many other of the “Usual Suspects” of fake shoppers were there as they always are.

So, without complicating this any more than it already is, I am just going to say that today, the notion that so many of these people could be slave victims forced to do what they are doing at the Walmart, was overwhelming. One assessment is that perhaps, when SAG summons a Canadian to Grants Pass to play role of a murdered US Citizen, those people may be told some other thing about why they were selected to go live in Oregon. Whatever they may have been told, is not necessary to see that many seem to be here on false pretenses. There also is that absolute knowledge I have about the US Citizens who are held in weird captivity, is not in jail, but, is more like a dog in a kennel, has some room to move around, not much, and are kept on a short leash when they “go for a walk”. So,  also, I already know of the heroin that is used to control people, they are forced to do murder, the murder they do is horrible, they have no choices, “Big Terror” is in control of everything. The people who are forced to do what they do, can‘t sleep, cannot cope with the reality of it, so, they eventually take the heroin that is either offered, or is forced on them, so that they can cope, and get some sleep, and continue to murder, and traffic, as they are told to do by “Big Terror”. Like I said, it’s weird captivity. So, I am told that just one injection of heroin is like a lifetime of addiction to it, if you do some once, you will forever be searching for how to get more heroin is the way it was told to me. And that is how the people are controlled to do as they are told. There is more control circumstance to the heroin, it serves the “Big Terror” to have a lot of women who are addicted to the heroin, so that the “Big Terror” can have their way with the heroin addicted women sexually, women, girls, boys, who have no choices but to take the heroin, to serve the desires of the “Big Terror”.

It’s all fucked up.

Small girls, young boys, men & women, old and young, black, white, or brown, all wacked on heroin, but “wacked up-side the head with heroin”, so they will murder and do whatever sexual favors their captors demand from them. Since the terror take-over is at the scale that it is, where all of the commerce is controlled and completely saturated that way throughout the state, those people have no way to earn a living without working for

a terror controlled “employer”. There are no employers anymore, that all changed, to “terror leaders”, “terror generals”.

I don’t know how to differentiate a US Citizen held captive, from a Canadian trained terror soldier pretending to be a US Citizen held captive.

That is a tough one.

Three kinds of terror soldiers that are in existence:

Trained Canadian SDA.

Canadian’s, non trained, summoned to Oregon.

US Citizens. Held captive, do the most dangerous terror activity, are “disposable”.

Maybe there are other kinds of labels, other ways of sorting people out, I can see that for a simple way to describe terror soldiers, those are three kinds that I can see exist here in Oregon.

SAG Members

British Authority

Vatican Authority

Are three simplified ways of describing the captors of the others.

It’s a complicated mess though, “simple” can only go so far for solving the problems.

Problem:

I say: “Those who control the heroin, also control the terror army”. There is more than one way to control the heroin, I wrote that down in more detail before. So, some of what I am seeing today at Walmart, boils down to “Save the Princess” where there is a big act going on to make me, or others, feel sorry for murderers who use heroin to cope.... “Don‘t take my heroin, don‘t get my heroin dirty, I’ll get sick”. Is another way I see things developing. If helpful people came, and were roped into a “Puppy Dog Eyes” situation where the Puppy turns out to be a “Welsh Dragon with Big Teeth and breaths Fire”, that could work out bad for people who have been fooled, by a man with a Pointy Hat, and a Dog Whistle who lives on a island called The Vatican... the mother of all Hokus Pokus.

A delicate balance. That pillar of orange light, could have been an illusion put into the sky by the Vatican. They have more money than God can print, and technology hijacked from around the world, at the highest levels of complexity, and power. I think it’s possible it was all an illusion in the sky.

Even if had some good answers to solve the problems, there is no one who will speak to me. I have not had a meaningful conversation with another human being in more than ten years.

So, I use social media, until they delete the social media where I write.

====================

9:09 pm:

That colorful Walmart Logo needs more decoding work done on it.

That one I found online to demonstrate it may be different slightly to the one’s worn by the Walmart associates. That one shows a Red indicator at the 12 clock position. I saw Orange when I was there, on the vests. My memory could be better, so, I am not certain the the light blue and dark blue are arranged on the vests the same as that one I posted. Why are there two shades of blue if not for confusion service? The blue ones may have spun, or flipped sides from what is on the vests at the store. If only the blue colors changed if necessary (alternate vests at the store per specific condition) that is a binary “yes or no” at minimum. Maybe there are a number of colored vest options that arrange the color “effect peddles” in a variety of ways. It would not be something that is easily noticed as long as all of the colored vests worn on a given day remain the same on all of the associates who wear one. There may be in existence vests with the colors flip flopped in every way possible. That is a lot of potential secret communication out in the open, difficult to spot, says a lot, with a little, quietly. I see that there is red on the example I found, where Orange is at on the real vest at the store today, and I cannot guarantee that the two shades of blue are not reversed between the example and the real vests at the store today. That color logo is also mounted large on the wall above the Walmart front service counter, so, that may also prove to change stealthily, simply because it looks so permanent is why that would work so well to fool investigative people.

Those Walmart color logo’s may be part of the Pope’s Effect Peddle Board on the 1958 Flying V Guitar Rig.

============

9:30 pm:

I want to advise of the danger of relying on a computer for making decisions that are based on a hue, or shade of color. My computer is different than yours. The printing industry knows all about that problem, so, those who do graphic art destined for a printed physical substrate, spend a lot of money on special software that defines the colors perfectly, however, the output from the computer is destined for a printed substrate, not someone else's computer. I don‘t think it’s possible to guarantee that every one will see the exact same color when viewed on a computer, unless everyone crowds around the same computer to look at the color, because even with the professional software, the screen has brightness, contrast, hue, saturation settings that are always going to be set differently from one screen to the next, and the screens themselves are different, even if they are the exact same model.

When lives depend on what color is showing, only one source of the color is going to keep people alive, printed substrates may be an exception, if every one involved is provided printed material from the same run, on the same press, on the same day, and every one agrees about what they are looking at.

=================

9:53 pm: Something tells me I walked right into the color trap.

I’ll wager that some of why the color is so prevalent at Walmart today is not about color, is about Registration, at DMV, not a printing press.

(the bastards are still changing the words I write, installing a lot of “The” into the things I write, not from my home, but at Google, or at Tumblr, or at Centurlylink ISP... somewhere that has access to making such changes to the text remotely.

=============================================

12-30-2020: 1:08 am:

Walmart Clock Re-Assessment:

After I discovered I was seeing the clock incorrectly, and made necessary adjustments, I have have come to conclusion the all of what I wrote about color is not accurate, is not the main use of the logo. I see that it’s a “Two-Hour Clock”. The significance being that most things a person must do, or gets engaged in completing will take a minimum of about Two-Hours. Even small tasks will take at least two-hours to clear your mind of the task, and move on to the next task. There is a “Two-Hour per task” Idea going on at Walmart, is etched into the Logo. There is a Yellow Version, and a Color Version of the “Two-Hour Clock”. That is indicative that the Walmart Management, and the “Walmart Terror Army Color Guard” are equal to that extent, that increments of Two-Hours are important in some way, at Walmart.

It could work out that the terror slave population are required to serve a “Two-Hour Gas & Kill Work Shift” at the Walmart while posing as fake shoppers. Since I see the same people there, doing and saying the same exact thing there, and interacting with others the exact same way, at the Walmart, my conclusion is that the “Two-Hour Shift” is done in groups of people. A platoon of terror slaves, or terror soldiers, I don‘t know exactly how to describe the people, sometimes they seem as soldiers, sometimes they seem as terror slaves who must participate.

If they work in groups, or platoons the way it seems, in “Two-Hour Gas & Kill Shifts”, then, they must be housed also as a group, or, held in more restricting captivity than I previously have considered. That would help to explain the presence of “The Hell Hole” that is at the Walmart, beneath the Walmart somewhere in the tunnels that are burrowed throughout the city.

There is a place that is called “The Hell Hole”. To my knowledge, there is a entrance at where the Hardware Department meets the Electronics Department in the floor, beneath the shelving that exists at the place between departments, as I have explained here many times. There is another at the outdoor garden department, southwest corner of the building area. There are others too. There is a entrance to the tunnels at the Josephine County Sheriff’s Office, on F Street behind the Walmart. There are more entrances at Fred Meyer’s. Many entrances, all of the ones I am aware of are explained on this account somewhere.

JD’s Sportsbar

Somewhere near the old Greyhound bus terminal at F St & Agness Ave. (the bus stop is gone, the entrance remains)

Southern Oregon Dental on Union Ave.

In the men’s restroom beneath the bleachers at the Fairgrounds.

Fred Meyer Garden Department

“The Old Theater” (is empty building) on 6th Street at Midland Ave. and at address marked 1501 at the same corner diagonally w/red roof small building.

Those are the ones i recall right now.

The groups of Two-Hour soldiers could be held in the Youth Correctional Facility next to the jail. There is certainly going to be many entrances to the Grants Pass Tunnels system of terror tunnels there, and many others throughout the city, including the Asante Hospital and Cartwright’s Butcher Shop at the end of Union ave near the hospital. There are underground rooms beneath the Department of Motor Vehicles on Beacon Ave. specifically, beneath the Cartwright’s Sandwich Shop in that strip mall where DMV is at.

Many underground places, Elon Musk style Boring Company Machines were used, I saw them, one popped out of the ground during road construction on F street in 2009 at the place where the Greyhound Bus Terminal used to be, I saw it, it was big, and pointy, and could drill big holes in the ground.

So, re-assessment is much worse than the other assessment. But is easier to comprehend, and explain than color problems.

---

12-30-2020: 3:22 am:

There was a time I am recalling from long ago, when I learned that when people were called into court hearing in Josephine County, no matter what for, by the end of the hearing the people are given a “Color” and instructed they must call phone number every day at a specified time. The number was a recording that simply repeated a color, if the color on recording was the same as the color you were given, you are supposed to go somewhere to check with someone. I was given such a color and phone number, but I knew it was Bullshit, I am US Citizen, not Canadian terror soldier, we don‘t do “Call The Color Just Because Some Asshole Said So” in USA. We do it different. So, I remember calling, and hearing that the color was said, but I did not know where to go check in with someone, so, that was it, it was bullshit, I did not participate in the bullshit. So, I don‘t know much more. I do know of others who had to call, I dated some women who had to call, they had to go somewhere if the color was mentioned. I am pretty sure that some of the women I dated, called the number, went to check in, and were told that I was the mark, so, that is the reason that I wound up dating the women, they were instructed to make themselves available to do the take-out, but, were all unsuccessful. Maybe, since I have been such a pain in the ass to the County Courts, by saying so much truth, they just tossed some women at me, to keep me occupied, and learn personal information. I dated some very strange women, many very offensive ones, and at least two certifiably crazy women, Lynsi Snyder, owner of In & Out Burger, was one of the craziest people I have ever met, not fun crazy, scary crazy, So, that color Walmart Clock might be extension of what the courts started so long ago with making people call in for duty, the color Walmart Clock has not been around for as long as that other court mandated phone-in that they used to do, might still do.

=============================================

10:37 pm:

That orange reflection in the western sky... that was my Son, showing me a great big Louisville Slugger, for the home-run. The orange bottomed clouds is the place where my daughter came by, put some Windex, to clear the scene from the terra-cotta dirty pots.

Thank you. I need all the help I can get.

====================

11:00 pm:

Also when I left in the car today I had a quick look at that place under the deck of that other incomplete house i started to build so long ago, where the terror soldiers hide for a chance to shoot me with a cross-bow, or to sneak from there to inside the house where I live after I go by there on the walk to the mail. Everything looked the way I had left it. Then when I came home from the store, I could see that someone had gone under the house there again, things were out of place beneath that deck. I went out just now and had a look at that, I can see that someone has spent a lot of time under that deck, there are some things under there that have all been moved around, some room made where I can see that someone was getting comfortable while hiding beneath the house, and someone had been under there between the time I went to Walmart and came home.

I suspect that Sandy Monroe will be said to be “The Homeless Person“ who everyone seems to think I am, there is a story being told by local authorities that there is a “Bum” around here stealing everyone’s mail, and eggs from chicken coups. I am often accused of being that person, but there is no such homeless person, it’s all a manufactured story that serves the needs of the terror army, so, it could work out where Sandy Monroe gets sacrificed, is picked up by federal people. She would tell whatever story that needs to be told, then, the “County Services” could get involved with her “Care”, while at the same time that kind of an event could be used to turn an enormous terror take-over into a story about a homeless woman who stole some eggs to stay alive in harsh weather while taking shelter where she could, such as beneath the deck on that unfinished house. Then, of course the federal people would all celebrate about a job well done, and Sandy could just sit it out for awhile with her terror cell associates at the county courts, given a temporary housing, until the federal people go home, or are killed at their academy awards Back Patting session about a job well done. It’s happened before the same way. Sandy always comes back, to the house she and Jeff Monroe stole from me, with help from the county courts. That house at 434 belongs to me, It was willed to me, along with the house at 520 Jackpine, by James Nicolas Watson, a friend who was killed by the terror army about ten years ago. Watson owned both 434 and 520, I was the heir to them in his will. The courts took control of the probate, or however that was done, I don‘t have all of the details, I just know Christopher Mecca did the necessary legal paperwork to satisfy the illusion of a legal transfer of property to Monroe’s. At 520, the same thing happened, but it was Nathan & Naomi Phillips who gained the 520 property. I learned later that Nathan Phillips was sent direct from the Vatican to take control, make a false friendship, to kill me over these reports here and at Google+ where the reports were at the time.

So, for the federal fools.... don‘t be fooled again.

They will use Sandy. I suspect that she was rounded up today, taken away somewhere into the “county services”.

===============

12-30-2020: 2:00 am:

Also while at the Walmart as I was parking, I saw what looked like a Beachcraft King Air Twin Turbo Prop fly over the Walmart parking at above 1,500 feet where it’s supposed to be, and head for Grants Pass Municipal Air Port, I think it was about 3:00 pm. The Beachcraft is bad news.

That is both unusual, and is a signal to terror soldiers about some alerting condition of some kind.

That flew overhead, then, there was a woman wearing the “Air Support Signature Red & Black checkered colors who was there in the parking within about three minutes of the Beachcraft flyover. She was blonde, about 50 years old, was loading groceries into a white pick-up truck or white SUV, I forget, was big and white. So, that with the airplane is a lot, seems like it’s not, bit those who know how to read her motions would know what the pilot said to her as he flew overhead.

Combined with other unusual activity I observed at the same instant the Beachcraft flew over, when the “Community Watch” Walmart Parking Security drove behind the Grocery Outlet. That also is alarm system terror style, just that he went into the back parking at Grocery Outlet.

There is something going down in the neighborhood. The police at 6th Street Market is another part of the same alarming conditions.

Please send help to Oregon.

Please send US Military, there is no more national guard here.

Please send medical services.

Bring your own hospital.

==================================

Alert Reminder!

The terror army protects their underground places with Mustard Gas!

There are usually coded signs that say where Mustard Gas is used for Terror Protection, is used for keeping investigative people out of their underground places.

You may see creative means to signal such places, I know of the use of “Grey Poupon Mustard Bottle” left at a place where such a bottle is out of place, such as with the condiments at a coffee table in a lobby waiting area, it’s just there with the sugar packets, and creamer packets where complimentary coffee is offered. I suspect other brands of Mustard would also suffice to say the same thing. So far, I only know of one such place, in Medford at former office of Dr. Brett Quave corner of Siskiyou Blvd & Murphy Ave. where there is a airtight glass enclosure for the staff if the gas is deployed in the office, however, that information is from 2012, may have changed, but the underground place remains beneath the entire neighborhood, houses built on top of experimental surgery center. Is explained in more detail throughout this account, with maps. Is very dangerous even to do Google Search of that area. So, be careful of Mustard and other poison gasses, especially in tunnels in Oregon.

Oregon Health Science University is the same as the place in Medford, goes nine floors below ground under the Veterans Admin, Hospital there. I have personally been down there, it’s not pretty. Might also be protected with Mustard gas or other offensive poisons.

=========================================

12-30-2020: 4:18 am:

I am happy to be alive after the Walmart excursion. I waited nearly a month to go somewhere in my car in my car, I think... I waited until I could no longer wait, and It’s more dangerous to go somewhere on weekend than during the week, so, timing is important to add to that “Survival as a Red Marble” bit I wrote about. I am pretty sure that the term: “Weekend Warrior” really is a “Soldier of War” idea, not just someone doing a patio cover project.

If the nsa were to investigate these reports, they might end up at the local stores, so, I have some connecting dots from In & Out Burger, to Winco Foods. Both of those places are relatively new to Grants Pass, they both did the same strange technique when the construction began at the buildings. Unbelievably, they both used a full size, inflatable building to place at the construction site, filled it up with air, like a Bouncy-House style, the inflatable buildings looked almost exactly like the real buildings do after the construction. It allowed that the finished product could be seen in place, moved around, placed exactly the way the wanted it to be before the construction began. Adjustments a little bit this way or that way, with driveway and access considerations all dialed in before any lumber is dropped or cement work done. For a big company planning many of the exact same buildings, I can see that such a method could save a lot of headaches later on, and prevent any kind of “Hindsight is 2020″ from happening later on.

It’s 2020 now. For about 43 1/2 more hours it looks like.

“Hindsight is 2020″ could be why they did that.

The balloon buildings have a Richard Branson sort of feeling happening with them.

Place it, move, adjust it, move over, move it back.... a little more.... nail it! That’s where it goes, right there, and you can see ahead of time how it looks and blends in with the surroundings before hand. So, both In & Out Burger and Winco Foods did the same thing, used the “air building” to get it right the first time, no do-overs required, ever, that way. They moved the Winco air building around more than a hundred feet in all directions it looked like to me before settling on the final placement.

They took the air building away, and built what stands there now. It’s notable that Winco Foods waited more than one year to erect the finished building after floating the air building at the sight where Winco Foods is at across from Walmart. The In & Out Burger did not wait, the cleared the Shell Station away, set up the air building, took that away, and began construction within a short time, maybe the same month.

Both are killing fields is why I mention it. Same as Walmart.

[snarkystjames]

Yay, Friendship! || St. Smythe

Date: November 30th, 2017. Night.

Location: Dalton Academy & A Nightclub.

Starring: Jesse St. James & Sebastian Smythe ( @asksmythesebastian)

Notes: Jesse and Sebastian go out for a little contest at a nightclub which ends in the beginning of a new friendship.

Warnings: underaged drinking

Jesse was looking forward to a night out with a new friend. Even if that friend was a few years younger than him, age was no issue when it came to having some harmless fun. He parked his sedan in the Dalton Academy parking lot, texting Sebastian on where he should meet him since he'd never been there before. "Hey, there you are," he greeted Sebastian once the teenager came into view. "You ready to party?"

Sebastian checked his reflection in his phone to make sure his hair was perfect before slipping it back into his pocket, coming over to Jesse. "Always." He grinned, zipping up his jacket. "Should I call a cab? I'm not really planning on drinking too much, I could always drive your car back, if you are, though."

Jesse shrugged his shoulders, unsure of how the night would play out considering it hadn't even started yet. "Get a cab; who knows how sloshed we'll get tonight." He replied, already thinking in his head what he would get to drink first.

Sebastian nodded, pulling his phone back out and ordering an Uber. "Okay, fair enough." He looked over at Jesse. "I have a boyfriend, though. So no funny business."

Jesse laughed. "Don't worry, hot shot. I have my eyes set on one girl in particular right now. But boy, do I feel sorry for the gay suitors at whatever bar we're going to." When the Uber arrived, the two got inside. "What kind of bar are we going to, anyway?"

Sebastian nodded, sliding in after Jesse and shutting the door behind them, giving the driver the name of the club. "It's more of a nightclub. Just a normal one. But it's near a gay neighborhood, so, I figured I'd still have a good chance. Either way, my looks will give me an advantage."

Jesse's expression brightened at the mention of a nightclub. He was bisexual so suitors of all shapes and sizes was more appealing than just one type of people. "Uh, but have you seen me?" With a coy grin, Jesse ran a hand through his hair before clicking his tongue and pointing a finger-pistol in Sebastian's direction. "All the guys and girls swoon for St. James."

Sebastian couldn't help but check Jesse out a little, cursing himself after he did. Damn. This might actually be a little bit of a challenge. He shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I can speak French. It's sexy."

Jesse felt a little threatened. He didn't know this guy was bilingual-- sometimes Jesse had trouble with some English words as it were. "O-oh, yeah?" he asked, trying to put on a bravado to hide the fact that he was a little intimidated. "And what are you going to say to the guys to get them to buy you drinks?"

Sebastian moved closer, whispering in a husky voice, speaking in French. "It doesn't matter. Not when I look this good." He smirked, wetting his lips and glancing up at Jesse.

Jesse listened intently, the smooth-sounding foreign language and direct eye contact causing the older man to swallow thickly. Goddamn. He had no idea what Sebastian had just said but it was awfully attractive. "O-okay, so you have a few tricks up your sleeve. Whatever." He brushed it off and continued to play coy, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sebastian winked and sat back in his seat, satisfied. "Told you. I'm more than a pretty face. Not like it'll matter to the idiots at the club."

Jesse smirked despite the feeling of defeat washing over him for having let himself basically admit Sebastian was smooth. "Please, Ohio's full of idiots that've probably never heard a word of French in their lives. You could ask them where the bathroom was and they'll think you're flirting with them." Maybe after this Jesse would try to pick up a second language to impress Rachel.

Sebastian nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Exactly. It's easy. You better start making a plan, because I want to have a least a little bit of a challenge."

Jesse scoffed at Sebastian's confidence. "Oh, I think despite your French-speaking ways, it'll be more than just a challenge." When the two of them arrived at the nightclub, Jesse got out and looked up at the neon signs outside. It was a bar he didn't recognize but just glancing at the few people walking in, it seemed like a popular spot for people his age. "You know a lot of girls really love even just hanging out with a winner-- telling them I'm a four-time national champion does wonders for my game."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, following Jesse. "Oh yeah, I'm sure show choir just gets them soaked." He cut the line, going up the front and slipping the bouncer a bill, gesturing to Jesse and leading them both inside.

Jesse let Sebastian lead, raising his brows in mixed surprise and approval as they cut the line to get straight into the club. "In a podunk state like Ohio, you'd be surprised," he replied, heading straight to the bar. "I need a drink in me before we start this little contest." He waved the bartender down and ordered himself a shot. "You want something? First round's on me."

Sebastian sat beside him, raising an eyebrow. "Does that count as a point?" He shrugged, ordering a whiskey while making sexy eyes at a girl a little further down the bar.

Jesse rolled his eyes. "Nice try, but no, it doesn't." He downed the shot easily and got himself another drink before opening a tab. He noticed the way Sebastian had given a girl down the bar a look, her obviously noticing and flirting with him by giving him her own look back. "Damn, you weren't joking when you said you had game." Jesse chuckled nervously, sipping at his drink and scanning the bar for any eligible-looking suitors for the night.

Sebastian sipped his drink, patting Jesse on the shoulder and heading over in the direction of the girl. "See ya." Less than a minute later, he waved at Jesse and held up a second drink in his other hand, grinning from ear to ear.

Jesse watched as Sebastian left his side to go chat up a girl, a look of surprise painted over his face when the younger man showed off his second drink. Determined to not have Sebastian show him up, he spotted a pretty young thing sitting all by his lonesome. A quick chat and an empty glass later, Jesse found himself with his own second drink.

Sebastian didn't even bother to pretend to be interested in the girl after he got his drink, immediately moving on to the next guy, who literally sitting right next to the girl he'd just gotten a drink from.

Jesse had a vastly different approach; he wasn't as ruthless as Sebastian and instead spent at least a little time talking to the people he got drinks from. Doing so put him at a disadvantage but he just wasn't as practiced in getting free drinks in the same way Sebastian was. By the time Sebastian was on his fourth drink of the night, Jesse was still on his second, chatting up a friendly-looking girl who really liked talking about her job.

Sebastian kept a tally on his phone, only taking a couple sips from the drinks. He walked over to Jesse, holding drink number five, and sat down beside the girl he was talking to. "This is too easy. I'm bored."

Jesse had downed his second drink and the same girl he was speaking to offered to buy him another. Never one to turn down a free drink, Jesse easily agreed. "You're cheating," Jesse tried to argue with Sebastian when he rejoined him at the bar, a full drink in his hand, "Are you even drinking these?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, offended. "How am I cheating? It's not my fault I was born sexy." He rolled his eyes, taking another sip. "I had a little. I don't want to get drunk, I have a final in the morning."

Jesse shook his head. "Okay, so if you quit does that mean I win?" Jesse asked, taking a generous gulp from his drink. He could feel the alcohol thrumming through his body and if he was being honest he didn't really care about his and Sebastian's little contest anymore. "Whatever, I don't care-- we should just have fun," he said, pulling Sebastian in the direction of the dance floor, effectively blowing off the girl he was just with.

Sebastian was surprised when Jesse pulled him, but didn't fight it. He danced around him, shaking his head. "Never. I've never lost anything in my life. I've had to fight dirty, sure, but I refuse to lose." He shrugged. "However, in the hopes of friendship, I'd be willing to help you with Rachel, if you'll help me on my date with Blaine." He held his hand out. "A truce?"

Jesse cheered, taking Sebastian's hand into a firm handshake before slinging an arm around him. "Hell yeah! Friendship!" He exclaimed, downing the rest of his drink before he continued dancing along to the beat. "I am going to make such an awesome waiter-- just you wait and see!"

Sebastian laughed, watching Jesse. "Are you sure you've only had a couple drinks? Did you buy yourself some?"

Jesse made a noise of half-guilt and half-amusement. "Okay, you caught me; I bought myself a couple, too," he laughed. "But that's why I opened up a tab, duh!" He grooved to the music and he was just having a really good time with his new friend. "Oh, you totally have to introduce me to your boyfriend now that we're BFF's," he slurred, obviously drunk.

Sebastian eyed him, smirking. "Uh-huh. You heard about the threesome, didn't you? Because I think Sam's the only person he's comfortable doing that with, sorry pal." He patted Jesse's shoulder.

Jesse burst out laughing. "No, I didn't hear about any threesome but thanks for the heads-up," he shook his head and when he was starting to feel tuckered out from dancing his ass off, he led Sebastian back to the bar to get another round of drinks. "Y'know, Vocal Adrenaline would be lucky to have a guy like you and your boyfriend on the team. You don't have to wear your silly schoolboy uniforms when you sing and dance, too-- we have cool costumes."

Sebastian sat down beside Jesse, ordering himself a Sprite and shaking his head. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't think so. I'd rather drown myself than go to public school."

Jesse shrugged then, deciding not to press any further. It would be more fun to have Sebastian as competition, anyway. "Yeah, well, that public school kicked everyone's ass when I was the lead singer," he clinked glasses with Sebastian before taking a sip of his new drink. "But I'll admit-- if your singing is as good as your flirting, then maybe I should be a little worried." Being drunk seemed to have put Jesse's vocal filter out of commission because those were words he wouldn't say otherwise.

Sebastian smiled at him. "Thanks. It is. I don't half ass anything I do. But Blaine is better than me, at singing at least. My dance skills are better, though." He patted Jesse's hand. "I turned you on before, with the French, didn't I? At least a little bit?" He squinted at him, trying to read his face.

Jesse listened as Sebastian described his and Blaine's skills and thought to himself that he would re-watch some of Dalton's competitions now that he knew who he was looking out for. He shrugged again, unable to deny or even pretend being turned on because he was so drunk. "Yeah, the French was pretty attractive," he admitted begrudgingly. "Maybe you can teach me a few phrases so I can improve my game."

Sebastian smirked, taking a sip of his drink. "Knew it." He laughed softly. "God, it's so tempting to teach you embarrassing shit just to watch you make an ass out of yourself, but I'll refrain, for the sake of friendship."

Jesse laughed along with Sebastian, albeit a little louder than the other because he was drunk. "Just teach me the good stuff and I'll teach you shit that I know; I mean, I'm not a private school scholar and I'm not bilingual but who knows? Maybe one day you'll have a show choir-related emergency and then it's 'Show Choir Whisperer' Jesse St. James to the rescue!"

Sebastian slid back off the bar stool, holding his hand out for Jesse to help him up. "You'd give me advice? Wouldn't that be like, a betrayal of your team?"

Jesse quickly took his hand to help Sebastian balance himself, his other hand grabbing onto the bar. "I dunno," he slurred, shrugging. "It's not like I'd be giving you my team's set list or divulging their weaknesses-- our biggest of which is funk, by the way-- but a few pointers and advice wouldn't hurt."

Sebastian furrowed his eyebrows, leading Jesse back over to the dance floor. "Funk? What the hell does that even mean?" He noticed an objectively cute girl checking Jesse out. "Hey. Someone's looking at you. Or me. But probably you. Why don't you go dance with her?"

Jesse didn't know what Sebastian asked but was aware that he was being led back to the dance floor. "Funk is music," he answered, unaware it was an incomplete explanation. When Sebastian pointed out the girl across the way, he quirked an eyebrow and she gave him a flirty look. "Yeah? You think I should?" He asked, puffing his chest out a little and regaining his confidence.

Sebastian was still confused, but let it slide, figuring it was just drunk chatter. "Yeah, sure. Why not? I'll just be over there." He pointed to a group of tables on the side of the room. "And sexting Blaine."

Jesse decided to follow Sebastian's advice, leaving his side to go chat up the girl. If anything, it would be good practice for when he would get back together with Rachel. With liquid courage surging through him, it only took but a few moments before the two of them were grinding against each other on the dance floor.

Sebastian sat down, keeping an eye on Jesse while he texted Blaine, chuckling under his breath. That dude was a lightweight.

After dancing and having himself another few drinks, Jesse jogged back over to where Sebastian sat. He was sweaty and his wet locks stuck to his brow. "Hey, what're you doing sitting out on the sidelines like a fuddy-duddy?" He asked, laughing with a grin spread wide across his face. He waved a napkin in Sebastian's face, showing off the fact that he'd gotten the girl's phone number. "I guess she likes me."

Sebastian shrugged, looking up at him. "I don't want to lead someone on, and be accused of being a tease." He slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Hey, good for you. And someone who actually dresses age-appropriately too, well, if not a little slutty."

Jesse shrugged right back at Sebastian, looking back out at the dance floor. "There's no harm in dancing with someone, is there? Dancing isn't sex or even a relationship. Neither is drinking." He pointed out Sebastian's soft drink and chuckled. "I don't think I'll call her; I've still got my sights set on Rachel."

Sebastian shook his head, getting a little uncomfortable. "No, I've... made that mistake in the past. You can't always tell what something will mean to someone. You might be agreeing to more than you think." He frowned, looking at him. "Why? Rachel's taken, and that girl is cute. Even I can see that. And it looked like you were having a nice time dancing with her."

Jesse sat down next to Sebastian, trying his best to read the other's body language despite being drunk. "What mistake? You dance with someone who expected something more?" He asked, having a difficult time understanding what the other man was getting at. "And yeah, the girl was cute but she's no Rachel Berry. I'm not looking for just fun; I want Rachel."

Sebastian shook his head again. "Forget it." He picked up his glass, moving it between his hands. "I don't know why you would, but I agreed to help you, so... what do you need me to do? You should be aware that she hates me, so I'm really not sure how much help I can be in this whole situation."

Jesse didn't press the serious conversation, not wanting to overstep his boundaries in his brand-new friendship with the Warbler. "I don't know, do you have any dirt on that boyfriend of hers? You're both on the same team, right?"

Sebastian scoffed, raising an eyebrow at him. "You could say that." He took a sip of his Sprite. "Only sort of, he's bi, like you, not full on gay."

Jesse furrowed his brow. "That's not exactly dirt. I meant like, how do I get under his skin and show Rachel that he's not someone she should be with?"

Sebastian sighed. "I don't know. I don't really... feel right about this. We're trying to move on from all that drama, and I'm tired of it. His dick was mediocre anyway, it wasn't worth all that." Sebastian's eyes widened at his slip of the tongue, quickly taking a drink to try and stop more words from coming out, hoping Jesse hadn't caught that last bit, or would at least be too drunk to remember it later.

Jesse blinked, unsure of what he had just heard. "Wait, wait, wait-- what?" He asked, holding his index finger up. "Did you just say his dick was mediocre? How do-- Did you and Rachel's boyfriend--" The end of his question dangled, almost as if he was too surprised to finish his sentence. "Now see, this is dirt," he laughed, pointing at Sebastian. "Wait, is this why you and Rachel hate each other? Did she steal him from you or something?"

Sebastian sighed, dragging his hands down his face. "I blew him. Once. Okay? That's it. Don't... please don't bring it up. It was before they got together. She didn't steal him from me. I was with my boyfriend by then. She hates me because I'm a fucking asshole who clearly can't keep his mouth shut." He grabbed Jesse's hands, pleading with him. "Please. Just... pretend I didn't tell you.”

Jesse could see that Sebastian was practically begging him not to talk about this. "Okay, okay, relax, man," he chuckled to let him know everything was okay and there was no need to worry. "I won't tell anyone about it." Even if he wasn't going to repeat this information, it was still valuable and maybe he could use it to his advantage somewhere down the line. He pulled his hands out from Sebastian's hold and patted him on the back. "Seriously, I promise I won't tell anyone."

Sebastian nodded, not entirely sure if he could trust him, but relaxing a little. "I... need a cigarette. I'll be back in a minute." He quickly went out a side door, pulling his jacket tighter around him.

Jesse frowned at the soured moment between the two of them, watching him leave through the side door for a smoke. After downing the rest of his drink, Jesse followed after Sebastian and shivered at the cold biting wind that hit him as he stepped outside. "Shit, it's cold out here," he chuckled softly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stood there with Sebastian. "Hey, I was serious when I said I wouldn't tell anyone. Hell, I don't even remember what we were talking about." He reassured him, playing along with pretending as if Sebastian hadn't told him anything.

Sebastian looked over, pursing his lips together and letting smoke blow through them. "Thanks. It's just... I caused a lot of drama by doing... that... and... it really... it was really hard on Blaine. Like, I thought he was going to have a nervous breakdown, or something. He was getting attacked by all these people he thought were his friends, and I don't want to see him that upset ever again."

Jesse listened as best he could, nodding along as Sebastian spoke. He could relate, knowing that dealing with drama was never easy for someone who was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "Okay, so like I said, we'll keep the fact that I know about you and Hunter between us." Jesse assured him again. "We don't want Blaine to be upset, right?" He offered Sebastian a small smile.

Sebastian nodded, leaning back against the side of the building. "Great. Yeah. Thanks." He put out the cigarette and zipped his jacket up. "Are you ready to go? You can crash on the floor in my room if you want." He paused, looking at him. "Wait. You're an adult."

Jesse cocked his head to the side at Sebastian's statement. "Yeah, I am. Did me using my real ID to get into the club not make that fact obvious? So what of it?" He pulled out his phone to check the time and when the digits looked blurry to him, he chuckled. "I'm definitely not good to drive home just yet..."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "I just meant that you probably have your own place." He shrugged. "That's why we took a cab, remember? I can just have them drop you off at your place, and then you can come pick up your car tomorrow. Unless you wanted to stay, but..." He shrugged again. "I'm not really in the clubbing mood right now."

Jesse nodded. "Yup, got my own little apartment in little ol' Akron, Ohio," he sighed, looking back over his shoulder, towards the bar. "Why don't you go on ahead without me? You've probably got to study for your big final tomorrow, right?" He said, "I'm not an idiot so I won't drive drunk; you don't have to worry about me."

Sebastian bit his lip. "Are you sure? I don't feel right, leaving you in this condition." He eyed Jesse closely. "I mean, I guess you're like, a grown man, or whatever, but still..."

Jesse laughed off Sebastian's comment and shook his head. "Hey, c'mon. I'm twenty-one. This isn't my first time in a nightclub and I'm a big boy; I can take care of myself." He assured the younger man, "I'll even stop drinking so by the time I take a cab back to Dalton, I'll be okay to drive."

Sebastian nodded, pulling out his phone and ordering a car. "Okay. Go... seal the deal with that chick. Take your mind off of other people. And text me, when you get home."

Jesse nodded back at his new friend with a wide smile. "Yeah, yeah. I'll text you, Dad." He teased, though truly he was grateful to find someone who actually cared about his well-being. "And let me know when you and Blaine are doing your little date so I can throw together a kickass waiter outfit."

Sebastian smiled a little, pointing at Jesse, the way Cooper had taught him. "Hey. Only Blaine is allowed to call me that." He nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets to warm them. "I think Sunday, maybe? It's our one month anniversary of officially being boyfriends, or whatever."

Jesse scrunched his brows together in a semi-confused expression and then un-scrunched them when he realized what Sebastian was talking about. "Kinky, dude." He laughed, but then nodded. "Cool, I'll keep Sunday open and just let me know where and what time. I'll show up."

Sebastian winked at him. "Probably around six, at my parents' place. You're cool with getting like... kicked out right after dinner, right? Or maybe even earlier?"

Jesse shrugged but then nodded. "Yeah, whatever. I'm just doing it for you to get all romantic with your boyfriend and inevitably score, right? Just kick me out whenever you don't need me anymore."

Sebastian smirked. "I don't exactly need to get romantic with him to score. It's more about doing something nice for him. He deserves it. However, if me doing something nice leads to me fucking him on the kitchen table, it might be a little awkward if you're still there."

Jesse waved a hand in front of him, "Okay, whoa, whoa, I don't need the specifics," he chuckled. "Just text me the address to your folks' place and I'll be there-- maybe text me the time too in case I forget. And when you need me to leave, just say the word and I'm out of your hair so you can bone your boyfriend."

Sebastian grinned and nodded at him as his Uber pulled up. "Sounds like a plan. I'll see you then. And uh... for the record? You can do better than Rachel."

"Alright, duly noted." Jesse frowned when Sebastian suggested he go after someone other than Rachel but waved goodbye anyway before heading back into the bar, looking forward to spending the rest of the night with whoever would grace his company.

[toptecharena]

NEW YORK — During the summer of 1966, a heat wave boiled New York City at the most brutal temperatures recorded since 1869, the year weather data began to be consistently collected.

The Vietnam War was also heating up, with 382,010 men drafted into service that year, 151,019 more than the previous year.

Opposition to the war as well as to chronic discrimination against blacks, women and gays was gathering steam in the city. Clashes broke out elsewhere, with race riots that summer in Chicago and in Lansing, Michigan.

“America was convulsing in a way, a time of huge unrest, incredible violence,” said Jon Savage, author of “1966: The Year the Decade Exploded.”

On Aug. 1, in Austin, Texas, a lone gunman introduced the United States to mass murder. Charles Whitman killed his mother and wife and then more than a dozen people, sniper-style, from the University of Texas’ clock tower, wounding more than 30 others.

Meanwhile, “Summer in the City,” a propulsive, apolitical rock song by the Lovin’ Spoonful, based in New York, was climbing the charts to No. 1, reassuring listeners that “despite the heat it’ll be all right.” Sung and co-written by John Sebastian, the band’s frontman, the song was conceived by his younger brother, Mark Sebastian, when he was just 14. Steve Boone, the bass player, contributed the memorable instrumental interlude. The three shared writing credit and continue to reap royalties: The song has endured as an anthem for every heat wave since and has been covered by Quincy Jones, Joe Cocker and Isaac Hayes, among others.

(It will most likely figure prominently at a concert, “Music and Revolution: Greenwich Village in the 1960s,” on Sunday at Central Park’s SummerStage, where John Sebastian is part of a lineup that includes José Feliciano and Maria Muldaur.)

In addition to John Sebastian and Boone, the original band members (Mark was too young) were Zal Yanovsky on guitar and Joe Butler on drums. Their producer, Erik Jacobsen, helped shape their 1965 debut album, “Do You Believe in Magic,” and their 1966 follow-up album, “Daydream.” Their manager, Bob Cavallo, masterminded the business end. In 1966, the group also supplied the soundtrack to Woody Allen’s “What’s Up, Tiger Lily?” They toured extensively and, with their rapid rise to fame, found themselves in need of more material. One day, Sebastian heard something intriguing from his younger brother.

JOHN SEBASTIAN (frontman): Mark really was the beginning of the song. Hot town, summer in the city … but at night it’s a different world. “Hey, hold on, what’s that?” I said.

MARK SEBASTIAN (songwriter): I recently found the songbook I wrote it in, in pencil. My brother, who’d moved out by then, was back home visiting and listened to what I’d written.

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The song soon became a contender for the band’s next album, which they were under pressure to produce quickly. “Cavallo had us on the road so much that we never had the luxury of dedicated periods of recording,” said Steve Boone, the bass player. By March 1966, just a few months after wrapping “Daydream,” they were back in the studio to record what would become “Hums of the Lovin’ Spoonful,” which would feature “Summer in the City.” From the beginning, the band was excited about the single’s potential, no matter that it began with a dreamy adolescent longing to break out of his family’s tony residence, tucked between Macdougal Street and Waverly Place.

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MARK SEBASTIAN: Our family’s apartment was at 29 Washington Square West, the 15th floor; my bedroom looked out over the Hudson. I wanted to run away, go down by the docks, dreaming of whatever this romance thing was, having a band of my own. There was all this music out in Washington Square Park, girls that came down from the Bronx, really sexy, chewing gum, and I was still too young to talk to them without fainting.

JOHN SEBASTIAN: Eleanor Roosevelt lived across the hall in the 1940s when we first moved in. My mom, Jane Bishir, was a Midwestern girl who’d come to New York to make it as a writer and became the closest of friends with Vivian Vance long before she was on “I Love Lucy.” She was my godmother. My godfather was the best baby sitter on God’s green earth, Garth Williams, the illustrator for all these wonderful books. He would be doodling, and there was one evening where he showed me three or four spiders: “Which spider do you like?” He and E.B. White were going around the bend to avoid the Disneyfication of “Charlotte’s Web,” and he wanted to try it out on a kid. My dad was a classical harmonica player and good friends with Burl Ives, who asked him if we could let this songwriter from Oklahoma stay at our house for a while. So I’m in bed, and in the next room I hear Woody Guthrie singing and playing, and in my total infancy I thought, “He’s not as good as Dad.” It’s not a memory I’m proud of.

STEVE BOONE (bass guitarist): John not only grew up in Greenwich Village, he was there when folk musicians and bands started writing their own songs and actually playing their instruments on the recordings. In the ‘50s and early ‘60s, record companies would hire songwriters and studio musicians, and the artists would come in and sing. The rock scene began with this gestation period in the Village.

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John Sebastian was steeped in a rivalrous fraternity of folk, roots, blues and jug-band artists at coffeehouses and basement hangouts on West Third, Macdougal and Bleecker streets. He saw the careers of Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and Jimmy James (later known as Jimi Hendrix) and the Blue Flames take off from cramped stages. Playing harmonica, guitar and autoharp, he began to accompany a variety of artists, influences that bore fruit when he turned to songwriting.

Sebastian’s friend Cass Elliot introduced him to Yanovsky, a Canadian who played in her folk group, the Mugwumps, along with Denny Doherty. After they split up, Elliot and Doherty co-founded the Mamas and the Papas while Sebastian and Yanovsky formed the Lovin’ Spoonful, taking their name from a Mississippi John Hurt song, “Coffee Blues.”

In February 1965, their tryout at the Night Owl Cafe, formerly at 118 W. Third St., was a disaster. Joe Marra, the club’s owner, now 85, was known for presenting the likes of Tim Hardin, Fred Neil, Tim Buckley, Stephen Stills, Richie Havens and James Taylor. He gave Cass Elliot a job as a hostess.

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JOHN SEBASTIAN: We got fired.

JOE BUTLER (drummer): We were living in the same room at the Albert Hotel, the four of us in the same goddamn bed, a laundry cart with all our instruments. We’d roll it down to the basement to rehearse, water bugs running around.

SEBASTIAN: I had an apartment, but maybe I’d end up there overnight now and then. It’s where I wrote “Do You Believe in Magic.”

BUTLER: The Paul Butterfield Blues Band rehearsed in the ballroom. A lot of musicians were living in that place on the sly. So were Denny and Cass, who were still with the Mugwumps. Basically, Denny was romancing the manager, so he was our meal ticket. We had a secret entrance, hiding in rooms, and never paid. I was just out of the Air Force, my father was a cop, and I grew up in Great Neck, so I wasn’t as bohemian as they were. I was 23, the oldest in the group. If you were lucky, you got to sleep on the floor in Butchie’s room.

BOONE: Butchie was the Lovin’ Spoonful’s stepmother at the hotel, funny, cheerful, encouraging. I wrote “Butchie’s Tune” for her, how she was the greatest, but I wasn’t attracted to her.

SEBASTIAN: She was a pal of my producer who overheard me talking about the draft, how I was the right age to get taken. She said, “Oh, I’ll marry you.” It was a technical marriage. She ended up marrying Bob Denver.

JOSHUA WHITE (pioneer of psychedelic light shows): We were getting deeper and deeper into Vietnam. Everyone, including the Lovin’ Spoonful, was subject to the draft, and you were going to die, your life under that dangling sword. People were doing all kinds of things to better their chances — getting married, having children, becoming teachers, looking over their shoulders.

SEBASTIAN: We immediately got into Cafe Bizarre, a tourist trap. We did eight sets a day for $25 a week and all the tuna fish sandwiches you could eat. Joe Marra gave us another shot at the Night Owl, and we were ecstatic when we saw a 16-year-old girl from Queens dancing to our music. The next week a ton of girls showed up.

JON SAVAGE (“1966” author): There was magic between the four of them, and Zal Yanovsky was the wild card. You always need a wild card, somebody who’s going to rip it up. London was over, everybody knew that, and New York became the pop center of the world, strong with the Lovin’ Spoonful and the Rascals, the Brill Building not dead yet.

BUTLER: I was fascinated by Zally. Harpo Marx with a guitar, a genius who could play anything.

ZOE YANOVSKY (Zal Yanovsky’s daughter): Zalman was a bit of a street urchin, somewhat homeless, and had roamed around Israel playing guitar. There’s a mythical story about him coming back to Toronto and living in a laundromat before going to New York.

GERRY GIOIA (guitarist and composer): When I played in the Village back then I’d get $10, but that would buy you 10 pizzas. Music was everywhere, street performers, smells of sausage heroes, coffee beans, people walking up and down the streets trying to look as freaky as possible. It was like Paris in the ‘20s, the Harlem Renaissance, things that come and go, and you don’t realize it until it’s gone.

GENE SCULATTI (author of “Tryin’ to Tell a Stranger ‘Bout Rock and Roll”): The Lovin’ Spoonful and the Byrds were the first of the groups that really comprised hipsters, ex-folkies and dope smokers. When you first saw them, they were like the Rolling Stones, dressed in street clothes, not uniforms.

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In late 1965, the Lovin’ Spoonful toured the South with the Supremes, chronicled in Steve Boone’s memoir, “Hotter Than a Match Head: Life on the Run with the Lovin’ Spoonful” (2014). They were taunted for having long hair and witnessed naked racism. “Segregation was supposed to be over,” Butler said, “but Zally was out there, animated and loud, and guys started coming for us, saying, ‘Should we shave their heads?’” People at a diner started using racist jeers. “Zally grabbed a fork, ready to take somebody’s eye out so he’d never forget what he said to us that day.”

The band toured overseas, and on May 20, 1966, after triumphant gigs in England, Sweden and Ireland, rubbing elbows with the Rolling Stones and the Beatles, Yanovsky and Boone were arrested in San Francisco for marijuana possession.

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BOONE: We hadn’t even gone a block from the house where the party was, and they immediately wanted to search the car. It may have been a setup. The chief of police said he’d put Zally on a plane to Canada tomorrow, not be allowed back in. We were young and scared and made a deal to introduce a cop as a friend of ours to our crowd. I wish we had said, “See you in court.”

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The bust did not immediately make the news, and the band went on to perform in Los Angeles and on various television shows. In July, “Summer in the City” was released, a song recorded before they left for Europe.

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MARK SEBASTIAN: That summer, I was in the Loire with my mom dragging me around to châteaus. I wanted to be in New York and hear “Summer in the City” playing from the window. My mom rented a radio. I heard “I Want You” from Dylan, then started to hear my song. I was in shock. What I’d written was more of a mellow ballad, and John took it to this whole other place that was aggressive and exciting and fun.

ERIK JACOBSEN (producer): We had Roy Halee, a fabulous engineer at Columbia, put in these sound effects of a drill and traffic and a legitimate big-time fade at the end.

BOONE: Until “Summer in the City,” we were not accepted wholeheartedly by the rock scene.

BUTLER: And we were playing our own instruments, not using the Wrecking Crew like the Byrds and the Beach Boys.

JOHN SEBASTIAN: There was no love lost between us and rock critics.

BOONE: That song changed everything. We had street cred. It was really also the end of the Spoonful, the tipping point. From that point on, there was this tiny pinhole in the balloon that started leaking.

SAVAGE: “Summer in the City” is almost an avant-garde piece, that stuttering piano, the noises of the city in the middle. It’s an edgy record, not a peaceful record. It was their fifth Top 10 single in under a year. They were on an insane schedule.

BUTLER: We were designed to burn out, like a light bulb that was overamped. We were on the road all the time, and our heads got swelled up with how popular we were and how much the girls loved us. We were unable to support each other.

SAVAGE: Within two years, they released at least three full albums, two soundtrack albums and had nine Top 20 singles. It’s not surprising relationships fracture under that pressure. How are you going to keep it up?

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As much as Boone and Butler professed their love and admiration for Yanovsky, they noticed his mood darken after the drug arrest. During that period, Jacobsen described him as “an impossible guy capable of guerrilla warfare.” There was also a love interest — isn’t there always? — that got in the way. In 1967, it came to a head.

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BOONE: Zally quit the band emotionally and then got fired. It was well after “Summer” was a hit record that anybody even knew about the drug bust. It got out in the underground press in California.

SAVAGE: Their name was mud for fingering their source. It was a great shame that young people were put under that kind of pressure for making a mistake. They were very badly advised and intimidated by the police.

ZOE YANOVSKY: Zalman may have had a certain element of self-sabotage. On “The Ed Sullivan Show,” he purposefully sang the wrong lyrics. But those are the great partnerships in life and in rock ‘n’ roll, opposites attracting. John is very sincere, and Zalman was very much in your face.

SAVAGE: Once the band lost Zal, it became something different. Los Angeles, and in particular, San Francisco, was positioning itself as the next center of pop.

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Yanovsky released a solo album, “Alive and Well in Argentina,” drove a cab in Toronto and became a restaurateur in Kingston, Ontario. He died of a heart attack in 2002, just shy of his 58th birthday.

Richard Barone, a musician who released the album “Sorrows & Promises: Greenwich Village in the 1960s” in 2016, and is hosting Sunday’s SummerStage show dedicated to the era, said that by 1968, “Greenwich Village was over, a commercial commodity.”

John Sebastian, 74, quit the Lovin’ Spoonful in 1968 to go solo, and he played an unscheduled set at Woodstock in 1969. “I’ve gone in and out of style five times since then,” he said. On a recent visit from Woodstock, where he has lived with his wife, Catherine, since 1976, he retraced his old Village route, more exuberant about the memories than wistful. “It’s all gone,” he said, “but so are the crooners. Everybody has their turn. When did I leave? The real answer is I’ll never leave the Village. It’s mine.”

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New York Summer Songs

John Schaefer, the host of “New Sounds” on WNYC, shares his selection. Here are six of them; the full list is at nytimes.com/metropolitan.

— “Dancing in the Streets” by Martha and the Vandellas. Detroit can rightly claim this ultimate summer song, but the lyrics are more inclusive: “They’re dancing in Chicago/ Down in New Orleans/ In New York City.”

— “Up on the Roof” by the Drifters. From the songwriting team of Carole King and Gerry Goffin, this classic’s lyrics never actually mention “summer in New York,” but with its “rat race noise down in the street” and its rooftop air so “fresh and sweet,” it’s got to be.

— “Summertime” by DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince. Jazzy Jeff and a young Will Smith were not New Yorkers, but this 1991 tune is built on “Summer Madness,” from Jersey City’s own Kool & the Gang.

— “Crazy in Love” by Beyoncé, featuring Jay-Z. The king and queen of New York ruled summer 2003 with this sweaty, Chi-Lites-sampling dance tune.

— “Rockaway Beach” by the Ramones. Because even punks need a break from being cool to be, you know, cool.

— “Bang Bang” by Joe Cuba. The tradition of great Latin summer hits includes last year’s “Despacito” by Luis Fonsi, “Gasolina” by Daddy Yankee in 2004 and any number of Fania All-Stars tunes from the ‘70s. But it all began in New York in 1966, with this irresistible number.

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

Julie Besonen © 2018 The New York Times

Go to Source Author: Julie Besonen Entertainment: An anthem for every urban summer NEW YORK — During the summer of 1966, a heat wave boiled New York City at the most brutal temperatures recorded since 1869, the year weather data began to be consistently collected.