#Victor Askew
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The Studio, St. John's Wood by Victor Askew
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Not Gage and Not Mom: The Virginiagorgon (Or The Virginiaganger? Both?) and Virginia Being Replaced By A Shapeshifting Doppelganger
So, remember what I talked about in this post regarding the fact that the ST “Demogorgon” is NOTHING like the DND Demogorgon but is basically IDENTICAL to a Doppelganger from DND?
And remember what I talked about in this post regarding the fact that we hear Demogorgon noises when Victor talks about Virginia’s death?
Well, I’m wondering if this:
Isn’t Virginia Creel.
But if that isn't Virginia Creel, then who is it?
A better question might be "what is it?"
Because I think it's a Doppelganger, imitating Virginia. And here's why.
So, first of there's the goo. That damn eye goo that I talked about back in this post forever ago.
If you're not sure what goo I'm talking about, take a look at "Virginia's" eyes after she hits the table:
That's not regular blood. It doesn't look like any of the regular blood effects we've ever seen in ST- it doesn't even look like Alice's blood from the same night:
But y'know what it does look like? The goo that Brenner and his men found in the Byers' shed in S1:
And yknow what that shed goo looked like?
It looked like the goo from The Thing. The movie about the shapeshifter that imitates people.
Especially with this supposedly being Virginia's blood versus the blood test in The Thing:
And how The Thing's blood/the blood of the person who's been replaced by The Thing/that The Thing has shapeshifted into ends up turning into that weird goo in the screenshot above, much like Virginia's weird goo blood.
Not to mention that visual similarities between Virginia's death vs this other shot from The Thing's blood test scene:
The broken, gaping jaw/mouth??? The popped out eyes??? The head tilting back?? The similarities are THERE!!
And then after that shot in The Thing, we get this shot of it slamming onto the roof- just like Chrissy's death. And while I don't necessarily think Chrissy was a shapeshifter, I think that the similarities between Chrissy's death and Virginia's death-
-versus the similarities between Chrissy's death and this shot from The Thing might be delivering subtext that "Virginia" was a shapeshifter, like The Thing.
Also, the 'Virginia" at the table may explain the bloody bed that we see in both the tudum trailer Weekly Watcher article and the new collector's box Weekly Watcher article:
Because Doppelgangers tend to kill their victims (although sometimes, Lesser/Standard Doppelgangers keep their victims hostage/kidnapped for awhile to learn their mannerisms, Greater Doppelgangers don't need to do that because they can immediately consume and imitate their victim's mannerisms), which, if the Doppelganger killed the real Virginia Creel, that would explain the bloody bed- because it's where the real Virginia died.
Especially since that collectors box Weekly Watcher article says the following underneath that photo of the bloody bed:
"limbs torn askew and apart in an impossible fashion" "I don't know how any human man could be capable of anything as horrifying as this"
Gee, maybe that's because a human man DIDN'T do this.
Like, we know Victor didn't do this.
And even if we assume that Henry is Vecna and he killed his mom Vecna style, VECNA doesn't rip the limbs off of his victims, and we've never seen Henward or 001 do it either.
AND, we supposedly WATCHED VIRGINIA DIE AT THE TABLE- but if Virginia died at the table, and Alice died in the hallway, and Henry "died" in the foyer, and Victor survived, then who the hell died in the bed? Especially since NOBODY'S MISSING THEIR LIMBS! Virginia's bones get bent and cracked at the table, but certainly not ripped off, and Alice still has all of her limbs.
But who DOES rip limbs off/violently tear apart bodies?
Well, the EXTREMELY DOPPELGANGER PARALLELED ST "Demogorgon" does (also, staring at how frequently we see the ST "Demogorgon" chomp down on peoples' heads- just like what I'm going to talk about later with how Greater Doppelgangers consume the brains of their victims):
And DND Doppelgangers also do:
And there's also SOMETHING about the way that Greater Doppelgangers would shapeshift their claws to resemble knives/makes the wounds seem like typica stab wounds:
Versus the Indianapolis Gazette talking about how "Mrs Creel"/Mother Alice was found "butchered, like you would a deer":
Versus the reference to buck knives in TFS (long story short, I wonder if the shapeshifter/Doppelganger shifted its claws to resemble a buck knife when killing Virginia):
Versus the ties between the TFS buck knife scene and Hickman Hill in the Elvis Cloned By Aliens paper-
-which, that Elvis Cloned By Aliens paper ties into the idea of Virginia being replaced by a Doppelganger/shapeshifter in another way, because there’s also this "The Unearthly Visitors" movie poster from thar article, and the lady on the front looks weirdly like Virgina- even the HAIR is so, so similar, with how it's all poofy at the back:
Plus those mysterious aliens that seem to be grey and faceless in the background (see: the grey ST "demogorgon" being described as a man without a face in S1 + the 'demogorgon' vs doppelganger stuff), versus the way the woman on the poster is posed the same way as the aliens, with a flat expression rather than a scared expression- she doesn't seem to be running away from the aliens, she seems to be one of them. A shapeshifter. A Doppelganger.
Which, also, this movie is fake- "The Unearthly Visitors," isn't a real movie.
However, the movie "The Visit" IS a real movie and IS on the S4 board, and I wouldn't be surprised if it inspired that fake "Unearthly Visitors" title:
And in The Visit, two siblings from Philadelphia (staring at all of the Philadelphia stuff in TFS/the Philadelphia Project), go to visit their grandparents that they've never met:
At the end, though, it's revealed that those were never their grandparents, and instead, were people impersonating their grandparents:
Which has me staring at Virginia not being Virignia/being impersonated and the resemblace between Virginia and the lady on the Unearthly Visitors poster, and Henry and possibly Alice realizing that Virginia is an impostor the same way the brother and sister in The Visit realize that their grandparents are impostors.
(there's also a Dr Sam in The Visit, which has me staring at all of the Sam Owens vs Victor Creel vs Victor's uncle vs all of the other uncle stuff in ST vs Uncle Sam etc)
And there's also that shot I used in the beginning of this post from the Creel Family Trailer- where they make a point of showing Virginia eating:
Versus the way that Greater Doppelgangers could literally EAT the minds of their victims in order to perfectly replicate their appearance, memories, and mannerisms:
There's also the matter of the "my mother somehow knew" line versus the fact that Doppelgangers could read minds:
Which begs the question: how long had Virginia been replaced?
That "my mother somehow knew" line from Henward's 1979 monologue plays over the flashback of Henward in the attic, but then transitions into the dinner night scene, which makes me wonder how long Virginia had been replaced for? Was she replaced on the night of the murders? Or before that? Was she held captive and THEN killed the way that Standard Doppelgangers keep their victims captive? Were both the real Virginia and the Doppelganger Virginia existing at the same time somehow (maybe this ST Doppelganger creature doesnt Need to kill their victim to mimic them, just like how DND Doppelgangers don't technically have to kill their victims to mimic their appearance, they just a.) generally choose to in order to prevent being revealed as an impostor and b.) Greater Doppelgangers need to kill/consume their victim to gain their memories/mannerisms etc, so if they were coexisting/the Doppelganger was just replicating her appearance without having consumed her yet, then she would've seemed odd/off/weird/not herself, which could tie into some of her conflict with Henry), and then the real Virginia was killed in her bed on the night of the murders?
Hell, I mean, technically, a Doppelganger could imitate the appearance of anyone, even though they'd need to consume them to automatically gain their memories and mannerisms. So, what's the chance that that every single member of the Creel family had been imitated at one point, furthering the tensions in the family?
Anyway, here's the whole segment from that "But my mother somehow knew" line, showing how it goes from that to the murder night dinner:
Could 'Virginia" read Henward's mind? Is that how she "somehow knew"?
And to finish this up, need I remind you of what I said in the beginning of this post about the Demogorgon sounds that play when Victor talks about Virginia's death? What reason is there for that? Unless, of course, that wasn't Virginia, and instead, was a ST Demogorgon/Doppelganger.
Especially since the Creel house is all messed up when the Hawkins gang visits it in S4- furniture overturned, glass smashed, pantings crooked, etc etc- much like the Byers house in S1 after the Demogorgon attack. What else would've caused that mess and why?
(also as a little final speculation sidenote regarding Mother Virginia vs Mother Alice/Alice being listed as Victor's wife in the Edward timeline/in the Indianapolis Gazette, I wonder if we'll get a scene from Victor where he's in the wrong timeline or something and says "that's not my wife/you're not my wife" and how that would tie to both the Mother Virginia/Mother Alice/Wrong Wife thing but also to the Virginia Doppelganger thing/Edward timeline subtext being delivered via a Doppelganger Virginia reveal or vice versa)
Long story short: I'm still working on a BUNCH more posts about the idea of DND doppelganger-esque shapershifters in ST and TFS, and I'm sure those will tie into this post, but even just right now, I won't be surprised at all if that wasn't Virginia at the table.
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Victorious Celebration
Pairing: Victor x Yuuri
Tags: nsfw, smut, first time blowjob (for Yuuri), hallway sex, teasing, come swallowing, established relationship, celebration sex, gentle dom!Victor
Word count: 1.2k
Ao3
A/N: This only my second fic of these two and I don't know why, they're so fun to write about.
“Victor,” Yuuri chuckled as his new boyfriends hands tickled under his shirt, pressing his body against the door, Victor’s lips equally tickling and nibbling the nape of his neck and searching for more skin, “what’s with you? Are you drunk?”
“Nope.” There was that familiar teasing hint to Victor’s voice and that look in his eye that told Yuuri that he was about to get teased to hell and back if not worse. “Just want to celebrate your amazing performance with an even better gift.”
Better then that kiss? What could be better then Victor’s lips on his?
“I can see that you’re thinking hard about it. Relax Yuuri, I can show you what I mean.” Victor smiled at him and in the dim lighting of the hallway kissed him again, their second ever kiss. Since they weren’t in front of all these people and cameras Yuuri relaxed a little bit more into the kiss, his eyes closing and hand cupping Victor’s smooth cheek.
True to his teasing nature Victor didn’t leave it at that. His playful tongue licked across the younger skater’s lips, prompting the other to whimper in approval and grant him entrance. This is the first time they’ve actually tasted each other, one tasting like cherries, the other like mint, one sweet, the other sharp.
“Yuuri.” The kiss ended a little too soon, leaving Yuuri out of breath, “You’re hard just from a kiss?”
“Ah!” He was grateful he was wearing pants and not his uniform because the outline would have been much more prominent and visible in that. “Sorry. You... you make my heart race. Victor, with you, when I look at you like this,” Yuuri cupped Victor’s face in both hands, their foreheads touching, interrupted only by Yuuri’s glasses, “I feel like I can do it all. You make me want to do it all, experience it all, with you.”
Victor blinked at his boyfriend, tears almost spilling from his eyes before he blinked them back and smiled instead, “Experience it all huh? I hope we get to. And I’m starting tonight.”
The lovestruck spell that Yuuri was under was broken the moment he saw Victor getting on his knees. Skilled, smooth fingers undid his belt and his pants, sending them to the floor while all Yuuri could do was stare and gape at the sight before him.
“Yuuri,” Victor cupped the bottom of the bulge, his cheek pressing against it, “this is the reward I want to give you. But I need you to say yes, I need to know you want this as much as I do.” Yuuri was beyond speechless at what was happening yet he saw that Victor wasn’t gonna keep going unless he spoke out.
“I want it. I want it but, I’ve never had a... well... a blowjob before.” It wasn’t that odd, he’s had pretty minimal experience prior to this, kissing, dates, got and heavy make outs sure, but not a blowjob or anything beyond. “I might... finish pretty soon.”
“Oh I can train you there as well, if you let me. What do you say handsome?”
“O-Okay, just go slow, please.” Yuuri’s whole body shook when Victor smiled and without breaking eye contact pulled his shorts down.
Victor wanted to respect Yuuri’s wishes but he found it hard when there was Yuuri’s hard cock inches from his face. There was already precum gathering at the tip. He could tell that the minute he took Yuuri into his mouth it would be over. That’s not what he wanted, so he had to take this slow.
“Hands on the back of my head. Keep my hair back for me, okay? I want to see you.” By him he of course meant the cock as well as Yuuri’s blushing face. He always looked cute but especially now, with his hair a damn mess still and his glasses just a tiny bit askew on his face from their kiss earlier. A true sight to be beheld by Victor only.
Victor’s hand wrapped around the bottom of Yuuri’s cock, forming a ring and squeezing a little, but not enough that Yuuri couldn’t thrust his hips upwards when he felt the touch. Much to Victor’s delight his boyfriend only gave it a few pumps, knowing as well as he that he would come it kept going.
Instead of going for the tip Victor focused his attention on the length of Yuuri’s cock, his lips and tongue mapping it from where the bottom of the trembling shaft all the way to where the head began. He stopped right there and let his tongue lick a line alone the spot, establishing where he would stop every time he licked up and down. As if that wasn’t enough of a torture method he also proceeded to angle Yuuri’s cock further down, in line with his cheeks so he could kiss along it more comfortably.
All the while Yuuri’s grip shook with effort to keep still.
“Why are you teasing? Victor! Are you gonna do it or not?” He knew very well how desperate he made himself sound right now considering that Victor was the one on his knees and Yuuri could, if he wanted to, just make the silver haired man go where he wanted him to by guiding him with his hands.
“Do you want me to?” Did he want to know what it felt like to have his cock in Victor’s mouth? Hell yes. But he was also scared. “We can keep doing this for a bit longer if you-”
“No! I mean yes! I want your mouth now. Just don’t... promise not to make fun of me when I come.” Victor smiled up at him and finally kissed the tip, a string of pre now staining his lips, “Ah!”
“I would never laugh at you, darling.” But he could smile as he opened his mouth and closed it around the tip of Yuuri’s cock. The taste of cum hit his tongue as he kept going down until he felt his lips touch his hand. When Victor’s eyes opened and looked up he saw Yuuri looking down at him with complete awe, enchanted by the sight of his cock in Victor’s mouth.
Victor winked up at him as he moved his head up and down, once, twice before his tongue rolled around the tip and cum shoot forth into his mouth. A groan was stiffed only by the cock in his mouth when Yuuri’s hands tightened their grip, “Shit!”
The younger man’s body shook like he’d just done a hundred laps around the skating ring, his legs feeling just as liquid. And his head spinning, thankful for this moment, for having Victor there to catch him.
“Just like your skating, we will also work on your sexual stamina. I want you to last when I finally put it in.” Victor’s whimper was adorable, but alas his cock began to get soft. While Victor was sure he could get his boyfriend hard again in no time he also knew that Yuuri must be tired. “Shower, then sleep.” As he stood up he didn’t bother wiping away Yuuri’s cum, he liked the way Yuuri kept looking at it dripping from his lips.
Yuuri was behind him like a lovesick puppy, doing away with all his clothes and more then happy to help Victor get out of his before the aforementioned shower and a very well earned night of sleep.
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Be Still My Heart (Kenny Liu x fem!reader)
Summary: Kenny is relieved to see you safe after the awful night he spent at the station with Sara.
Word count: 920
Request: Hey theeeeeere! Thank you for replying to me and good luck with uni! Soooo ofc do it whenever u can and pls take your time! But I would reaaaally love smth fluff with Kenny x fem reader anything you want! Also 3rd person it's perfectly fine I love it don't worr about anything love💗💗💗
Rating: T
Warnings: spoilers for s2e9 and 10 of From, swearing, reader wears glasses, hugs, use of (Y/N), one (1) kith.
“This sucks.” (Y/N) mumbled.
Hidden in Victor’s old hideout, the one he so kindly showed her a few days before – ‘In case you wander too much’, he said -, she tried not to make any noises. There was no talisman inside, which meant the monsters outside could get in if they managed to unlock the tailgate.
It has been many, many hours since she got here alone, after going out to empty her head; people were dying, one after the other, more than ever before, and now they couldn’t sleep.
“Keep your eyes open, shitstain.” The woman whispered to herself, rubbing her eyes, back leaning against the metal wall. Her sight was trained on the tailgate, wondering why in the fuck she would wander off near nighttime – never again.
And then, a sliver of light passed by a tiny opening on the metal.
Too bright to be a flashlight.
(Y/N) scrambled up, face dangerously close to the cold metal, and peeked out.
“Sun, my beloved!” She shouted, and turned around. With ever raising excitement, she opened the latch and slid up the tailgate; the warm rays of sunshine hit her face with full force, and she leaped down onto the dewy grass.
The woman ran down the familiar path towards the town; by the diner, she waved at Mrs. Liu, Victor and Ethan, smiling as she saw the familiar faces.
“Morning, Jade!” (Y/N) shouted, slowing down as the curly-haired man left the bar with a frazzled look, some book in his hands.
“Where the hell have you been?!” He shouted back, brows furrowed.
“I was taking a walk, dude.” She replied, staring at him. “Where the fuck are you going, looking like my conspiracy theory uncle?”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“Don’t die!”
Jade grumbled something under his breath and left as (Y/N) headed, now walking at a decent pace, towards the Liu’s house.
The familiar sight of closed windows and an open door greeted the woman as she neared the place. She saw Sara leave the house with Boyd; nodded at them, and did her best to ignore the way her heart ached as her eyes focused on the man right behind the duo.
“Kenny.”
The ex-deputy looked up as (Y/N) whispered his name, brown eyes widening as he took in her messy appearance. Her hair was sticking up in weird angles, dark circles adorned her eyes (nothing new there, to be honest), and her glasses were kinda askew on her face.
A few seconds was all it took for the freckled man to run up to his friend and pull her into a tight hug. His arms circled her shoulders, and she sighed; he was warm. He smelled good. He was soft, comfortable-
She was sleep deprived.
“You’re alive.” Kenny said softly, nose nestled in the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
“Last I checked, yes.”
“I was worried, you dumbass.” He leaned back, staring into her eyes.
The tension between them was palpable as they locked eyes, the weight of their emotions hanging in the air. Kenny's words had hit her hard, stirring a whirlwind of worry within her. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
Her hands trembled slightly as she reached up to cup his cheeks, her touch gentle and filled with a mixture of affection and regret. Her thumbs traced tender circles against his skin, feeling the warmth gradually spread beneath her touch, a sign of their shared vulnerability.
With every passing moment, their faces drew closer, their breaths mingling. Their noses almost brushed against each other, creating a delicate connection that mirrored the fragile state of their hearts. It was a moment suspended in time, charged with longing and the unspoken desire for solace.
She mustered the courage to ask, her voice filled with a blend of uncertainty and hope, "I'm sorry... Can I kiss you?"
Kenny's response was barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of his longing, "Please."
In that instant, their lips met, a gentle collision of souls seeking solace and reassurance. It was a tender, tentative kiss, born out of a shared understanding of their vulnerabilities. Their worries and fears melted away, replaced by a rush of affection and the undeniable connection between them.
Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the softness of the moment. The world around them faded away, leaving only the sensation of their lips moving in sync, a dance of tenderness and forgiveness. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, expressing their unspoken apologies, their longing, and the depth of their feelings for one another.
In that single, stolen moment, they found solace and healing, their hearts intertwining in a profound embrace. And as they pulled away, breathless yet content, they knew that their bond had grown stronger, fortified by the power of their shared vulnerability and the healing a simple kiss could offer.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Boyd’s voice rang out, and the couple finally remembered there was an audience near them. “But we need Kenny right now, (Y/N).”
The woman felt her own face warm up now, and slowly let go of her friend’s face, arms hanging limply by her side.
“I’ll see you soon.” Kenny whispered, a small smile on his handsome face. “Really soon.”
“Be careful, okay?” (Y/N) whispered back, gaining a nod and a grin in response.
“Always.”
Right then and there, as she watched the trio walk off towards the forest, the woman sighed, with a lovestruck smile on her face.
“Be still, my fucking heart.”
Permanent taglist: @tiredwritersworld
I forgot the taglist, sorry guys :')
#kenny liu from#kenny liu x reader#kenny liu (from)#kenny liu#from mgm+#from epix#from epix imagines#epix from#epix from imagine#from (epix)#jade herrera#boyd stevens#sara (from)
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The first thing Lachesis wants to do after the battle is over is find her new friend and ensure her well-being. She rushes over to the med tent, almost stumbling over her own feet in a hurry to see the young girl’s face once more. It is not acceptable to let this promise go to waste! But she is more fatigued than she expected; a weary composition barely makes it through. And there. The princess still has no name, but she does have the sensation that this girl has graced her heart with - the irrevocable warmth and tenderness which she must return in full.
“I hope you are well,” Lachesis starts with, upon approaching. Memories of ending the battle with the crush of her blade surface like a butterfly’s wing closing.
And she draws yet closer. “My name is Lachesis…of Nordion. I am very much pleased to meet you. Your grace has touched my soul to the center. I would very much desire that we could become acquainted.”
“May I ask your name?” Her eyes narrow with veneration.
The bandages upon her arm are freshly coiled, courtesy of one of the medics at hand who had not battered themself upon the field. It always feels a bit ticklish to be the one accepting the care rather than giving it, but Maria watches with docile interest as the work is done, absorbing the techniques, the unspoken considerations, the way it feels on the receiving end, as well as how she might take all of this unto herself and better her own abilities.
No sooner has she rolled her ruined sleeve back down than does she realize someone is approaching her direction. Head turns slightly, slowly, then in full all at once as those golden locks and noble, yet gentle bearing refract recognition in her eyes.
"Miss--!" Hands are pulled to her chin by surprise, only to be lowered and gently offered as the other approaches. A name, at last! And what a pretty name it is; she takes care to turn it gently over the moon waxing within her smile. "Miss Lachesis! Hee hee... I'm so happy to meet you, too!"
Though together, palms spread, hopeful that the Nordion might place her own within them. So sincere is her greeting, her praise, that even Maria's oft-sunny disposition softens with a pleased touch of pink to her cheeks. And there, the lovely lady accepts her wordless request so kindly. Maria's thumbs fold over the back of Lachesis' hand, eyes closing for a second as she offers her warmth in the way she feels best suits them in this moment -- oh, perhaps she is not supposed to be busy healing others just yet, but when has she ever been able to resist?
"I'm really very honored, Miss Lachesis," Maria half hums as her faith flows from her heart to another's. The act of touching another has never been necessary to heal, but she favors it even so, that gentle, unspoken comfort. To convey her every earnest effort, to tether them to this world, in this moment, and give them what warmth she may...
(And, well, she is much to blame for most of it, this time!)
Lashes flutter open with the upward lift of her head, and beneath that soft-cornered narrow, her eyes are a-glimmer with the reflection of something golden, someone wonderful.
"My name is Maria!" Lips part again into a crescent smile. "Of Macedon! And... I saw it, you know?" A bit of mischief sparkles in the depths of rosy eyes -- only just a bit, she swears! "--your kindness, Miss Lachesis. The respect and consideration you held for all of us! And your elegance, too! Hee hee... You're really, truly amazing."
Head of crimson tips to the side, her expression knocked askew with a light and silly sort of affection. "I'd like that very much! After the battle is over, I want to hear about your Nordion, and tell you about my home, too! I could make tea and cookies... heeheehee! Is that okay, Miss?"
At last, she relinquishes her grip, if only because there is work to be done before the victors return to the battlefield. Yet there is an exuberance in her gaze, a joy radiating as she looks to the future -- alike to, perhaps, a butterfly's wings opening again.
"May we please... be friends?"
#ask tag#pridedprincess#'like a butterfly's wing closing' is such a neat simile ooh...#(lachesis('s hand) piloted w permission AHDSHFSD)#SORRY I DIDNT MEAN FOR THIS TO GET THAT LONG SDUFHSDUHFSDF
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Cross hemmed and hawed over his next move, tapping his fingers on the edge of the draughts board. Killer was lounging on the other side, easy grin in place as usual, even though Cross was sure he had the advantage this time.
"you've already lost."
The sudden, nearly-unfamiliar voice right beside him had Cross flinching hard enough that he nearly knocked the game askew; only Killer's stabilizing hands on the edge of the board kept it from being ruined. Cross turned his head to peer at where Dust, who'd made a rare appearance in the common room, was standing on the other side of the couch and was scrutinizing the game at a distance. Ichor lumbered past without sparing them a glance and disappeared into the kitchen; he must've recruited Dust for dinner duty.
"what?" Cross uttered dumbly.
Dust gave him a brief dour glare, then a few pieces on the board glowed blue. Cross watched as the game was spedrun to the end, with his side as the unexpected victor, despite Dust's words.
"you're welcome," he muttered as he followed after their largest member.
"Hey!" Killer cried, standing and slamming his hands onto the board, scattering the remaining pieces. "That's cheating! I demand a rematch, dammit!"
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the amethyst ~
NAME. UTP
AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3,000+ & UTP
SPECIES. Demigod ( Spartoi )
ABILITIES. Accumulation + 1 Secondary Ability
OCCUPATION. UTP
They called you Pelorus, they called you wise and regal, but you were aloof and paid little mind towards the conflicts that transpired between good and evil or right and wrong. Your compass was askew and it didn’t really matter to you what reasons a person had to fight. Capricious, some would say, a trait you undoubtedly inherited from your blood-soaked father. You were a warrior, just as your siblings were, sewn from the shadows you sprang from the earth and felt the divine blood of your cursed ancestry flow through your veins. Thebes was one of your legacies, alongside Cadmus and your siblings you founded the ancient city in the name of the false Gods. There you ruled for a time because you thought that it befitted you to do so. The five with a reputation that preceded them, invoked in the name of Ares and war, you regrettably left your post behind to join in the conflicts of the original vampire. You settled old scores, made sure blood debts were paid in full, but it was all so… Boring, trivial even. Just as the others you departed and took to taking on worship, it was said that you were a demigod, that someday one of the Great Old Ones would come to you and seek to possess you. Then you’d reach your truest form and truthfully that felt fitting, who better to become a God than you? Cthonius was killed by the original pretenders and this crime deserved an answer, so you and your siblings ended a conflict that would have no victors. From the field you wandered and to a cavern hidden beneath a lake you slumbered, protected by murky tides until darkness awoke you once more.
this skeleton is currently closed.
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To say Hazel didn’t want to beat Holland to the punch would’ve been apt. The Victor frightened her to her core – what did it mean to be a murderer like that? How could she confront someone who she couldn’t even stand to hear the name of? Hazel supposed she’d figure it out sooner, rather than later given the impending Games. There was the awkward song and dance of obviously wanting to avoid Holland, but that would defeat half of Hazel’s purpose for volunteering; Holland was the reason Aspen was dead and she needed to face consequences for her actions or – rather – her inaction.
It had been nearly a year since her sister had died – since her sister had been murdered. Aspen was always kind, bubbly, patient, and wholly undeserving of a violent death from rose-tinted glasses and the presumption some girl she had never met before would save her life. Hazel thought that was bullshit. Blame was an easy thing to parse around, an almost liquid-like state of matter and she would ensure that every last drop of it would be poured onto Holland.
If Aspen hadn’t trusted her, she wouldn’t have helped kill that Capitolite, if Aspen hadn’t trusted her, she wouldn’t have killed the boy from Twelve,
If Aspen hadn’t –
If Aspen –
If –
The elevator dinged as it announced the arrival to the rooftop and Hazel was pulled from her inner spiral. Great metal doors slid open to unveil the rooftop and for the first time since she had arrived in the Capitol, she breathed clean, fresh air, in direct opposition to the concrete jungle below. Her arms stretched above her head, an easy smile pressed across her face as she stepped onto the greenery, pleasantly surprised it had lived up to her expectation. Catching a glance of the exact person she hadn’t wanted to see, however, sucked the air right back out of her lungs.
Hazel’s jaw set askew for a moment and her eyes felt heavy – way too wide and doe-like, a deep pit of dread forming in her stomach. Would Holland know who she was? It wasn’t like it was a secret – how many Sawyers really existed in Panem, let alone in Seven? How many of them would look like Aspen, too?
“So...”
@hollandwestbrook
#hi helen#i am........sorry#but also not#thank you for being a willing participant in this lmao#holland#holland 130#130
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no one tells you how beautiful the Heavens look from down here...
There’s something so completely novel yet so indulgently pleasing about being on Earth. While Racham wanted to be in Heaven, with all his might, serving right alongside the Great Creator, he liked it down here. The sun was always so pleasantly bright and warm against his skin, the grass always felt like a wonderful cushion beneath his feet. Ultimately, living on Earth wasn’t the worst thing ever as some Celestials might’ve made it seem.
When he established himself on Earth in an area that would eventually be called Seoul, South Korea, Racham took on a more familiar name to humans, Isaac. He learned their ways, became an herbal pharmacist and enjoyed helping where he could. He especially liked making flowers for some of his sickest visitors or those who journeyed far for his aid.
Anywhere from feeding hungry children in the streets to offering protection to those in most need of it. But soon, humans began to advance at a rapid pace.
While the advancement may have taken a little longer to hit Seoul, when it did, it was like wildfire. Indoor plumbing, electricity, carriages, cars, trains, planes–all hitting so quickly that Racham was startled at how unrecognizable everything was becoming around him on Earth. The soft grass that cushioned his feet became hard concrete and rough asphalt. The air he loved breathing in so deep became toxic and thick with other pollutants. Water wasn’t even safe to admire anymore.
And just as he began to think of ways he could help humans adjust to all of these changes, to help God’s beloved creatures as he was meant to, he received notice. Celestials were to return to the Heavens. The message also stated that Celestials could not interfere with human affairs any longer.
Isaac was torn, heart askew. Humans were helpless without their intercession. They needed them just as much as Celestials needed humans. And so he pled, with anyone who would listen in the Heavens.
"Humans need us now more than they ever have!” he desperately begged. “The world is broadening for them, they’re connecting with people thousands of miles away which is great but ushers in problems. They need protection, guidance. We must stay with them.”
His concerns were seen as fear-mongering and “typical” for someone who’s lived too long on Earth. “It’s all you know,” his superiors told him.
And so, miserably, he watched the years tick by without any fanfare. This was truly what it means to die, he thought to himself. An immortal sitting in a gilded mausoleum in the skies, watching human catastrophe after human catastrophe.
He couldn’t be sure how long he sat up there before he decided to escape back to Earth. Would he meddle in human affairs? Perhaps. Was he about to break many rules? Yes, but as a human once sagely said, “It’s better to act decisively and ask forgiveness later than to seek approval to act and risk delay.”
Yes, he was afraid that his absence would be noticed and they’d be looking for him at any moment, but Racham truly believed this was the right thing to do and if he could just show them, his superiors would reconsider this mandate to have Celestials off of Earth.
Racham returned to Earth and did what he could to help where it was needed. But so much had changed and the need for aid was so overwhelming that he wasn’t sure he knew how to keep up or how to best help anyone anymore. So much of the wounds were beneath the surface. The side effects of war, loneliness, a lost sense of purpose or community or a sickness that never revealed its true face. So much pain among so many different species, it was enough to tighten his chest in an uncomfortable way.
During the first and second wars between vampires and faeries over power, Racham had not once lifted a finger to help either side. This power struggle benefitted no one except the victors. While never physically getting into the war, the angel really had no problem speaking his mind on things like this. The only argument he could remember was with a young vampire, perhaps just a fledgling who was about to take advantage of the power imbalance between he and a human. In his effort to defend her, he may have made an enemy that night, but he didn’t really care. Those with power and in power should use their powers to aid, not harm. And he would always stand by his actions that night.
Just a few weeks later, the celestial was eagerly helping someone who looked to be injured. He’d made medicine blends from herbs and oils he’d gathered on the spot and housed them in the hotel room he was able to book the moment he made it back. For his kindness, the stranger offered to buy him dinner. Racham almost immediately objected but found it hard to deny the stranger when they were so insistent.
They laughed and spoke for what seemed like hours before something felt wrong. He felt…funny. The sensation was one he’d never felt and as he stared in confusion at the stranger, vision blurring and his breathing increasing, choked out a weak plea for help. Were these other Celestials? Was he caught and in trouble?
Forgiveness…he would have to ask for forgiveness. Those were his last thoughts as he faded into unconsciousness.
He woke up later in a cage. Scared, in tears and praying that he could be forgiven. Racahm who’s paperwork and identification only had his human form’s name, Isaac. It took him an entire day to work out that he wasn’t in Heaven and he wasn’t taken by Celestials. He was trapped in the dungeon of a castle and made to be a slave, collar and all.
And that, Racham thought to himself, is how he ushered in his second death...
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The crooked kind (Part 8: The eleventh hour) {Uncharted - Rafe Adler x Nathan Drake}
Summary: Rafe is a riddle to Nathan – a potentially dangerous one. And nothing calls to Nathan Drake like some good, old-fashioned danger.
This time, though, his luck might be running out for real.
(Or, some alternate version of what happened in – and after – Panama).
Warnings: language, light smut, psychological trauma, grief (warnings change according to the chapter).
Word count (current chapter): 6.8k
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38081011/chapters/95921929 feel free to leave kudos if you enjoyed the read ♥
⪼ Previous Chapter – Next Chapter ⪻
DO NOT REPOST – REBLOGS ONLY
“Then you put this end over this other end, you see? You slide it in the loop and you pull, firmly, and you’re done. See?”
Nathan raises his head and sees that Sam is still struggling with his piece of rope, his fingers flimsily trying to follow the steps.
“No, no, you have to hold the loop, like this, alright? Or it’ll… exactly, fall apart.”
Sam pulls too fast, the rope slides all the way out, and the knot comes undone in his hands.
“This is wicked hard and useless,” his brother laughs in exasperation and tosses the rope off the bed.
He rummages in his pockets to find his beaten-up lighter and lights himself a cigarette, as if he deserved one just for the stress he's been put through.
“Why would I need a noose anyway? Isn’t it kind of grim?”
Nathan shrugs, still sitting cross-legged on the bed. He gives the cigarette the evil eye, but doesn’t say anything, even though Sam had been adamant about “not taking up the habit”. Yeah, right.
“It is useful. It’s a strong knot, you can lift heavy things with it, you can rope a ledge to pull yourself up… and it’s very easy to make once you master it. You just don’t have the patience.”
Sam holds up his hand, brushing his comments aside: whatever, I could care less, he can almost hear him say. He puffs out a small cloud of smoke and it disperses quickly under the warm, humid breeze coming in from the window left ajar.
Sam suddenly rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, looking distressed. It makes sense: it’s a hot spring for Boston’s standards and he’s just come back from a job in Mongolia – sick trip, that one. Sam has a new story for him every night. Nathan, on the other hand, feels completely at ease after suffering Colombia’s tropical heat. It’s even a bit chilly for his taste, and he keeps his brother’s old baseball shirt on.
Sam puffs out a very remote attempt at a smoke ring, grimacing and squinting at the sorry result. Nathan holds back a giggle: he looks like an annoyed cat when he makes that face. Sam notices his reaction and scrunches up his nose, probably considering the idea of shoving him off the bed for “lese-majesty”, as he likes to call it.
He doesn’t, though, and Nathan is almost disappointed. In the last few days, Sam has been unusually quiet and almost secretive about what he's actually thinking – which isn't really out of character for him, but he's been hitting a new extreme here. And he’s thinking a lot, smoking one cigarette after another. It surely has to do with the fact that he decided to look for Sir Francis Drake's ring by himself. He can tell exactly when Sam gets offended, and even though he was ultimately happy with his recovery, it's clear he would've liked to be an active part of it.
Nathan starts fidgeting with his noose. He holds it up and closes one eye to look through the loop. It’s a bit askew but way better than the sloppy first ones he’s made under Sully’s guidance.
“Victor taught you that, right?” Sam asks all of a sudden, as if he read his thoughts.
The way he almost throws away the question tells Nathan he’s not actually throwing it away. Just like his "okays" are never just okay.
“Yeah. Sully was in the Navy. He knows dozens of knots.”
Nathan shrugs again. He doesn’t like the way Sam keeps calling Sully by his first name. It’s like he purposefully wants to keep himself at a distance from him, even though he saved his little brother’s life. He sounded almost pissed when Nathan called him to tell him he was coming back from Cartagena in a few days and that he had company – reliable company. And he barely greeted the man at the airport when he came to pick him up. Sully had seemed a bit taken aback by Sam’s cold attitude, then he just walked off without as much as a reproach, shooting a gruff see ya, kid behind his back.
After one week, Nathan still has to build up the courage to call Sully’s home number just to know it’s legit.
“So you’re gonna learn them all, are you?”
Sam’s voice brings him back to the present. Nathan shrugs for the third time in a row, and this time his hand goes to tug at the newly acquired ring dangling from his neck, thumbing the inscriptions on the inside and outside.
“Why not? I always learn everything there is to learn.”
“Don’t I know.” Sam pauses, scoffing under his breath. “Seems like Victor is a better teacher than me anyway.”
A loaded silence stretches between them like a panther ready to pounce.
Nathan frowns, then sighs as quietly as he can, even though he’s really feeling under stress. It’s not only because he thinks Sam is overstepping his boundaries – he is, but he also knows exactly how his brother is feeling. They’ve been on their own for over two years, but it’s only lately that Nathan has begun to actually feel lonely. Disconnected from the world, as if they’re living in a separate bubble from all humanity, drowning in dead people’s tales and lost treasures.
Nathan has never felt like a people person, but maybe he’d like to be one. Maybe he would already be, if only he didn’t grow up in a secluded catholic orphanage, and if only there were other people around them. A grizzled, cigar-addicted conman and treasure hunter is probably not a fourteen-year-old’s first choice for a friend, but it’s better than no one at all.
Sam doesn’t think it the same way. It’s like he believes everyone will try to snatch his little brother from him. Nathan knows it should anger him, but it actually saddens him more than anything.
“Sam, I’m not… replacing you. I like being with you, I just like being with Sully too. You know that, right?”
“I s’pose.” He pulls a tense, apologetic smile, flicking the cigarette off the bed and then into the ashtray on the floor, as if he's not in the mood for smoking anymore. “It’s just hard knowing that you can manage without me. At this rate, who knows how long you’ll still need your big brother, right?”
He smiles, but his eyes don’t light up. How can he think so low of himself?
“Bullshit.”
Nathan wishes he had something heavier than a piece of rope to throw at his brother. He hates when he guilt-trips him like that. And he's looking at him with the intense, warm expression that never fails to remind him of their mother. Nathan ducks his head in disbelief, refusing to watch him in the eye.
“I am not going to leave you behind. I would never,” he says, and it’s barely a whisper, but he pours every ounce of firmness into it.
Sam chuckles. There’s something pointy and sharp in that laugh, like metal shards rattling against each other. The light in the room starts to dim – a cloud must be passing outside.
“You’ve always been a lousy poker player, little brother.”
Sam’s voice suddenly sounds rougher, deeper. Nathan doesn’t immediately raise his eyes, still dead set on staying angry at him. The light is so faint now, it could be dusk already – but it was late morning not even two minutes ago.
“Why would you say that? It’s the truth,” he mutters, feeling his voice wavering.
Just then, Sam’s hands come into vision under his eyes, resting beside his own, and there are faint scars and calluses on them that weren’t there before. They seem bigger, stronger, with nicotine-stained nails, hardened knuckles, and a hint of hair on his wrist.
Nathan blinks hard.
He raises his eyes and looks straight at his brother – then he pauses, gaping in puzzlement. Sam is older, his hair longer and combed back; there are more wrinkles around his eyes, there’s a sharper curve to his nose, and a more marked shade of beard on his chin. He’s smiling in a sad, soft way that gives him the creeps.
“Sam...?”
His hazel eyes don’t see him, he realizes. They’re opaque, filled with gossamer and dust.
Nathan feels something choking the air out of him.
A trickle of blood suddenly stains Sam's lips and chin, dripping into nothingness – it’s pitch-dark around them now, it feels cramped and it smells of wax and incense.
Nathan jumps to his feet – the noose falls from his hands, lands at Sam’s knees.
His brother is still smiling, his eyes still blank, dead, yet so pained he can feel their stab directly in his chest.
“Then why did you leave me behind, Nathan?”
△
Nathan jerks awake in a pool of his own sweat, gasping for air.
His lungs hurt, his chest heaves as if he’s been underwater for too long. He lets out a strangled pant and rakes his hands on his damp face. The bruise on his cheekbone shoots a pang of pain through his nerves. He stays like that for several seconds, maybe even minutes, feeling the nightmare clawing at the back of his mind, trying to break loose into reality. He shuts it out, bolts the door, seals it away for good. That memory is stained forever.
“Fuck,” he breathes against his palms, struggling to breathe normally.
He eventually cracks his fingers open and his surroundings slowly come into focus, albeit shrouded in a greyish light, eerily resembling the one in their room back in Boston. He’s still on the boat. The quiet rocking and the slush of the waves should’ve given that away, along with the smell of salt. He can make out the wavy line of the horizon outside the nearest porthole. The sea is calm and still leaden, the sky gives off the faintest hint of daylight.
A soft snore to his left catches his attention, and his still half-covered eyes pin unexpectedly on Rafe’s lying frame. He’s sleeping beside him on his back, with one hand on his stomach and the other bent above his head, breathing through his slightly-parted mouth. He looks peaceful, for a change, even though there are dark rings around his eyes. He obviously has a very deep sleep, or he would’ve been startled awake already. Or he's simply exhausted – Nathan didn't hear him coming to bed, but it can't have been that long ago.
Nathan holds back a shiver, suddenly aware of the boat’s chilly temperature against his still damp and exposed skin. He cowers under the blanket, trying to even out his erratic pulse. He’s wondering if he should wake Rafe up – weren’t they supposed to set sail at the break of dawn? – when the shrill, piercing ring of an alarm blares over the quietness.
Rafe grunts and stirs on his side of the bed, blindly waving a hand to his left until he finally smacks the alarm clock on the shelf into silence. He cracks an eyelid open and blinks repeatedly, still looking more asleep than awake, then he sits up with a sudden movement, forcefully rubbing his face to drive the sleep away, as if he could just doze off again in a matter of seconds. He glances at his side, finding Nathan’s half-hooded eyes.
“Ain’t you a ray of sunshine,” he mumbles, voice still husky from the night.
“You should see yourself,” Nathan shoots back, croaking a bit himself.
Rafe takes a look at the alarm – it blinks a merciless 4:30 am – and his expression darkens even more.
“I slept for maybe two hours. I had to keep the boat into safe waters,” he groans then, as he throws his legs off the side of the bed and stretches his back – something pops quietly and they both grimace.
“I could’ve helped you with the… you know, sailing stuff,” Nathan says, slowly sitting up as well.
He feels a little dizzy. Maybe he should eat something, but the thought of food still makes his stomach clench. It’s down to only water again, it seems. He's handled worse.
“I had it under control. I’ve been doing ‘sailing stuff’ since I was old enough to tie a knot,” Rafe shrugs, mocking him a little as he stands up with a disgruntled huff.
Nathan holds back a wince at those words, as if a needle just pricked his skin. He stiffens, as blurred images from the dream waver like mirages in front of him – nooses and knots and incense, only this time Sam’s face is a blotch of white, shapeless paint, no features, no eyes, no nothing – because how can he still have a face after that fall, after his body crushed and splintered…
He finds himself gagging abruptly and he presses a palm to his mouth, stifling a horrified gasp. Rafe turns to him with a jolt.
“Nate?”
“I’m fine,” he manages to say, muffled by his own hand, the other one strangling the covers. “Just… seasick.”
He doesn’t fool him, of course – he’s always been a lousy liar after all, isn't he? – and next thing he knows, Rafe is standing at his side, a look of peeved concern scrunching his eyebrows together. He considers him for some weighty moments, before speaking in an all but appeasing tone:
"You said you didn't get seasick."
"I am now, okay?" Nathan snaps, his voice tensing around the words.
"Well, get over it. We're not on vacation here."
Nathan shoots him a sideways glance, actually grateful that his stomach is an empty chasm, or he might've already thrown up everything and then his soul.
"Why don't you go doing your 'sailing stuff' and let me breathe for a sec?" he all but snarls, making to shove him away and completely missing him.
Rafe scoffs, still hovering over him, not making the slightest gesture to heed his request.
“Whatever happened to staying focused?”
Nathan whips his head up, rage building inside him as if a match just fell into a pit of fuel.
“You think this is easy?” he says through gritted teeth, forcing himself to pull the hand away from his mouth despite the queasiness.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Rafe bites back, and he suddenly seizes him by his wrist, forcing him to turn around and abruptly leaning into his space. “You think you’re the only one having a hard time here?”
Nathan can feel his eyes widen in disbelief as he tries to snatch his hand away – but Rafe's hold just tightens, cutting the blood flow in his arm. Nathan only now realizes just how weak he feels, his muscles all jittery and feeble, unable to fight against his grip.
“I just lost my brother, goddammit! How could you–”
“I know, and we’re both fucking dead too if we screw up!” Rafe cuts him off, shaking him by his wrist and sending a jolt up his arm, and he’s practically in his face now. “You wanna end up like Samuel? ‘Cause I fucking don’t!”
Nathan was about to come at him full throttle, since he seems so keen on flipping out first thing in the morning, but he stops before he can even begin to talk. Because Rafe Adler is screaming, and that’s something subverting some unwritten law of nature.
Yeah, they yelled at each other the night before, they almost came to blows too, but Nathan had been the one doing most of the screaming and most of the fighting. Now there’s a wild, frenzied look in Rafe’s sleep-deprived eyes, a twitch in his set jaw and features, more wrinkles than ever on his furrowed brow. And he's going to sprain his wrist if he keeps holding it that tight.
He’s scared, Nathan realizes at that very moment. Rafe is scared of dying – and he should be as well, if only life didn’t start to look meaningless from the moment Sam’s hand slipped from his own.
“I don’t want to die here either,” he tells him instead, not knowing if that’s the actual truth or just something he’s making up in his mind to retain his sanity.
Rafe abruptly closes his mouth, killing off his momentum and all the words he was about to spit out on him. He was probably expecting another aggressive comeback. He’s slightly panting through his nose now, but his tensed-up features smoothen out as he regains his control. He doesn’t let go of his wrist, but his grip slackens, going back to a simple hold. His face is still hovering inches away from his own, and Nathan can see the weary, almost febrile film in his eyes.
“Then you know what I need you to do. I can’t keep functioning for two here, not when there’s a manhunt on us and you’re the one who knows how to wriggle away from a tight spot. We’re going to get ourselves killed if we don’t both stay focused.”
Rafe is probably trying to force him to keep his head in the game, but he sounds as if those words are addressed at himself as much as they are at him. There’s still that fleeting gleam of confusion in his eyes, his pupil so shrunken it almost gets lost in the thin brown ring encircling it. Nathan feels like they're both only now grasping the complexity and dangerousness of the situation – and they're both breaking under different kinds of pressure.
They could die in a matter of hours. They could be thrown back into that prison. He can almost feel a noose around his neck, now suddenly aware that his luck might be running out for good – but maybe Sam was his luck all along, and he’s left him behind, he’s–
Nathan takes a deep breath, feeling splinters in his lungs. They're really going to get themselves killed if they don't relieve this unrelenting pressure, and there's only one way he knows to work for sure for them – just like it worked last night.
“Let’s stay focused, then,” Nathan hears himself say, killing his thoughts off and tugging at Rafe’s hand, still clamped around his wrist.
It’s enough to throw him slightly off-balance, causing him to lean forward. Nathan steals a brief kiss from him. Rafe draws back almost immediately, straightening up and looking dumbfounded – but he still lingers in his space, still doesn’t avert his eyes. It’s as if he can’t really find any good reason not to indulge in Nathan’s invite. Did he look that desperate too, last night?
“We don’t have time,” he mutters then, still way too close to him to be even remotely convincing, one hand still holding his wrist as the other comes up to his nape.
Nathan shifts to the edge of the bed, looking at him from below, eye-level with his waist. His hands climb up to Rafe's tights, crawl under his shirt and come to rest on his lower back, bunching up the hem to uncover his abdomen.
"Nate..."
“Let me return the favor, okay?” he whispers on his skin, just as Rafe whispered to him last night.
Rafe swallows audibly and stays silent as Nathan noses his way down to his waistband, under which a bulge is beginning to strain against his boxers. He teasingly nibbles on the hem, then dives beneath it, brushing his lips along his length through the thin layer of fabric, a small, damp spot already sifting through. Rafe inhales sharply, biting on his lip and then slightly parting his mouth. His eyes lose focus when Nathan tightens his grip, digging his fingers in his back and pressing his erection against his mouth.
Then Rafe mouths a distinct fuck it and dives onto him, catching him in a messy kiss, practically manhandling him back on the bed.
Nathan feels the world blur once more around him, smothered by the spikes of excitement and pleasure running wildly under his skin as Rafe gropes every inch of his body and latches onto him. The nightmare is losing shape, dissolving like blood into flowing water, and what’s to come looks like a far-away speckle on the horizon.
Rafe bucks against his mouth when Nathan presses him at the bottom, not making the slightest move to withstand his initiative – Nathan can feel him giving way under his pressure, slowly loosening up as he lets him take the lead this time. His skin feels a bit too warm to the touch, with the occasional shiver coursing through his body. Nathan tries to be gentler, to hold back on the urge building inside him, but it's an already lost battle, and Rafe doesn't seem keen on slowing down, even though his quickened breath almost turns to a wheeze at some point.
Nathan drags his teeth on his neck as he goes for his pants, pulling them down and taking a firm hold of his erection. Rafe’s breath hitches, then tumbles down in a moan and he starts writhing under his touch, his fingers now digging into his scalp. Nathan is already halfway down his belly, when Rafe finds just enough voice to speak:
“This is not what I meant with ‘staying focused’,” he breathes, gripping the hair on the back of his head.
Nathan shoots him one last look from below, briefly finding his misty eyes before going down on him.
“Then you set a really bad example, Rafe.”
△
“Let’s go over this again.”
Nathan sighs, feeling like when Sister Catherine would call him to the board and make him repeat the daily Bible verses he obviously never cared to learn. The sudden image of Rafe dressed in a nun’s tunic sits somewhere between hilarious and horrifying, but he’s starting to become accustomed to his brain’s recent misfires.
“I get in, show the fake ID if they ask for it, go up to our room, collect our stuff and come out from the back door right there. No sweat.”
It still feels strange talking in plurals when it’s just his room, now, his stuff. He shakes that consideration away. His brain really doesn’t seem willing to cooperate today.
“You need me to collect anything from your room?”
Rafe nods a no. “It’s nothing that can’t be replaced. Just be discreet, I don’t want to resort to plan B.”
He shoots a glance at the car’s glovebox, where a gun is sitting as a last-resort measure.
“Then don’t, I’ll wing it if things go south.” He notices Rafe’s withering glare and he rolls his eyes. “I’ve been doing this longer than you have, right? We– I’ve been in worse situations.”
“I honestly doubt it.”
Nathan considers him for a long second, then finally finds the will to utter his next words:
“Sam hasn’t always been there for me, you know? I had to make do without him more often than not. I’ll manage.”
Sure, he managed just fine that one time when Sam had been on a job, and he had the brilliant idea of going to Colombia and look for Drake’s ring alone. He managed so fine that an army of English thugs almost shot him and dumped his corpse in a ditch in Cartagena, had Sully have not been there to save his skinny ass – and all the times after that first one.
He can look after himself, as long as there’s someone else looking after him when he screws up. Just peachy. Nathan avoids Rafe’s gaze, feeling its weight on his skin, as if he’s able to sense the half-lie behind those words. Then his hand catches his wrist, building a firm pressure around it.
“Are you focused?”
Nathan turns to look at him, and he thinks he can glimpse flashes from this morning in his clear irises, in the way they hone in on him. When, within the tangle of half-naked limbs and moans they became all over again, he whispered those same three words on his lips – are you focused now? Yes, yes.
He swallows on his tongue, his skin subtly prickling. He's been keeping an eye on him, but Rafe seems completely lucid now: the mild stress-induced fever from this morning seems to have broken, leaving him simply very tired and in need of a good night's sleep. There’s no trace of tease in Rafe’s voice now, no glint of mischief in his eyes, even though the grip on his wrist clashes with that appearance, charged with more than one meaning. There's the faintest red ring on his skin, where he got a hold of him this morning.
Nathan steals one last glance at him – takes in the hint of sunburn on his cheekbones, the way it makes his light eyes stand out even more, the fine grains of salt stuck in his hair and the faint marine scent he gives off – then he nods jerkingly. He tries to see those details and not the whole picture, ignoring the whole, terrifying mess they're wading through right now. He just has to keep his head just above the water.
“Yeah. I’m focused.”
“Good.” Rafe retreats his fingers, leaving a warm impression on his skin. “Now go, we’re sitting ducks here.”
Nathan gets off the car and into the half-deserted street. The wave of appalling heat crashes down on him like a mallet, even though it’s barely nine in the morning. He pinches at his brown Havana shirt, fanning himself to no avail – and cursing Rafe for imposing that atrocity on him along with the matched linen shorts – then he starts off around the corner, leaving the hotel’s back door behind and heading for the main entrance.
Rows of colorful Hispanic-style houses seem to follow his steps through their run down, flaked shutters. It’s like they’re trying their best to be appealing, but they only manage to paint a rather stilted image of a lively neighborhood. Their hotel is in the town’s port area, after all, and he doubts it gets to accommodate many tourists throughout the year.
Nathan turns around the second corner, skirting along the wall to stay in its thinning shade. He wipes off the sweat from his palms, and it has nothing to do with the temperature. He can’t shake off the feeling that he will somehow screw this up. His brain is not really helping his case as it fires off thought after thought, smothering the background noise – Sam, Sam, Sam – and trying to keep him on track, focused.
According to their cover story, they’re American businessmen looking to strike a deal with some Panamanian export company. Nobody cared to inquire further, and Rafe’s bribes covered for any inconvenient questions. They didn’t even take any mugshot of them back at the prison, thanks to Vargas’ intercession, and of course they didn’t give their real names.
No one could even recognize them or put out a warrant unless they took a very good look at them during their brief detention – which he doubts, given how the guards seemed to treat every inmate with the same degree of contempt, as if they were just sacks of meat ready to be beaten on a whim.
Then again, they were the only three gringos back there. And now they’re down to two, and how can this be not suspect. They know that Sam––
Nathan feels a thin layer of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as he struggles to breathe normally. His hand trembles when he pushes the hotel’s main door – he barely realized he walked up the short cobblestone path, went up the front steps and crossed the narrow porch.
He tries to stay focused, but how can he be focused and not think at the same time?
“Buenos días,” he hears himself say, as he walks into the small lobby.
The receptionist, a short, curly woman he’s never seen before, barely glances up from the ledger she’s writing on and answers in kind with a polite, unassuming smile. She quickly returns to her job until he walks up to the counter.
“Uh, quería la llave por mí cuarto, por favor. Harrison, 215,” he asks, in what he hopes is a decent Spanish.
Judging from the amused quirk of her lips, it isn’t, and he probably messed up the room number too, but she seems to get it all the same. She gives him the room key with a melodic, r-rolling here you go, looking him straight in the face for the first time.
A wary look blooms in her dark eyes and for a second Nathan is sure she is about to snatch the key back. She glances behind him, as if she were expecting someone else to be with him, and she seems confused. That reaction manages to shoot an uneasy feeling up Nathan’s spine. He takes the key and offers her a quick gracias, then he starts off to the stairs walking as fast as he can without breaking in a full run.
“Crap,” he curses under his breath as he shoots up the stairs the instant he’s out of sight.
She wasn’t there when they first arrived. Maybe she’s covering for one of the bribed employees and she’s wondering why on Earth only one of the three wealthy Americans staying here shows up alone after almost one week of unexplained absence. And then, he realizes, he’s sporting a shiner and a split lip, a literal eyesore on the wealthy businessman’s façade. That’s, like, the definition of hinky, as Sully would say.
He can already picture her calling her boss to ask for further details about the whole matter – and who knows how far Rafe’s bribes can cover their asses. He’s rich, but is he rich enough to cover up a jailbreak and avoid a possible extradition from the States – provided they can even leave the country unnoticed?
He reaches the room, and he has to go through four attempts, before he can lodge the key into the keyhole, feeling like a drunkard coming home after a bender. The jingling keyring echoes like a metallic noisemaker in the quiet corridor.
Focused, stay focused.
The door swings open, he steps in side, and every semblance of self-control crumbles apart as soon as he sets his eyes on Sam’s sunglasses, pinned on the small wall pocket by the coat rack. Nathan shuts the door behind him, eyes fixed on that single, completely normal object. He presses his back against the wood, feeling the need to sink to the floor.
His breath dwindles down to a feeble draft of air.
He can’t do this. He can’t do this – why does he even have to do this, actually?
Because he doesn’t even have a proper body to weep over. The thought shoots through his brain like a lightning bolt and it hurts just like one. This is the closest thing to a funeral wake he’s going to get right now.
He steps away from the door and reaches for the sunglasses. He picks them up, slowly, expecting them to turn to ash in his hands. They stay solid, listless, just like any pair of well-worn sunglasses.
Nathan wipes the tears from his face, not even knowing when they started coming. He can’t deal with his malfunctioning emotional system, right now, so he just lets them run down undisturbed as he slips Sam’s sunglasses in his shirt’s pocket and takes a few more steps in their– no his room.
It’s a mess. Clothes scattered all over, personal effects sitting in every corner, crumpled papers everywhere. They’ve never been the tidiest people. Even their flat looks like a bomb just went off in the middle of the parlor, and it made for more than one fight about who was on cleaning duty. In this moment, though, it all feels particularly aggravating.
He takes a deep breath, sniffles in resignation, and starts by recovering their duffel bags from under the beds. He carefully sets Sam’s blue one on his bed and tosses his own on the floor. Sam’s things come first. Nathan meant for this to have some kind of significance, but he finds himself just going through the motions, his heart drumming away with the fear of some catastrophe ready to strike him if he dares spending here more time than necessary.
Focused, he needs to stay focused – and, deep down, he's glad to rush this. It feels so wrong, so uncalled for, to mourn Sam in this miserable room at the end of the earth. There will be time later, he keeps droning to himself, barely looking at what he puts in Sam’s bag. He’s so quick that he actually has time to pack his bag too, so he doesn’t have to buy half of his summer wardrobe again.
And the ring, goddammit, he almost forgot about it. He pulls out a section of the wall's baseboard, right at the corner beside his bed, revealing the small niche where he shoved Sir Francis Drake’s ring. He almost drowns in relief when he sees it’s still there, untouched.
As he’s putting it on again, feeling as if the tiniest weight shifted back into place, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he nailed it effortlessly, when the sound of steps in the corridor suddenly spikes his anxiety. He tries to be reasonable. They’re just steps, and it’s a hotel, of course there are going to be people around – but his brain is currently busy turning to mush as he finds himself almost hyperventilating in the small, cramped room – what if the girl called the cops, what if they are already onto him?
The steps stop. Nathan is not sure, but he believes they’re right in front of the door. There’s no knock though, no shuffling of feet, no jingling of keys. Just dead silence.
Nathan swallows so hard he almost chokes on his own spit. He opens the window – that’s pure body memory, if the door is blocked, go for the window – and cranes his neck outside. He can see the small back garden, all patches of dry grass, stunted bushes, and withering flowerbeds. Those could make for a soft landing.
A sudden creak nearly makes him jump out of his skin, but it’s just old wood readjusting under a temperature leap – it must be, right? Or maybe they are forcing the door? No, why would they, employees have a master key, it doesn’t make any sense –and what if that was a gun’s safety, what if they’re aiming right at him right now–
Crap, he can’t think straight, he can’t think. All possible, absurd scenarios flash behind his eyes in a chaotic jumble, he can’t think–
He's a single thought away from a complete meltdown, and he wills his brain to just shut the hell down. That's when it decides to just strike him with the final blow, the one thought that's been chasing after him since he woke up this morning.
At this rate, who knows how long you’ll still need your big brother, right?
Nathan digs the heel of his hands in his eyes, exerting pressure as red blotches stain his vision. He muffles a sob in the back of his throat, drawing a wet breath. He wants to scream and cry and punch something at the same time.
“I need you now, Sam,” he whispers into thin air – that's the first sign of crazy, stop it, stop it.
His hands come down from his eyes and clasp around his nose and mouth, pressing together to stave off the sobs. He feels like he’s praying, maybe for real, for the first time in his whole life.
“Please, I need you now, you big dumbass. Please, please, just– come back.”
His voice breaks, barely audible. He almost expects him to open the door at this very moment, sporting one of his wiseass smiles and asking him what the hell he is crying about. But Sam isn’t coming, and Rafe is waiting for him, risking his life for this senseless endeavor, and Sully is a whole continent away – he doesn't even know about all this – and his luck has run out, if it ever existed.
He’s on his own.
He lets his hands fall down. One goes to grip his chest, right where his brother’s sunglasses are. The other presses against his ring, almost driving it into his chest.
He needs to stay focused.
He blows out a trembling breath, wipes his eyes and nose and chooses a course of action – no second thoughts, no hesitations.
You can’t hesitate when you throw two bags out the window and then vault yourself over the balcony landing to climb down a rickety drainpipe, scraping your knees and elbows against the rough, chipped wall outside – because you're so weak you might just faint under the scorching sun.
You can’t hesitate when you sneak your way to the bush where the bags landed, recover them – they’re heavier than they look, but you can’t slow down, you're carrying your brother's body – all while keeping an eye on a potentially police-swarmed building.
You can’t hesitate when the thought of making your way through the ground floor and to the back door becomes unbearable and you just opt for climbing the back wall directly into the street, hoping that nobody sees you or mistakes you for a thief and decides to put a bullet into you for good measure.
You can’t hesitate, when you skirt along a shady-looking slum acting like you’re supposed to be there, even though you probably look like a lost and beaten-up kid who’s trying to find his way home.
When Nathan all but tears off the car’s door handle, he feels like he’s just had an out-of-body experience, looking at himself through a spyglass as he somehow managed to get out of that trap in one piece.
“What the hell?”
Rafe’s startled voice brings him back to reality, as well as his sudden, dangerous hand jerk towards the glove box.
“Spare the bullets, it’s me.”
Rafe sighs, releasing some tension, though his eyes still dart warily to the street.
“I was expecting you to come out that way,” he huffs out, pointing at the hotel’s back door.
“I took the scenic route,” Nathan quips, shoving his own bag in the back seat and struggling to settle Sam’s in the footwell.
Rafe starts up the engine, quickly driving into the street. Nathan is aware of the furtive looks he’s stealing at his face, but he has the decency to keep his mouth shut about it – at least until Nathan notices he’s looking at him through the faint reflection in the window. He looks daggers at him, and Rafe clears his throat, going back to driving.
They both stay silent from then on, with bated breath, feeling like something could go awry at any moment – a police car coming out of nowhere, a gunshot breaking their windshield, a chopper flying overhead. When they finally take the highway leading to the airport, it feels like the oxygen is flowing into the car again. Tropical trees line the horizon, covering the sea view as they speed outside the windows.
“Were they after you?” Rafe asks after a while, and it's clear he's been holding back any questions about what the hell happened at the hotel to upset him so much.
“I don’t know, I just…” Maybe there's an elegant way to say he panicked. “I got a bad feeling and bolted from the window.”
“From the window?”
Rafe averts his eyes from the street to shoot him an incredulous look. Nathan shrugs, lazily signaling him to keep his eyes on the road.
“What can I say, it was the fastest way out.”
Rafe scoffs.
“So much for ‘discreet’.”
“When they notice that something’s off, we’ll already be in the air,” Nathan shoots back. “I don’t think anyone saw me climbing out. I'm good at sneaking away.”
“Let’s hope so.”
He sighs loudly, combing his hair back with his free hand, eyes trained on the now bumpy road ahead. Then he clicks his tongue and stays silent for a couple more minutes.
“You got everything?” he asks eventually, in that particular tone that seems to fight with itself to soften down all the edges it usually carries.
Nathan looks down at his own hands, not sure he can hold his gaze without bursting into tears again. His eyes thankfully stay dry.
“Yes. All that matters, at least.”
“Good. Then let’s get out of this goddamn country.”
Nathan nods – he couldn’t agree more. He realizes he’s tugging at Drake's ring in that nervous way of his. He perceives the weight of Sam’s sunglasses just beside his heart, the soft shape of Sam’s bag wedged between his feet. It’s all that matters, right there.
His throat tightens with the awareness that he’s leaving Sam behind for the second time.
⪼ Next Chapter ⪻
#uncharted#fanfiction#fanfic#rafe x nathan#rafe x nate#nate x rafe#videogames#smut#mm#angst#slash#sensitive topics#a thief's end
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Beatport The Shortlist: Trance (Main Floor) February 2024
- Artists: Beatport
DATE CREATED: 2024-01-30
GENRES: Trance (Main Floor)
Tracklist :
1. Phil Reynolds - Born To Run(Brad Thatcher Remix)
2. Push - Universal Nation(Charlotte de Witte Rework)
3. Danny Eaton - Prosperity(Extended Mix)
4. Fractions - 2005(Original Mix)
5. TH3 ONE, Hypersia - Another Way(Extended)
6. Ace - Aurora(Original Mix)
7. Eli & Fur - You're So High (10 Years On)(Sasha Extended Remix)
8. Sunda - Mirage(Julian Del Agranda Extended Remix)
9. Crayvxn - Ijetna Iluzia(Original Mix)
10. SØNIN - Nano(Extended Mix)
11. Chakra - I Am(Paul Denton Extended Remix)
12. Victor Special - Powerful Vibrations(Extended Mix)
13. Bjorn Akesson - Language(Factoria Extended Remix)
14. BT, Christian Burns - Save Me(John Askew Extended Remix)
15. Nitrous Oxide, Katie Marne - Stay(Extended Club Mix)
16. Andy Newtz - Mechanika(Extended Mix)
17. Jamie Walker - Feel The Energy(Extended Mix)
18. Horizons (IT) - Haarlem(2 A.M. Mix)
19. Chris Connolly - Aurelion(
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Beatport The Shortlist: Trance (Main Floor) February 2024
- Artists: Beatport
DATE CREATED: 2024-01-30
GENRES: Trance (Main Floor)
Tracklist :
1. Phil Reynolds - Born To Run(Brad Thatcher Remix)
2. Push - Universal Nation(Charlotte de Witte Rework)
3. Danny Eaton - Prosperity(Extended Mix)
4. Fractions - 2005(Original Mix)
5. TH3 ONE, Hypersia - Another Way(Extended)
6. Ace - Aurora(Original Mix)
7. Eli & Fur - You're So High (10 Years On)(Sasha Extended Remix)
8. Sunda - Mirage(Julian Del Agranda Extended Remix)
9. Crayvxn - Ijetna Iluzia(Original Mix)
10. SØNIN - Nano(Extended Mix)
11. Chakra - I Am(Paul Denton Extended Remix)
12. Victor Special - Powerful Vibrations(Extended Mix)
13. Bjorn Akesson - Language(Factoria Extended Remix)
14. BT, Christian Burns - Save Me(John Askew Extended Remix)
15. Nitrous Oxide, Katie Marne - Stay(Extended Club Mix)
16. Andy Newtz - Mechanika(Extended Mix)
17. Jamie Walker - Feel The Energy(Extended Mix)
18. Horizons (IT) - Haarlem(2 A.M. Mix)
19. Chris Connolly - Aurelion(
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RIDERS OF THE CANYON presentan disco en Barcelona el 5 de octubre y en Terrassa el 19 de noviembre
Próximos conciertos:
5 octubre- Curtcircuit, La Nau- Barcelona
19 noviembre- Nova Jazzcava- Terrassa
Entradas disponibles en https://linktr.ee/ridersofthecanyon
Tras el inigualable recibimiento mundial del último álbum de Joana Serrat, "Hardcore From The Heart" (2021, Loose / Great Canyon) -con el cual obtuvo incalculables halagos y encabezó las principales listas de los mejores discos de aquel año: la legendaria revista musical inglesa Uncut valoró el disco con un 9 sobre 10; encabezó las principales listas de los mejores discos del año 2021; fue escogido Premi Enderrock de la Crítica al Millor Disc de L'Any y Mejor Disco Nacional del año en la revista Ruta 66; protagonizó la portada a la revista Mondo Sonoro)-, y tras una extensa gira que la ha llevado por buena parte de los escenarios estatales, europeos, ingleses y norteamericanos, la cantautora catalana aprovecha la pausa hasta la publicación de su nuevo trabajo discográfico en solitario para presentarnos ahora su proyecto paralelo: Riders Of The Canyon.
Riders Of The Canyon es la superbanda formada por Joana Serrat junto al norirlandés Matthew McDaid, y los barceloneses Víctor Partido (cantante de la excepcional banda ya desaparecida Partido) y Roger Usart.
A esta maravillosa aventura capitaneada por Serrat, se le han unido un inmejorable plantel de músicos, productores e ingenieros amigos de la propia artista. De esta manera, podemos encontrar en los créditos de las canciones que componen el primer álbum de la banda nombres tan importantes como Joey McClellan (Midlake, John Grant, Rufus Wainwright), McKenzie Smith(St. Vincent, Sharon Van Etten, First Aid Kit), Jesse Chandler (Midlake, Mercury Rev, Beth Orton), Cory Gray (The Delines, The Decemberists. Laura Gibson), BJ Cole (Elton John, R.E.M., John Cale), Jason Kardong (Brandi Carlile, Marissa Nadler, Margo Cilker), John Morgan Askew (She & Him, Neko Case, Alela Diane) y el ganador de un premio Grammy Ted Young (Kurt Vile, Mercury Rev, The Rolling Stones), entre muchos otros.
La masterización ha corrido a cargo de Victor García.
Fruto de este poderosísimo encuentro de artistas, Riders Of The Canyon ha publicaco el 23 de junio de 2023 su primer álbum con diez canciones soberbias que reflejan la mejores virtudes compositivas de cada uno de ellos: energía arrebatadora, adictiva y contagiosa junto a paisajes acústicos envolventes y maravillosas conjunciones de armonías vocales.
"Es sublime. Un álbum maravilloso" 9/10 (Allan Jones, Uncut / UK)
"Un fascinante cuarteto que contiene cuatro voces solistas que se combinan maravillosamente (...) pero son sus armonías las que los elevan por encima de la mayoría de sus competidores" ★★★★ (Dave Esson, Daily Express / UK)
"Realmente me encanta su sonido... El álbum es fantástico. Muy buen material" (Ralph McLean, BBC / UK)
"Mucho por disfrutar" 8/10 (David Jarman, Americana UK)
"Grandes momentos en tecnicolor... tienen imágenes poéticas en abundancia, sobre la fugacidad, la fragilidad del amor y la existencia. En el ensayo de Greil Marcus sobre Elvis (en "Mystery Train", 1975) hay una maravillosa formulación de W. J. Cash, que habla de una "conspiración cósmica contra la realidad en favor del romance". Riders Of The Canyon cantan a la amarga realidad que les acompaña. Su poesía impregna el realismo... Una música cósmica" (Frank Schwarzberg, diario Junge Welt, Alemania)
"Es un conjunto sublime que resuena en lo más profundo del alma" (Jeff Gemmill, The Old Grey Cat / USA)
"Un exquisito álbum" ★★★★ Disco de la Semana (Jordi Biancotto, El Periódico)
"Reconfortante" ★★★★ Disco de la Semana (Esteban Linés, La Vanguardia)
"...es difícil, muy difícil, salir de él" (Virginia Díaz, 180 Grados, Radio 3, RNE)
"Es un álbum potentísimo" (Santiago Alcanda, Como lo Oyes, Radio 3, RNE)
"¿El mejor disco español de 2023? Pulcras melodías, guitarras variadas, voces masculinas y femeninas celestes, paisajes sonoros heterogéneos, coros oníricos, arreglos con una espectacular riqueza cromática de timbres y sonidos… Riders Of The Canyon han firmado un primer álbum tan exquisito como expansivo..." (Matías Uribe, El Heraldo de Aragón)
"De una belleza sublime" (Ruta 66)
"Joya" 8/10 (Mondo Sonoro)
"No estamos en condiciones de desperdiciar tamaña suma de talentos" (Manel Celeiro, Efe Eme)
"Talento y complicidad se dan la mano y no la dejan ir en los 40 minutos que dura el debut... Ha nacido una superbanda" (Marcel Pujols, Enderrock)
"..bullicios eléctricos de lo más potentes, armonías vocales pastorales excepcionales, y un equilibrio muy bien logrado entre modernidad y tradición... Apreciados jinetes...no se cansen nunca de cabalgar" (Guillem Vidal, LRI de les Arts, El Punt Avui)
"Han hecho un álbum extraordinario. Es una maravilla... Tan excepcional..." (Albert Puig, DeliCatessen, iCat FM, Catalunya Ràdio)
"¡Madre de Dios qué bestiada!... Es una preciosidad...una delicia. Imprescindible" (Jordi Sunyer, El 9 Nou)
"Un álbum atemporal... Un clásico contemporáneo" (Albert Barrios, Dirty Rock Magazine)
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Wanna Play a Game?
Dream Askew - September 2nd
https://startplaying.games/adventure/climhtk88000208kz2s2vdf6h
Apocalypse Keys Play by Post (cohosted by me and Victor) - Starts September 7th
https://startplaying.games/adventure/clls4dy2x000308md4zc91u2t
Monster of the Week - Starts September 12th
https://startplaying.games/adventure/clltlck5d000p08mlhyw614v6
This Discord Has Ghosts In It - September 22nd
https://startplaying.games/adventure/cl7mct1gt000g09mhbursbp8e
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@rubiesintherough sent a meme / victor
“ don’t get in my way. ”
“I think you might have that the wrong way ‘round, honestly.” She didn’t know who he was, what he was - what he wanted with the young mutant that was now cowering behind the exam table, and the truth was, it didn’t matter any to her one bit. The image that she presented might not be one that struck fear in the hearts of men, with her stethoscope slung around her neck, her white lab coat and her black slacks and cheery blue button down shirt, all of a hundred and twenty five pounds soaking wet -- sure she might have some height to her advantage, but no real muscles to speak of, at least not that you’d think, to see her -- but be that as it may, she was standing her ground between him, and the teen. “You would do well to leave now, before this turns into a mess --”
She paused briefly, glancing to the door that was almost off its hinges, slightly askew in the hallway. “More of a mess.” Delicate fingers twitched where they rested at her side, the only outward display of agitation. Anger, actually. “This is a place where those in need come for help, and since I’m guessing you’re not here for a Band-Aid and lollipop?” Mickey could only assume he was the one that had caused the injuries she’d been in the process of assessing when he had burst into the after hours clinic office. “You’re not welcome here.”
#RECORDED.#IC.#ANSWERED.#VERSE. ( main. )#RUBIESINTHEROUGH#RUBIESINTHEROUGH. ( victor. )#MIKKAH & VICTOR.#002.
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RIDERS OF THE CANYON "Riders Of The Canyon"
Tras el inigualable recibimiento mundial del último álbum de Joana Serrat, "Hardcore From The Heart" (2021, Loose / Great Canyon) -con el cual obtuvo incalculables halagos y encabezó las principales listas de los mejores discos de aquel año-, y tras una extensa gira que la ha llevado por buena parte de los escenarios estatales, europeos, ingleses y norteamericanos, la cantautora catalana aprovecha la pausa hasta la publicación de su nuevo trabajo discográfico en solitario para presentarnos ahora su proyecto paralelo: Riders Of The Canyon.
Riders Of The Canyon es la superbanda formada por Joana Serrat junto al norirlandés Matthew McDaid, y los barceloneses Víctor Partido (cantante de la excepcional banda ya desaparecida Partido) y Roger Usart.
A esta maravillosa aventura capitaneada por Serrat, se le han unido un inmejorable plantel de músicos, productores e ingenieros amigos de la propia artista. De esta manera, podemos encontrar en los créditos de las canciones que componen el primer álbum de la banda nombres tan importantes como Joey McClellan (Midlake, John Grant, Rufus Wainwright), McKenzie Smith (St. Vincent, Sharon Van Etten, First Aid Kit), Jesse Chandler (Midlake, Mercury Rev, Beth Orton), Cory Gray (The Delines, The Decemberists. Laura Gibson), BJ Cole (Elton John, R.E.M., John Cale), Jason Kardong (Brandi Carlile, Marissa Nadler, Margo Cilker), John Morgan Askew (She & Him, Neko Case, Alela Diane) y el ganador de un premio Grammy Ted Young (Kurt Vile, Mercury Rev, The Rolling Stones), entre muchos otros.
Fruto de este poderosísimo encuentro de artistas, Riders Of The Canyon publicará el 23 de junio de 2023 su primer álbum con diez canciones soberbias que reflejan la mejores virtudes compositivas de cada uno de ellos: energía arrebatadora, adictiva y contagiosa junto a paisajes acústicos envolventes y maravillosas conjunciones de armonías vocales.
La masterización ha corrido a cargo de Victor García.
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