Hopefully inspiration for your Time Travel AUs 🙂 https://www.tumblr.com/ernmark/709520127384813568/i-love-time-loop-stories-really-i-do-but-id

Happy bday once again 🤍

Hoo hooo hooooooo HELLO.

I like long time loops usually but the thought of a quick one (or something like a one year one perhaps Neil repeating PSU over and over again until he meets some condition) is an interesting thought.

There's something so very interesting about someone who has utterly lost the fear of death or even grievous bodily harm. Who gives a shit? You're just going to wake up. Something bad happens to someone you care about? Reset. Something good happen to someone you hate? Reset. Toast landed butter side down? Re-

Except that isn't an option anymore.

NOW I GOT TWO CONCEPTS RUNNING THROUGH MY HEAD. 🤍 YOU FIEND.

An Invitation

“Oh, yes, young man. Your imagination is right on point. I absolutely am a strict disciplinarian. I am surprised that my nephew Andrew has not shared any of his bare bottom experiences across my knees. Go ahead and talk to him about it. From there you can make your decision as to whether you would like to visit, misbehave and then have your own tales to share with the other young boys around here. Interested?”

(My apologies to someone - I've lost track of the author of this initial passage)

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

===

Why on earth, I should have asked myself, would I be ‘interested’?  But for some reason I was more than interested, I was fascinated, and then obsessed.  I didn’t really want to ask Andy about it but I did.  When I mentioned his aunt, he only said, “That bitch?  Believe me, I wish she’d never been born.”  I pressed a little but he’d only add, “She’s the meanest lady I’ve ever known, probably who’s ever lived.  And I have to be related to her!”

But visit I did.  Not that I wanted to share tales any more than Andy did.  I was deeply ashamed of my interest but I couldn’t seem to help myself.

===

“I don’t really want to misbehave,” I told ‘Aunt’ Edwina.  “I don’t know, it seems…”

“Contrived?” she asked when I couldn’t find the word.

“I was going to say ‘silly’, but yes, that’s even better.”

“Perhaps you’ve already misbehaved,” she suggested.  “Is that why you’re here?”

My knees went weak.  I’d ‘misbehaved’ plenty over the years.  I wouldn’t survive being disciplined for all of it!

“Let’s start with rudeness,” this stern woman decided.  “Have you been rude to someone?  Your mother, perhaps?”

I felt like crying.  Yes, I’d been rude to her plenty of times.  “Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled.

“I don’t abide rudeness.  You have manners, clearly, and you should use them.  With your mother in particular.”  When I didn’t respond (I was too afraid to) she continued, “Has she punished you appropriately for it?”

“Sometimes she speaks to me about it,” I admitted.  “Usually she just lets it slide.”

“That doesn’t sound effective,” I was told, “Which is most likely why you’ve done it repeatedly.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure you’re right.”

“Let’s deal with that, then.  I suspect that will be enough progress for one day,” she intoned ominously.

With that she confiscated my trousers and led me to a desk.  While I bent over it, terrified, she produced a hairbrush.

“We’ll start with where you sit.  That will be the easiest to remember,” she explained.  The next time you think of being rude to your mother, you can think of this and realize how little you want to have to tell me of your backsliding.”

Then she began a ferocious attack on my bare thighs, scalding them with her hairbrush.  My tears of fear and self-pity became sobs of pain. 

“Please!  Please!  I’ll be good!” I promised desperately.

“I don’t doubt you will be,” she agreed calmly.  But the assault went on.  The pain was insane, beyond belief!  Sobs exploded from me with every new stroke.

At last it was over and she stopped, but only for a moment.  “Now you’re ready for a proper spanking,” she announced before resuming the battering, on my ass this time.  Again I pleaded, again I promised, again she expressed confidence in my future behavior, all the while continuing those terrible smacks.  I couldn’t even form words, only sounds that begged for mercy.

After she stopped (at long, long last!) she kept her hand on my back, holding me in place as I shook and worried that there was more to come.  I lay there like that for a while, shaking and sobbing.  Finally, she said I could stand and move to the corner to compose myself.  She positioned me with my hands on my head.  I was waving my blistered backside around but she took no heed.

When I calmed down sufficiently, she offered me a cup of tea.  I had to kneel to drink it, since she was sitting (which I couldn’t) and didn’t want me ‘looming over her’.  “I trust you’ll be more careful about your rudeness?” she asked and I assured her that I would be.

As I prepared to leave, she asked, “Is this a good time for you?”  I didn’t have to pretend not to know what she meant.  “You will be back here in two weeks, is that understood?  I take it that 10 AM is a convenient time?”

“Yes, Ms. Edwina,” I said without even thinking.  Or maybe I was too scared to.

“Good.  I expect that you have other behaviors that need discouraging.  Misbehaviors, that is.”

My tears began to leak a bit and I felt the need to pee, though I’d done so when I’d arrived.

“Am I right?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, knowing the consequences.

“I shall see you then, then,” she said, leading me to the door.  Once there, she turned me to her.  “You’re a brave boy, and we shall have you acting properly.”  With that she pulled my face down and kissed my forehead.

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

I wish I could say that that was my worst-ever spanking from her or at least typical but several of my visits (yes, I kept going back) started out that way and then, after a long period of ‘thinking time’ facing the corner, I’d be put back in position for a long leathering to ‘spank the lesson home’.  Of course by then my underpants would routinely come down, costing me whatever scant protection they had first offered.  Still, I had learned to sit on the train for the ride home without actually crying.

One trip my confession was having looked too long at a woman who was showing more cleavage and thigh than she intended.  Before meeting Ms. Edwina I would have considered myself lucky but now I knew that I’d have to pay for not looking away.

“Is it fair to say that you stared?” my disciplinarian asked, and all I could do is nod.  “And what is it that you stared at?”

“Her, um, leg, I could see.  She was squatting down and her dress, well, I could see her, her thigh,” I confessed.  “And her,” I paused, searching for a genteel word, “Her bosom, as she bent forward, her brassiere and…”

“Her cleavage?” I was asked.

“Yes, Ms. Edwina, it was exposed.”

“And you didn’t look away.  Even though you knew you should.”

“No, ma’am, I, um, didn’t.  I’m very sorry about the whole thing.”

“I should think you would be.  Tell me, was this what I would call a ‘trashy’ dress, that she was wearing, that showed so much of her?”

I blushed deeply.  “No, ma’am.  It was a church dress, I guess you’d call it.”

“And,” I said.

“Oh?  There’s more?” Ms. Edwina growled, causing my butt to tighten.

“It was all because she was fiddling with her baby, she had one of baby carriers, she’d set it on the floor…”

Ms. Edwina looked at me, her temper rising.  She said nothing.

“Pants down,” she said at last, breaking the merciless silence.  She left the room only to return with a cane, something she’d only threatened me with before.

“Let’s just be sure that you’re as sorry as you say,” she suggested.

“You are unfamiliar with the cane, are you not?” she asked with exaggerated formality.  “I, on the other hand, am particularly familiar with it and you will feel that you are, as well, before I’ve finished.  Long before I’ve finished, in fact!”  She seemed to be looking forward with great excitement and enthusiasm to demonstrating her expertise and defending this anonymous woman’s honor.

I could not have taken my position with any more trepidation than I was feeling and she proceeded to justify my every fear.

“When I think of that poor woman, a new mother, just wanting to look nice one morning a week, stopping for a cup of tea,” she intoned (this had happened in a tea shop), “Only to find herself ogled, stared at, quite rudely, as she struggled…”

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

2 captions just above from @spanked2realtears

last photo from @carabonnysblog

I’m so sorry for the rant. I just needed to clear my head and got compelled to do it in your inbox. 🙇🏾‍♀️

Not a question just some thoughts. Sorry I’m spamming you so much. I just read your latest reading about the wanna be“tour” and all I can do is SMH. I think to some extent we saw this coming but they are dialing it up and expanding. Conscious humans would’ve called it quits by now. The Remembrance Day pap walk, Going to elementary schools, “donations”, writing letters like they are world leaders, etc. On one hand I can’t see this becoming much of a “thing”. I don’t think MM and Jarry will go on doing this for long unless they can get some Hollywood to pay attention and acknowledge them. I think another reason with the more public European Royals work so well in their media is because their countries are relatively small, like California and Texas are on the large side in comparison, am I right? So much can happen on one side of the country that I only hear of thanks to friends back in California. I can’t see these two visiting any farm in Montana as “royals” if ever. They got a Clinton and Perhaps more big names and “engagement” is to come (oh god 🤦🏾‍♀️) I’m sure they and the sugars are just loving it but it all looks, sounds and feels so incrediblly STUPID & ABSOLUTELY VAPID AND INSULTING. etc etc. I cannot stand entitled people and the fact that these two cut off, trashed, and demand from their own families for a fleeting moment in the spotlight is unfathomable. That’s a testimony to how strong narcissistic delusions can be. It must be the best high I could ever ask for. 🖤Im new to “Royal Watching” if you can call what I do ‘that’, so I don’t really care about all the other indiscretions. I don’t trust the media and I think it’s just the BRF turn in the hot sun to catch hell. See Andrew, see the Clintons and all the others. Whatever drama is going on with Charles, see the rest of big business. I’m a narcissistic abuse survivor and I still study on the disorder. Now here I am watching these two who make my skin craw, this train needs to SPEED UP . I think I’m just looking for a bit of JUSTICE in the world right now. Between this administration, COVID, my job and all my other drama (I’m sure we all have some, if not BLESS YOU and pass it on 🥺) I’m flabbergasted and a little sick in my stomach at watching yet another set of people be able to walk through life seemingly so unbothered. It’s like the world is closing in and I’m suffocating. 🖤Like, your telling me that just because he was born a Prince and she married him and found a way to have children they get to get away with all of this?. The entitlement, the lies, the forced Wokery, using heavy and important subjects like mental health and racism for a PR boost all just to get a⭐️ on the Hollywood walk of Fame? For a couple of royals they sure know how to dump cold water on ya, they are the epitome of LIFE ISNT FAIR. And I’m sure that all depends on perspective, for example; their sugars who must be going diabetic RN. THEY think they have suffered as well. Look at the Cambridge’s who have not put a foot out of place yet have to deal with these tantrums from all over their family. All families have drama and I can see how the Harkles and the rest could be a payback of the Firm and family as a whole. The Queen covered so much and never really saw that Henry and Andrew and god knows who else were set straight. Look what having so much privilege can do. But is there a limit, anywhere?🖤

🖤Anyways, another thought I had was, this could be the end for any thought of reunion. This Narcissist has worked her magic and this clueless tone deaf fool has really gone and done it. I was driving and I thought of Prince William and the entire remaining Windsors & Mountbatten Windsor’s and the whole Aristocracy cutting the Harkles off entirely because the BRF called a wrap (or had to) and the UK became a Republic after Her Majesty. MM get the privlage in her narcissistic head that she’s the last ever to become a Duchess, Cathrine wouldn’t become the Princess of Wales and it all came down in part because of her and Henry’s actions. Yes Andrew and whoever else aren’t helping but these two made it exceptionally difficult. I think they would take pride in that especially publicly but only when they are praised for it. I think the Cambridge’s would have an easier time with moving on with their family, free to live as they please with no pressure to serve the public. Cathrine can be “lazy”, sleep in, & raise her kids and Wills is free to🖕 the paps who would surely still follow them. A La “where are they now”. The two that would have it the worse are the Harkles as they last bit of what they had to separate them from the rest of Hollywood is gone, no more Royal sheen but they don’t have much now. It would be stupid to use the titles after an abolished monarchy but they’d do it and expose themselves further.🖤 If you made it this far, one last thing. I got cut off while driving. That’s not unusual in this Miami traffic and usually i ignore it but with my mental state I couldn’t help but to compare. it was a packed road and I just really wanted to know where the heck the fire was. Why did this person need to rush so much on a busy road that no one else mattered even though we all have somewhere to go? That’s how I feel about the Harkles. What’s the point, where are they going? They went to New England for Christ sake to play faux royalty, in more trashy outfits might I add. 🤦🏾‍♀️

I guess I do have a question, DOES THE WORLD REALLY BELONG TO THOSE WHO JUST Get UP AND TAKE IT?

Thanks for humoring me and providing this space. ✌🏾

Note: My apologies for this very long post, everyone. I can't put a page break in and the writer needs to let it all out. I am sure a lot of you will be feeling somewhat similar to them.

Reply under the cut, so this is not any longer

Hi april14vc,

You are welcome to rant here.

It sounds like you have a lot going on at the moment and it is all becoming a bit much to handle, as there is no relief anywhere. Is there something fun and relaxing that you can do for you sometime today, just to have a break from it all? I feel like you need to tune out for a bit and do something that is just for you.

I am so sorry that you suffered from narcissistic abuse, and so glad that you survived this. I think the Harkle shenanigans must hurt you in a more personal way than those of us who have never suffered under a narcissist. It is very hard to watch the Harkles seemingly get away with all their entitled abuse without any form of justice coming for them.

I think the Harkles are suffering. They usually are unable to get any sort of attention from the media unless they pay for it, and even then they don't trend - it is a 'blink and you miss it' situation. Look at what happened with Meghan's 40 for 40 program - it was dead in the water before the day was over, and she spent a fortune on PR for that. Compare that to the natural (not paid for) hype that surrounds anything that the BRF does, especially the Cambridges or HMTQ. That hype and attention is what Meghan wants, and she is not getting it.

What the Harkles are getting, and what they hate, is mockery. Look at the response to their Times 100 cover. Look at the comments on this pseudo-royal tour. They are a walking joke, and no narcissist would like that. They tried to cull all negative press while they were members of the BRF, were unsuccessful in stemming all of it, and now have no clout at all to stop any negative media attention. The Harkles may live in a delusion of success, but to the vast majority of people they are no more than very risible z-list celebrities.

The Harkles also have serious money troubles. They may be ignoring them, but those debts will have to be paid, one way or another.

What we are seeing now is the slow slide of the Harkles into obscurity, and their desperate attempts to reverse the process, which never work. They are no more popular and wanted now than they were at the time of Megxit, and in fact their popularity has declined since those days. They may look like they are winning, but it is all an illusion, caused by the amounts of money they are prepared to pay to give the illusion of wealth and star-quality celebrity. The paid for events happen, and then nothing. The paid for PR happens, and then nothing. Their slide downwards continues, and nothing that they do is reversing it.

Yes, at the moment they are on a high and beaming put of every report on their activities. Wait a week and then see where they are. This is like the Oprah interview all over again.

My next reading is going to be on the consequences of this pseudo-royal tour for the Harkles, so maybe there will be some justice for you there.

Edited to add: As for taking down the monarchy, I can't see that happening. For starters, the British government would have to put the matter to the people for a vote, and even if they are insane enough to do that, I can't see the British public voting to remove a beloved Queen because of the antics of two people who are despised that that country. The logistics of replacing the monarchy are also staggering - you have to rework the entire government of not just Great Britain, but of all the commonwealth realms who have HMTQ as Head of State, and that is not an easy task or a light undertaking. In addition, those Commonwealth Realms can keep HM as their head of state even if she is ejected by the British people (which would never happen, but I am stretching the bounds of probability here). After HMTQ comes Charles, who will have a short reign simply because of his age and health, and then William will be king, and he is also loved by the British public. I just can not see all that thrown away for the Harkles, who are rightly hated by the British public.

Soft in Love Part 2

A Gwilym Lee x Student!Reader Fic

Summary: Y/N is an acting student in her last semester of college. When a professor unexpectedly can’t make it for the senior capstone class, a very famous (and handsome) substitute is called in. When they connect, they face a few challenges.

Word Count: 2.7k

Tag List:  @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @benders-diamond-earring​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @anincurablefangirl​, @kiainspace​, @lookuptotheskiesandsee​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you all enjoy this next part! Sorry it’s taken a little longer than usual, I’ve been pretty busy at work.

Warning(s): None! Well, more pining, but hey, y’all asked for this.

Part 1

Part 2 here we go!!!

That night, you went to Sloan’s for pizza and a movie. Since you lived on campus as part of your scholarship, you tended to hang out at Sloan and Andrew’s apartment once classes were over and homework was done. You had a room to yourself, but it wasn’t spacious, so the three of you normally were at their shabby, typical New York apartment with little space and even less furniture.

“So, what should we watch?” you wondered as you plopped down on the couch.

“How about Bohemian Rhapsody?” Sloan suggested, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “Y’know, so you can really see Gwilym in action?”

Andrew groaned. “Come on, Sloan, we’ve teased her enough.”

“What?” she shot back. “They were really connecting.”

“Connecting?” you questioned. “We barely said two words to each other.”

You had neglected to tell them about running into your substitute in the library. You were keeping that moment to yourself. It felt like something private, even though it was perfectly innocent. You wanted to keep it in your heart. For now, at least.

“All that eye contact,” Sloan continued. “It was like Edward and Bella in there.”

“If it was like Edward and Bella, he’s more likely to murder me than anything,” you retorted. 

“Edward doesn’t kill Bella!” she argued.

“He turns her into a vampire!” Andrew pointed out. “That’s the same thing!”

“No it isn’t!” 

“Yes it is!”

“Okay, Jacob!”

“Guys!” you interjected. “If we talk anymore about Twilight, I’m going to kill myself. Let’s just pick a movie.”

“I still vote for Bohemian Rhapsody,” Sloan said. “Y/N should see at least one thing our new professor is in.”

“I think we should watch a classic,” Andrew replied. “I haven’t watched Casablanca in a while.”

“One vote for Bohemian Rhapsody, one vote for Casablanca,” she said, then looked at you. “Would you like to cast a vote, or add a contender?”

You thought for a moment, but you already knew what you were going to pick. You just wanted to give Andrew the illusion of having a chance. You tapped your chin with your forefinger.

“I’m gonna go with…” you paused. “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Oh, come on!” Andrew mock complained. Then he smiled. “Alright, I’m gonna order the pizza.”

“We’ll start the movie,” Sloan assured him.

As she picked up the remote, you considered telling her about the library. You weren’t sure why Sloan should be allowed this information and not Andrew, but you’d noticed he had sort of drifted from you while you were dating Daniel. Now that you and Daniel were broken up, Andrew was friendlier than before even. It made you a little confused. And the distance really hurt you.

But you looked at Sloan and thought about what she had said so far. You didn’t think she would tease you about the library, but she also would likely turn it into something it wasn’t. She had a tendency to gas you up for things that were hardly ever a big deal in reality. So you decided not to tell her. The moment would remain just yours. And Gwilym’s, of course.

The movie began, with the pizza arriving about half an hour in. You wouldn’t call yourself a huge Queen fan, but you liked their hits. You admired the movie’s aesthetic, but you especially admired Gwilym’s performance. He looked so cool with the curly hair and the seventies clothes. It was rather unlike the man you’d met earlier that day. Not that Gwilym didn’t look cool, he just wasn’t as glam. At least, not on that level.

When the movie finished after the Live Aid scene, you had gotten a little emotional. You wiped your burning eyes and sniffled.

“So, what’d you think?” Sloan asked, switching the television off.

“It was good,” you choked out.

“Oh my God, Y/N, you’re such a sap,” Andrew joked.

“Shut up!” you returned. “I just have feelings. There’s nothing wrong with that!”

He laughed. “Nah, I guess you’re right.”

You stretched out on the couch, nudging his thigh playfully with your toe as you giggled and yawned. He smiled back at you.

“I’m beat,” you sighed. “I think I’ll head back to my dorm.”

“You know you’re always welcome to stay here,” Andrew said.

“I know,” you replied. “But I don’t like to intrude. Plus, your couch is lumpy.”

“You could take my bed,” he offered.

Something about the way he didn’t look at you when he said it rubbed you the wrong way. If Andrew had feelings for you, you wished he would either say it or get over it, but not say things like that to leave you wondering. You knew it could never be that way between you, so you hoped for the latter.

“I’d rather be in my own bed,” you said, keeping your tone light.

You got off the couch and stretched again. As you put your backpack on, you thanked them for the pizza and then bid them goodnight. 

Sloan closed the door behind you and looked at her roommate.

“Could you be any more obvious?” she said. She continued by doing her best Andrew impression. “Stay here, sleep in my bed, suck my dick.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he returned, disappearing in to his room. 

You headed back to campus, which was only a few blocks away, your mind racing. Everything from your chance library meeting with Gwilym to whatever the hell had gotten into Andrew was swirling around in your mind.

As you passed the coffee shop closest to campus - frequented by mostly students and faculty, you spotted Gwilym though the window. You watched him as he pored over the book you had recommended, sipping his drink with something of a refined air about him. The temptation to go in and say hello was overwhelming. You were just so drawn to him for some reason. But you decided against it, remembering the way Sloan had compared you both to the cringiest couple perhaps ever written. Showing up suddenly at the coffee shop after one earlier chance meeting seemed very stalker or Edward Cullen-ish. Even if it was genuinely a coincidence. With a sigh, you moved along.

Gwilym lifted his eyes from the page he was reading and looked around. He felt as if there was someone he knew nearby, but as his eyes scanned the room, he saw only strangers. Movement by the window made him look out, but he missed who or whatever it was that created the motion. He blinked in that direction, his mind drawing up - for some reason - an image of you standing there. 

Something resembling disappointment crossed over his heart, but he pushed it down. He didn’t need to be wishing to see you anywhere outside of class. His phone ringing brought a welcome distraction.

“Hello?” he said, picking it up.

“Gwilym, hi!” chirped the voice of Dr. Bennett. “I just wanted to check on you and see how the first day went.”

“You’ve just given birth, and you’re worried about me?” he returned. “Emily, that’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t scold me, Gwil,” she answered lightly. “How’d the class go?”

“If you must know, it went just fine,” he told her. “I’ve been introduced to everyone. You have a very talented class there.”

“Excited as I am to have my son, I am a bit bummed I won’t get to teach them,” she agreed. “But, I’ve left them in very capable hands. I’m glad it’s going smoothly.”

“It really is,” he said.

“What do you think of Y/N?” she asked.

His chest tightened.

“She seems like a lovely girl,” he said stiffly.

“She’s a real star,” she went on. 

“I haven’t heard her sing yet, but from the way you and Dr. Curtis talk, I feel I should have a handkerchief on me or something.”

She laughed. “She’ll impress you I’m sure. Be careful there.”

He paused, wanting to know more about what she meant. It was an odd thing to say about a student. Was she joking? Was she giving him some warning about who you were? Were you not what you seemed? He wanted answers, but decided to ignore it entirely. That was the best way to deal with something like this, in his opinion.

“How are you and the baby?” Gwilym asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Perfect, so far,” she said. “Just ready to get home.”

“I’m sure.”

“Hey, Gwil,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Please keep me updated on everything,” she requested. “I’ll come and see the show at the end of the semester, but I want to know how everything comes together.”

“Will do,” he promised.

“Thanks,” she said warmly.

“You get some rest now,” he said.

“Will do,” she replied, and he heard the smile in her voice.

They said goodbye and hung up. Gwilym’s mind still reeled with her warning. Be careful there. Be careful of what, exactly? Perhaps it was better if he never knew.

On Thursday, you showed up to class early, as usual. The auditorium was empty except for Gwilym. Your heart rate quickened as you approached him. 

“Morning,” you said brightly.

He turned his head and smiled at you. “Hello, Y/N. You’re early.”

“I’m always early,” you said with a shrug. “How’s the book?”

“I’m only three chapters in, but it is interesting,” he replied. “Fond as I am of Shakespeare’s plays, it’s his poetry that really gets me.”

“Oh, really?” you wondered.

He nodded. “Yes. Poetry and songs I think are the most intimate forms of writing. The authors put their feelings out and wrap them up in beautiful language. And somehow, that makes others feel it. As if it were their own. If that makes any sense.”

You pondered his words a moment. You thought of every time you’d sung in your car at the top of your lungs, the words of a song just punching you right in the heart. 

“It makes sense,” you said. “I didn’t realize you were so into that stuff.”

“There’s a lot about me that may surprise you, Y/N,” he said.

You met his gaze, searching for the meaning behind that. He cut his eyes away before you did, clearing his throat.

“Would you like to get started?” he asked. “We can begin with your solo, ‘The Boy Next Door’.”

“Sounds good,” you agreed. “Want me to sing acapella or play piano?”

“You sing, I’ll accompany you,” he returned.

“You play piano?” you questioned. “You certainly are full of surprises.”

The teasing tone felt a bit unfamiliar to you. Were you flirting with him? If you were, was it wrong?

“I play piano, but not very well,” he replied humbly. “I can play a simple tune like this.”

You smiled as you both took the stage, you stopping in the center and he taking a seat on the piano bench. You waited for his cue, and then when he began, you opened your mouth and began to sing.

“The moment I saw him smile

I knew he was just my style

My only regret is we’ve never met

Though I dream of him all the while

But he doesn’t know I exist

No matter how I may persist

So it’s clear to see, there’s no hope for me

Though I live at fifty-one-thirty-”

Gwilym missed a note on the piano and stopped, bringing you to a halt as well. You shot him a questioning look.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not good enough to turn the pages on time.”

“Oh, is that all?” you teased. “Here, I’ll stand next to the piano and turn the pages for you.”

“I’m very much obliged,” he returned.

You walked over and stood to the side, looking expectantly at him.

“From ‘so it’s clear,’” he told you.

“So it’s clear to see, there’s no hope for me

Though I live at fifty-one-thirty-five Kensington Avenue-”

You turned the page.

“And he lives at fifty-one-thirty three.

How can I ignore the boy next door

I love him more than I can say

Doesn’t try to please me

Doesn’t even tease me

And he never sees me glance his way…”

You stole a glance at Gwilym as you held  this note. His face was screwed up in concentration as his eyes followed the music. His hands, which were large and smooth, moved gracefully. His long fingers pressed the keys with ease. He looked very handsome.

“And though I’m heart sore, the boy next door

Affection for me won’t display

I just adore him

So I can’t ignore him

The boy next door…”

You held the note and came off of it slowly and softly. Gwilym did the same with his final note. As the song closed, you looked at each other. A moment of softness passed between your gazes. Gwilym was beginning to understand his friend’s warning. You were so...charming.

“That was very good,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly.

“I’m impressed you knew all the words,” he remarked.

“I’ve been a fan of the movie since I was little,” you told him. “I literally wanted to be Judy Garland.”

“Well, you don’t have very far to go,” he said. “Although, I believe Y/N Y/L/N is perfect just as she is. You don’t have to be Judy Garland.”

Heat came to your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you said again, looking at the floor.

You paused, searching for something to say in return, some compliment to pay him.

“The piano playing was -”

“Please, Y/N, let’s not go there,” he said, a smile pulling at his lips. “My piano playing is absolute shit.”

He held his breath as the words left his mouth, fearful you might take offense to the language or feel he was getting too comfortable. When you clapped your hand over your mouth to stifle the most adorable giggle he’d ever heard, he was relieved.

“It wasn’t shit!” you protested. “Really, it wasn’t!”

“I appreciate you trying to bolster me, but the most redeeming part was playing through your page turn, which was executed flawlessly.”

You laughed some more.

“Well, I am known around here for my page turning skills,” you joked.

“I have a feeling you’ll be known for many things, Y/N,” he said. “Including turning pages for barely capable pianists.” 

Your smile lingered on your lips as your classmates began entering the theater. Sloan eyed you questioningly as he saw how close you were standing to Gwilym. When had you drifted that way? You hadn’t felt yourself move.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you stepped away, back toward center stage. Gwilym got to his feet and followed you, turning to address the other students.

“Welcome back, everyone,” he said.

He took roll quickly before getting into rehearsal. He and Lily were working on their early scene in the wagon. You watched him ease her into comfort with him. She was six, just like her character, Tootie, and though not shy, did need to warm up to people. Sloan’s sister took a seat in the audience, and you saw her soften as she looked on as well.

“Isn’t that sweet?” you said to Sloan as she approached you.

She looked over at Gwilym going back and forth with her niece.

“Precious,” she said flatly. “You and Gwilym seemed pretty cozy.”

You rolled your eyes, but knew you still looked flushed. 

“Oh, please,” you said. “We were just practicing.”

“Y/N, look at me,” she said with uncharacteristic seriousness.

You did.

“I know we’re joking about how hot he is and all that, but it’s not smart to think any further than that,” she said. “He’s a professor - at least right now - and both of you could get into trouble.”

Defensiveness surged through you.

“You’re talking about it like we’ve been sleeping together or something,” you said, harsher than you meant to. “You’re the one who’s been making the jokes. Nothing’s happened, so spare me the lecture.”

“Y/N, I’m just trying to be a friend,” she said.

“Look, it’s perfectly normal to connect with a teacher,” you returned. “It’s nothing more than that.”

She looked you over, skepticism coming over her sharp features.

“If you say so, Y/N,” she said with a sigh. “But, for the record, I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you were looking at him when we walked in. Ever.”

She walked away, leaving you stricken where you stood.

                        cassel resident : darcy delgado.

full name. darcy delgado. age. twenty nine. birthdate. april 12th, 1991          zodiac. aries. gender. female                            pronouns. she/her occupation. psychic for hire. lives in. miller park.

                                            about darcy delgado.

TW: abuse, age gap relationship

Darcy Delgado did not grow up in Cassel, Illinois. But she might as well have. The little town in Georgia that was her birthplace could have swapped with Cassel on any map and no cartographer could tell the difference. It was nothing but a town worth leaving.

The difficult circumstances that she grew up in - poverty, a single mother who worked too hard - led Darcy to seek any form of escapism. She loved books and movies, any form of story that could transform her world if only for a moment. She had a big imagination and often brought that into the real world with her. When she was young, it was cute. As she got older, it was pathological.

She never meant to start lying, not when she was young. She told tall tales to entertain the people around her, a desperate attempt at getting their attention. It wasn’t her fault that her town was full of the eternally stupid, an entire population of people who just didn’t get it. A plucky young girl turned into a sarcastic, bitter teen who listened to a little too much My Chemical Romance.

It was in college that she met The Man Who Shall Not Be Named. She was 18, a freshman at the University of Georgia, and he was 25, a graduate student. He was the epitome of a dream guy - rich, handsome, charming, intelligent, etc ad nauseum. He even had the long-haired tortured musician thing going for him. Darcy wanted to strip herself of her previous identity and live a brand new life, so she convinced him that she was from a well-off family that lived in the suburbs out of Atlanta. She built an entirely new history for herself over time and he never questioned it. She was either a great liar or he was too self absorbed to notice; likely it was a bit of both.

While attending school, Darcy would travel back and forth from Georgia to his home in New York. It was her first taste of the good life. Rooftop bars, expensive champagne, hotel beds with Egyptian cotton sheets… She felt like an actual princess, when he was doting on her. She could almost ignore the times when he wasn’t. 

He had moods. Dark ones. But Darcy was a great liar, even to herself. 

He died just before she graduated, drunkenly falling from a balcony during a party in Manhattan. She got the call while in a morning lecture. It felt a lot like freedom. She vowed to never let anyone have control of her like that again. She would be untethered, unknowable, unshakeable. Darcy Delgado, the ever-changing girl. 

After graduation, she never quite settled down. She was unsure what to commit to for the rest of her life, so she made money doing the one thing she was best at: lying. Some would call it conning, swindling perhaps, but Darcy never felt morally torn up about it. What was the truth, really? If people wanted to believe, then they should. 

She’s had many schticks in her day - street magic, a fake modeling agent bit, the classic tinder date robbery - but her favorite has been the psychic medium. It’s the most theatrical and she has the most fun doing it. It allows her to travel - even, occasionally, to work with the actual police. Darcy lies so well that she honestly isn’t sure how much of the hocus pocus she truly believes. At least some of it… maybe. Sort of. What does it matter, anyway? 

Now, there is a girl missing in Illinois. And conveniently, an old house for rent in the historical part of town. Living in a haunted house was not only cheap, but it added to Darcy’s credibility. So she’s hung her neon PSYCHIC sign in the window and offered her services to the Andrews family. She’ll make believers out of them yet. 

                                          four songs. i'm gonna show you crazy ( bebe rexha ) / ain’t no rest for the wicked ( cage the elephant ) / truth hurts ( lizzo ) / 7 rings ( ariana grande )

              ↳ darcy delgado is faced by aubrey plaza and penned by bailey.

In a Week: Chapter 8 🌲

It’s more like a filler chapter, at least it feels like that to me when I look at the number of words which is quite low but hey, who doesn’t love a good talk while having the lunch?

Words: 1821; Warnings: none, but really, none; Summary: After the encounter in the woods Andrew and Flo are back to their hotel ready for new adventures.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @angelpeachamber​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @sgt-morgan​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @julessbrown​​​​​​​​​​​​​​;

Monday, 11:50am

“So you say that foxes make weird noises?” She was playing with the lunch menu, pinching its ends with her fingers again and again.

“Yes, they basically sound like, em, women screaming” he took another sip from the cup of tea he ordered, desperately trying not to touch her hands.

When the waiter came to take their order, they chose an oversized platter of tiny finger sandwiches - ham, chicken, cheese, then one with double the amount of cheese and some cakes too, little over decorated pieces which seemed too dainty to eat when they arrived.

“I’ll get it” he mumbled, as soon as the waiter placed the cheque.

“No, I’ll get it” she countered, taking a sip from her lemonade.

“Flo…”

“Andy…”

“I don’t need you paying for me.”

“Halves then?” He offered before she could moan at him, knowing he’d never fully win this round.

“Fine.”

Monday, 12pm

After little consideration, Andrew picked up a cheese sandwich between a finger and his thumb - too fancy for him to comprehend, too small for the price they were paying. It was gone in two bites and he was unsatisfied so picked up another and another, wolfing it down with no regard for any possible future indigestion. They ate between polite conversation, surrounded by the sound of splashing from the pool water and quiet chatter from everyone else in the room. Flo chewed gingerly, watching people from where she was sat, occasionally lifting her head back to his gaze and turning away again when he was too much.

After polishing off the sandwiches he’d chosen, the sweetness of the cake distracted Andrew, hungrier than he’d realized and he savored each bite of sugar, licking his lips. Flo tilted her head into her palm, just taking him in, chuckling at how emotive his face was even in the quiet moments. He was busy pondering whether going for a swim in the small pool the hotel had would be the worse idea than skinny dipping in a creek in the dead of the night as he tried not to devour her with his eyes, when she spoke again.

“Do you regret meeting me?” Flo slurped the rest of her lemonade and sighed deeply, like she already knew the quite obvious answer that will fall from his narrow lips in the upcoming few seconds.

“Why would I?” He answered her with another question and she rolled her emerald eyes at him, “I don’t run from boars and climb trees with every girl I meet at the bar” Andrew smiled at her with the kind of smile that weakened her knees.

“It’s quite insane what we did so far…” she sighed again, rubbing her neck. Flo looked up at his face, leaning back in her chair, hoping he’d have something clever to say.

“What, em, you always wanted, but never had the courage to do it?” He asks out of sudden.

One corner of her mouth twitches upwards and she tilts her head to the side, but just a little, “Hmm… dancing. I always wanted to join a dancing class in my town, but I was too frightened to do so.”

“Why?” He leans over the table, his long body towering over the furniture. Andrew gently grazes his fingertips over her wrist and Flo flinched it backwards.

“Because I’m like an elephant in a glass castle.”

Andrew couldn’t help and laughed out loud, brushing the stray strands of his locks away from his face, “You’re a quite gorgeous elephant then, honey.”

She shakes her head at him, her straw hair moving around her head like a permanent halo and in that moment Andrew feels like he just found his own little angel, here in the middle of the woods.

“I shouldn’t even try to dance… I’d end up crushing people’s toes and probably like breaking few mirrors in the dance studio.”

“Oh love…” he laughs again, probably after picturing her trying to crush his toes with her tiny little feet, “I, em, I know one dancer myself.”

“A dancer?” Her eyebrow rises and she moves with her chair closer to the table.

“Yes, I did one music video with Sergei Polunin and-”

He wasn’t given the chance to finish his sentence, because Flo interrupted him quite violently with her high pitched voice, “Sergei Polunin?! You know Sergei Polunin?”

“Well, em, he’s a really nice guy” he said, giving her a little smile.

Monday, 12:30pm

“I’ve got another question for you, honey” he announced.

“Go on then” Flo sighed, intrigued.

“Where do you want to be in five years from now?

Flo tried to engage her brain, tried to think of an answer worthy of his question and one she would feel comfortable saying out loud. If someone ever asked her that question at the beginning of her adult live, she’d probably come up with many various things. A promotion, perhaps an engagement in the near future, the possibility of starting a small business on her own, a better place to live than the one she already had. But now all those things were irrelevant; she got that promotion, her boyfriend still wasn’t existing, she didn’t have enough funds to open that store on her own and she didn’t wanted to live at all now.

“I’m not… sure…” she sighed truthfully, needing just to say something to ease the anxiety bubble blowing inside her, “I- I thought I knew. But now, it’s…”

“Now it all changed?” He replied, soft, his eyes locked with hers.

“Yeah…” she said quietly, “everything is different.”

Andrew mulled it over for a second, trying to know what she feels now, what she’s thinking about now, but he was clueless what was the reason behind her coming to this god forsaken hotel in the middle of nowhere.

“Do you want to know what, em, I think?”

“Always.”

He wet his lips then spoke again, “Make a new list, really, em… just take out everything on the old one and, em, start over with whatever you want.”

She bit her lip focusing. What did she want?

She’d previously wished for a promotion - but she already got that. Then there was the engagement. An obvious one to throw in the bin. How could she even dream of starting a family when she had no one to start it with? And anything would be better than the apartment she currently still owned, but it was overly haunted with the ghosts of her past.

And then she considered what she really wanted.

More time to work on her hobbies, to become better in drawing. Perhaps to see more of the world. Finish all the creative projects she started, but never really had the time to finish them. To bake more cakes… She tried to form few cohesive sentences, but her reply wasn’t quite as sophisticated as she would’ve wanted it to be.

“Maybe in five years I’ll have traveled a bit more? Drew more pictures? I’ll find a hobby that excites me? Have more nights being drunk without worrying about the next morning?” She paused for a second, avoiding his eyes, so she could stare at the wall behind him, “I want to be shamelessly happy - and really feel it.”

He smiled, couldn’t help himself, felt his heart swell with pride at how much stronger she was since he’d first spoken to her and he was busy crafting a reply along those lines when she interrupted his train of thought.

“What about you, Andrew?”

It was stupid of him to assume that she wouldn’t ask, but the same question thrown back at him was a shock. He felt frustrated, unprepared.

A couple more albums? Maybe one fully acoustic? Another world tour? More time to rest? To focus on his own needs? Find his safe haven?

Andrew was so used to have everything mapped out, a response for every question, but he didn’t know how to put it in words now that she was asking. The pause was too long. Too uncertain.

“I just want to be, um, equally happy with my career and my personal life. If I really have one now…” he drawled, “I want to keep working on my music and, um, meeting amazing new people, rediscover myself somehow.”

“Rediscover yourself?” Flo asked him, her emerald eyes back and focused on his face.

That small smile that never left his lips when he was around her was too tempting, too inviting for her and she desperately tried to fight off the urge to lean over the table, move her body closer to him and just simply give in to the thought of feeling his mouth pressed closer to hers.

“Know who I really am, since I’m, em, quite far from that right now…”

Monday, 1:40pm

“So, what’s next?” She asked, her eyes full of inquisition and curiosity, looking at him like she just read his mind. He smiled warmly, pushed his fingers through his hair for good measure then pulled her into his side, his arm slinking around her, hand cupping her waist to hold her against him as they walked together. His fingers brushed against the fabric.

He pressed his lips close to her ear and murmured: “Tell me something you’ve never done, Flo Hayes.”

“Oh, not again…”

Monday, 1:45pm

“So you really never smoked a cigarette?” He asked, eyes wide, like he just seen a little green man in front of him.

“Never ever” Flo replied with a shrug, meeting his eyes as she tilted her head upwards to look at him. They were still in the corridor on their way back from the restaurant, linked together like old friends, his hand wound around her hip to keep her close. She watched him watch her as they walked, loved the curiosity in his eyes then added sarcastically: “Why? Do I look like a dirty smoker, Andrew?”

“Em, no, it’s just… I wasn’t expecting, I…” Andrew spluttered, never ready for her responses. She was so quick sometimes that it took him off guard, “you just look like someone who, em, tried many things in her life…”

“Is it my sweater? Well we both know that’s not true…”

Andrew rolled his eyes which prompted a laugh. He knew she was so much more interesting than she pretended to be, that she liked to portray her life as quiet and boring, but there were so many things about her that excited him - her passion, her drive, all her little secrets she kept so close, how well she held herself in every situation. He did like how in control she was but he also knew that there was so much more underneath the enigma she still was to him. He had a feeling that if he could just get her to relax a little more, push past that top layer of insecurity, then she would finally realize how wonderful she really was.

(1.) I like your new format! and (b) I've been thinking about the idea of the end being Cas reordering heaven and Dean being able to choose to be with him there and thinking about why that upset me so much. I think my first reaction was not so much to your outline thoughts, and their hermetic/alchemy base (which i don't pretend to grasp fully), but more to doraspn's read - i hate the idea that someone who has battled a life of trauma, depression and low self-worth can only find peace in death 1/

/part2/ I know it's before Dabberens era, but Dean has twice refused the "peace" option (4.23 when Cas offers it, and s11 when Amara does), plus his character is deeply tied in to the earthy and sensory - food, sex, touch etc. And the show seems (to me) to be saying Cas is moving towards staying - on earth with Dean, maybe as human... Also those Matrix Reloaded videos left me tied in knots! Not sure what I'm asking here, but perhaps for some more of your thoughts. Enjoying this thinky stuff 

Hi Nonnie! Lots to reply to here.

1. Re: format; Thanks! I’m still fishing around for some material to make a few more sliders congealing around P3, 4, 5, and SPN’s Shadow; and one around The Matrix, SPN and P5, but for the most part it’s done and I fixed most of the troublesome parts of the first time I converted to a layout like this (eg it hiding text/captions/etc on galleries and forcing them into single image columns)

2. I can recognize your upset with @doraspn​‘s phrasing. Personally, from my many conversations with them, I don’t think they intended it the way it came across, but I’m not them, nor will I speak for them. I’m more the kind that tries to presume good faith in readings but I can understand why the phrasing/presentation was hurtful. 

3. Eg, the rest.

You mentioned confusion both at the alchemical pathwork and at the Matrix stuff, so let me try a few different angles here. It’s gonna be a bit of a ride. I understand if you can’t soak it all due to personal processing, but see what you can grok from these collective videos I’ve made over the past few years. And yes, the songs are even chosen intentfully. If you have trouble following both in audio, feel free to google the song names for lyrics. After linking them, I’ll discuss a bit.

Parabol & Parabola by Tool (made midseason S14)

46 & 2 by Tool (made post 14.20 following Lateralus Project theme P&P was built in midseason)

These videos tackle two highly related topics in Supernatural.

Let it be said: obviously this isn’t an endorsement to run out and die because Fuck All, but let’s just say within the suprastructure of the show that we’re watching;

Andrew Dabb made a comment everybody has been panicking about, that the “death toll will be massive.” I, on the other hand, have a huge mood of “and?” and I think that baffles people how I can mutually suspect a fairly happy or positive ending (if bittersweet in parts) while shrugging that off.

So my simple question, partnered to ideas like Parabol & Parabola, is... should we really fear Death in Supernatural? If we were talking about proverbial death tolls, if Life Is A Highway, and Death and Life are two faces of the same coin, were Death Toll a form of taxation on the highway of life and death, Sam, Dean and their immediate confidants personal crossing past that line, over and back again (consider, if you will, the concept alongside Parabol & Parabola closer to the concept of reincarnation), they’re probably singlehandedly fixing the potholes and keeping the reaper structure online, pfff.

I mean, I use that phrasing loosely. But nothing and in no way has Death been presented as a true end; if anything, it is a point of new beginning. Okay, so humans go to heaven or hell or get stuck on earth and go crazy. And? The Winchesters and co power through that and find a new direction and a new purpose. Neither Death nor God can destrsoy or create souls -- only humans can destroy human souls, be it sacrificing their own for power or torturing each other in hell until the One True Thing, the light that makes them good (and like Jack, without it, is the Absence of Good) goes out, leaving only absence of that kind of spark, and similarity to Amara in her absence of god’s light. 

Death, and God, and all these other things can find ways to box up souls, put them in suitcases or jars or trap them, or in the case of heaven, like MichaelDean’s headspace, give them contentment in heaven that pacifies them into not pursuing more, but in the end, where do they come from and to where do they go? Think to the 46 & 2 video and watch it a few times if you have to.

The concept of Shadow, Animus, Anima, Self and Godhood are basically the primitive self, the masculine ego (if we were, for example, to take their angelic daddy issue counterparts), then the feminine self in all things too (be that the need to fill Pamela into Dean’s bar, or the bartender in Sam’s dream, who coincidentally has the same actress as Dumah reflecting the Empty at Castiel, even -- though Cas has been known to take vessels of either sorts and has been argued to even have motherly or feminine aspects and DOES walk the goddess path in the show)

The Magician and the Self are the master of all of these, to make gold of oneself and the parts in our life, the important things that should not be let go, regardless of what Chuck tells us. But “life” is relative here, in a world where we can reincarnate, time and again. In Sam and Dean’s case, it’s because they’re exceptional people in exceptional circumstances but the question then is, why can the rest of man not be given the same, and how do we right this system?

Which then of course comes down to my Matrix implications: The Architect and Chuck, how are they different? If angels are programs designed to keep his operating system functional; if humans are the power cells, human souls each like innumerable reactors; if he who has the most souls are become god;

if Castiel at one point tried to replicate this, but had no sorting system to keep them distracted or occupied and they ... well, they rebelled. But Chuck has ample systems. He has heaven, where people are distracted. He has hell, where humans tear each other apart. And he has... earth. Yes, earth. Where we are in fact convinced to desperately cling to the human bodies as part of the sandbox he designed, for fear of what waits for us. Again, as per the Shadow video, “I’m the cage,” what separates the defined human experience as it stands from that?

Reordering the suprastructure of the universe may very well give us the opportunity to make a new world, a better one, free of hunger, or want.

If, for example -- just one of the angles this could go; let’s say Cas unbirthed heaven like Rowena did hell. Neither of them truly perish. Their physical bodies die and will not return to earth, but these realms can directly interact. They endure, and can build entire new system structures. What if whoever unbirths heaven in the end makes it so EVERYONE can have the choice to reincarnate and gain new experiences? Or equally so the choice to go and make their own perfect worlds with anyone and everyone they choose, where man is his own agent and own god that defines the extent of his experience? 

After all. Burgers can go cold in heaven. Physics are had there. It’s all cognitive, but by Chuck, so is earth. The only problem is that none of the people there are real, and in the end... people, families, that’s real. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?

So back to the Matrix: the architect like Chuck had built many worlds, and humans fell into it, becoming the driving power cores. Their revolt is the one thing the Architect would do anything to prevent or minimize, even if in a way, the Architect himself created the One. Angels are programs. Fallen angels are rogue programs. But even agent smith managed to convert “out” into humanity.

I’ve been all for human Cas endgame and, in a way, I still am. In fact, the very idea, the proposal of him taking over heaven prevents nothing of him living in eternity with the Winchesters. Be they having Jack take over the macrocosm of the universe and still dancing through earth as we know it, or eventually sunning their butts between incarnations or building their own realms with all they may want and have. Do they choose to incorporate the carnal edge of experience? Maybe! They know those things after all, so what prevents them of creating it any differently than Jack’s burger going friggin’ cold off of complex manifestations of memory?

What is life? What is the meaning of life? Is it sitting here with a thumping heart, locking ourselves up in rooms for fear of losing it, or is it the people, the families, the experiences we gather as a whole? And in the structure of Supernatural, if Sam and Dean were to die in physical body, does that mean they’re dead? Hell, does it even mean they’ve given up? Or do they actually have dreams and objectives to make better worlds and realities, to bring back every person they’ve lost?

What keeps, say, Dean from going to heaven and opening up a bar for travelers deciding if they wanna reincarnate and enjoy earth again and get new earthly experiences -- or if they’ve found their meaning, their purpose, their people, and they want to, by choice and not assigned fate, take those souls with them into their own worlds where they can make new and better ones? Break the cages, give power and freedom. 

It’s a complex line of thought and takes some brain breaking because, as humans, naturally we fear Death. But the perspective of the heavily reincarnate Winchesters and the universe of the show we’re watching -- hell, Sam and Dean CAN’T even really just kill themselves to give up. Remember Lucifer was like meh, I’d just bring you back. So that ain’t it either. It’s not necessarily about giving up or being suicidal, should we come to this -- but about freedom, and choice, and sovereignty of man, and chosen love and family.

If the Shadow were the dreamer in the nothingspace that neverwas, the primitive man, who woke up and went “WTF?” one day and by mistake shat out primitive principles, like the demiurge YHVH/Chuck who happened to create the world by concept of Light and Grace, somewhere, it’s “Why do I exist?” Not to be too pedantic but remember when Mewtwo woke up in a test tube and just kept asking that over and over again. Hell, DO I exist. What is the meaning of this allnothing? and to make it by that question, and to try to find meaning in it, and to gain a million individual experiences, and become a million people, all developing their own personalities and egos and identities and lives and memories, but all to ask, and search, and find -- and still to come back to itself, each other, and by those experiences we become whole.

Eileen’s ghost didn’t hear. We can say it was just for politically correct reasons. Or we can consider that the soul that entered into that body never knew what it meant to have those senses in the matrix, and it was irrelevant in the end. It did not define who she was, and did not need to, because she had her own definition and her own life and her own self.  But like everyone else, she gravitates to those she has a connection to. Sometimes with prodding from Chuck. In other cases, against his best efforts, some connections make themselves.

I’ve reached the point of ranting, but maybe this has explained what I’m talking about in these things?

To me, “suicide” in its form as given by the show isn’t just deciding not to need earth as it stands anymore. It’s giving up. It’s surrendering to the cages. It’s Dean wanting to be rocketed off into the depths of space or thrown into the ocean (or, just as bad, throwing Cas into it in his place). It’s giving in to the boxes, to not want to maintain freedom to pursue and explore. So, if Dean should, for example, choose to go to heaven in the end, if this system has been rebuilt-- I really don’t consider that suicidal or death. I consider that a real step into life, and the self.

** Obvious disclaimer let’s not endorse this as a real world line of thinking unless you too like Sam and Dean Winchester can reincarnate after half an episode thanks 

Eyes and Hands

Of the many strange and wonderful things I’ve seen in the past few years, few were as surprising as the tableau I glimpsed as the elevator doors opened to the party in the penthouse of the fancy downtown hotel. It was amazing, beautiful, decadent, breathtaking, and pretty fucking weird.

Actually, it wasn’t just one penthouse, but three, all opened up to the others to form a sort of club, with a DJ, two different bars, and various sexy and kinky accouterments. Massage tables, a Saint Andrew’s cross, contraptions I didn’t know the names of for tying people to or fucking people against.

I’d been to somewhat similar events, but usually, they were at slightly seedy locals with a crowd that was a mixed bag. This took everything to a new level. The whole place was opulent, clean, organized, and all of the people there were beautiful. Some were waif-like model beautiful, others curved and busty beautiful, others wild hair burner beautiful. There were all kinds of beautiful. Big Chippendale dancer looking beautiful. Assess chap beautiful. Beautiful. (I know I’m teetering into that place where you repeat a word until it has no meaning, but anyway.)

Some of these people were in tuxedos, others lingerie, some in leather or latex. Hell, there was a woman lying on a table wearing nothing but sushi.

I tried not to gawk and hoped my suit was up to snuff. Still as strange as it all was, it was remarkable how quickly I became acclimated to the environment. Within minutes I was touring the place, champagne flute in hand, as if it were an ordinary Saturday evening.

Still, stranger than the whole of the environment, were the little moments it created. Put into an otherworld fantasy, Eyes Wide Shut setting puts you in a particular mind space. The longer you walked around, the further down the rabbit hole you went. Going from room to room seeing people dancing, people kissing, people fucking, people doing naked yoga while someone blew bubbles, it was all so surreal that you felt like an outsider or a narrator, invisibly taking in each scene.

I don’t know if you know this about writers, but for many of us, this is ideal. Emotional distance to just observe and overthink the fuck out of amazing glimpses of the human condition.

One moment that shined the brightest involved nothing more than a glance. There was this dashing Frenchmen, an old acquaintance of mine, who was fucking a pretty girl on a bed in the one of the bedrooms. There was a small crowd of people lining the walls of this bedroom watching. The girl on the bed looked up at me as I passed, and I recognized her. We had been introduced to earlier in the night. I remembered her as sweet, cute, sort of shy, in a longish black dress. Big inky black eyes that seemed to be taking everything in, overwhelmed.

Now she was on the bed completely naked except for black stockings and a garter belt. Her hair was covering most of her face, but one eye was visible, its thick black wing of makeup still perfect, and her fat red lips were still glossy and vivid.

Her skin was a flawless dark tan, her hair black, she was maybe Mediterranean or perhaps Arabic. Her ass was red, with a few perfectly formed handprints overlapping. The gentleman was naked, well built, handsome. He was holding her down by the back of her neck. She was lying on the bed, belly down, and he was straddling her thighs, fucking her in a slow, steady rhythm.

She looked up at me with this smile. It was this opened mouthed smile of pure abandon and joy. It was exhibitionism, flirtation, probably drugs and champagne, and recognition.

It was like, “oh, I remember you! Hi. Look what I’m doing!”

She pushed back against him, I can’t be sure, but it seemed like she was showing off for me. A few strands of her hair stuck to her pretty lipstick. Then, suddenly, the pleasure overtook her, and her eyes flashed. This flash, just before her eyes closed as he fucked her harder, hit me. It was weird that something so visceral, so purely sexual, made my heartache. She moaned loudly, but not a “for show” kind of moan, something uncontrollable, animal, desperate.

I guess it was the authenticity of their pleasure that struck me.

I watched with the rest of the spectators. Perhaps we watched too long, past voyeurism into something else. Some intrusion on the intimacy of the moments after they came, and he kissed her forehead and lips and held her, pulled the sheets around them.

Through the rest of the evening, I kept coming back to that look. That perfect look.

That’s what that night was all about, that look. Oh, and a hand.

There was also a very important hand.

On the other side of the penthouse, my girlfriend Rose and some other friends had created a sort of home base for us in a little back living room. We would all go out and explore, get into little adventures, then come back to kiss and tell.

As I walked back there, still high on that perfect look, I bumped into an amazon of a woman in a corset, stockings, and nothing else. The tops of the cupid bow of her lips were sharp matte red. Her eyes outlined in black, cheekbones severe, haughty scowl that gave her the look of Maleficent.

“Oh, excuse me,” I said, my voice sounding strange in my ears since I hadn’t spoken for all the time I was exploring the party.

She looked me up and down dismissively and then walked around me.

Rose watched me as my eyes opened wide, and my jaw grew slack. I groaned with want. It came from the very center of my chest. Sometimes, somethings just hit all my buttons at once. The confidence of her stride, her big ass, panty-less under her corset. Thick thighs, powerful calves.

“That’s Maria, but don’t bother, she’s kind of a bitch,” she said with a roll of her eye but a good-humored smile.

“I know, it’s super hot,” I whispered.

I don’t think Maria heard, but she looked back at me for a second, cut her eyes, gave me a plump pout before she turned the corner.

I didn’t exactly follow her, but I decided I would explore the party some more, maybe, you know, in the general direction she headed in.

I immediately noticed that the party had somehow moved to a new level. There were fewer spectators as everyone seemed to get in on the action.

I kept my eye out for Maria and saw her flirt with a tall, athletic-looking man with a shaved head, make out with a woman who looked like her twin sister, and giving a schoolgirl a spanking on the balcony. After that, I lost her, so I went back to home base.

Rose and I had planned beforehand to mingle separately during the beginning of the party, then meet up at the home base just after one in the morning.

It felt good to fall into her familiar arms after so much strangeness. We kissed, and the sights I’d seen swirled with the familiar desire for her. We smiled at each other. We didn’t need to tell each other stories about what we had seen. Not yet. We didn’t need to explain, just revel in them.

Our little home base was empty as we flopped onto the large bed and kissed. Our hands hungry for each other.

I wasn’t so much for public sex. I mean, having it, not watching, but our seclusion and the excitement pushed through the uncomfortableness. I wasn’t even phased as people started coming into the room.

A man in a white suit with long dreads came smiling in, leading two nearly naked women. He had a slight Caribbean accent, as well as an overly serious manner, and that left Rose and me hiding our snickers. It was fun having more people there. A little dirtier, a little more risqué.

With him was a thin, bespectacled woman in her early twenties with the wide eyes of someone who had never been to this sort of party. The other woman, I realized, was Maria.

Some others came in as well; an older man and woman sat on a couch nearby, she on his lap as they watched us and the threesome. I saw more faces at the door of the room, one friend smiled knowingly from the crowd.

Maria and her two friends didn’t really acknowledge Rose and me. They laid on a nest of pillows that were just next to the bed and started whispered negotiations and seductions.

Rose kiddingly cut her eyes at me, knowing I had a crush on the girl in the corset. We laughed it off and then fell into more kisses.

There was something profound in how new kisses between long time lovers could be. In a room crowded with other people kissing and onlookers gawking and whispering, we were both putting on a show and trying to shut out the distractions.

We quickly took off the clothing that were blocking the important parts. She slipped off her panties and pulled up her dress. I pulled my pants off. She slipped her breasts out of the top of her bustier, and I immediately touched and kissed them.

She bit my lip, and I pulled her hair. We smiled as we wrestled, and my cock rubbed against her.

I heard the familiar sound of a Hitachi start next to me. The three on the floor moaned and kissed and shifted to find a better angle.

Just as I slipped into Rose, the woman in the corset stood up and sat down on the bed next to us. She didn’t engage with us, she was directing the scene on the floor, but she simply sat down on the bed to get a better angle.

The thing was, she sat down right on my hand.

I was slowly fucking Rose. We continued to kiss and whisper dirty things to each other and, in general, enjoy fucking in a room full of strangers.

I wondered if Maria was aware she was sitting on my hand. She had to be. I don’t have small hands. I thought perhaps it was just incidental. Something that happens when a bunch of people are fucking in the same room. I wasn’t that experienced in orgying.

As I thought that, and Rose wrapped her legs around me, Maria pushed her ass down and ground against my hand. She looked over at me for a second, with no real smile or acknowledgement, and then bit her extra fat bottom lip and slid back a little, so that my hand was no longer under her ass, but between her thighs.

Rose’s head fell back and her eyes closed as I pounded into her. She looked more than lovely, hair a splash of black curls against the pillow, breasts pushed out and nipples hard. She felt perfect, tight and wet, as I fucked her.

Meanwhile, the girl on the floor writhed and gasped as the Hitachi buzzed away.

Maria leaned forward and kissed the pretty girl on the floor. As she did, her pussy pressed against my hand. I carefully turned my hand, cupping it. She looked back at me as she kissed the girl. A mix of pleading and contempt in her eyes.

She was really working the bitch thing.

“Fuck me,” Rose whined.

“Oh my god,” the girl on the floor gasped.

My fingers pressed against Maria, finding the outline of her lips, then the bump of her clit. My mind twisted, and I groaned as my finger slipped into her as my cock slipped into Rose. I heard the Hitachi get turned on high, and the girl on the floor cursed and struggled and moaned louder.

Maria leaned forward and held the girl on the floor down while pushing her ass towards me. Two of my fingers just barely fit in her, but she rode them hard anyway.

Rose was building to an orgasm. I knew her sounds and the feel of her body. She held on to me tightly. The sound of the girl on the floor coming and the buzzing of the vibrator and Rose and the girl I was fingering all coalescing with the feel of Rose tightening around my cock and then Maria tightening around my fingers and I felt myself closer and closer.

“Stop, stop, too much!” yelled the girl on the floor as she shot up with a laugh.

We all stopped and, for a moment, looked at each other. The man in the white suit turned off the Hitachi.

Rose looked at me and let out a giggle. Then she looked to her left and saw my hand between the girl’s legs and ground up against me. She smiled and glared.

“Is she wet?” Rose whispered into my ear.

I just whimpered a bit in the affirmative.

“Does it feel to get everything you want?”

“Yes,” I hissed.

Maria eyed us, her pout growing a bit.

“It looks like she doesn’t like it when you stop,” Rose said, biting my earlobe hard.

“You’d better keep going then, but don’t forget you have to keep fucking me,” she said with a wicked grin.

Maria closed her eyes as I finger fucked her, my fingers finding the ridge of her g-spot. Her body rocked against me. Rose slapped me, wanting more of my attention.

When I started to come, I lost my momentum. Maria grabbed my wrist when I slowed and kept fucking herself on my fingers. Rose pushed up against me, riding out my orgasm and hers.

It was all a bit too much. All the sounds and bodies and heat. I tumbled off Rose and away from Maria and laid on the other side of the bed. My body and brain suddenly exhausted.

I saw flashes of movement. Rose and Maria kissing. I felt myself pushed and pulled, then the lightning and thunder of getting slapped across the face.

“You’re not done!” Rose said, roughly grabbing my hair.

“If you are going to finger someone while fucking me you better at least make her come,” she said, a little smile creeping from under her mean face.

Maria smiled a wicked smile.

“Thank you, seriously, I was just getting going,” Maria said to Rose, both of them shifting on the bed around me.

The girl who was on the floor climbed on the bed as well, smiling and glowing with the “I just came” glow. She leaned on one arm and watched us.

Rose pulled my hair again as Maria swung a leg around and straddled my chest.

“He’ll make it up to you. He’s pretty good at this,” Rose explained as she helped Maria straddle my face.

I hadn’t even caught my breath before Maria’s slick, smooth pussy covered my mouth.

Though I could barely hear them with the strong thighs covering my ears, I made out:

“He better be able to get it up again,” Maria said.

“Oh, he will,” Rose said, grabbing my hair and making sure I did a good job.

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Dust, Volume 5, Number 12

Matthew J. Rolin 

Ned Starke was right. Winter is coming, and maybe, for our Chicago and Eastern Seaboard contingent, it’s here. That’s a good excuse to find a big comfy chair near the stereo and dig into some new music. This time we offer some hip hop, some finger picking, some music concrete, some indie pop and, just this once, a Broadway musical. Contributors include Ray Garraty, Jennifer Kelly, Justin Cober-Lake, Jonathan Shaw, Bill Meyer and Andrew Forell. Stay warm.

ALLBLACK x Offset Jim — 22nd Ways (Play Runners Association)

ALLBLACK and Offset Jim have collaborated on a few tracks before, but this is their first release together. Their differences, which are significant, make the disc enjoyable through and through. Offset Jim has a poker face delivery that can fool anybody into thinking he’s deadly serious when he’s clearly having fun. ALLBLACK, on the other hand, is known for his goofy humor, but his goofiness is a mask that obscures a poetic psycho killer. Their combination of a healthy dose of humor and true-to-the-streets seriousness—seen here— makes a case for tolerating all kinds of oddball pairings:

“Don't leave the house without your makeup kit Diss songs about your real daddy just won't stick Hey, bitch, say, bitch, I know you miss this demon dick Please comb Max hair, take off them wack outfits”

Ray Garraty

 David Byrne — American Utopia (Nonesuch)

If you live long enough, everything that seemed edgy and electrifying in your youth will turn safe and comfortable in middle age. You’ll buy festival tickets with access to couches, tents and air conditioning. Clash songs will turn up in Jaguar ads. Kids at the playground will run around sporting your Black Flag tee-shirt. You may even find yourself in a $250 seat, at a beautiful theater, with your beautiful wife, seeing “American Utopia,” David Byrne’s new jukebox musical, and, to borrow a phrase, you may ask yourself, “How did I get here?” And look, you could do worse. These are wonderful songs, still prickly and spare even now in full orchestral arrangements, still booming with cross-currented, afro-beat rhythms (Byrne got to that early on, give him credit), still buoyed with a scratchy, ironic, ebullient pulse of life. It’s hard to say what plot line stitches together “Born Under Punches,” “Every Day is a Miracle,” “Burning Down the House” and “Road to Nowhere,” or how absorbing the connective narrative may be. It’s not, obviously, as kinetic and daring as the original arrangements, stitched together with shoe-laces, stuttering with anxiety, bounced and jittered by the back line of Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz, clad in an absurdly oversized suit. And, yet, it’s not so bad and if I had three big bills to spend on a night at the theater, I might just want to see it re-enacted. Because I’ve gotten safe and comfortable, too, and anyway, better that than the Springsteen show.

Jennifer Kelly

 Charly Bliss — Supermoon EP (Barsuk) 

Supermoon by Charly Bliss

Charly Bliss’ latest release Supermoon, collects five tracks written during the Young Enough sessions that didn’t make the final cut. The EP showcases the band transitioning from the grungy edge of their debut Guppy to the more polished pop sound of its successor. Eva Hendricks is one of the moment’s most distinctive voices, and these songs find her grappling with the themes so tellingly addressed on Young Enough. Although the songs here deserve release, the interest is in what they don’t do. More than sketches, they are less lyrically formed than those on the album, more guitar driven and without the big pop pay offs. The band, Hendricks on guitar and vocals, her brother Sam on drums, guitarist Spencer Fox and bassist Dan Shure still produce a hooky, engaging record which will appeal to fans. Newcomers might want to start with the albums but Supermoon is not without its moments.

Andrew Forell

  Cheval Sombre — Been a Lover b/w The Calfless Cow (Market Square)

Cheval Sombre - Been a Lover b/w The Calfless Cow by Market Square Recordings

Cheval Sombre teamed with Luna/Galaxie 500’s Dean Wareham last year for a haunting batch of cowboy songs that found, as I put it in my Dusted review, “unfamiliar shadows and crevices in some very familiar material.” Now comes Cheval Sombre, otherwise known as Chris Porpora, with a brace of soft, dreamy folk-turned-psychedelic songs, one a gently sorrowful original, the other a cover of Alasdair Roberts. “Been a Lover” slow-strums through a whistling canyons of dreams, wistfully surveying the remnants of a long-standing relationship. It has the nodding, skeletal grace of Sonic Boom’s acoustic “Angel,” perhaps no coincidence since the Spaceman 3 songwriter produced the album. “The Calfless Cow” anchors a bit more in folk blues picking, though Porpora’s soft, prayerful vocals float free above the foundations. Both songs feel like spectral images leaving traceries on unexposed film—unsolid and evocative and mysteriously, inexplicably there.

Jennifer Kelly

 Cigarettes After Sex — Cry (Partisan Records)

Cry by Cigarettes After Sex

Cigarettes After Sex’s 2017 debut album was a quite lovely collection of slow-core, lust-lorn dream pop. On the follow up Cry Greg Gonzalez (vocals, guitar), Phillip Tubbs (keys), Randall Miller (bass) and Jacob Tomsky (drums) double down on their signature sound with half the effect. The melodies are still here, the delicate restraint also, Gonzalez’ voice whispers seductively sweet nothings but this time around it is largely nothings he’s working with. It’s not that this is a terrible record, it’s more that the wreaths of gossamer amount to not much. Lacking the humorous touches of the debut, Cry suffers from Gonzalez’ sometimes witless and earnest lyrics which are mirrored in the lackluster pace which makes one desperate for the sex to be over so one can get back to smoking. Cry aims for Lynch/Badalamenti atmospherics and hits them occasionally but too often lapses into Hallmark sentimentalism. For an album ostensibly about romantic and physical love Cry is dispiritingly dry. There is only ash on these sheets. Serge Gainsbourg is somewhere rolling his eyes, and a gasper, in the velvet boudoir of eternity.

Andrew Forell

  Lucy Dacus — 2019 (Matador)

Between Historian and boygenius, Lucy Dacus had a pretty memorable 2018. It makes sense that she'd want to document 2019. What she did instead was release a series of holiday-ish tracks over the course of the year and then collect them as the 2019 EP. The covers will likely get the most attention, whether her loving take on Edith Piaf's “La vie en rose” or the rocking rendition of Wham!'s “Last Christmas.” Dacus doesn't perform these songs with any sense of snark; she's both enjoying herself and invested. Counting Bruce Springsteen's birthday as a holiday might be silly, but she nails “Dancing in the Dark,” turning it to her own aesthetic. The weird one here is “In the Air Tonight,” which smacks of irony and whatever we call guilty pleasures these days, but she plays it straight, arguing for it as a spooky Halloween cut, and sort of pulls it off.  

Focusing on the covers might lead listeners to forget how good a songwriter she is. The Mother's Day “My Mother & I” feels thoroughly like a Dacus number, opening with contemplation: “My mother hates her body / We share the same outline / She swears that she loves mine.” Holidays aren't easy. “Fool's Gold” (stick this New Year's track first or last) falls like snow, laden with regret and rationalization. Dacus works through holidays with care and concern. The covers might be fun (even the Phil Collins number works as a curiosity), but when she lets the more conflicted thoughts come through, as on “Forever Half Mast,” she maintains the hot streak. The EP might be a bit of a diversion, but its secret complexity makes it more surprisingly forceful. Justin Cober-Lake 

 Kool Keith — Computer Technology (Fat Beats)

Computer Technology by Kool Keith

Naming an album Computer Technology in 2019 is like calling a 1950 disc A Light Bulb. Ironic Luddite-ness is a part of the charm of the new Kool Keith’s album, his second this year. The record has a cyberpunk-ish (circa 1984) feel, thanks to wacky, early electronics-like beats that no sane hip hop artist today would agree to rap over. But who said Kool Keith was sane? He’s like a computer virus here, infesting a modern culture he views with disdain. His kooky brags could be written off as old man rants if he been in the rap game since day one. On “Computer Technology” he says: ‘You need to sit down and slow down’, yet he himself shows no signs of slowing down.

If Kool Keith’s 1980s science rap messed around in a high school lab, he’s now a tenured professor in hip hop science blowing up the joint.

Ray Garraty

 Leech — Data Horde (Peak Oil) 

Data Horde by Leech

Brian Foote’s work has a knack for showing up in slightly unexpected and subtly crucial places, whether it’s behind the scenes at Kranky and his own Peak Oil imprint, or as a member at times of Fontanelle or Nudge, or even just helping out Stephen Malkmus with drums. On Data Horde, his debut LP of electronic music under his Leech moniker, Foote works with his customary quiet assurance and subtly radical take on things, delivering a brief but satisfying set of bespoke productions that somehow evoke acid and ambient tinges at the same time, feinting towards full-out jungle eruptions before turning the corner and somehow naturally going somewhere much more minimal. Whether it’s the skittering, pulsing “Brace” or the lush and aptly-named “Nimble”, the results are consistently satisfying and the six tracks here suggest that we could stand to hear a lot more from Leech.  

Ian Mathers

Midnight Odyssey — Biolume Part 1: In Tartarean Chains (I, Voidhanger)

Biolume Part 1 - In Tartarean Chains by MIDNIGHT ODYSSEY

 Midnight Odyssey’s massive new record sounds like what might happen if Gary Numan’s Tubeway Army smoked up a bunch of Walter White’s finest product and decided that they must cover Pink Floyd’s Live at Pompei, complete with ruins and really big gongs. It’s interstellar. It’s perversely grandiose. The synths soar and rumble, the vocals come in mournful choral arrangements, the low end thunders and occasionally explodes into blast-beat barrage. It’s almost impossible to take seriously, and it’s presented with what seems like absolute seriousness. In any case, there’s a lot of it: seven tracks, all of which exceed the eight-minute mark, and most of which moan and intone and resonate well beyond ten minutes. You’ve got to give it to Dis Pater, the only identified member of Midnight Odyssey — he really means it. But it’s often hard to tell if Biolume Part 1 (Pater threatens that there are two more parts to come) is the product of an unchecked, idiosyncratically powerful vision or just goofball cosmological schmaltz. To this reviewer, it’s undecidable. And that’s interesting.

Jonathan Shaw

 Nakhane — You Will Not Die 

South African singer Nakhane Touré has a voice that can stop you in your tracks when he unleashes it, and a willingness to tackle uncomfortable topics (homosexuality, colonialism, and the way the imported Presbyterian church interacts with both) that’s seen him both praised and threatened in his homeland. You Will Not Die marks a shift in Nakhane’s music, both in terms of how directly and intensely he engages with those places where the sacred rubs up against, not so much the profane but the disavowed, even while sonically everything is lusher and brighter, whether it’s the slinky electroglam of “Interloper” or the bell-tolling balladry of “Presbyteria.” For once it’s worth seeking the deluxe edition, for the Bowie-esque Anohni duet “New Brighton” and the defiantly melancholy cover of “Age of Consent” alone.

 Matthew J. Rolin — Matthew J. Rolin (Feeding Tube)

Matthew J. Rolin by Matthew J. Rolin

Matthew J. Rolin steps to the head of the latest class of American Primitive guitarists on this self-titled debut LP. He is currently a resident of Columbus, Ohio, but his main inspirations from within the genre are Chicagoan. Reportedly a Ryley Walker concert sent him down the solo guitar path, but the one time this reviewer caught him in concert, Rolin only made one substance-oriented statement throughout the set, and it was more of a shy assertion than an extravagant boast. His sound more than pays the toll. Bright and ringing on 12 strings, pithy and structurally sound on six, he makes sparing use of outdoor sound and keyboard drones that bring Daniel Bachman to mind. Like Bachman did on his early records, Rolin often relies upon the rush of his fingerpicking to draw the listener along, and what do you know? It works.

Bill Meyer

  Claire Rousay — Aerophobia (Astral Spirits)

Aerophobia by Claire Rousay

To watch Claire Rousay perform is to see the process of deciding made visual. You can’t put that on a tape, but you can make the tape a symbolic and communicative object. To see Rousay repeatedly, or to play her recordings in sequence, is to hear an artist who is rapidly transforming. This one was already a bit behind her development when it was released, but that can be turned into a statement, too. Perhaps the title Aerophobia, which means fear of flying, is a critique of the tape’s essentially musical content? It is a series of drum solos, unlike the more the more recent t4t, which includes self-revealing speech and household sounds. If so, that critique does not reproach the music itself, nor should it. Even when you can’t see her, you can hear her sonic resourcefulness and appreciate the movement and shape she articulates with sound.

Bill Meyer

 Colin Andrew Sheffield & James Eck Rippie — Exploded View (Elevator Bath)

exploded view by colin andrew sheffield & james eck rippie

Colin Andrew Sheffield, who is the proprietor of the Elevator Bath imprint, and James Eck Rippie, who does sound work for Hollywood movies, have this understanding in common: they know that you gotta break things to make things. The things in question don’t even have to be intact when you start; at any rate, the feedback, microphone bumps, blips and skips that make up this 19-minute long piece of musique concrete sound like the product of generations of handling. It all feels a bit like you’re hearing a scan of the shortwave bands from inside the radio, which makes for delightfully disorienting listening.

Bill Meyer

 Ubik — Next Phase (Iron Lung)

Next Phase MLP (LUNGS-148) by UBIK

 Philip K. Dick’s whacko-existentialist-corporate-satire-cum-SF-novel Ubik turns 50 this year, and serendipitously, Australian punks Ubik have released this snarling, tuneful EP into the world. There’s a whole lot of British street punk, c. 1982, in Ubik’s sound, especially if that genre tag and year make you flash on Lurkers, Abrasive Wheels and Angelic Upstarts — bands that knew how to string melodic hooks together, and bands that had pretty solid lefty politics. Ubik’s songs couple street punk’s populist (in the pre-Trump sense) fist-pumping with a spastic, elastic angularity, giving the tracks just enough of a weirdo vibe that the band’s name makes sense. The combination of elements is vividly present in “John Wayne (Is a Cowboy (and Is on Twitter)),” a hugely fun punk song that registers a fair degree of ideological venom as it bashes and speeds along. Somewhere, Horselover Fat is nodding his head and smiling. 

Jonathan Shaw

 Uranium Club — Two Things at Once (Sub Pop)

Uranium Club (sometimes Minneapolis Uranium club) made one of the best punk albums of this year in The Cosmo Cleaners. “A visionary insanity, backed by impressive musical chops,” I opined in Dusted last April, setting off a frenzy of interest and an epic major label bidding war. Just kidding. Hardly anyone noticed. Uranium Club was this year’s Patois Counselors, a band so good that it made no sense that no one knew about them. But, fast forward to now and LOOK at the heading of this review! Sub Pop noticed and included Uranium Club in its storied singles club. And why not? The bluntly named “Two Things at Once,” (Parts I and 2), is just as tightly, maniacally wound as the full-length, just as gloriously, spikily confrontational. “Part 1” scrambles madly, pulling hair out by the roots as it agitatedly considers “our children’s creativity” and whether “I’m too young to die.” It’s like Fire Engines, but faster and crazier and with big pieces of machinery working loose and flying off the sides. “Part 2” runs slower and more lyrically but with no less intensity, big flayed slashes of discord rupturing its meditative strumming. There are no words in it, and yet you sense deep, obsessive bouts of agitation driving its motor, even when the brass comes in, unexpectedly, mournfully, near the end. This is the good stuff, and no one wants you to know about it. Except me. And now Sub Pop. Don’t miss out.

Jennifer Kelly

 Various Artists— Come on up to the House: Women Sing Waits (Dualtone)

Come On Up To The House: Women Sing Waits by Dualtone Music Group, Inc.

Tom Waits’ gravelly voice is embedded deep in the fabric of how we think of Tom Waits songs. You can’t think of “Come On Up to the House” without sandpapery catch in its gospel curves, or of “Downtown Train” without his strangled desolation; he is the songs, and if you don’t like the way he sings, you’ve probably never cared much for his recordings. And yet, here, in this all-woman, star-studded, country-centric collection of covers, you can hear, maybe for the first time, how gracefully constructed these songs are, how pretty the melodies, how well the lyrics fit to them. You cannot believe how different these songs sound with women singing. It is truly revelatory. Contributors include big stars (Aimee Mann, Corinne Rae Bailey), living legends (Iris Dement, Roseanne Cash), up-and-comers (Courtney Marie Andrews, Phoebe Bridgers) and a few emerging artists (Joseph, The Wild Reeds), and all have a case to make. Phoebe Bridgers distills “Georgia Lee” into a quiet, tragic purity, while Angie McMahon finds a private, inward-looking clarity in “Take It With Me.” Courtney Marie Andrews blows up “Downtown Train,” into a swaggering country anthem, while Roseanne Cash infuses “Time” with a warm, unforced glow. These versions transform weird, twisted reveries into American songbook classics, which is what they maybe were, under all that growling, all along.

Jennifer Kelly

AU: The Masquerade

An AU that takes place in the Vampire The Masquerade setting. Each of the muses listed below has been sorted as a member of a clan associated with the Camarlilla: the holders of the status quo, with the intention of maintaining the masquerade and masking the existence of Kindred (vampires) and hiding it from the world. Each clan is a family of sorts with their own quirks, weaknesses and distinctions. Threads in this verse probably won’t have much of a smut focus (despite the general nature of this blog I know I do other things too y’know ;) ) but it wouldn’t be out of the discussion. 

Ventrue (7): The politicians and executives. The leaders and influencers. The Warlords. The top dogs. They are considered the mind of the Camarilla. They are the authority. The blue bloods, so to speak. They take charge when needed, tend to see themselves as a necessity to maintaining both order and the masquerade, regardless of whether or not that’s true.. They tend to be adapt at management and leadership and as such, their lives tend to revolve around such things. A kindred won’t even be welcomed into Ventrue society until they prove themselves in said area of expertise, establishing their own domain of influence without aid. Their biggest weakness is their palate. Each Ventrue is only able to feed off specific targets and can only ingest blood from said targets alone (can only feed off of young men, can only feed off of rich women, etc.). They can’t have any other kind of blood, even when starving and in desperate need to feed.

Sophia Andrews (an agent, focusing on management. can only feed off of women)

Evelyn Vasco (Businesswoman, owns a club. Can only feed off of virile men)

Rhys Chapman (Businessman, owns a luxury hotel. can only feed off of women)

Dwayne Phillips (businessman, deals with electronics and energy, can only feed off of women)

Persephone Sweet (an agent, focusing on public relations, can only feed off of executives)

Electra Syren (businesswoman, owns a tech company, can only feed off of young adults (see Amber A) )

Isabel Delgado (a universal agent, focused on business, can only feed off of men)

Toreador (7): The artists. The social elite. The beautiful people. If the Ventrue are the mind of the Camarilla, the Toreador is said to be the soul. One of the most influential clans in the Camarilla as they have the greatest ties to the mortal world through social and cultural interaction. They can host anything from a high society dinner to children’s theater. As implied by the description thus far, they can most embody the idea of the vamp, one who can get by on sheer sex appeal. They tend to be up on the latest trends, when they aren’t the ones setting them themselves. By nature, art is the cornerstone of this clan. Of course, as per usual, the definition of what could be considered art varies from kindred to kindred. It could be a martial art, if could be painting, writing, graphic design. They could consider their body to be art in of itself. They can also be expert marksmen, incredible musicians, etc.. However, they can also be cult leaders, preachers, evangelists and the like. Their weakness is their fixation with beauty. They can find themselves distracted by something they find exceptional beauty to the point where it could be hazardous to their unlife. Their vision and sensitivity can hurt them as much as it can help them. As such, they can also find themselves prone to falling for mortals and other vampires. It can also keep them from reaching perfection in their art, which could cause them to lose interest in it. Despite this, they aren’t as brainless as one might assume and they aren’t to be underestimated.

Regan Kensington (her art is her body and beauty)

Rachel Hallsy (her art is her beauty but she also takes part in a number of things from painting to dancing)

Caitlyn Bridges (her art is botany)

Soraya Mousavi (Toreador are known to be talented investigators, which she was even prior to being embraced)

Karen Sofer (her art is her body, by way of dancing, camshows and “mingling” with others)

Raul Gallo (his art is cooking)

Calvin Moss (he doesn’t really dedicate himself to art, appreciation for it aside. instead, he’s put his newfound “gifts” toward a goal he had before his embrace: becoming a cult leader. he’s organized his own flock of followers, all too eager to allow him to use them as a blood source)

Claire Simcova (her art is her body. a former model turned personal trainer. so you could argue that her art is fitness)

Malkavian (3): The madmen. The pranksters and lunatics. The seers and the oracles. They are bound by strange compulsions and perceive and articulate things in a manner different than most. Their jokes can range from silly to sadistic. Somehow, they’ve managed to remain as one of the oldest surviving clans, even being among the founders of the Camarilla. Barely a clan on the surface, a large number of them probably aren’t even aware they belong to one. Hell some aren’t even aware they’ve sired anyone! They tend to be tolerated at best, and even so, probably when they have enough self-control to refrain from violating the masquerade. While being embraced by a Malkavian guarantees insanity, they tend to embrace those who were halfway there to begin with. IF you see them muttering to themselves, they might be talking to theirself, or they can be in a conversation with another Malkavian, as they are all connected by a psychic link. Their madness of course, tends to be their biggest weakness. They are always guaranteed to suffer at least one derangement. That said, they can inflict horrible, debilitating insanity just as well. Be wary of the Malkavians. Dementation can destroy your very soul. 

Molly Frye (disorder: dependent, derangement: overcompensation/dependent personality disorder)

Aline Seidel (disorder: paranoid, derangement: memory lapses, paranoia)

Jacqueline Logan (disorder: borderline, derangement: antisocial personality disorder, berserk)

Brujah (6): The rebels, the anarchists, the poets and freedom fighters. A founding clan of the Camarilla, you can be forgiven for writing them off as just a bunch of thugs and street punks. You’d be wrong...for the most part. They’ve a lot more going on then given credit for, and they’re always willing to rally under and fight for what they consider to be a worthy cause. Some prefer to follow charismatic leaders, others prefer individualism. They’ll be glad for a chance to speak their mind, just as they will be a chance to wreck something otherwise. Their weakness is a hair trigger temper and propensity for being wrathful, which means it’s easier for them to fall into a frenzy. There tends to be little organization among them, and they tend to sire whoever they want, for whatever reason they want.

Kyle Bridges

Deacon Wells

Juliana Rouco

Christina Fonseca

Mikaela Banes

Shannon Lawton

Katherine Logan

Chelsea Moore

Tessa Slater

Diora Frye

Gangrel (3): The beasts. The nomads. They prefer to be closer to nature. They prefer the thrill of the hunt. They were a founding clan among the Camarilla, but eventually, they got fed up with them and struck out on their own and now serve as an independent clan. Upon being embraced, they are subsequently left to fend for themselves in the while for a short period of time. The reasoning being that if they can’t survive on their own, they can’t hack it. Those who can survive are welcomed into the clan formally. They are the least social, and most predatory of the kindrid, prone to being territorial. They are shifters, among other things. Their biggest weakness, is the effects of their frenzies. Any time they hit frenzy, they can grow more monstrous and beastall in appearance.

Ken Logan

Lucio Vasco

Clair Morgan

Rosemary Morgan

Kimber Horne

Gisela Krieger

Miri Irvine

Nosferatu (3): The outcasts. The ugly. The spymasters and information brokers. They know your secrets. Perhaps among the most underappreciated, underestimated clan of the group. Perhaps best known for their appearances, which tend to be horrifying, grotesque or plain ugly. Often to the point where they have to reside in and travel through the sewers just to maintain the masquerade. Just approaching a moral can be considered a violation in of itself. But they are also adept at crafting and stealth. They can tame the animals that reside in the sewers. They managed to form their own society among themselves. That said, their mastery of obfuscate can still allow them a number of advantages, as well as a means of attempting to remain among society. They tend to embrace one of two groups. The first, is those looked down upon by society. Those who are down enough on their luck where being embraced by a Nosferatu would be considered a step up: the mentally ill, the homeless, vagrants, etc., out of a sense of kinship. They also will embrace as a means of punishment. Don’t be surprised if you run into a Cleopatra: a Nosferatu who was embraced as a means to punish them for their ego and vanity. They value clan loyalty immensely, often dependent on being supportive of each other. The embrace is very painful, harmful to their body, as their deformities would attest to. It’s lucky if they even manage to survive the process. The weakness should go without saying at this point.

Vita Sommer (an information broker before her embrace and a more effective, illusive one after it)

Celine Beauchamp (was embraced when she was homeless during a harsh winter. physical pain from the shift to unlife aside, she’s managed to adjust well enough. she’d devoted a fair amount of time to tending to “plants” and animal life in their territories. in this case meaning mushrooms and other fungi, rats, dogs, cats and the occasional sewer gator. very helpful with security for one’s haven)

Rhosyn Ravenwood (was embraced in part her sire wanted to prevent the Tremere from getting to her first.)

Lilith Cameron (was embraced as her sire had taken a liking to her. she’s since continued working as a blogger (though a different, more low key kind, and has taken steps towards being an information broker in her own right)

Elizabeth Sage (resentful of her current predicament, has developed a bit of a disproportionate dislike for the Toreador, wishing she had been embraced by them instead)

Forget About It ~ Sweet Pea (Part 1)

A/n: Whoa I kinda died huh? Got sucked into IT for a long time. And then the Umbrella Academy happened. And then I got hit with MAJOR depression and really heavy, bad vibes from all the dark stuff and tried to get super engrossed in lighter stuff like My Babysitter’s a Vampire but then that show ended in the DUMBEST way so in desperation I’ve returned for my fluff ball of love. Prepare for emotions.

Warnings. A! N! G! S! T! Arguing. Awkwardness. Violence, threatening, Archie Andrew’s weird red circle and gun phases. Panic attack. Fear. Betrayal. Abandonment. Archie Andrews being an idiot actually-

Pairings: Sweet Pea x Female Andrews!Reader

Song: "Forget About It" by All Time Low

Word Count: 4800+

MASTERLIST

One, two, three! You, are a handful of roses, thorns in a cheap bouquet. True, I'm a walkin' disaster- they told you to stay away. Seems like I'm makin' a deal with the devil who's whispering softly to me, "Are you sure that she's the one?"

You’d think things were insane enough as it is. But, no, my brother was nothing if he wasn’t one to add on top of already existing problems. The Black Hood was out there somewhere, closing in and leaving a path of destruction in his wake. Our dad was in a bed recovering from a shot wound and I couldn’t get my brother to eat or sleep let alone put down the pure - kind of terrifying - insanity with the whole Red Circle stuff. After the video, I’d been keeping a close eye on Archie, going as far as to stalk him. Following him around. Checking his phone. If I did sleep, I slept very close to where he was. I was so worried and cautious that it made me crazy... the problem was that I was right.

Despite the fact that I had reason to act the way I did, we’d still been getting into more fights recently and I felt like a jealous, controlling girlfriend he was about to break up with any second... but I also felt absolutely terrified. I was watching my brother - the Mr. Cute and Perfect I’d always admired and looked up to and wanted to be and leaned on and depended on (some kids asked what mom or dad or Jesus would do, but my first thought used to be, "What would Archie do?") - fall apart, piece by piece. I found myself falling apart with him.

So, despite the million reasons to stay back and take care of myself and my friends (who were also seriously struggling), I found myself helicopter hovering over my dumbass older brother, staying on his heels even as he brought both of us into the South Side.

Initially he caught me off guard, tricking me into feeling complacent, sending me in to make dinner just to sneak off with a big black bag. It wasn’t until I finished the grilled cheese sandwiches that I returned to where I’d left him, only to find him gone. I tore through the whole house but... no sign. Because of my close attentiveness of my brother, I knew about absolutely everything. I hadn’t told anyone in fear of getting him in trouble, but I knew. I knew him so well these days that it was as if it was my own mind with my own ideas telling me to go to the South Side when I asked myself, "What would Archie do?" It made me flinch to realize that for the first time, I wasn’t doing the good thing. The honorable thing. I wasn’t using Archie as an example to be better. I was stooping to the level he’d lowered himself to, just to find him and drag his moronic, seemingly psychotic self back home and smack some damn sense into him.

And so, sleep deprived and hungry and ANGRY, I found myself running full speed as I spotted my red haired brother so I could catch up with him as he spray painted a wooden door with a huge red circle. Oh god...

Catching his arm, I pulled him away from the door. "Archie what the HELL?" I screeched.

He didn’t seem to register me for a beat but when it clicked, he was only looking at me a second. "Y/n? What are you-?" His eyes left me fluidly as if he hadn’t been that focused on me to begin with. His arm dropped to wrap around me, scooting me behind him. I turned around to see three boys approaching. It was dark, but I recognized the look of the jackets and one of their faces seemed very briefly familiar. With Archie setting me on edge, I’d spent more time with Betty and Jughead before I’d full deep dived into watching him. I’d met Toni once and these boys had that vibe. That look. Not something that was physical, like most people would see, but a way they carried themselves. The way the confidence and power settled in their hands and in their expressions. Something you could sense. Could feel in the very air around them. They were strong, at home, and in complete control.

Serpents.

I’d never been scared of the Serpents. I feared them in a respectful way. I kept my distance and my head down. I’d seen them at the Drive In before it closed down and, as previously mentioned, I’d met Toni one other time. So I’d seen them around, but I’d always kept my distance. Toni was a serpent but she was small and a generally sweet person who avoided trouble when she could. She was almost comfortable to be around. Real and genuine- a breath of fresh air after living in a plastic world that demanded too much at too high a price. A world that demanded perfection. Toni was pleasant to be around, even when she was pissed at Jughead- I usually sided with her anyway just because I thought everyone was dumb most days. These erpents weren't Toni though. Not in anyway. These Serpents were tall and built and terrifying. I felt myself cowering behind Archie as I would at school as he blocked me from Cheryl or Reggie. Archie had always been my protector and even in his unstable mental state I still had a sliver of faith in him.

"What the hell are you doing?" The tallest snapped in a commanding voice that made me swallow hard after a lump formed in my throat.

Archie shook his head and my eyes flickered to the spray can in his hands. "Hey back off, I’m not here for you." I tugged on his arm and he seemed ready to move on and past the boys, maybe more because I was here than he felt done with how well he’d made his bold, red statement.

"Oh yeah?" The tall Serpent sneered. "Then who’s this message for?" He motioned to the paining on the door and I gulped again, still trying to get rid of that lump in my throat. This was gonna get ugly. Archie’s body tensed under my hands. When the boy realized what Archie had painted, his voice grew quieter, and it seemed even scarier than the loud aggressiveness he’d spoken with before. The calm before the storm. The hiss before the bite. "Aw, hell, don’t tell me this is for the Black Hood?" I cringed at the name of my father’s almost murderer and the boy looked at me, an eyebrow popping up. I tugged on Archie’s arm again but he was refusing to budge. The boy’s words were getting under Archie’s skin. My anxiety was rising. After Archie realized the boy was looking at me he moved to block me better. The Serpent’s attention returned to the tagging. "You believe this guys?" He asked his friends mockingly. "And people say we’re the troublemakers." There was a pause as Archie silently tried to move past them to make a show of his man power or whatever. Too scared to approach I let go of him, staying where I was. I was relieved when they caught him, the tall one uttering a, “Whoa," as they did so. The trouble was still brewing, the steam and bubbles of the boiling water slamming against the lid and threatening to explode any second... but at least I wasn’t alone. "South Side Serpent country," the boy eased. But then his voice changed again. Threatening. Heavy. Dark. Dripping with anger and unspoken threats... No, not threats. Promises. "You can’t come here and tag our turf." I suddenly felt sick, realizing that Archie was trying to KEEP GOING when all I wanted to do was go home. What drugs was he ON?! "So get your ass back to the North Side," the Serpent continued venomously. His eyes found me again as a I took a step back, trying to become smaller and smaller until I could just disappear. "Before someone gets hurt."

My eyes went wider, my blood running cold. Maybe Archie could fight these guys off but I couldn't. "Arch," I whispered. "You shouldn't have come here, let's just-"

"Get out of my way,” Archie seethed, cutting me off. His breathing was ragged and I took another step back, startled by how Archie suddenly felt even more a threat then the Serpents he was facing.. "Or someone will get hurt."

The Serpent stepped forward, inhaling to speak again and I found myself panicking, surging forward to place myself between them. The Serpent stepped back but Archie was solid. I wondered if he even recognized that it was me standing there or if he just thought of me as an obstacle. My body began shaking, my eyes staring holes into my brother’s skull. "Archie, this is crazy," I croaked out. "Let’s go home. You’ve caused enough trouble for one night. You made your point. PLEASE!"

The Serpent smiled. "Listen to the girl. Go run home to daddy before things get ugly." And he drew a knife, the blade hoverijg near my arm.

Well shit.

I felt it before I saw it. Felt my brother’s arms move, felt the air snap and change as the tension broke and Archie’s last chord of either self control or sanity - or perhaps simply both - flew free of it’s tethering post, no longer holding Archie back. The gun was in his hand, the barrel sliding back loudly in my ear to make sure we all knew it was loaded. I choked on a scream and stumbled back, toward the Serpents. "Who made the mistake? WHO MADE THE MISTAKE?!"

“Arch-" I tried. But then his eyes turned on me and I tripped, taking more steps backward. He looked so angry. So driven by pure rage and so far past a simple breaking point that I didn’t see my brother anymore. The Archie I knew and loved and looked up to was simply... gone. And a monster was in his place. It wasn’t the gun that scared me, but the maniac that wielded it. I expected the barrel to suddenly turn and point at me, his hand to come down on the trigger. I whimpered, the sound high and quiet and wet.

I tripped, falling on my ass, and cried out in pain. That seemed to knock Archie out of it. The tears started to fall and I curled in on myself, arms over my head and knees pulled to my chest. I was crying an shaking violently. I’d been under too much pressure with the looming threat of a murder leisurely wandering around my town on top of almost losing my father to have the human equivalent of my security blanket turn violent against me. I felt a hand on my arm and I squealed, cringing away from it and shaking harder. "I..." Archie whispered. "I’m sorry." And then in a last bang of blazing idiocy, to top off all of the shit he’d pulled tonight, he left me. Alone. Mid breakdown. At night. On the South Side. WITH Serpents. After he’d waved a gun around and it had been established that we were both North Siders and knew each other.

When nothing happened I slowly looked up. The three Serpents were in front of me, the tall one still holding the drawn blade. "Please don’t hurt me," I croaked out. "You have no reason not to, but, please..." My habds reached out, palms open as if to push him away. My habds shook in the air.

Instantly the boy’s face softened. He kneeled down in front of me, his hand reaching out. My eyes flew to the blade and he frowned, withdrawing his hand. He held the knife out in front of me and then turned it, holding the blade toward him and offering it to me. I looked between him and it a few times. "Take it," he encouraged. "That way you won’t feel defenseless."

My head popped up so my words wouldn’t be muffled as I spoke softly. "I don’t want to hurt you either. Can we just agree not to hurt each other? I don’t want a knife just as I don’t want you to have a knife pointed at me. Why is it always violence with you people? God..."

The boy seemed to grow five years younger than when he had faced Archie, his face relaxing even more in surprise this time. He tilted his head, intrigued, and then the blade was gone and he put the sheathed weapon in his pocket. "Look, you’re cold and scared and... why are you out here?"

My face darkened. "My brother is a fucking psychopath," I spat. Emotions were ramming against my insides, controlled but painful to keep in. And after losing Archie to whatever madness he’d finally succumbed to, this boy no longer looked at all threatening. I wanted to trust him and he looked so human and normal and kind that I let myself trust him, even though a small part of the back of my brain screamed hysterically for me to keep being diligent. Even if he was a good person, he was still a Serpent and this place was still dangerous. He could turn on me any second. He was a stranger. And yet I ignored that part of my brain and trusted him anyway. "Came to stop him. Save him, maybe. From himself." My eyes unfocused as I stared through my fingers, past the boy who's name I still didn't know. "Guess I forgot to keep myself safe." I whispered that, my voice sounding far away and almost distorted.

Heavy silence fell and it was weird to feel so comfortable with these boys when just ten minutes ago I’d placed Archie between us as protection. So much had changed in just a minute. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling anymore. Except cold. I was feeling cold. I shivered again, more forcefully. The boy sighed, hanging his head for a second before looking at his friends and then back at me. "My name is Sweet Pea. Can you trust me?" I paused and then shrugged, nodding. "It’s late. Do you want to go home? I can take you..." my eyes went wide and he nodded. "Thought so. Is there anyone at home you should be worried about keeping him alone with?" I shook my head. Despite his breakdown, Archie wouldn’t shoot our dad. The boy nodded, moving and shifting around. I realized what was happening when he put his jacket around me, moving to my side. My hands were still in the air and it felt silly but my body was locked, unresponding. "Will you come with me? I know we’re strangers but I’m not gonna leave some little thing like you to roam around the South Side and find some hole to sleep in because you’re too scared to go home." He pressed his hand against mine, using touch to knock me out of it. My other hand dropped, my body relaxing. He was warm. "I won’t hurt you, okay? I just want you to be safe." He was quiet and gentle and when our eyes met, I felt... I couldn't put a name to it.

I nodded and he stood, pulling me after him. Our hands dropped away from each other. I looked at him, cocking my head. "Why are you helping me? My brother just..." my throat closed, refusing to allow me to say it.

Sweet Pea frowned. "He’s a genuine lunatic, sure. But you’re terrified and shaken up real bad." He paused. "I guess I can’t look at a lost person and not offer my help."

Our eyes met again and we stared at each other with mutual intrigue, like we saw something in the other that drew us in and was confused by it. I was suddenly realizing he looked different than when I first saw him, more than just younger abd less intense. The strength that accompanied the kindness in Toni was mirrored perfectly in Sweet Pea. A big, friendly giant. I was stunned to remember that his tall, muscly build had scared me before. He was so gentle and kind. I don’t know what he saw in me, but two strangers had met and suddenly become acquaintances under a truce in a split second. Half of me felt it was deliciously dangerous, dancing like this with a Serpent. The other half of me was tired and wanted to feel safe, just for a second. Both sides agreed that it was odd that I found that need for safety in the dark color of his eyes. "Yeah," I voiced finally. "Yeah that’s okay." Sweet Pea nodded, his hand moving to my back to guide me with the smallest amount of pressure he could while still applying it at all. I stepped closer to him, taking comfort in his warmth. His hand pressed harder to me, more protective.

I don’t know what just happened, but this definitely would not be the last time I would see Sweet Pea. I wouldn’t allow it.

-

Amidst all the chaos, I found myself on the South Side a lot more than I had reason to be. The night Sweet Pea and I met, he took me home. I collapsed on the couch, curling in a ball and hiding under his jacket. There was a pause before he mumbled, "I was gonna offer you the bed but... okay." I thought he was going to be gone for the rest of the night when I heard him leave, but only a moment later his footsteps pattering against the trailer floor was heard as he returned. I peeled out of the jacket to see him with a pillow and blanket, offering it to me. I sat up, the jacket falling into my lap as I took the offerings with a small smile. I put them down next to me on the couch before raising the jacket, offering it in return. He paused for a second. "Keep it for tonight," he told me.

My eyes had widened. "But it’s your Serpent jacket."

Sweet Pea paused for a second before he sat on the table next to he couch so he wouldn’t tower over me so much. "You feel safe in it huh? Like, more than a jacket has ever made you feel before." I paused and then realized he was right, nodding. He smiled. "That jacket means a lot more than just what it actually is. I first got that jacket after joining the Serpents to support my mom. I was too young to do anything else, and the Serpents already had so many of my friends - my family. So I joined because that’s what we are. A family. A united force. That jacket is the only thing in this entire world that has ever made me feel safe." He paused. "You need to feel safe. And as far as I’m concerned, here, you are safe. Always. I don’t like your brother and I don’t like that someone as good as you has to deal with him." He smiled, his nose scrunching, and a funny feelings bloomed in my stomach and chest, spreading throughout my body very slowly. The feeling was new but pleasant. "You’re not a normal North Sider."

I smiled. "Thank you."

He nodded, standing. "Just don’t run off with it."

My smile widened and he seemed to forget how to walk for a split second as he looked at me. "Promise." If an hour before this someone had told me I’d be in a Serpent’s trailer, sleeping on a couch with a blanket and a pillow, taking comfort from a Serpent jacket, I would have laughed so hard I’d peed myself, and then I’d have avoided that person for the next ever because I would have been worried they were crazy or on drugs. But that night I slept better than I had every night since Jason Blossom had died. For once the whole world simply faded out and I slipped into a dreamless sleep that was refreshing and peaceful and nothing else.

He fed me breakfast the next day, insisting, and I had to admit he was a good cook. I’d called my dad after that, letting him know I was okay and delivering him some lie about crashing at Jughead’s after ranting to him about my stresses at school and in general. My dad sighed and seemed to not like the idea of me sleeping in the South Side but allowed it this time. Sweet Pea offered me a ride to school and I laughed, telling him no only because my brother would lose his SHIT if he saw Sweet Pea again. He insisted that he didn’t care what my brother thought but I didn’t want to drive Archie to tell my dad the truth about last night and upset him while he was recovering. He understood that and we agreed to compromise. He drove me all the way to the first houses in the North Side and I walked the rest of the way to school, thanking him for everything. He asked if I would visit again. I said maybe.

I didn’t. I wanted to, but I had so much sense and fear hit me after I got home again. My brother was still acting weird except that Veronica was in on it now. He made her aware of the gun and what happened and I sat in my bed upstairs, pretending I couldn’t hear them argue while dad went to some meeting at the school. I found myself wanting to be with Sweet Pea again and hated that my brain was defaulting to him as a safe place. Serpents weren’t safe. North and South siders didn’t mix. Especially me being Archie’s sister- it was a BAD IDEA! ...Yet I wanted it so badly.

So when I heard a knock at the door, I couldn’t even try to lie to myself as I flew from my bed, hoping it was him even though I knew what trouble and chaos it would cause if it was. I wanted him to be here, checking on me and making sure I was okay and ready to whisk me away to his cozy little home I wanted to go back to so badly. Veronica got to the door before me, revealing Reggie and the other Bulldogs with pizzas in tow. I felt sick to feel so disappointed, ignoring everyone else even as Reggie waved at me. They moved into the living room and I plopped on the steps, arms crossed over my knees and my chin resting on top. They were talking about supporting each other and I felt disgusted to be so close to them. They were STILL going after the Red Circle shit? SERIOUSLY?! What would it take for them to learn? Who would have to die?

Revving engines knocked me out of my train of thought but my anger was still there. I knew the engines were motorcycles only because I’d memorized each second of the sound while Sweet Pea had given me a ride to the boarder of the North Side, just like I’d tried to memorize every other detail of my time with him. I didn’t let myself think it was him this time though, instead falling into memory to satiate the ache I had now. I didn’t know him well and it wasn’t like I was about to claim I was in love with him, but he made me feel good and I hadn’t felt so in a long time. It was addicting.

Ronnie was first to the door again, calling Archie over "trouble". Putting together their talk of the Red Circle and what she would consider trouble worth warning Archie specifically, my head popped up and suddenly I was a lot more scared than hopeful. A part of me still wanted it to be him but now that it seemed it was, that half of me that wanted to avoid the ‘trouble’ it would ensue was pushy and demanding, screaming and overruling the other half. When the door opened, I shot to my feet and moved down to the last step of the stairs, my eyes on Sweet Pea instantly. I hadn’t realized just how handsome he was. That odd observation sunk in a second before Archie and Sweet Pea locked eyes and their passionate hate for each other exploded as tangible tension in the room.

"How stupid are you North Siders?" Sweet Pea snapped. He hadn’t seen me yet but it still felt like a slap in the face. I was a North Sider. Sweet Pea took a step closer to my brother. "You really think you can come to my house, stick a gun in my face, in front of my boys, and there wouldn’t be any pay back?" My stomach twisted, because honestly he had a point. I was still mad at Archie about that... even if it had brought me to meeting Sweet Pea.

Reggie grabbed the door, opening it wider to reveal the rest of the Bulldogs. "You really have crap timing bro," he told Sweet Pea slowly. Their voices were full of so much hate that I shivered, my breaths becoming more shallow. "Bulldogs eat Serpents for lunch." My fists clenched. My crazy brother and his stupid friends were threatening the Serpents. The only sane people in all of fucking Riverdale, who were protecting their home and their people from gun wielding maniacs like the idiot I was related to. I felt protective but suddenly torn. The Serpents weren’t my family. Archie was. Putting myself between them would make a statement, and there was no reason for the Serpents to take me in. Although I was fine leaving Riverdale high and my shell of a brother behind, leaving my dad behind was another story. So I stayed in place, my hands curling tighter and tighter as I tried to hold myself back.

"We’ll see," Sweet Pea cooed dangerously. "And the more the merrier." He had meant to look at the Bulldogs, challenging them, but as he took a step inside the house, his eyes landed on me. I only realized because I was staring daggers at the back of Reggie’s head, my face undoubtedly red with rage as I practically shook with how powerful the emotion was. I was glaring at Reggie and Archie and even Veronica and all these stupid North Siders I no longer wanted to be apart of when Sweet Pea stepped back, his movement catching my eye. Our gazes met and I softened instantly, my face exploding with agony and apology and regret.

I don’t know how he knew, but he seemed to know about me. Know what I was thinking and how I was feeling. Suddenly whatever invisible chord that had been between us, tying us together and gently pulling at us to return to each other, was now stronger. Thicker. Harder to ignore. For a split second he nodded to me and I don’t know what he was confirming exactly but I know that my decision was made when it came to my brother. When it came to Archie. This Archie that was twisted. This Archie who was dark and dangerous and threatening and crazy. This Archie that was not mine. This Archie I would not claim even if it meant siding with people who were practically strangers.

Veronica set some ground rules, which I was thankful for. We all filtered out of the house. Archie reached out to stop me but I jerked away from him, glaring at him ferociously. He physically stuttered, his body processing the hateful look I gave him. One he had never seen on my face. One he could not even imagine me showing, let alone directing at him. Despite that, Reggie offered me a ride since I made it aparant without words that I was going- even if I had to go by foot. So we all made our way to the hidden corner Sweet Pea had out for the fight. And everyone took their side, Veronica far behind the Bulldogs in her cloak. I moved to the side, far out of the fight still but not behind the Bulldogs. Archie threw the first lunch and I took several steps back to separate myself even more as the two groups converged on each other.

I didn’t like violence. I never did. The fighting made me sick, my face twisting with distaste and I want as I rejected the scene before me. Dilton was was suddenly bleeding, his knife buried in him. And then there was a gun shot and I jumped, soaking wet from the rain as the Serpents scattered, Sweet Pea calling a retreat when we all saw Veronica with the gun in the air. Bulldogs ran to their cars to help Dilton. Archie called to me. I stumbled back, away, eyes wide with fear and hate. Violence. All this violence. All this aggression and it was getting us NOWHERE. It was causing endless problems and issues and I hated all of it. I hated all of them. He called my name again and I turned first toward the North Side. But the Bulldogs were that way. My brother and his friends were the North Side. The Black Hood was the North Side. I turned away, running toward the South Side. And I didn’t stop running. Not even for a second.

-

"You know he’s trouble, right?" Betty told me one day. After the whole thing blew up, I’d called my dad and told him I couldn’t be home anymore. At least not for a little while. I had a panic attack over the phone and broke down and told him EVERYTHING and he paused before stating he understood. He asked where I’d stay and I told him I’d figure it out. The next hour after he hung up he called again to let me know Jughead was okay with me staying at his place until I felt good coming home again. He had always been a good dad. Understanding and supportive. These were extenuating circumstances. I was just glad that he let me get out of there. I might have strangled Archie in his sleep.

I was still going to Riverdale High, Sweet Pea giving me rides to the boarder as he did that first day. I avoided Archie at school and eventually he just gave me my space when all of his attempts failed. Sweet Pea and I began to hang out a lot though. Like, a lot. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed. Betty was the one who noticed, and, predictably, she had a word to put into the situation.

Shrugging, I didn’t even look at her to recognize that she had spoken as I focused on my homework. "We all have damage, Betty. I’m not pristine glass and smooth surfaces either." I looked her dead in the eye. "Maybe danger runs in the Andrews bloodline more than you think."

She didn’t have anything to say after that.

-

Forever Tag List: @bitchyseawitch @alexa-playafricabytoto @chipster-21

39. Hero

{Here’s the next section of that original story. Still currently, and creatively called, Hospital Romance Drama. As always, I’m neither a doctor, nor British.  I’m just a girl who fancies herself a writer and likes slow burns, smart women, and tall men.}

“No, not to be so odd and from all fashions As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable: But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me Out of myself, press me to death with wit. Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly: It were a better death than die with mocks, Which is as bad as die with tickling.” Sofia Grace stopped so abruptly she almost spilled her flat white. As it was the jarring motion broke the perfect little heart Helen had made with the milk. Slowly she approached, just to confirm what she was fairly certain she was hearing. It sounded like Magnusson, baritone with just a hint of Scandinavian coloring his otherwise impeccable English. It sounded just exactly like Director of Surgery Felix Magnusson reading the part of Hero from Much Ado About Nothing.

“Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.” A younger voice replied. Sitting up in her hospital bed was a young woman, maybe sixteen. She was focusing very intently on reciting from memory her lines.  Beside her sat Felix, glasses perched on his patrician nose which was firmly wedged in a tatty script copy of the Bard’s comedy.

“No; rather I will go to Benedick And counsel him to fight against his passion. And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders To stain my cousin with: one doth not know How much an ill word may empoison liking.” Magnusson read. He made no effort to change his voice in any way – adopt an accent or sound more feminine. Sofia couldn’t decide if that was better or not. She couldn’t imagine the man adopting a falsetto and yet just thinking about it she desperately wished he had. She honestly also wouldn’t have imagined him sitting in the middle of his day with one of his patients to help her memorize lines either. And yet here he was.

“Line?” The girl had sat quietly for a few moments, staring hard into the middle distance.

“You know it, just try.” Felix looked up at the young woman, his tone encouraging. There was something different about his voice. About him. It was the same gentleness he’d shown Addie, a sort of parental mien that occasionally popped out in unexpected places. He was capable of patience, of kindness, of all the fatherly virtues. Just not when it came to anyone he worked with. Tamara had been crying in the bathroom on Harvey earlier. She didn’t even want to cry in the bathroom on Irene, just in case. Tamara had only been out of school a few months and literally looked like she was twelve. One would think such a combination would bring fatherly Felix to the fore. That was, however, not the case, apparently.

“She cannot be so much without true judgement--” the girl began. Felix clicked his tongue.

“Not quite. The line begins, ‘Oh, do not do your cousin such a wrong’.”

“Got it.” The girl gave a decisive nod. “O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. She cannot be so much without true judgment-- Having so swift and excellent a wit as she is prized to have--as to refuse So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.”

“Very good.” He returned his attention to the script. “He is the only man of Italy. Always excepted my dear Claudio.”

           And so they continued, ‘Ursula’ reciting from memory and Magnusson correcting her as necessary. It was not a good performance by any means, both were too flat for that and the setting left something to be desired, even by ‘random adaptations of Shakespeare’ standards. Nonetheless Sofia felt not great urge to interrupt them. Nor was she ready to walk away either. In the midafternoon sun and the overhead light Magnusson looked relaxed, almost charming. The rays glinted off the slight red gold undertone in his curls. He must’ve run his hands through his hair recently, and frequently, it was not as tamed as it usually was. The gel was broken up and his hair was almost Byronic. Adding to the image of the hero, his aubergine colored tie was slightly loosened and the top button of his pale blue dress shirt was undone.

“… I'll show thee some attires and have thy counsel Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.” His fingers were long and slender sprawled across the cover of the script. In another context one might say he had musicians’ hands.

“She's limed, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam.” ‘Ursula’ looked up from her middle-distance staring and caught her watching. She colored brightly, her ears turning scarlet under her mop of professionally caramel colored hair.

“If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.” Magnusson did not notice her, nor his patient’s embarrassment and finished the dialogue as evenly before. He slid his glasses off his nose and into his pocket. He looked up to ‘Ursula’ and then followed her gaze to Sofia Grace. Their eyes met and she could see his ears tint, yet he arched a brow as if challenging her to say something.

“What fire is in mine ears?” Ms. Hale was smirking, her cayenne lips twisting smugly and her eyes twinkling with delight.

“Ms. Hale.” He shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but her eyes pinned him.

“Go on!” Bridget chirped. She’d gone from embarrassed to intrigued in seconds. Ms. Hale smiled brightly.

“Can this be true? Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much?” She had the delivery of a thespian, which he was hardly surprised. Her every day comportment was dramatic, why should she be anything less than theatrical when actually reciting Shakespeare. “Ummm…” And then she paused. Looked thoughtful for a moment. And sipped her coffee to buy some time. Being lefthanded logos on mugs never faced out when she drank out of them, but he could tell it was her Wonder Woman mug. As far as Felix could tell she didn’t own any other mugs. “Contempt, farewell! And maiden pride, adieu! And that’s all I can remember.” She gave a charming shrug.

“No glory lives behind the backs of such.” The script was still open loosely in his hand, so it was easy to check Beatrice’s next line. She stared at him for a moment and he read on, “And Benedick, love on-”

“I will requite thee!” She jumped in, clearly her memory jogged. “Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand: If thou love, my kindness shall incite thee to bind our loves in a holy band; for others say thou dost deserve, and I believe it better than reportingly! HA! Nailed it.” She exclaimed with a fist pump.

“Ah! Not quite.”

“What?” Both surgeon and student stared at him.

“If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee to bind our loves up in a holy band…”

“Oh, come on! After twenty years you’re going to ding me on two words? The spirit is the same!”

“Let’s apply to the director then.” Bridget looked between them both.

“I’d say that’s good enough after …twenty years?!” Ms. Hale gave him a cheeky smile over the rim of her coffee mug.

“I know, right?!” She preened.

“It seems like it should be longer ago, doesn’t it?”

“Hey!” Bridget dissolved into peels of laughter. Felix could feel the smile spread across his lips. It was perhaps not the best dig, but it was so perfectly set up. “Just because you’re jealous of my theatrical chops-”

“I would have you know that I made a fine Thespian in the sixth form.”

“Who were you? The messenger boy?”

“Sir Andrew Aguecheek.” Ms. Hale visibly chocked on her coffee. He couldn’t blame her; it was not the role he’d have cast himself in either. But Aguecheek was supposed to be a ridiculous man and at sixteen he had been all arms and legs and knobby, awkward angles.

“WHAT?” She chocked, thumping herself in the chest like it might help. “Was this one of those instances that it was for a class and they had to cast everyone, even if it meant combining or breaking up parts to get the right numbers?” It had been for class credit, but he would never admit that. Instead he stood and handed the script back.

“Bridget, if you need further help with your lines, I think it’s obvious who you should ask.”

“You’ve been a big help, Mr. M.”

“You haven’t forgotten our three o’clock appointment I see.” Magnusson commented as he keyed in the five-digit code to his office door.

“How could I, you’re in check!”

“Not for much longer, Ms. Hale. Not for very much longer.” They had been at this particular match for the last three weeks, ever since the machines incident and her opening move. A normal chess match should not take so long, however, they had yet to play even fifteen minutes in a single sitting. Emergencies had no concept of time so even with all the planning, getting to be in the same room at the same time was difficult. She hadn’t even realized she’d put him in check until later, she’d been distracted by her pager when she’d made the move. (Not that she’d admit that to him).

She follows him into his office, it is more familiar to her now, almost as familiar as it was when Charlotte was DOS. Over the course of their several chess moves (it’s hard to call them matches when they don’t even last as long as a cup of coffee sometimes) she and he have developed a routine. Upon entering his office he would immediately turn on the hot water kettle he kept in a discreet corner by his desk, he would then empty his pockets, carefully placing his cellphone on his desk, and then he would bring his tea set to the table. Magnusson took his fancy leaf water quite seriously, carefully choosing the tea he wanted from a selection of loose-leaf options, measuring it out precisely into the teapot, and occasionally going so far as to get up and adjust the water temperature on the kettle. The tea set would always include the tea pot, a single cup and saucer and a 350gram jar with three beautiful biscuits in it. And not the store-bought kind either, biscuits clearly made by an individual.

While Magnusson carefully matched his tea to whatever sweet treat he’d brought with him that day (florentines with Darjeeling, palmiers and chamomile, shortbread with earl grey, gingerbread and lemon tea) Sofia Grace would kick off her heels and snoop examine his artwork. All of the photos on his walls were signed works, the vast majority taken by an Ingrid Karpe. He had a small collection of sculptures as well, all contemporary looking and rather abstract, although the one on his desk was clearly a fish. Just like the photo on his desk was clearly his son. Magnusson would never say anything as she examined his small gallery, but she was aware that he was aware of where she was looking. If he wouldn’t offer, she wouldn’t ask, even if it did pique her curiosity – why did so many of the photos have seemingly the same subject? Where was that dark-haired little boy now?

Eventually, when it looked like Magnusson’s little tea ritual was nearly finished Sofia Grace would return to the sofa, curling into one of the corners, her bare feet tucked up under her as she’d lean on the arm. Rather than face off against one another over the small conference table in his office he moved his chessboard to the end table between them. He stopped offering her tea early on, since she always brought her coffee. And so coffee versus tea, black versus white faced off. She would accept his biscuits, however.

“Is that a bakery digestive biscuit?” It was. A lightly brown, crunchy-tender semi-sweet meal biscuit. It was thicker than the digestives from the store, but it was unmistakable. “Holy shit, I didn’t know you could actually makethese. You have got to give me the name of your bakery.”

“I’m allowed to have some secrets.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He gave her a smug smile over the rim of his tea. It was the sort of expression that told her he wouldn’t pressed further. At least not at the moment.

“You’ve acquired a new nickname.” They had settled into the game, digestives devoured. Magnusson had deftly saved his king for checkmate and they were now back to a nearly cat game. During her yearlong recovery she had had nothing to do but play lots of chess, learn German, and read many, many trashy romance novels. Sofia Grace knew she was good at chess, but Magnuson was something else entirely. (Not that she’d ever tell him that).

“If you going to try to get people to call me Sir Andrew Aguecheek, I’m going to have to draw a line.”

“Ooo, I hadn’t thought of that! Brilliant!” Her eyes sparkled at him, like stars dancing. It was perhaps the first time those dark eyes sparkled at him. He had seen them sparkle before, for others. But at him they only ever spat fire, or at best, flinty sparks. And now they were sparkling for him. The sight whipped through him like the first cold wind of winter – he was completely unprepared; his breath caught; senses tingled. He could feel it cut through him to the very core.

“Don’t you dare.” He felt slight pride in being able to speak like he was unaffected. Ms. Hale’s white knight retreated slightly, smartly. She smiled.

“In addition to Sir Andrew Aguecheek, you’ve acquired a new nickname.” After thoughtful deliberation he moved his bishop to C4. Felix had expected her to be as rash a chess player as she was a person. He’d heard tell that she’d once incited an abusive husband of a patient to punch her in the face in the middle of the hall so there was more concrete evidence pointing to his violent temper and to buy time for the man’s partner to finish giving their statement to the police. She had absolutely no sense of self-preservation, as far as he could tell. And yet when she played chess, her moves were anything but impulsive. He had expected this game to be over by now, but she had surprised him as an opponent.

“Don’t people have better things to do?”

“It wouldn’t be a hospital without gossip.” Her quip was only halfhearted as she studied the board. He sipped his tea and waited – for either her move or his apparent new nickname, whichever came first.

“Well, what is it?” She’d studied the board for what felt like an hour before she carefully moved her pawn. “It can’t be worse than ‘Björn the Slasher’…” A few of his monikers had made their way to his ears. None of them were good – they were both disdainful as well as lazy and stupid. A smörgåsbord of Swedish stereotypes peppered with some tortured reference to his height.

“That one’s hilarious.”

“It makes me sound like a camp horror villain.” She gave him a look over her mug that clearly said, ‘well, aren’t you?’ “If you’re going to tell me about ‘Fucking Felix’, I’m aware.” Alliterative, yes, creative, no.

“That’s hardly a nickname and more a general reaction whenever we have to work with you.” He stared blankly at her, for want of a response – other than to note that their colleagues were more than a little dramatic.

“Well what is it then? Is it the abominable snow man? The Snow King, perhaps? The Ice Giant? Felix the Herring? Hurdy Gurdy – which I really don’t get by the way. Dr. No perhaps?” And then there were the more hurtful ones like Dr. Death or the Angel of Death. But it was truly ridiculous the names he’d been called in the short time he’d been at Saint Sebastian’s.

“Don’t forget the good humor man.” She added brightly. Ah, non-literary irony. He thought sarcastically. They lapsed into temporary silence as they studied the board.

“Doctor Damocles.” Ms. Hale said after carefully removing his captured pawn from the board. It made him start.

“Dr. Damocles – That doesn’t even make sense!” He was well familiar with Damocles, the obsequious courtier of Dionysius II of Syracuse and the moral anecdote about him.

“You’re the harbinger of impending doom! Looming about, threatening everyone’s job, scaring people half to death. You’ve made five people cry since you’ve gotten here – three F1s, two F2s, plus Tamara Aquilarios just this morning!” Ah, that interpretation of the tale, he remembered it well – and paid dearly for it. Just listening he could feel the sting of his father’s hand across his cheek. His first summer home from boarding school his father had insisted that rather than make noise around the house he dedicate his time to something useful and worthwhile – translating all five books of the Tusculanae Disputationes. Every night his father had marked his translations. There had been no room for error. There was never allowed any room for error. It was one of his earliest lessons.

“But that’s not the point of the parable at all. The sword doesn’t just represent, oh, something terrible is going to happen, but it’s about realizing that what looks like an enviable life – a life of wealth, power, and luxury is, in fact, fraught with anxiety, terror, and possibly death.” She stared at him blankly for a long moment.

“God, you really are an insufferable pedant, aren’t you?”

“I’m just saying, the nickname is fundamentally wrong.”

“This would be why we call you ‘Fucking Felix’.” He had nothing to say to that and so he returned his focus entirely to the pieces on the board and his mostly consumed cup of breakfast blend (a choice he made as it complimented his biscuits, ignoring the fact it was after three o’clock). For a move they were both quiet. Focused.

Ms. Hale licked her cayenne lips, they were slightly faded, the color having transferred from full mouth to the rim of her mug in a distinctive kiss, making the cup as hers more than the motif on the outside could. There was some intimacy in seeing her without that flawless signature color, even if it was a fleeting moment before she touched it up and returned about her day.

He was distracted by the red bow of her mouth rather than listening to the words coming out of it.

“But seriously,” She was saying, “we can’t go on like the anymore. The cuts, the redundancies. Everyone in this hospital is running scared. You can’t run a hospital like it’s some company, we’re here to make people better, for God’s sake, not turn a profit.”

“You know that the hospital is not a for profit company, and I know that the hospital is not a for profit company,” She looked at him skeptically, both forgetting the chess match for a little while. “But it has been made abundantly clear to me that the Foundation Trust board does not care. They are interested in seeing healthy profit margins, strong financials in general, efficient staff, and an impeccable reputation. The austere, and only the austere, will survive.”

“Making nurses cry, terrorizing the staff, you think this is going to make Saint Sebastian’s a better hospital, this is how we achieve FT status?”

“Ensuring that the staff are fulfilling their roles and obligations, that nurses are performing proper procedures and tests and running effective bed checks will go a long way toward our Foundation Trust application, particularly since Sir Stewart Frazier, Angus Black, Tristan Guy will be looking over our shoulders for the foreseeable future. They start their on grounds audit Monday.”

Sofia Grace felt herself choke on air. Monday?! The audit starts Monday?!

“The audit starts next week, and you didn’t think to tell us yet?” She was incredulous.

“I myself did not know until this afternoon when Sir Stewart called me.”

“And you decided to read Shakespeare and play chess rather than inform us of this?!” Magnusson sat his teacup down on the table, she momentarily worried that it would have broken, the thud was so heavy sounding.

“I am not one to just fire off emails, saying whatever it is I’m feeling as I feel it. I think before I speak, and in this case, I wanted to think quite carefully about what I should put in such an email. Rest assured, there will be notification by the end of the day regarding this development.”

“You can’t just keep secrets from us!”

“I am hardly keeping this a secret.” His tone was as frosty as Lappland. “Everyone will know by the end of the day, once I have time to sit down and draft the email. Didn’t I ask you to have some faith in me?” She opened her mouth to protest, it was hardly a lack of faith when he literally said he would inform people when he felt like it. He cut off her retort, however. “Regarding Nurse Aquilarios, on the topic of having some faith in me, did you bother to find out the context in which I apparently made her cry?” His delivery was nothing like any rant she was familiar with, certainly nothing like her own style which built and built and built until she exploded like a steam engine without a valve. Instead he was cold, even, and brooking no interruption. “I asked her why a patient hadn’t had a pregnancy test performed. She had skipped the routine procedure in order to save time and because the patient had said they were not pregnant. It’s how she has been able to get such good bed check times. It turns out the patient was actually pregnant, which of course meant an entirely different treatment plan.”

“Your asking had her in tears in the women’s loo! She’s only been out of school six months you know.” Ah, to be young. She wouldn’t do it again for a million dollars. Tamara was maybe 23. It seemed so long ago now but the fear was something she’d ever forget.

“Then it should be fresher in her mind than others that routine procedures become routine for a reason: they serve important purposes and it’s not for us to arbitrarily decide what really is or isn’t important.”

“She’s a good kid, cut her some slack.” Sofia Grace was still skeptical about his just “asking” Tamara rather than yelling at her – the young nurse had been a mess of runny mascara when she had stumbled upon her in the toilet, but she was inclined to agree with Magnusson on the general point. Running a pregnancy test on anyone with a uterus was an important habit to have. There were a surprising number of otherwise competent people who nevertheless weren’t 100% up to date or correct about their current health or health history.

“She has all the makings of an excellent nurse, if she could master the basics of routine procedures and confirming what we think we know, rather than assuming or simply taking someone’s word for it.” It was perhaps the nicest thing she’d heard him say about anyone, except for perhaps immediately after she impressed him with her trick to avoid cracking the chest of a young chef to repair their punctured artery.

“Have you considered telling her this?”

“I censure when there is a need to censure and I praise when there is reason to praise. I won’t go out of my way to do either.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to be nice, you know.” Perhaps it would, it was so hard to tell. There were moments. Flashes of kindness in him. And then, well, he made grown men cry. For a long time they just stared at each other, chess match forgotten between them as a battle of wills took all of their strategic thinking. Without his glasses it was easier to see his eyes. They were nice eyes - sable colored, with long, thick dark lashes – the kind mascara companies were forever trying to replicate.

A shrill beep broke the silence – and their eye contact. Both reached for their pagers.

“Schiße.” He was grateful for the interruption, as piercing as it was. Her eyes had stopped dancing and they had taken a hard, flinty expression. They unnerved him, her eyes. He knew they could steal his soul. They were eyes that could lead a man to hell.

“I’ve got to go.” She began putting on her shoes. “Same time tomorrow?” He stood with her. In her smart heels she was still a head shorter than he was. It was noticeable when they stood next to each other, but so easy to forget given the size of her personality.

“I will have to check, there are some meetings for me to attend before the board begins their audit.”

“Well, you have my number.” She gave him a polite smile, her face a mask of professional focus. Once she was out of his office and off to Harvey, he carefully cleaned up the remnants of his tea and then sat heavily at his desk. With a sigh he opened a new message.

Dear Colleagues…

Homestuck Epilogue(s) - Prologue (page 1)

I've just read right until the end of the first Prologue page. Under the Read More are my initial reactions!

Oh boy... it's time. Time for the Epilogues... assuming it's available yet and/or the link on homestuck.com doesn't lead to a VIZ Media buy link for a book form of the Epilogue, I could also see that happening. xD plainWonder also had a good point that perhaps the first part of the epilogue will simply be the snaps we already saw on the MSPA Snapchat. ...Snaps almost feels like a weird thing to say now. I think they've just gotten a way darker meaning for me ever since watching Avengers: Infinity War. xD ANYWAY, without further ado, here we go!!! *clicks link* Hehn, kind of looks like the start page of an all new adventure! And yay, looks like the epilogue IS indeed simply on the website itself and not externally, for I see a command leading to the next page! *hovers over link of > Start and sees URL* www.homestuck.com/epilogues/prologue ....SERIOUSLY??? PFFFFFFFF, typical Hussie right there. Only HE can give an epilogue a prologue. xD Oh boy this is gonna be a long epilogue isn't it. The question is, how much of it is available here already? And what is the prologue even going to be? Will they just be the snaps we've already seen? I'm very curious where this is going now. > Start ....HOLY FUCK. Archive of our own parody??? Or an actual Archive of Our Own "fanfic"???? Oh jegus god. We've truly come full circle now that Hussie is doing a parody of a website famous for housing Homestuck fanfics. Looks like Andrew collaborated with a few people? "Rating: Mature" Sounds about right! "Category: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other" Sounds about right! "Fandom: Homestuck" Sounds about right! "Characters: John Egbert, Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider, Jade Harley, Jane Crocker, Roxy Lalonde, Jake English, Dirk Strider, Barack Obama" Sounds about ri...WAIT A SECOND. PFFFFFFFFFFFFF Hell fucking yes xD "Aradia Megido, Tavros Nitram, Sollux Captor, Karkat Vantas, Kanaya Maryam, Terezi Pyrope, Vriska Serket, Gamzee Makara, Eridan Ampora, Feferi Peixes, Aranea Serket, Meenah Peixes, Davepetasprite^2, Calliope, Caliborn, Lord English, Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s)" Well if this isn't a joke, I'd be VERY happy to see Eridan and Feferi again along with the rest of the gang! Aranea though!!!! That's got me very curious. Is she alive (as in, dead but not double dead)??? I know that was really ambiguous on whether or not she was double dead or not after being killed by GO!Condesce. Kind of sad the other A1 Trolls aren't on the list. Hmm, mention of Davepetasprite^2 but nothing of the other Sprites! Makes sense if this is mainly taking place in the Furthest Ring. Wait a second.... I only just noticed how Equius is the only A2 Troll missing from this list!!! And no true separate mention of Nepeta either. Oh man. Looks like Arquiusprite (who should be on Earth) is also sitting this one out! ...Equius got voided out. :P I also find it very interesting how Caliborn receives a separate mention from Lord English! Are we going to see something from the fight that took place between Caliborn and the Kids? ...Wait, that DID feature Arquiusprite though, who is missing from this list. HMMMMMMM And oh boy, what should we expect from the "original male character(s), original female character(s)"????? Are some of the people from Universe C going to factor into this? Assuming we can take this list of characters seriously... which I kind of doubt considering Barack Obama is on the list. xD ...THOSE CONTENT WARNINGS. OH MY GOD. Oh god I love this already. Kankri would be so proud. :P "The Economy" ==> I got that reference! xD I love all the Gamzee related content warnings. "Trickster Mode" I DARE YOU HUSSIE "Ten years after their adventure began, the heroes are enjoying a well-earned retirement on Earth C. But John still has one last choice to make." HOLY SHIT. 10 years later?! That's... 2 years later from the last thing we saw from John, when he celebrated his 21st birthday and was challenged by Caliborn! Wait... 10 years after the start. THAT'S NOW. It's frickin 2019!!!!! Oh hell yes, Andrew has made it catch up to reality once more. HELL YES. What is the "one last choice" John has to make? To go after Caliborn, which will presumably get them trapped inside the Plot Hole (which is still a term I love to use)? Jeez... that probably means it's also already been so many years since Terezi left. I can't recall on which of John's birthdays it was. Was it his 17th? 18th? I'll check that later. In the contents there is only a "Prologue" link... Oh boy, is this going to lead straight to Archive of Our Own? *hovers over link* www.homestuck.com/epilogues/prologue/1 Nope! Unless this redirects, we're staying on the Homestuck website. *clicks on link* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Oh god WALL OF TEXT. Looks like... this really is going to be like a "fanfic", without any images?? I suddenly feel like we're reading one of Hussie's recaps and/or Rose's walkthrough. xD "It starts with a crack. Everything else rises up from that like steam: a trembling thread that cuts through space in jagged lines, splintering the void into razor-sharp shards of putrefying leptons and quarks popping apart like raw eggs in a microwave." Only Hussie could write a sentence like that, ahahaha. Seems like he's talking about the cracks in the Furthest Ring? Are these... going to turn out to be, like,  notes taken by his self-insert who was also right there in the Furthest Ring? :P "raw eggs in a microwave" Well, that explains the "eggs" content warning. xD "At the center of that hole the edges can be heard fraying. Pandemonium, as continuity buckles in the middle and the two ends come smashing together. Around the hole, ghosts scream. They claw at the dying borders of their dreams with fingernail-chipping desperation." Dang, these descriptions are giving me shivers. It reminds me of the sight that Terezi saw in the Furthest Ring and sent to the others on Earth. "At the center, that distortion turns into an eerie music. That’s where the cacophony ends—the shattering, the screaming, the squelching, the sounds of elemental particles being torn apart like string cheese shoved through a meat grinder, then dumped down a strangely melodious garbage disposal." Okay I'm sorry, but I can't help but think of the garbage disposal in Dave's appartment. ...I was saying that as a joke, but now that I think about it actually, this reminds me of how I once made a theory of how that disposal scene was some foreshadowing for the creation of Lord English, mostly because of the Saw and purple Smuppet stuff, but now suddenly the garbage disposal element comes into mention here too. HMMMMMMM "This is the end of everything. This is the end of Paradox Space. You..." Oh man, where is this going? Is it going to turn out there's some kind of other realm beyond the Black Hole that all of the ghosts got sucked into? Like, a true kind of afterlife? "Your name is John Egbert, and you have just had a terrible, deeply pretentious nightmare. You snap out of bed, soaked in sweat, your heart hammering like a fire alarm. It is just as you feared." And suddenly we're John! Has the images Terezi sent them been leaving him with these kind of nightmares? Eeesh.... "You’ve been dreaming in anime again. And you have no idea what it could mean." ...OH GOD DAMN IT HUSSIE YOU BRILLIANT BASTARD. XD "> Look outside just to make absolutely sure the world is not ending." And suddenly we're in Act 1 all over again. :P "The only sound you can hear for miles is the wind skimming the hollows of your neighbors’ pipe homes." Oh hell yes, reference to the wind skimming the void. And heh, at least that last part confirms we're really in the present now where John lives in his salamander neighborhood, not that we're actually somehow back at the events of Act 1 or something. "It’s a normal day in the salamander village, which you refer to as Salamander Village because the damned salamanders never bothered to give this village a name, you guess." ...I could see that. xD That must mean there are like hundreds or thousands of those kinds of villages, hahahaha. Really mustn't be convenient for any non-Consort people trying to navigate over there. :P "Beside your pillow, your phone is vibrating. Rose is calling. The screen of your phone reads 9:30 a.m. April 13, and also the number forty-six, which is how many text messages your friend left you while you were sleeping. A bit excessive, even for her." Rooooooooose! Okay, that's a huge relief to me. I kind of feared they'd all completely drifted apart in the past few years and hardly heard from each other anymore, so I'm really glad to see Rose talking to John is apparently still a thing. And that she's still apparently as wordy as ever. :P I wonder if we're gonna get a dialog (or Rose monologue) now? "Answer the phone" Oh hell fucking yes, here comes some sweet, sweeeeeet dialogue/monologue! "ROSE: Since when are you known to operate your telephone? JOHN: since... i don’t know. has it really been that long since i called? ROSE: I can’t remember the last time. JOHN: neither can i. anyway, what’s up?" Awwww, okay that's sad to hear. I take back what I said earlier, looks like they really don't hear from each other that often anymore. :( "ROSE: Am I correct in presuming this April Thirteenth will be as uneventful as the last? JOHN: yeah, i don’t want to do anything this year. i hope that’s ok." Looks like he still feels the same way like the past few years. D: I feel so sad for John. This really doesn't feel like a happy ending for him. If only he still had his Dad... "All over the neighborhood, the little dad-salamanders are putting on their little rumpled hats and picking up their little suitcases and kissing their little families goodbye for the day" Okay, on one hand the comparisons with John's own family situation are really sad, but I can't help but ROFL that Rumpled Hats are still a thing in this society. "You’ve always been confused about what, exactly, they contribute to the global economy. But it’s pretty cute how much they love playing at being suburban businessmen." Hey, there's where the Economy content warning came from! And it didn't even have to do with Barack Obama! xD "The silence over the phone is growing awkward. You’ve stalled long enough. You decide to just come out and say it." Oh boy... what is he going to say? Something about how sad he is with the current situation? "JOHN: i’ve been dreaming in anime again lately." PFFFFFFFFFFF, JOHN. JOHN NEVER CHANGE. We're getting some hella sweet new quotes here. :P Also, I'd find it really funny if it turns out he's been dreaming of the events of Act 7 which, from our perspective, were rendered in anime form. "JOHN: i have no idea what it could mean. ROSE: I see." Rose, looks like you've found someone to psycho-analyze again! xD "JOHN: whenever i have these dreams, everything’s breaking apart. JOHN: millions of people are screaming and dying. JOHN: i mean, dying permanently. not the kind of bullshit dying that we’ve been doing a lot over the years." Okay so he WAS actually dreaming the stuff we read at the beginning of this prologue then. I love how he calls "their" dying bullshit. " JOHN: what do you think it all means? ROSE: What do I think ‘what’ means? JOHN: what do you think it means that i’ve been dreaming in anime? ROSE: I don’t have the slightest idea what it means that you’ve been dreaming in anime, John. ROSE: To be honest, I... You wait for Rose to finish her thought. She doesn’t, which is troubling because you have never known Rose to leave a thought unfinished in over ten years of acquaintance." That's... indeed quite troubling! Normally this kind of thing is truly Rose's specialty. What's going on over on her side? I mean, it did seem like there was more she wanted to say than just "happy birthday". ....Thinking back to the content warnings... is Rose or Kanaya pregnant??? I don't want to put too much trust into those content warnings though. :P "ROSE: I held out for as long as I could. I figured your birthday was as good a time as any to let you know. JOHN: let me know what?" HERE IT COMES!!!!! "ROSE: It’s crept up on me, these last couple of years. ROSE: Gradually enough to ignore as it was happening, but I can’t anymore." ...Wait what??? Oh god, that does sound different from having a baby. Oh man, please don't tell me she wants to divorce from Kanaya. D: "ROSE: Lately the visions have been overwhelming. JOHN: visions??" Ohhhh, visions! Huh. What kind of visions? About Caliborn? About what's happening in the Furthest Ring? Something else? "ROSE: Would you mind flying to my apartment, so we can continue this in person?" Wait a second. She lives in an apartment now? Looks like unlike John she didn't stay in her old house! Interesting how she moved into an apartment, like Dave originally lived in. "You move the phone away from your ear and assume an expression you haven’t practiced in years. It is the look of a man who actually has something to do." Dang, he must have been getting REALLY bored all this time. That time alone on LOMAX must have been peanuts compared to this. "As you hang up the phone, a familiar feeling settles over you. A feeling of...standing?" ...Has he been floating the entire time? "Standing, and being alone. In your bedroom. As a young man. On your birthday." OH SNAP. I got the reference now. xD "A young man stands alone in his bedroom. It just so happens that today, the 13th of April, is this young man’s birthday. Though it was twenty-three years ago when he was given life, and ten years ago when he was given a name, it feels like it is only today that he will begin to understand what all that means. That young man is YOU, John Egbert. What will you do?" HOLY FUCKING SHIT. OH DAMN. OH SHIT. THAT IS WAY FUCKING EPIC MAN. This is giving me HELLA goosebumps! I'm VERY curious about that final part means, about "understanding what all that means".... Okay, this seems like a good place to end for the day, but I'm VERY excited to start reading the rest!!! Homestuck is BACK IN ACTION baby! Last Edit: 1 minute ago by Blaperile

But That Makes You Family

Genre: Fan Fiction (Animal Kingdom) Pairing: Craig Cody/OFC Warnings: Drinking, Death, Sexual Content, Language, Drugs Rating: R Length: Chaptered Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: I have had this idea floating around for a while, figured why not write it? Plus, I keep hearing the world needs more Animal Kingdom fics. 

Catch Up Here

Oceanside, California a little under 3,000 miles from the city Olivia Ealey had called home for the last eight years. As a girl it had been difficult to imagine ever leaving Oceanside, striking out in the world on her own, never in her wildest dreams did she see herself living the slow and steady New England life. Visiting Connecticut as a child Olivia couldn't wait to return back to the sun and surf. Who knew a place with four seasons would be such a save haven.

Cheap drug store sunglasses hid her eyes, she'd picked up the yellow shades somewhere around Toledo, Ohio. They had been serving her well and despite the bright colour they didn't look half bad on her. Head against the window of the truck, she watched as the streets grew familiar and the scenery updated itself from when she had been a girl, riding her favourite purple bike through the same neighbourhood. Back then there had been less stress and even lesser concerns for what was going on in the world around her.

“You still with me?” Deran Cody's familiar and calm voice prodded into her thoughts.

“Huh? Oh yeah, sorry I'm such shitty company. I'm still tired from the drive.” Olivia smiled at her acting chauffeur.  

“Why did you drive, anyway? Flying would be cheaper and faster.” Deran reasoned turning onto the street of their destination.

Olivia shifted around in her seat, turning away from the window to face her oldest friend. “Because, you don't get to see anything when you fly. Besides, it's summer, and what better way to spend it than a road trip?”

“We clearly have different ideas of fun.” Deran mumbled with a teasing laugh.

“You should try it, I think you'd like it.”

“If I can ever get away from the bar, maybe I'll drive over and visit for a few weeks.” Deran added, flipping the signal light to indicate his turn into the drive way. “Who knows, maybe I'll like it so much I'll never come back?”

“You'd come back, the surfing there is fucking awful.”

An avid surfer, Olivia wasn't thrilled with the waves on the east coast, but they would hold her over until she could return on her visits to California. Deran would take one look at the Atlantic waves and be back in the Pacific before dinner time.

Sitting in the drive way, the truck's engine faded from a soft roar to dead silent, when Deran turned the keys. Olivia hadn't been inside of these gates in nearly five years, the last time she had walked out of the Cody Compound had been a terrifying and liberating moment. Allowing herself to break free from the tiny strings that this family could hold over a person.

“You coming?” Deran glanced over, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Olivia hadn't noticed him open the driver's door, while he continued to sit beside her.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” she sniffed hard and nodded.

A vibration coursed through Olivia when she shut the truck door behind her, the heavy door making a louder thud than she felt it needed to. Following Deran around the garage, into the pool area, Olivia took note of the tiny details. The house was the same as she remembered, new curtains and more beer bottles laying around, but it was as if this place never changed. Deran's mother was particular about how she liked things to be around her home, even when she was behind bars at the local lock up.

“Where is everybody?” At the Cody house, there was always somebody around. No matter what, you were never alone and Olivia never forgot that detail.

“Inside.” Deran nodded toward the lavish sliding glass doors.

Growing up three houses down from the Cody house had been an experience. Olivia, like every other Oceanside native, had heard all of the rumors and the gossip. Wild parties, endless drugs and booze, the speculations that surrounded the family and their ... business. It was a free for all and at the helm of the ship  Janine “Smurf” Cody. Ruthless, cunning, backstabbing, and terrifying – all while smiling and being the perfect neighbour.

Directly under Smurf, until recently, had always been Barry “Baz” Blackwell. Adopted into the family, he ran the show. Keeping his brothers in line and keeping compliant with Smurf. Next came Andrew or Pope – Olivia was never sure of where that nickname had came from. Trouble through and through, Pope was loyal to his family and had a reputation of being the Cody to stay away from.  Olivia had heard that Pope's twin sister, Julia, had passed a few years back, leaving her teenage son in the care of his grandmother and uncles.

After the twins and before Deran came Craig. Craig Cody was something else, deadly good looks, and a lovable dumbass to boot. He tried hard, yet never seemed to get himself clean long enough to live up to his potential. The real source of Olivia's problems since she had hit eighteen.

Olivia had met the youngest son, Deran Cody, on their first day of second grade. The soft and shy, baby of the family had been sat next to her because Miss Rosen felt they could help one another. Over the years the two remained friends, entering high school together, partying, surfing, and getting into general trouble. No matter how hard the law fell on them, Deran never rolled on Olivia.

“J where's Craig?” Deran's voice bellowed through the halls, searching for his brother. “I have something for him.”

The boy, J, in the kitchen remained glued to his seat shrugging in reply. When he bothered to look up from his laptop, his eyes glued to the woman in the kitchen.

“J this is Olivia.” Deran caught the introduction. “Olivia I think you remember J?”

“It's been a while.” Olivia added with a small wave. She had met Josh once or twice, when he was a small child. “You grew up, J.”

“Yeah, I guess that happens. Why do you want Craig?” J ignored the woman in the house. His attention directed to Deran.

Placing three bottles of beer on the counter, Deran slid one to Olivia and one to J, before taking the third. “Because Olivia doesn't have much time for a visit.”

Rolling his eyes, in a true teenage fashion, J took a long drink of the beer and licked his lips. Olivia remembered being that age, she also remembered what it was like being a teenager in the Cody house. Smurf didn't have may rules and it made you believe that you were King, or Queen, of the world at times.

“He's out, had to run an errand. Call him, if you're so desperate to see him.”

Nagging wasn't Deran's style, a single text demanding his older brother come to the house was good enough. Craig was a curious creature, never had curiosity failed to get the best of him; he'd show. Sooner rather than later, too.

Long dark hair, wild as ever, Craig strode into the house in his usual gate – a striding walk that made his size look somehow graceful and like a clunky neanderthal all in one motion. His bright blue eyes were cast down on the screen in his hand, he was grumbling about whatever urgent meeting Deran had called him to. Since his mother had landed in jail, these damn meetings seemed to happen every hour.

“Dude, shut up.” Deran groaned loudly, a beer ready for his brother. Craig would need something stronger later, for now this would do. “Now, be polite and say hello to our guest.”

A double take in Olivia's direction, Craig froze for a fraction of a second. Olivia hadn't been in this house, or anywhere near him really, in years. The last time they had been face to face, she had walked away and told him he wasn't welcome in her life.

"What is she doing here?" Craig skirted cautiously around the woman in the kitchen.

Like a scared cat, he shifted around on the tips of his toes, ready to make his escape if the need arose. Craig was not in the right frame of mind to be dealing with Olivia right now. Talking, hell thinking about Olivia, took a great deal of preparation and mental capacity that he did not possess.

"Craig Cody." Her lips drew into a tormenting smile. "Long time no see, I half expected you to be dead by now."

Craig scoffed, clutching his beer. "Not for your lack of trying, Livvy."

"Alright children." Deran stepped between the stand off taking part. "No bloodshed in the kitchen, Pope is pretty anal about anything that stains."

"How is Andrew?" Olivia turned her attention away from the bastard Craig.

"Pope is...Pope?" Deran shrugged, running his hand through his newly cropped hair. "He hasn't murdered us, yet, I guess you could say he's been in a good place."

Olivia nodded in understanding, the last time she'd talked to Pope was right before he had been carted off to prison. She'd always liked Pope, partly because he was an interesting person and because she had a healthy amount of fear. He was wild and unpredictable, she'd never witnessed it but she'd heard the stories.

“He has to be, now that he has Lena.”

“I heard about that. I'm sorry about Baz.” Olivia's words were a general statement to the room.

Deran muttered a thank you, J ignored her, and Craig took the conversation in another direction. Not wanting to dwell on the depressing aspects of Baz's death.

“Are you going to be around for a while?” Craig's voice was almost cautious. Olivia nodded, commenting how Deran was her ride and she was around until he left. “I uh, I have to shower and make a few calls. We can talk after?”

“Sure.” Olivia knew that the shower was an excuse for Craig to distance himself until he got some control over the situation of her presence. His control coming in the form of several lines going up his nose. His calls to dealers looking for more, perhaps one to his latest fuck buddy to tell her that something had come up and he'd be late.

J ignored the woman that had shook his uncle to the bone, his attention switching between his laptop and phone. Deran tried his best to make light conversation, telling Olivia about his bar and catching her up on this and that from his daily life. They were comfortably chatting about the current surf situation and which day would be the best to hit the waves, when the infamous Pope appeared. His eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Olivia could never get over how well put together he always looked, despite his blank stares and slow, almost predator like movements.

"Olivia." He spoke calmly, a hint of a smile breaking his face.

"Andrew."

"Passing through?"

"Something like that." Olivia nodded, sliding off of the counter top. "Good to see you. Craig told me you've cleaned up. Looking after Lena now."

"Craig says a lot." Pope answered dully.

"He does have a rather big mouth." Olivia chuckled, pulling another beer from the fridge and handing it to Pope.

"Gets him into trouble, sometimes. You have a place to stay?"

"Yep, I'm staying with my mother. Don't worry, you don't need to take care of me." Olivia winked. "Not anymore."

"Alright." Pope nodded, his head bobbing without really moving. "Stay as long as you want, but don't expect me to help cover Craig's murder."

Glancing between his uncle and the strange woman who had showed up a few hours ago, behind Deran; J found the perfect time to speak up. "You and Craig have some debts to settle or something?"

"Huh?" Olivia turned to face J, a smile creeping across her face. "Nah. It's not like that. The first time I ever shot a gun, Deran was teaching me. My aim was a little off and as I pulled the trigger, Craig happened to walk by. Bullet nearly took him out at the knees."

"Yeah that time was an accident. I'm still questioning the night you threw the knife at him." Deran felt the regret boil the second he'd brought that up.

"He deserved that. I told him I was pregnant and he left to hook up with that whore he'd met at the bar.” Olivia's eyes went dark and her nostrils flared. Deran fell silent, his gaze falling to the floor. He remembered that night, vaguely. “Excuse me.” She grabbed another beer from the counter and bee lined for the back patio.

From the kitchen J and Deran watched Olivia pace the smooth stones, one hand running through her hair and the other clutching the brown beer bottle. Deran would cut her off from any more alcohol, as soon as he could, he didn't want to return her a drunk and sobbing mess.

Olivia's head jerked up when one of the glass doors slid open, clean jeans on and a towel around his neck Craig strode out onto the patio. Nine, almost ten years, and they had never had a serious conversation. Craig knew he had a son, Olivia had told him, then she took off for the east coast and if he was lucky she'd send him a text every now and then.

“I don't want to be angry.” Craig's voice floated through the open window into the kitchen. “But we need to talk about a lot of things.”

Reaching over to the window, Pope grabbed the latch and pulled it firmly shut. He'd allow J and Deran to stand around and gawk out the window,  however hearing wasn't an option as this wasn't business that needed full family involvement.

“Am I going to have a problem, with her hanging around?” J's gaze went straight out the window to the  pool where the mysterious woman sat across from Craig.

“With Olivia? No.” Pope's dry voice did little to ease the newest Cody in charge.

“She's trouble, but not in the same way as most of Craig's hook ups.” Deran added from behind the door of the fridge. “Smurf has you believing that you're calling the shots,  but you're best to stay out of business with Olivia. Oh and J, don't tell Smurf she's here. It's not something she needs to know about.”

“For everyone's safety, there are some things that Smurf doesn't need to know.” Pope added to Deran's warning.

Olivia would be gone before the end of the week, no doubt, another pack up and leave without so much as a goodbye. She'd send Deran, possibly Craig, a text from somewhere around the mid-west. When she was far enough away from the Cody's to relax again. Until then the worry about Smurf and the strife she'd bring wasn't what Olivia needed on her mind.

@noobchic, @ivarlothbroks, @sparklemichele, @klinger-verseau  , @hows-my-hair  , @grungyblonde - if anybody else wants a tag, feel free to ask :)

1. Andrew Carnegie (goal setter)

Andrew Carnegie was an American entrepreneur who actually immigrated from Scotland. Born into the lower class, Carnegie and his family immigrated to Pennsylvania, where they lived a better lifestyle. Carnegie later founded the Carnegie Steel Company, growing it to become one of the largest companies in U.S. history.

In addition to the success of his company, Carnegie became a very successful angel investor. Using the money made through his steel company, he invested in various car companies, messenger services, and land that contained oil reserves. Upon his death in 1919, Carnegie had an estimated net worth of $350 million, which, in 2021 dollars, would be worth nearly $5.5 billion.

Interview

Creative vision is the first of three principles Carnegie raises. What exactly does creative vision mean? Carnegie breaks it down into ten fundamental attitudes, which in aggregate form the basis for creative vision. 

“The organized thinker never gives up anything he undertakes until he has exhausted every effort to finish it.” 

Controlled attention is the final principle. Controlled attention is in some ways an offshoot of the other two. According to Carnegie, if you orient your mind in a specific way, all your attention starts to siphon in a specific direction. “Controlled attention magnetized the brain with the nature of one’s dominating thoughts, aims, and purposes, thus causing one to be always in search of every necessary thing that is related to one’s dominating thoughts.”

“A man will always be more effective when engaged in the sort of work he likes best. That is why one’s major purpose in life should be of his own choice. People who drift through life performing work they do not like, merely because they must have an income as a means of living, seldom get more than a living from their labor. You see, this sort of labor does not inspire one to perform service in an obsessional desire to work. It is one of the tragedies of civilization that we have not found a way to give every man the sort of work he likes best to do.”

2. Henry Ford (efficient)

Unlike Andrew Carnegie, Henry Ford was a natural-born citizen who grew up in Michigan. Born into a family that originated from England and Ireland, he was well off, though not wealthy. Ford was a hard-working man and eventually completed an apprenticeship with the Detroit Dry Dock Company. In 1891, he met with Thomas Edison and told him about his concept of the automobile. Edison liked the idea and let Ford use his warehouse to develop and manufacture two prototypes.

Using the prototypes, Ford soon founded the Detroit Automobile Company. The company was short-lived, however, since the product did not meet Ford's standards. He went on to found the Cadillac Motor Car Company, which also failed, before starting the Ford Motor Company for which he is famous. His third attempt at a car company made him very successful, and the company remains a going concern with annual sales of over $155.9 billion.

Interview

Like many another he had entertained his mind with ideas of having lived before. The thing that really mattered, he said, was what experience we got from a former life and what we gathered in this to pass on to help other people for their next life. It is the sum of what we carry on from one generation to another that makes the essence of experience the thing, he said.

As we passed on to lighter themes I asked him if in a future incarnation he would leave old-fashioned things like motor-cars and concentrate on a small aeroplane with, say, a gyroscope. He replied that he did not know anything about that or what he would like in another life.

'The only thing is,' said Henry Ford, 'I should like to be sure of having the same wife.' 'That's the difference between you and me, Mr. Ford,' his interviewer ventured to say, 'I hope that my own wife will have better luck in the next world.' 'There you are, Henry,' said Mrs. Ford, who was sitting near, 'you only think of yourself, but your friend thinks of his wife.' 'It means the same thing,' said Henry Ford, delighted with the turn the talk had taken, and he put out his hand and we shook hands, and the conversation grew in warmth.

3. Ophra Winfrey (persistent)

Oprah Winfrey is a shining example of an American success story. While she did not reveal her past until 1986, Winfrey was a victim of sexual assault at the age of nine and became pregnant at the age of 14 before losing the child during childbirth.

These early trials and tribulations gave her the perspective and confidence that helped her land her first TV show in 1983. From there, Winfrey steadily grew her brand and her empire, founding Harpo Studios, a multimedia company, in 1988.The company, through ad revenue and other revenue streams, has steadily grown to over 12,500 employees.

Winfrey co-founded Oxygen Media, another media company that attracts millions of annual television viewers.Winfrey, a TV personality turned entrepreneur, has a net worth of $2.6 billion as of Jan. 13, 2021

Interview

“It’s another situation I’ve got myself in,” she laughs, “but I care about injustice and if I get the opportunity to flag it, I will, every time. I’ll stand up there.” Ironically, the charismatic icon is more grounded than ever. Oprah recognises she cannot do everything alone, as she once thought she could, and accepts that when it comes to real change, we all have a long way to go, and a lot to contribute. "It's a significant moment in time for all of us. Society will never revert to how it was. It can't and it won't"“It’s a significant moment in history for all of us,” she utters in her famously rich tones. “Society as an entity will never be the same again, and will never revert to how it was. It can’t, and it won’t.”The truth is, Oprah is already a leader who empowers and emboldens her supporters, so it’s understandable that she isn’t willing to risk it all for a spin of the Washington wheel. If the media is the natural successor to the power of politics, then Oprah, who owns her own cable channel, OWN, and is a special correspondent for current affairs show 60 Minutes, is already an unrivalled leader. Perhaps part of that is because—unlike the current US President and so many others at the top table—Oprah was not born into wealth; she has worked tirelessly over the past four decades to build her formidable empire.

4. Bill Gates (risk taker)

Bill Gates, one of the most well-known American technology entrepreneurs, is the second-richest person in the world with a net worth of over $133 billion as of Jan. 13, 2021.Gates grew up in Seattle, Wash., and began tinkering with personal computers at an early age with friends such as Paul Allen. Showing a ton of aptitude and promise, Gates enrolled in Harvard, where he met Steve Ballmer before dropping out to start Microsoft.

Gates, with the help of Allen, Ballmer, and others, built Microsoft to become one of the world's largest and most influential tech companies. In 2020, Gates only recently stepped down from the board of Microsoft, which is valued at over a trillion dollars based on its market capitalization. He is decided to refocus his personal efforts on the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

Interview

Pretty quickly we decided that we ought to get out there and really help these guys get their act together. I never became an employee. Paul was their Vice President of Software. But I moved out and whatever I did from the inside, I did on behalf of Microsoft. I got out there and alot of what I started doing at first was actually enhancing the BASIC. 537

DA: Let me ask this Bill. You mentioned that, even before this, you and Paul had had many discussions about the future. How did this work affect what you thought the future was going to hold?

BG: Well, Paul had talked about the microprocessor and where that would go and so we had formulated this idea that everybody would have kind of a computer as a tool somehow. Not just for business, but also for something they would play around with as a home device. We knew that however it got started, that there would be certain standards built-up around it, about how you programmed things. We wanted to be part of that excitement. And so we saw this machine as just the beginning of an era. And this company was a wild company. I mean they were actually bankrupt before they did this because they had gotten screwed up doing Kit Calculators which had been their thing they had done after model rocketry.

MITS actually stands for "Micro Instrumentation Telemetry Systems", funny little things you stick on top of the rocket that tells you what the temperature is at the top of the flight or eventually, they had ones that would take pictures. So, they had done okay in that and then got into Kit Calculators. But was wiped out by Bomar and TI. And then just as a desperate thing, they did Kit Computers. When these computers came out at $360, the price of the 8080 chip was $360. So people kept saying, "They must be broken chips, it must be fake." And, of course, when they put these kits together, they didn't preassemble them, so if you miss one part -- a lot of people had a hard time putting these things together. But, a lot of people got it done and eventually went on to buy the Teletype and BASIC, and actually get a running system. So we thought, "Hey, are we really on to something here? We think so." And MITS was just great because it was just a center of activity for those first few years. We went around the country in this big van, big blue van, they had, with these machines starting up user groups and demonstrating things. Actually, before we even shipped BASIC, somebody stole the demo copy out of the van and started copying it around and sending it to different computer clubs. There was a real phenomenon taking place there, right around this Altair computer. In fact, the MITS guys were kind of upset when people would imitate this computer, same plug-in bus for peripherals -- things like that. They really weren't sure what to do about it.

5.Larry Page (committed)

Larry Page is the co-founder of Google, the world's number one search engine. Google was started by Page and his co-founder Sergey Brin while they were doctorate students at Stanford University.12 With an initial investment of just $100,000, the two partners quickly grew Google into a multinational conglomerate.In 2015, Google was restructured to form the parent company Alphabet Inc., with Page serving as CEO.Page has a net worth of $82.0 billion as of Jan 13, 2021.

Interview

Looking forward 100 years from now at the possibilities that are opening up, he says: “We could probably solve a lot of the issues we have as humans.”It is a decade on from the first flush of idealism that accompanied its stock market listing, and all Google’s talk of “don’t be evil” and “making the world a better place” has come to sound somewhat quaint. Its power and wealth have stirred resentment and brought a backlash, in Europe in particular, where it is under investigation for how it wields its monopoly power in internet search.

Page, however, is not shrinking an inch from the altruistic principles or the outsized ambitions that he and co-founder Sergey Brin laid down in seemingly more innocent times. “The societal goal is our primary goal,” he says. “We’ve always tried to say that with Google. I think we’ve not succeeded as much as we’d like.”

Even Google’s famously far-reaching mission statement, to “organise the world’s information and make it universally accessible and useful”, is not big enough for what he now has in mind. The aim: to use the money that is spouting from its search advertising business to stake out positions in boom industries of the future, from biotech to robotics.

Asked whether this means Google needs a new mission statement, he says: “I think we do, probably.” As to what it should be: “We’re still trying to work that out.”

https://www.investopedia.com/articles/personal-finance/092315/top-5-most-successful-american-entrepreneurs.asp

https://www.monster.com/career-advice/article/entrepreneur-traits

https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.forbes.com/sites/stephaniedenning/2018/07/30/andrew-carnegie-on-achieving-wealth-and-prosperity/amp/

https://www.theguardian.com/century/1940-1949/Story/0,,127365,00.html

https://www.readersdigest.co.uk/culture/celebrities/interview-oprah-winfrey

https://americanhistory.si.edu/comphist/gates.htm

https://www.google.com/amp/s/amp.ft.com/content/3173f19e-5fbc-11e4-8c27-00144feabdc0

Supernatural Series Finale: Why Dean’s Fate Works

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This Supernatural article contains MAJOR spoilers for the series finale.

A lot of fans were hoping that Supernatural would end the way its penultimate episode ended, with Sam and Dean literally driving off into the sunset in the Impala, to new and unknown adventures. When it comes time to re-watch the series (a hefty undertaking, considering there are 15 seasons of it!) no doubt many will choose to stop there; the episode even has a series finale-style montage of moments from across its 15 years to go with that classic conclusion.

But Supernatural didn’t end with “Inherit The Earth.” In a show where death was in danger of losing all meaning, it was never really going to be over until we’d seen the Winchesters finally die, for good, we really mean it this time, no take-backsies. Sam and Dean have watched each other die, grieved each other, and brought each other back from the other side so many times that we needed to see them reach their final rest, in a much-improved new Heaven, without demon deals or miraculous resurrections or angel rescues or anything else. When Dean gets Sam to agree not to try to bring him back, there’s an almost palpable sense of relief, as sad as it is. No more deals, no more accidentally ending the world trying to save each other. Just a normal, human death (fighting vampires).

And just as we needed to see the Winchester boys die to really get closure, it had to be Dean who died young, leaving Sam to live out a long and apparently happy life before joining his big brother at last.

There were several reasons it had to be this way. One reason is to honor creator Eric Kripke’s original planned ending for the show without simply replicating it. As many fans know, the series was supposed to end with the season five finale, “Swan Song,” which ended Kripke’s original arc plot, but it was renewed and The Magician‘s Sera Gamble took over as showrunner (followed in later years by first Jeremy Carver, then Andrew Dabb and Robert Singer). In Kripke’s finale, Sam died (he went to the Cage with Lucifer riding his body, along with Adam and Michael) and Dean retired to live a family life with his girlfriend, Lisa, and her son, Ben. Repeating the same ending – Sam dying and Dean trying to move on – would have felt redundant. But reversing it, so Dean dies young and Sam has to move on and start a new life with a wife and son but without his brother? That honors Kripke’s original ending without pointlessly repeating it.

No offense to Kripke, but it has to be said: it makes a lot more sense this way around anyway. Since the very beginning of the series, Sam has been the one trying to escape the hunting life they were raised in and settle down with a family, while Dean has always been a hunter through and through – and hunters don’t usually die in their beds of old age. In the pilot episode, Sam has a girlfriend he loves and a career plan, all of which gets taken away from him when Jessica is killed and Dean comes asking for help. When Dean spent a year in Purgatory, Sam found another girlfriend, Amelia, and a dog, and tried to settle down.

But when Dean spent a year living with Lisa and Ben while Sam was gone, he didn’t adjust too well. He was always on edge, looking out for things to hunt, never quite settled. While he resents Chuck’s dismissal of him as a “killer,” Dean did always get more out of the hunting life than Sam did, taking satisfaction in it as a calling and even enjoying some aspects of life on the road. Dean was his father’s son, and a hunter born and bred; Sam took after their mother a bit more, with more of a yearning to be able to give up that life and rest.

Of course, Sam doesn’t necessarily give up hunting all together, as we see him answer a call for help made to “Dean’s other other phone.” He is also, presumably, married to another hunter. The writers have been carefully setting up Sam and Eileen’s relationship throughout this final season, giving Sam a possible future family. Whether the actress was unavailable, or whether they simply made a choice to focus on just the boys and Bobby (and, randomly, Jenny the vampire) for this finale, the blurry woman in the background while Sam is playing with his son could easily be Eileen, as she seems to be right height with the right hair color, and Eileen is as much a hunter as the Winchesters. So Sam is probably still hunting – but perhaps it forms just a part of his life now, rather than the whole of it. The way he left the bunker and turned out all the lights certainly suggests he’s not living there any more, and perhaps that he’s exploring other things as well.

While Sam was being carefully set up with a future family all season, Dean hasn’t had any really significant relationships outside of Sam, Castiel, and Jack for years. While he was a rampant womanizer in earlier seasons, this was later toned down, and his last romantic interest was Amara – and that was a rather complicated relationship. When Castiel tells Dean “I love you” and sacrifices himself two episodes before the end in “Despair,” it’s left up to viewers to decide whether he means it romantically or platonically – but it’s undeniable that, Sam being his brother and Jack his surrogate son, Castiel is by far the closest thing Dean has had to a love interest in years.

And Castiel is an angel – he belongs in Heaven. It was a bit disappointing not to see him there to greet Dean, considering how big a part of the show Misha Collins has been for eleven years, but Dabb clearly wanted to focus as much as possible on the Winchesters themselves, and avoid taking away from the welcome appearance of Original Bobby. Bobby confirms that Jack brought Castiel back from the Empty and that both of them worked on re-shaping Heaven, so he is around, along with Dean’s parents, Bobby himself – just about everyone Dean loves except Sam. Sam has ties on Earth, people to go to and to care about. Almost Dean’s whole world, except for Sam, is already in Heaven.

Some fans may have been surprised at what took Dean out in the end – a random bit of bad luck during a random mission against some anonymous vamps and a first season character who’s barely remembered (Jenny was turned into a vampire and then escaped the Winchesters in season one’s twentieth episode “Dead Man’s Blood,” in case you were wondering).

But that, too, was the way it had to be. We’ve seen the Winchesters psych themselves up for apparent suicide missions many times, and in several cases they’ve even died. But in the end, as in real life, Dean doesn’t know this is the day he’s going to die when he wakes up in the morning. He’s on a hunt and he just runs out of luck, like so many others before him. And even this was foreshadowed early on. It’s easy to forget that the Winchesters’ first real brush with death came long before Sam stupidly turned his back on a still living enemy and a knife in season two’s “All Hell Breaks Loose,” and before Dean ended up in a coma following a car crash in the same season’s “In My Time Of Dying.”

No, Dean’s first near-death experience came in the first season episode “Faith,” the episode that introduced the Reapers and which was one of the earliest episodes to set the tone and themes for much of the rest of the series – and it’s one of Kripke’s favourites. Most of the episode is dedicated to Sam’s desperate attempts to save Dean from impending death as a result of heart damage due to electrocution, but the actual near-fatal accident happens quickly during a routine hunt in the cold open. The boys are fighting a Rawhead and Dean just gets unlucky. It makes perfect sense, then, that rather than some huge showdown fighting God or Death, in the end, Dean just ran out of luck, just as he had 15 years ago.

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This, then, was how it had to be. Season 15 as a whole has seen appearances from many returning faces, of friends and foes alike, across the season. “Despair” gave Castiel a suitably emotional send-off, tying his fate to Dean’s as it has been since his very first appearance in Season 4. “Inherit The Earth” acknowledged aspects of Kripke’s finale, pitting Michael and Lucifer against each other one last time. But, ultimately, this was the fate the Winchesters have been hurtling towards since Dean dragged Sam away from the college in the very first episode. Dean was always going to die on a hunt, and Sam was always going to have a better chance at building a life for himself. And, now, in whatever far-off future year we left him, there’s still a young Dean Winchester around, and perhaps his dad left him the key to a mysterious old bunker full of strange books and a battered old notebook full of monsters…

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