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racingtoaredlight · 4 years

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Marshall Amps

This is Slayer’s backdrop for some recent tour of theirs.

If you’ve followed rock music at all, the “wall of Marshalls” is so iconic, it’s hard to separate the subject of the imagery from the backdrop of Marshall speakers. Jimmy Page, Slash, Zakk Wylde, Eric Clapton...to name a few...but the man who made Marshalls the “greatest amps of all time” is none other than you know who...

So what is it with Marshalls? Why did they become the “greatest amps of all time” yet seemingly don’t have a place in today’s guitar world?

***

What defines Marshall amps?

They have “Marshall” written on them.

Kidding aside, you will never hear about Marshall amps being called “versatile.” “Clean” is something they do out of necessity, not design. They are stupidly heavy. They are a pain in the ass to maintain. They only sound good at volumes that would peel the enamel off your teeth...and that’s just the 50w models, let alone the big boys.

Marshall amps really do one thing well...overdrive. If you’re in a band that plays loud, plays dirty and plays aggressive, then Marshalls are likely right in your wheelhouse. Bonus points if someone else is carrying your gear.

Any level of dirt...from bluesy hair on the note to full out metal grind...a Marshall is right at home. When you overdrive the tubes in a Marshall and they start to produce those beautiful overtones and harmonics, it’s truly a sound of beauty that prickles the hair on the back of your neck.

***

Historical Context Part 1

To define Marshall amps, we need to start with their history.

Remember how when I used to actually write, I’d talk about putting things in historical context? Lets go back to the early 60′s. There is ONE amp company doing business on both sides of the Atlantic, Fender. And, despite being primitive and archaic, those early Tweed Fender amps are still today some of the best sounding amps money can buy, which is even more impressive considering that a 10 year old who can use a soldering iron could build one.

But in America, it’s easy to source parts for an American company’s amp like Fender. It’s right there in the country, stupid. But for a company...shit, that’s not even accurate given they weren’t a company yet...for a Brit like Jim Marshall, you had to get creative.

Marshalls, at their very, foundational core, are almost a direct plagiarism of the Fender Bassman amp. I mean, it’s exactly the same amplifier except for one key difference...the tubes. The Atlantic Ocean thing mentioned earlier is a big deal...the 6v6 and 6L6 power tubes that Leo Fender used, nothing more than run of the mill military-spec electrical tubes, weren’t available. Tubes might not be the lifeblood of an amp (the circuit is), but different tubes have a hugely variable presence in practical settings.

Given that most tube amps are powered by tubes that came from either the US, UK or Russian military industrial complexes...and there not being the internet or a secondary market for any of this shit...Marshall used, first, KT66 Russian tubes, and later British EL34 (big bottles) and EL84 (little bottles), depending on use.

As Marshall’s blew up (and it happened quickly), and musicians started playing bigger and bigger halls, Marshall took that Bassman ripoff and housed it in larger cabinets allowing him to add more tubes, and therefore, more power. It was the perfect storm...

***

Historical Context Part II...the important stuff

So I linked to a bunch of pics above...famous dudes standing in front of walls of Marshalls. The one I really want to hit on is the Eric Clapton one...

I just mentioned this a couple paragraphs above, but it bears repeating...there was no secondary market for things like tubes, caps, speakers, etc. That pic of Clapton? In each of those cabinets housing four speakers, maybe one was fully operational with half of another adding a bunch of fizz. During Cream’s final show at Royal Albert Hall, he had only one speaker installed in the entire cabinet...the rest were just empty.

Now, that’s not to say there wasn’t any sonic benefit from having cabinets project sound waves with four speakers. Rather, if one went down, at least you could still play.

Which leads us to the important stuff...

Primitive PA systems were not only garbage to begin with, but they were typically operated by burnouts who didn’t have the first clue of how to properly EQ a room. This was true as late as the mid 80′s. As shitty as those PA systems were though, guess what? That’s still how Cream’s sound got shot through Royal Albert Hall.

Given the choice though, guitarists would rather have a slew of speakers doing the work rather than mic’ing up smaller amps. Even with this option though, there’s a long history of...behind those walls of Marshall speaker cabs...there being a single half stack with just one speaker being mic’d.

Here’s a dirty little secret...Eddie Van Halen has not just endorsed multiple amps from multiple companies, but been heavily involved in the design of a lot of those as well. BUT, when you hear him in the studio or live, you’re not hearing any of those amps...you’re hearing this.

Despite all the noise and propaganda regarding Van Halen’s wizardry with guitar and amp parts, the sound he’s most famous for and has relied on his entire career is produced by a relatively stock Marshall 1959SLP, known as the Super Lead. The “Brown Tone” he’s famous for isn’t due to anything special in the amp itself, rather using something called the Variax to run the 100w amp at 90w, thereby making it warmer and more efficient (Marshall’s imported to the US still made to run at 110 volts despite most American outlets being 120 volts...the Variax reduced the electrical load to the amp, while also being an accidental signal buffer, allowing him to use time-based effects like flangers and delays, where running them into the front of a Marshall would cancel out those signals).

Jesus Christ that was a long aside...there was a point here though.

***

What was that point?

When PA systems and quality mic’s and sound guys became the norm, the necessity for stacks of Marshalls really started to go to shit. Even before the internet boom, the jokes about wannabes hauling Marshall half stacks to tiny bars with no audience were already essentially canon.

I said this above...unless you are a touring artist in a hard rock band with logistical support and no front of house...Marshalls are completely impractical. We’re not even going to touch on declines in quality (new Marshalls built on PCB have more in common with your phone than a 1987x, even if you buy a “reissue” of a 1987x), questionable marketing and oversaturating their own market...the fact of the matter is extremely simple. Big iron is obsolete, no matter who makes it.

Marshall themselves know this, and released the “studio” line...which might as well be called the “shit we better make smaller stuff because our sales are getting FUCKED” line. If you’ve ever had to pack a car full of gear yourself, it takes one gig before you’re looking for smaller, lighter amps. Those 100w Marshalls? They sound AMAZING cranked.

But unless you play them cranked, they sound like shit. Think about it like driving a Ferrari at 25mph all the time...

For regular working musicians like myself, a great sounding tube combo can be found under 50 lbs. Or I could ditch all that and go with a modeler, go straight into the PA and never need an amp again (PREDICTION...you will not see amplifiers on stage outside of Nashville and niche acts in 10 years). That’s for a working musician.

For a touring musician, you can save tens of thousands of dollars per year by not having to hire logistical staff. You might have scoffed at my prediction above...but these days, the majority of guitar sounds you hear are made digitally by a session guitarist sitting either at home or in the control room of a studio. That 1987x is a digital patch rather than two trips to the car and ringing ears.

Point being...amps are already obsolete. And if your amp weighs more than 50 lbs. and has more power than say 40w, it’s remarkably obsolete, no matter how cool it is.

***

Competition

I don’t have to tell you that Marshalls’ legacy was formed in the harder forms of rock. Take one look at those monsters and you can tell they roar. “Roar” is an interesting concept though...

youtube

Marshalls were made before hard rock really existed. Guitarists almost ubiquitously came from a “clean” learning point, and even what we consider small amounts of dirt like this (and during the instrumental part of Ramblin’ Man) back then were FULL-THROATED.

Personally, that’s my ideal of the Marshall sound. That Tweedy breakup that puts a shaggy head of hair on each note. But to just about 90% of the music-enjoying public, this is the sound that immediately comes to mind when you think of Marshalls.

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Definitely more dirty than Duane Allman’s version no doubt, but if you really listen to the guitar, the edge is more due to phrasing and Slash’s ballsy attitude than the guitar tone itself. It’s still something I’d describe as more crunchy than full on distorted.

Which brings us to the clones. Now, what better product to copy than a style that’s been obsolete for like two decades now!

We talked about Van Halen’s supposedly modded (but really quite stock) Marshall above...well, here comes one of his amp tech buddies Michael Soldano bringing a hot-rodded Marshall to the masses. Then Bogner follows right behind.

Slash’s tone might not be that distorted, but plenty of metal guys absolutely were, and Marshall JCM’s were their weapon of choice. But the time the calendar turned to 1990 though, Mesa Boogie’s rectifiers were already kings of the metal scene. Almost as much as the Telecaster dominates country music, the Mesa Boogie Rectifiers own metal.

What was the common denominator in the competition? MORE, sure. More dirt, more quality, blah blah blah. The biggest reason was Marshall, the company. Unlike Fender, Marshall never got bought by bigger companies. While that might keep them more “genuine” you have to realize that this guy was making amps in a tiny drum shop still when he was making stuff for Hendrix and Pete Townshend.

***

While Fender’s soul got twisted in a series of corporate takeovers, what it also eventually received was outside guidance from people with business AND music knowledge. Fender was always forward thinking, from the day Leo Fender started the company. Jim Marshall didn’t have that same type of vision. The idea of a Fender amp being built on PCB is something Leo Fender would have embraced. But to Marshall, it’s killing the amp’s soul. Fenders never were BIG IRON...i.e. huge transformers fed by big bottle tubes...they never got into the size game.

To begin with, Marshalls were a stolen design. That might sound harsh, but it’s not being unfair either. They were never known for quality, rather known for quirks and unreliability. They weren’t even that unique of a sound...you can get a very similar sound from a Fender Tweed cranked...you just cant take a Tweed to a huge hall and project the sound.

We can do that today. Easily. Like an $80 mic and a mic cable easy. And now you have a true, pretty much genuine Marshall roar in a 30 lb. package.

Back in the day you couldn’t demand flawless point-to-point wiring, proper voltage and ohm specs, and wide-sweeping EQ bands. Soldano and Mesa Boogie offered these as stock parts of their offerings at the same price points. If you were a lead guy, Soldano was your choice...if you were a metal guy, it was Mesa...and in the two niches of the guitar world Marshall absolutely dominated, they were now second class citizens.

Or maybe even worse...new poor.

***

“Marshall” is a descriptor these days. It’s describing the sound of a tube amp with a good-sized transformer being fed by British tubes, typically EL34′s.

If you want a “Marshall,” Marshall is probably the fourth or fifth company I’d recommend. There’s a lot of debate about this, but I do not believe amps built on PCB are worth more than $1k...shit, that’s generous because I would not personally buy an amplifier using PCB.

This is the power amp section for a new Marshall JCM.

For all you IT guys out there, you probably know that PCB ain’t exactly the most receptive thing to changes in temperature. Hey! I got a great idea! Lets put power and preamp tubes, that heat the fuck up, straight on some cheap ass PCB with janky copper wiring and automated solders!

Literally the only people who will tell you PCB is fine are people who build amps for a living. Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t give a shit about making your job easier when you’re still charging me full price and plus some. The only people saying that there’s no reason to do a point-to-point amp are those who are too lazy to, because there’s a big boutique market for this very thing.

Lets do a real apples to apples comparison here...

The top pic is a restored 1972 Marshall 1987x. You can buy these used for under $2k...but let’s use $2k...plus $200 restoration (just the guts, who cares about how an amp looks). We’re at $2,200. And this electric shit is so simple a vacuum repair shop could do it.

The bottom pic is a brand spakin’ new Marshall 1987x reissue, modeled after...you guessed it...the 1972 Marshall 1987x. That’s some clean wiring on that particle board! But...wait...why am I paying MORE for a less desirable model, that took exponentially less work on Marshall’s end? Why would I subsidize their profit margins for an inferior product with less resale value?

Furthermore...the 1987x is a one-channel, stupid simple amp. Why do you need PCB to begin with? I get it for a Soldano or Rectifier that’s multi-channel, with huge sweeping EQ sections, reverb, etc...but this is a plug-n-play.

Marshall...the company...has been doing that to their customer base for decades. Back in the day, you knew what you were getting...a thunderous machine that likely would fail at some point, necessitating multiple amp purchases. Literally the instant better, higher quality alternatives hit the market, it ripped into Marshall’s market share.

Today, if I were recommending a Marshall, the first place I’d recommend is George Metropoluos. Second would be Friedman. I’m currently deeply in love with a Friedman amp that’s a single-channel, point-to-point 40w amp that’s essentially a Tweed Bassman with EL84′s and a switchable gain stage...adorably named the Dirty Shirley.

***

Conclusion

Despite all that, I have a romantic love of Marshalls that overrides anything to do with quality or practicality. It’s kind of like my love for the Gibson Les Paul grotesquely compounded...

You might think that I have a negative opinion of Marshalls based on everything I’ve just written. Not true. All of that stuff, it’s nothing in comparison to just how fucking incredible these things sound in person. Again, neither of these instruments are in my wheelhouse, but if you asked me what the platonic ideal sound an electric guitar makes, it’d be a Les Paul through a cranked Marshall 1987x.

And even if you’re not into this kinda shit, trust me you’ve heard more than your fair share of Marshalls in the past. They’re that great. So great, it doesn’t matter how shitty they may or may not be.

PS...I wrote this in 3 different sessions, didn’t edit or re-read, and just posted away because something is better than nothing.

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heedingcalls-archive · 5 years

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Anonymous said: Hey MadMod, the Beatles are overrated Elvis wannabe's. Change my mind.

❛ Alright. First mistake you made? Assumin’ the BEATLES are my favorite band. When in reality, I am a MUCH bigger fan of THE WHO but, you know what? The fact you lot feel SO COMPELLED to get a rise outt’a me is staggerin’, mate. So, I’ll bite. But I’d like to point out that I don’t go up to YOU and say ‘Oh, that Mister BIEBER is overrated’. HE IS -- But I don’t go up to you and SAY IT, you sodpot. NOW-- Since you DEMANDED I ‘change your mind’, let me just delve into some musical hist’ry for you, yeah? ❜

❛ The Beatles were FANS of Elvis, yeah, but you can’t try to compare their music stylin’s. They sound COMPLETELY different. They’ve got lots o’ harmonies because there was more than just ONE LAD swingin’ his hips ‘round. The Beatles were the first to start what we call beat music, yeah? AND BEAT MUSIC is what laid the foundations for current rock and roll. A lot of rock was the same 12-bar BLUESY melody, shuffled around, over and over again-- music that everybody could easily dance to because they’ve heard the same melody 1,000 times. But the Boys came in and COMPLETELY changed the game, yeah! Gave music that you could just LISTEN to-- that was MEANT to be listened to, focused on. Because they put so much time and effort into their tracks, it was an ONSLAUGHT of sound from every direction. By the way-- If I may give a side note, Elvis is the overrated one, but. I digress on that. It’s not the point I’m tryin’ t’ make. ❜

❛ You’ve GOT to understand that when the Beatles came ‘bout, we never heard somethin’ like that before. For the buzzin’ youth of the 60′s? Oh, we ate that up. ‘sides, they had crackin’ style, too. OI, and did y’ know they were the first band to put out music videos for their songs? And the kings of the ‘cultivated album’ as we know it today. They even had HIDDEN SONGS on their albums. No one does that anymore! ❜

A large sigh expels through the Brit’s nose, nostalgic reminiscence clear on his face as he tiredly smiles at the thought. They weren’t his favorite band ... but they were definitely close.

❛ Anyway .... -- I’m JUST SAYIN’, The Beatles did a lot more than you’re givin’ ‘em credit for and to just call them ELVIS WANNABES is a great and lazy disservice. ❜

#mad mod | answer #he got less angry and more nostalgic so THANKS FOR THAT ANON #also had to put a cap on him because my dude would NOT SHUT THE FUCK UP

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kinda-iconic · 6 years

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Ten Songs Tag

Thanks for the tag @bigfrigginmargarita ly ♥️

Rules: list 10 songs that you’ve been listening to recently and then tag 10 people

1) Wannabe - Spice Girls (playing rn 😅)

2) Goodbye Mr A - The Hoosiers (Ayy ayy 🙌)

3) Thunderbirds are Go - Busted

4) Oops I did it Again - Brit Brit Spears ♥️

5) Everyday is Christmas - Sia 😍

6) Sing for My Life - Sia

7) One More Sleep - Leona Lewis

8) Whole Again - Atomic Kittens

9) Kidz - Take That

10) All Rise - Blue

Yeah some of these are old 😂 but the classics never truly age 👌

Additional tune that’s on now now

Mysterious Girl - Peter Andre (this plays on EVERY Uni night out and it’s one of those ones that everyone boogies too!)

Tagging: @femmeshep @im-nk-writes @anabelle-robinson @christopher-powell @teamtomsato @itlivesbeneath @rebeccaschoices @queerchoicesblog @give-me-ernest-sinclaire @griselda1121

Sorry if you’ve been tagged before beans 🦄

#ten songs tag #choices fandom

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lickmeleclerc · 6 years

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|Missed Connections| H.O {Chapter 1}

Characters: Harrison Osterfeild x Female Reader

Summary: A lost phone, Two strangers, and one missed connection

Playlist: here

Warnings: cussing

Harrison’s leg bounces up and down anxiously in a fast motion as he sits flush against the hard plastic chairs. He moves his gaze from his knotted hands to the others in the room. Some were holding the script and practicing lines, others chatting with one another, and then there’s him trying to calm himself down before his name is called. A buzz in his pocket distracts him as he grabs his phone but when the screen lights up as his thumb brushes the home button no notifications are seen. Again, he feels a buzz and he realizes it's the strangers phone. When he grabs it to silent it his eyes land on her lock screen, its silhouette photo of her standing by the ocean her figure has his heart skip a beat but he quickly shifts his gaze to see a reminder about some deadline and he hopes her computer is linked to her phone cause he really doesn’t know how he’ll get it back to her but he hopes its a face to face encounter.

“Harrison Osterfeild.” His name rings through the room of awaiting actors and he stands sliding the item into his back pocket. A sigh leaves his lips as he urges his nerves into excitement.

“Hi nice to meet you guys.” He greets them with a handshake and a nod. They seem to like his looks and the first impression as himself is good, they just need to see if he can act.

“Okay we’ll start with Act two scene two.” The casting director calls. He nods and licks his lips as he stands in front of them and begins his rehearsed lines. His American accent isn’t the most natural thing in his performance but the effort is there and they can see it.

“Thank you for coming in today Harrison we hope you look forward to our call.” The man speaks the good news as Harrison wraps up. His smile is true and honest as he nods and leaves them to continue their auditions. He could leap for joy that it turned out so well. He reaches into his pocket for his phone so he can call his agent but ends up grabbing the wrong phone with the large smile still plastered on his face he kisses the phone calling it his lucky charm and then pulls the correct item out to make the call.

“Y/n! Get in here.” Her bosses voice rings throughout the office, the mail boy passing by gives her a look that resembles the words ‘ooooh’ as if she were being called into the principal's office. A huff of hot air leaves her mouth blowing the hairs in front of her face away as she pushes herself away from her desk. Her feet and tailbone ache from the journey to work today.

“You called?” She questions trying to hide the sarcasm in her tone. Her eyes land on an annoyed older woman with her nails click against the keyboard.

“Yes I did. I need you to go print 100 copies of the newsletter, our new clients need to get one this month, could you pick up envelopes and stamps as well, we’re gonna mail them.” She demands not even glancing at the girl in front of her desk.

“Yeah for sure. And Arnold called he wants to set up a video conference.” The younger girl informs as she exits. Before she leaves to run the errands requested she grabs an original copy and her backup sneakers. It may not match her professional attire; a pencil skirt and collared blouse, but the walk around town in her heels will kill her feet more than they already are. She slings her bag on her shoulder and heads out of the building this time being sure to manage her time well enough she won’t have to run through crowds and end up harshly running into someone, even if the someone was very attractive her tailbone is suffering. The day has been off from the start but not without a phone it’s little to none chances of it turning around.

“Hi! Can I get 100 copies of this please.” She asks politely to the clerk, he nods and walks to the back of the store and begins his work. The girl takes a seat in the small waiting area as she looks around for something to entertain herself, but the lack of a certain device doesn't make passing the time easier. He eyes land on a tabloid with water damaged corners but a catchy headline. She picks it up gently by a corner not really sure if she wants to touch it. The worn magazine flops open to a page about up and coming actors, he eyes land on a familiar face in the corner of the page. “What!” An exclamation leaves her mouth as it drops open and her eyes widen. A gasps follows as she sees the rude stranger from this morning. Before thinking about her actions she rips the corner of the magazine out and stuffs it in her bag.

“Harrison!” A curly haired boy yells through the empty bar as he raises his drink up to signal the brit . It’s only 2pm on a monday people would have to be having a really bad day if they’re already drinking, but for Harrison’s case its celebratory.

“Hey!” He responds as he increases his steps to meet his mate and pull him into a hug. The two have both been on a path to become actors and Harrison hasn’t been that successful until now. His humble and determined attitude along with patience have paid off.

“Congrats man, I’m so proud of you!” His friend from childhood commends and pats his shoulder as they both take their seats at the bar. Harrison’s smile hasn’t dimmed all day and it seems to light up the dimmed room.

“Thank you Tom, that really means a lot to me.” The smiley boy responds as he sips a beer the bartender has handed him. Thye alcohol helps him to finally calm down, the nerves and excitement are all that have been coursing through his system today. “Now you can be my assistant.” He adds with a laugh referencing their past business relationship. The other laughs too as he nods.

“I would in a heartbeat mate.” He proudly responds and nods. The happiness for his friend is in his eyes and Harrison can’t help the giddiness rushing back. He’s not only made himself proud but everyone else whose been rooting for him this whole time, he’s gotten the part. A ding interrupts the twos conversation and he already knows it's not his phone. He slips out the item and silences it. Tom quizzically watches his friends actions.

“What’s that?” He asks a teasing smirk playing on his face. Harrison sets the item on the counter and laughs.

“Okay you’re not going to believe this.” He goes on to explain the morning phiasco while Tom laughs and nods along but then an idea spurs in his hopeless romantic mind.

“Harrison you have to track her down and return it, then ask her out to make it up to her!” He exclaims then covers his mouth at how loud he voiced his plan. A blush finds its way to the others cheeks at the thought, he was caught off guard at her beauty this morning he can’t imagine having to talk to her again.

“Come on, you gotta put yourself out there.” He encourages him as he downs the last of his beer. HArrison nods and grabs the phone again, the lock screen is now littered with reminders and one has an address;

Friday: fancy dinner thing at 7:00pm @ The studio museum Harlem

“Okay, I guess I’m going to a museum on Friday.” He concludes as they both look at the reminder. Tom nods smiling wide and fist bumps the air in victory for talking him into the idea. The two end their conversation and make plans for lunch after Friday to see how it goes. Harrison hails a taxi as he processes the thoughts in his head, can he really do this? It’s very much out of his small comfort zone.

“You will not believe who has my phone! Some wannabe actor!” Y/n excalims into her laptop with a skype call in progress. She huffs air from her mouth as pulls on her oversized shirt as she sits up more in her bed. The day has been long and the only one who’d listen to her venting is, Milly, her older sister that’s off in Stanford in California.

“How is that possible?” She questions her voice coming out more robotic from the speakers. The girl clicks on the mouse pad hoping to better the connection somehow but with no luck a awful ‘reconnecting’ logo pops up over the camera’s view. Another groan leaves Y/n’s lips and she’s had her limit of herself in a pity party so she ends the call and sends a message through the Skype chats feature. Nothing is more annoying than not having her cellphone, which she depends on greatly for her daily life. Before she calls it a night she sends an email to her boss;

‘Hey Lisa,

I will be about two hours late tomorrow morning, I have to stop by the phone store and pick a new one up since mine was quote on quote ‘stolen.’ I’ll have Courtney bring in your coffee and any messages. My apologies for the schedule changes.

Sincerely, Y/n’

It's a hard pill to swallow that she has to get a new phone but at least her life can be normal again. It sucks to admit but she does need a cellphone to function and if she ever does meet this Harrison Osterfeild guy she’ll just ask him to sign a check as reimbursement, like that'll ever happen though.

Harrison’s ears are numb from the loud music of the club, he’s a friendly guy and a party every once in awhile is fun but he’s not feeling the beat of the music or the company that surrounds him. He pays his tab and walks to the dark street. It’d rained earlier and the ground was coated as evidence of it. His big day no coming to an end left him with no regards to protect his white tennies. His feet slapped in the water as he made his way back to his small apartment he’s rented for the stint of time he’ll be here. England will always be his home base no matter where his life takes him. A deep breath leaves his mouth as he plugs his phone and the girls phone in, he thinks of this upcoming Friday and how it will god. Will she be angry to see him?

Taglist: (Ask to be added): @aaminah12 @parkerstan @spideynora @spideymood @painted-soulss @tomsfireheart @smexylemony @beautiful-holland @cherryhollands @lovelyh0lland @futureparker @sweetosterfield @lemirabitur

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dwestfieldblog · 3 years

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REVELATION: 2021

...’Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth...see, the home of God is among the mortals.’ Hope you are staying sane. Meanwhile, from my war room (arf) inside a deep (astral) state within a non binary body...hallucinating realities...

Imagine, if you will, millions in a democratic country, who gladly make (and addictively want to) their private thoughts known via social media and are quite happy to tell random pollsters on the street their feelings on any subject of which they are asked. And plenty on which they are not. So pleased to be asked their righteous opinion, so ego led deluded that anybody might ‘like’ their words that they will spout the hatred their hearts feel on issues of the day and in their lives without a care where such information goes. They want to be heard and so, they are. Now imagine a computer driven listening and watching station with instructions from media masters, political leaders, and advertising companies paying close attention to the data gathered. Not actual facts as such but almost all emotion led opinions, collated to show the group mindset of a subsection of a country.

An algorithm can be created for what products would most likely appeal to that mass. Guns, (for random example), waterproof bibles, clothing for survivalists. You have direct knowledge of this already when You tube, your email, Alexa etc ‘suggest’ something you might/should like, based on what you have ordered, written, or spoken online. This year I have been getting dozens of spam emails for bad eyesight, Viagra type stuff and hair loss. HA. My age must be written somewhere. Not much stress on imagination to see how simple it is for organisations like the ex Cambridge Anal lytica etc to capture and utilise such info via Facebook. Or how enemies of a country could understand in no short order what makes a country really tick below the surface and how to manipulate those emotionally crippled, poorly educated AND those who seek power over others. Psychographic profiling...stop giggling at the back there...

Cui bono (who benefits) from seeding disorder? Follow the money, ‘it’s only business’. An algorithm which reveals just what people believe and who can then be exploited en masse as useful idiots to disrupt the usual inbred spastic normality of daily life in a human country. And it is dirt cheap because people WANT to reveal themselves and a rival country need only a minimum outlay of actual infiltrating agent provocateurs (many of whom will be actual natives.) A set up involving ‘sock puppets’ which serves the same purpose as APs...the legendary bots and fake identities rattling off tweets and false flag Facebook pages, rallying the disaffected faithful. ‘More evidence that the targeting works and predicts our behaviour’.

Now, once the group targets have been identified, seek out those among them who long for their moment of fame, their years of special importance and time of power. They will have already made clear their characters in online posts. Weakling Alpha types cowering their insecurities behind a loud voice. They hunger for followers, to be ‘liked’, (a basic larval human need for most) and admired for their rightness. Show them support, aid their voices to spread, mysterious donors for the message; Anybody not similar to you MUST be the opposite...and therefore, the enemy. Step by step, the daily hormone rush reprogrammes and the opinions become a self fulfilling prophecy, imprinting over all sense of reason. So now you have your moronic masses (and those dumb enough to want to lead them) most of whom are too stupid (or busy surviving) to realise they are being manipulated from afar by those who understand what is within and do not have their countries’ interests at heart. Bombarded with attack ads and propaganda... ‘Until they saw the world the way we want them to’...

Some of the leaders, big or small, will actually know they are puppets but will think it acceptable as long as they are given a little pat on the head via position and power. And a lot of money. Most, (whether mass or leader of such infiltrated countries) will be certain they are doing what they do in the name of Freedom and Democracy, while all the time, being used to further limit the same. Hilariously, bleakly, deathly ironic. From hubris to nemesis.

Yes, I am writing about Brexit and Trumpists and Q Onan. Et al, etc. Ad infinitum. Almost. Those in democratic countries who are ceaselessly working unbeknown to themselves against most of what they demand the most. ‘To take back control’. No children, you are creating a system where you will have less and less of this. ‘Follow the white rabbit’? No, you are following an algorithm in highly predictive patterns to those who own it and by extension, you.

‘I love my country!’ Do you? Why are you working free of charge for another who only wants to see your Union and partnerships broken? You vote for ridiculous men like Trump and Farrage because they are not the government and think you are rebel anarchists who will herald a new dawn of purifying flame...by substituting yet more slime who care only for their own power.

Someone points the finger, uses a trigger word and you do the Pavlov dog. Someone claps their hands and you pay unquestioning attention to their misinformation. Look over there, the world is being run by Satanic, child abusing faggot socialist liberals and foreign scum. Arf. So why are you obeying one of the above mentioned groups in the name of taking back control of your freedom? Because they already know how you will react. Because you created the infamous All Seeing eye yourselves by feeding information into the data base. Because you are so easy to trick into believing you are thinking for yourselves. ‘They’ don’t need to insert chips or vaccines with nano bots, they can just implant you with audio visual media and Nuremberg style rallies.

Take two blonde, fat stupid white men. Liars to the highest degree. One an entitled megalomaniac spoiled child and the other with half the megalomania. A glance at their track record and into their eyes should have told you all. Seems it didn’t. It took over four years and up to the week Trump left, for the rats to finally start jumping ship and for the band of the Titanic to start changing their tune. Twitter took four years to decide to cut off his fix. Nero played golf while America burned with Covid. 414,000 dead. Incitement to riot? Incitement to riot. Investigate his wannabe aristocratic family and do not allow his children anywhere near politics. Or Smug petulant Kusher anywhere near business.

Over 74 million still think Trump is a go to guy rather than a take a running jump at kicking him up his arse. He pardoned various criminals, including Bannon, (lest the fascist scuzzball fink on him)...and no pardon for Maxwell... who still could, unless she also should manage to ‘kill herself’ by accident fnord in prison. Seems likely Donald could run for office again, form his own party....What? Pence announced ‘Space Force’ personnel will be called Guardians; yes really...this year will see their first battle against the children of Thanos. Thanos, thy name is Trump. But lacking the compassion or humour.

Good morning to billionaire Mr Robert Mercer...a ‘Christian’ Conservative, gun lover, climate change denier, donor of over 100 million dollars to right wing candidates, 15 million of which went into Cambridge Analytica/Brexit and more to Breitbart and Trumps 2016 campaign. On the face of it, both he and his second daughter Rebekah would seem to have their fingers hard on many triggers of chaos, all of which serve only the rich and Russia. Breaking up partnerships, friendships, splitting unions and sowing discord. Check. Encouraging the working and middle class to merely shift their belief across to another band of disreputable rich guys by telling them how corrupt the other rich guys are. Look out! They might be Socialists! A lot of them are Europeans! They eat children and want immigrants to swarm over your town! Works like a charm. It would be so nice if billionaires would actually behave in a decent moral way (yes, sarcasm) and actually help out more, regardless of whether there is a return on their ‘charity’, instead of being the James Bond villain scum they act like.

And speaking of Q...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Arf. That narcissist prick in horns Jacob Chansley of Arizona...Shaman? Shame man. Bullhorn? Bullsh...t. No hanging lawmakers for you boy. He only eats organic food? So what? A lover of nature? Which is why he wears fur and horns and wishes death upon fellow Americans who are ‘traitors’. The Kremlin and Mercer have done a job as sweet as they did with Brexit divisions. Just let the rabid cretins do all their work for them splitting unions. Well, it’s what the CIA did so well against communism. Now it is our turn. Watching yanks and brits demand more control of their democracy while pulling it apart. Hilarious. Q Onan wanked their conspiracy to death and are now confused the Golden One has not led them to the revolution...not exactly levitating the Pentagon are you?

They believed the world is run by a paedo satan worshipping elite who plot against Trump and operate a global child sex trafficking ring. Yes really. So you can see how they appeal to the deranged righteous Christian gun toting hordes and internet savvy youth against the Deep State. Arf arf arf. The Kemlin will have studied key points as to what gets the average American and British goat and exploited it. People are so keen to share their beliefs, ideas and fears on social media that it is simple to collect and combine such info...(as happened with Cambridge Analytica) and use it for manipulating gain. Putin/Mercer probably told Trump the nature of the beast. ’If you want followers, do this...’Follow the algorithm. Dying covid patients continue to deny they even have it in South Dakota etc...that is how well the misinformation works.

Boris. A pathetic deal with Europe after an endless mantric blather of an ‘oven ready Brexit’. The chumocracy in full force as Ayanda Capital receive a 150 million pound PPE contract and provide no masks at all. And tax exile Tory donor (Lord) Ashcroft’s firm lands a 350 million pound vaccine contract (without a tendering process). Well, rather help a pal than put money into the National Health Service eh Boris? In 2019, the music industry brought in around 5.8 BILLION pounds, whereas the fishing industry netted (arf) 446 million. Sunak and Johnson have not seen fit to grant work permits for musicians to play in Europe and bands from outside will find it harder to get visas to tour in Plagueland. ‘Health’ secretary Matt Hancock said it was ‘Peculiarly unusual’ why British people went to work when they were ill. ‘Why in Britain do we think it’s acceptable to soldier on and go into work if you have flu symptoms...’Hmm. Germany pays 100 percent of sick pay. Czech Republic pays approx 60. The UK? 26. Good enough answer you prick? This guy also voted against food parcels for children, and then reversed only after an outcry.

The ever lovely Good Catholic William Rees Mogg called UNICEF’s feeding of poor English children during a pandemic at Christmas a ‘publicity stunt’. Hmm...well in 2019 the charity received 6.4 billion in contributions of which the Tory government of the UK donated 494 million. Perhaps UNICEF wanted to make a point that the UK has the largest number of food banks in the democratic world (over 2000, Germany has 900) and that it was a little beyond shameful that this was necessary. Still making money from selling birth control/termination pills in Indonesia after having said all contraception even in cases of rape was wrong Billy? The English gentleman also said he found the rise in food bank usage as being ‘rather uplifting’. Verrry Christian man. And that rotting British fish are ‘happier’ now out of Europe. A joke? The 2019 EU clampdown on tax avoidance will be avoided by him thanks to Brexit. Heavenly off shore interests, Glory! ‘How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God’. It easier for a camel to piss through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of god. Mark 10 21:25. Good luck Billy.

Met a Christian guy again who tried to tell me a parable of sorts. A little bird was flying and suddenly fell into a field dead, a cow walked over and took a dump on the little bird and the heat of the manure brought the bird back to life. Overjoyed he started to sing and was heard by a cat that killed it. The moral being, don’t interfere with God’s plan. I wondered if that had been where Christ went wrong...perhaps he should have left lepers to die...but obviously no...he was a special case. Aha, so nobody should try and help anybody ever if they have a problem or are suffering. No one should help their own children, no doctors or surgeons...but priests are allowed because the intermediaries through whom the pious live vicariously are essential workers. Great parable. If you believe in God, don’t help anyone else. That’s the story of Christ eh?

The man who told me the story also said Donald was a great guy...I need to remind him Trump has broken every single one of the Ten Commandments (apart from direct murder) The burning cross is a T for Trump... ‘The function of law and theology are the same: to keep the poor from taking back by violence what the rich have stolen by cunning’. ‘The function of theology? The recitation of the incomprehensible by the unspeakable to pick the pockets of the unthinking’. RAW. Natures God. Hilaritas Press.

The most wisdom from China since Confucius was tweeted several weeks ago to the smug frog like Nigel Farage who had written ‘Christmas cancelled. Thank you China.’ Upon which, the Middle Kingdom between Heaven and Earth replied ‘Wear a mask and stop talking s..t’. Wonderful...shame the state media Global Times then spoiled it by writing a pot/kettle article which suggested that such politicians...’care only about their political ambitions and see ordinary people as roadside grass.’ From a regime which mowed its own teenage children down in tank fire, ran over their bodies and sent the price of the bullets used in the execution of young rebels to their parents.

Meanwhile, back in the temple of ketamine far away from all that nonsense... Universe will respond non locally to my thought...All pure chance as exists cross divided in all encircling mode, arf...non-local effects...’the ‘maybe’ in between ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in Quantum Logic, of ‘solid’ ‘objects’ that are superimpositions of waves, according to one quantum model, and of ‘minds’ that are superimpositions of waves if the ‘minds’ are transactions involving brains and the brains are made of cells which are made of atoms which are made of electrons which are superimpositions of waves’. RAW THE NEW INQUISITION. Yes. And...

The hidden variable theory of consciousness asserts (1) there is a subquantal level beneath the observational/theoretical structure of ordinary quantum mechanics; (2) events occurring on this subquantal level are the elements of sentient being. Drs Walker and Herbert.

‘Consciousnesses in this model is not ‘in’ our heads. Our brains are merely local receivers ‘consciousnesses ‘is’ ‘an aspect of the non-local field’ The ‘ego’ then is the locally tuned in aspect of this usually not-tuned-in non local field.

‘...we find that our consciousness controls physical events though the laws of quantum mechanics.’ Magick. Rise in Love, ‘arouse the coiled splendour within you’ :-)

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singingpeople · 7 years

Text

For the love of Jai, a very, very serious crack-fic (seriously, it´ serious)

A little treat for Halloween! Inspired by a post you can find here and here, inspired, emotionally supported and edited by my one and only muse @beautifulramblingbrains , whose name is just coincidently sounds almost like our protagonist here. (A coincidence, nothing more. You hear me?) Have a spooky Halloween and fun with this 25 page-long monster. (Yeah, I´m that insane.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own, depraved brain that came up with this shit. And Janie. Janie´s mine.

I´m tagging all of you guy´s who I think might be interested, if not, ignore it :D

@pathybo, @iammarylastar, @b-j-d, @vitaevandal, @murmelinchen, @spiteandalice, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @captstefanbrandt, @tigpooh67

Now I´m off to do another Nanowrimo... yay.. :D

Our protagonist, Janie, wished for a man. He should be strong enough to chop the firewood and brave enough to kill all the spiders, precise enough to hit his target even though it was over five meters away which would make him the king at playing darts in the local bar. He should also be fun, someone you can steal horses with, who wasn't afraid of the law but sensible nonetheless. After all, she wanted someone she could spend a nice evening on the sofa when the snow was falling outside, the crackling fire warming the room while they drank wine from sophisticated glasses.

Yes, Janie wished upon a star that she would be graced with such a man. But little did she know that instead of the one she desired, she’d get four, the epitomes of her wish. Didn’t they always say: be careful what you wish for….

It had been raining all day long in a faraway province in the middle of England, puddles forming on the walkway between the rural farmhouse and the barn that once upon a time housed livestock but had been converted into a mere wood storage. Like most houses in the area, it was made from withered brown brick stones that had withstood the element for decades without giving way, the walls covered by Ivy slowly winding itself into the crevices. Without a doubt, it made the small farm appear as something out of a fairytale but every few years the damage it caused had to be fixed, which wasn’t cheap, especially for a young woman living all on her own, if you didn’t count her three cats and the dog, her loyal companions.

The young woman in question, whose name was Janie, a poor variation of the name Jenny (god knows what her parents were up to when they decided to name her that), was sprinting through the rain towards the front door, having retrieved a stack of firewood from the wooden barn to get the chimney started. Being the start of autumn, temperatures had dropped significantly and she was freezing all alone in her bed. She had prepared herself to get wet and she made a mad dash towards the house, the wellies on her feet splashing water from the puddles up and onto her pants, staining them with mud.

Bursting through the door she cursed out a low ‘merde’ - because it sounded better, as a cold drop of water ran down her spine and let the full basket drop, not taking into account that her foot was right beneath it. A string of curses left her potty mouth like a sailor, and she hobbled around on one leg, the other one clutched in hands. Jumping around, her shoulder met the wall and Janie let herself sink down, her foot pulsing painfully. It wasn’t the first time she wished that she had a strong companion that would have no problems chopping wood, stacking it in the barn or carry it into the house where he´d start a cozy fire, while for her it was always a matter of luck if the damn thing would even start and a matter of time until the chimney was clogged again. Brushing the wet strand of hair from her face, she let out a loud sigh before getting up and going to work, shooing her mongrel dog gently away as she tried to smother her face with love.

It took her thirty minutes and four tries to get it going so when she was finally cozy on her couch, a nice cup of tea by her side and her favorite book in hand (like for any brit that thought they were the cat´s whiskers, it, of course, was Pride and Prejudice, just like her favorite movie, the one from 2005 with the handflex™, not the one with Collin Firth) it was not long before she fell asleep. Just seconds from drifting off, mind foggy, she sent a wish upon the heavens – that they´d grant her a partner, one of those fictional men she adored that much.

Unbeknownst to her, just as she finished that thought, that heartfelt desire, the hand of the clock clicked into place at ten past ten on the tenth October, putting a process in motion that would completely and undoubtedly turn her whole life upside down.

The faraway tolling of the church bells in the village announcing the arrival of midnight stayed unheard to Janie but the deafening thunder, followed by a burst of lightning that made night day for a few long seconds, leaving an after-image burned into one's cornea. Tumbling from her position, heart beating fast, Janie looked around wildly before holding a hand against her chest, trying to calm herself down.

But the dulled thumping, followed by the dog barking had the anxiety spiking in her veins. It sounded like something in the barn had fallen over and she feared that the lightning had struck it, maybe even igniting a fire.

There was no one around but her and no chance for her to avoid going out by herself to take a look.

Cell phone clutched in hand, the dog by her side, she shrugged on her jacket and the wellies, pushing open the door of her utility room.

It had stopped raining, puddles building on the walkway that Janie tried to avoid on her way to the barn that was veiled by large pines, separating different parts of the old homestead. The barn was a little to the side and she was almost there when she heard a crash from inside as if something had kicked a stack of wood loose, sending it tumbling to the ground. Janie froze while the dog started barking violently, fur standing up.

She listened closely, on alert for a few moments but when nothing was heard she continued, slowly inching closer to the wooden door. Ear pressed to the rough surface, Janie hesitated but ultimately decided to go in there. Most likely it was just another rat, or maybe a cat that was searching for a secure place to give birth in.

The light on her phone turned on, she pushed the door open and slowly made her way inside, the small circle of light swaying over piles of wood, over to the section where she had stored the outdoor furniture for the winter. From the corner of her eye she thought to see a shadow whizzing by but when she turned around nothing was there. Walking further into the barn, she shone the light into the cracks, searching for the unfortunate animal when suddenly the door slammed shut.

Straightening up, she swayed the light around widely, searching for the trigger – the reason why it fell shut. Maybe it was the wind? Yes, of course. What else?

Heart beating out of her chest, Janie felt a shiver running down her back and suddenly she knew – she just knew that someone was watching her.

With long steps, she made her way out the door, to where her dog was, where she could call the police, or maybe that one man that always bothered her for a date. He'd be more than happy to come here and take a look.

And if there was something hiding in the barn… Well, it wouldn't be her that would get murdered... Just saying.

She heard a twig snapping right behind her but before she could react, the phone was knocked from her hand and she was grabbed from behind, pulled into a sturdy chest. Her scream of terror was muted by the hand laying over her mouth and pinching her nose shut, making it impossible for her to breathe. Struggling in earnest, she kicked behind her, hoping to get free from her attacker, but it was to no avail.

He was too strong. Too fast and cunning for her to get out of his choke-hold. But she couldn´t give up, not like that. Not now.

She couldn't die as a twenty-six-year-old who´s biggest accomplishment in life had been the graduation of college. Janie wanted to fall in love, to marry and have a child. Or three.

Then, when her life would turn mediocre in her mid-thirties, after her third mid-life crisis (since she had no idea which part of her life was the middle, she decided to have an ongoing crisis) she would get a divorce, bid that no-good-cheating-son-of-a-bitch goodbye and live off child support somewhere in the Caribbean Sea. So much the theory.

But all that and more was impossible if she died by the hands of a guy that thought shushing someone while simultaneously choking them was a good idea.

What an asshole.

Through the haze of her oxygen-deprived brain, Janie registered another movement right before the man was ripped off of her and she fell to her knees, heaving violently for air. In the same moment, someone turned on the light, like Janie should have done even before setting foot into the barn.

How silly.

Attempted murders are a lot harder in bright light. All those horror movies and she was cast as the first kill after swearing oath she never would be.

She was still crawling away from whoever it was, hoping to get to the door but she stopped short when a sturdy pair of black boots came into her line of vision. Raising her gaze slowly, she took in the military boots, over the padded black pants and the vest, to the crossed, heavily tattooed arms. From there, she studied up to the neck that was adorned by thick black bars until she finally reached his face. Her savior was definitely handsome, in a dark dangerous way. The eye-brow piercing screamed rebel, the studs in his ears though - wannabe drug dealer – or maybe one of those gangsta rappers you would find all over town nowadays.

Still, Janie couldn't help but drool a little. It was a sweet sight to die to.

He was just how she liked her guys to be; a little buff, a little hairy, but still neat, his hair styled in a way that just told her he used up at least one tube of hair gel every month. He was devilishly handsome – and the sly smile tugging up the corner of his lips told her he knew it to. Or knew that she knew. Did he know she knew that he knew?

Who knows.

Before she could admire him longer, she was flipped onto her back and came to face her assailant for the first time – and almost fainted. He looked just the same as the other guy, minus the military clothing and the tatts and piercings, but there was no doubt those two must be twins.

Shaved hair, a murderous glint in his eyes that promised pain to anyone and everyone that dared cross him - or just basically anything that crossed his path, Janie didn’t know who she should be more afraid of. But when his hand came closer, the intention clear, she knew. It was this one. He was absolutely, murderously insane.

She felt her stomach drop when he squatted down beside her, his mouth opening wide in a teeth-displaying grin. Her eyes went wide.

“Stop that!” The heavily tattooed man stepped in and shoved his doppelganger away just to push some sort of device into her face that he had just pulled from his pocket. “We can´t kill her without testing her first. Gotta make sure she's not one of them.”

“Kill me?” Janie squeaked, shuffling away from them until her back was pressed up against an old beam. “Hell no! You can't kill me! I still have cake in the fridge that I didn't eat earlier because of my calorie count! You can't kill me before I had my slice of cake!”

The tatted one only rolled his eyes, coming closer with his device until he was right in front of her. With finality, he pushed a button. It started buzzing, three metal arms appearing along with something akin to a hologram. But before it could emerge it was knocked out of his hand from what looked like a giant flying stick that flew in a wide curve and back to where it came from. Standing on top of a six foot four high pile of wood, a man plucked it right from the air and Janie started to think she must be going insane because he looked like the homeless version of the other two. His clothes tattered, a beard that didn't really deflect one´s attention from his black eye, in his hand a fucking boomerang.

What the bloody hell?

"Fuck! That was our only prototype!" The tattooed man snarled, picking up the shattered piece of metal. Another crack was heard when his hand tightened around the handle, eyes narrowing dangerously in on the culprit. "Now I have no way of knowing if she's Divergent! Jeanine´s going to kill me, you incompetent fool!"

“Keep ya socks on.” Janie shrunk back, willing herself to wake up from his absurd dream when the heavily bearded one wearing a… trench coat, scrunched up his face and scratched his head a little lost. “I thought that was one of these things that make ma head explode, ya know? ...My bad.”

“My socks? My socks are on my fucking feet but my fucking screener is broken, you… what the fuck even are you anyway?!” Throwing his arm back, he hurled it towards the homeless version of himself who just barely managed to dodge it. They would have bickered on if not for a movement capturing their attention.

“What is this?” Another shadow emerged and Jeanie almost lost it, before she resigned with a heavy sigh when he stepped into the light. It´s was another one with the same features, the only difference that he was dressed in scrubs and his hair a little longer than the guy who had tried to kill her. His face was serious, almost fearful when he grabbed the phone from the ground, turning it in his hand.

“Skynet… Skynet…”

Jeez, he had a real case of the jitterbugs.

Suddenly, without warning, he threw his arm back and slammed it against the wall where it shattered into pieces. Janie jumped, eyes growing wide when she realized what he just did. Everyone stopped to stare at him.

“That was my phone!”

“Really, bud? Are you bonkers?” The scruffy one that was perched on a pile of wood like a predator ready to jump, shook his head.

The Skynet looney didn't listen, an almost crazed expression taking over his face. He raked his hands through his hair, tugging harshly. Walking up and down, he mumbled to himself while everyone´s eyes were trained on him. Leaning forwards, Janie tried to catch it.

“It's here… It's seen me… How do I… What about Sar- OH, SARAH!” He stopped, eyes wide looking right at her.

“My name´is Janie…” Pointing at herself, she started to ask herself if her drink earlier had really just been tea. Maybe she had swallowed hallucinogens… or maybe she was going off the rails, bonkers like the scruffy one had so fittingly pointed out.

Stopping to stare at her, he stuttered.

“I… I don´t… SKYNET!”

“Alright.” Crossing his arms, Mr. tattoo shook his head in exasperation. “This one's clearly broken. But I could have told you that judging from the haircut alone… Seriously, man. Ever heard of hair gel? Even bush-boy over there is ahead of your rank.”

Scrunching up his eyebrows, the two of them stared at each other. “Skynet has taken over the whole world. How on earth am I supposed to get hair gel? I need mechanical parts... to build my time machine!”

"Well, that proves it, an absolute nutjob." Tatt's crossed his arms, scoffing to the others around him. "I'm supposed to be searching for Divergents and kicking Four´s ass, but you don't hear me whimpering over some time machine, do you?"

“Four? How are ya supposed ta kick a number?” The scruffy one questioned from his alleviated place.

“It´s his name.” He grumbled, flexing his jaw.

“Really?” Piped in the other one that had been awfully quiet if you didn’t count the attempted murder. His smirk was shiver-inducing. “What happened? One through three were taken?”

Slowly, the corners of the tattooed one's lips were rising until he wore an identical smirk. There was no doubt that these two must be brother´s; clones, or something like that. Janie was frighteningly overwhelmed, all she could do was stare from one to the other.

Before they could continue to talk about Skynet's, numbers, or for god´s sake, boomerangs, she stepped forward. With no real difference between the four of them, she would first have to know how to address them before kindly asking them to leave her barn.

“So,” She stepped in when the tattooed one opened his mouth. “It is really nice here, in the barn... after midnight... in October... but don't you think we should… wrap this up, yes?” When she got affirmative nods, she gave them a tense smile that was more of a grimace. “Great… so we have a Skynet, a boomerang, a mass-murderer and…” She turned to the tattooed one and stared at him expectantly. He looked like a biker, or one of those strange guy´s that were in gangs, tattoos and all.

“A Leader,” he called himself.

"And a leader. Great. Fantastic" Walking backward, she inconspicuously made her way towards the door, gripping the handle. "Well, it was nice meeting y´all but I really have to –"

Turning, she came to face a sturdy chest and stumbled backward, away from those murderous eyes. The guy had already tried to kill her and once was enough for the day.

“Charlie,” he spoke, voice dark. “My name´s Charlie and I´m a construction worker for a German company. That´s what I do. All that I do.”

“That´s… nice,” Janie squeaked, feeling more than slightly threatened.

Walking backward, she stumbled into another sturdy chest. Whirling around, she came to face the leader guy cocking his head at her. “You were going somewhere?”

"Yeah…" she spluttered. "I have work in the morning, so… you know, the early bird catches the worm!" She swung her arm enthusiastically with the saying, trying to keep it cheerful.

“Early bird?...Great. Whatever. Since we are here with no way of getting back to the city… or wherever the hell they came from, it would be nice of you to show us our sleeping accommodations.”

Janie´s eyes widened. “Sleep – you want to sleep here?!”

"´ course, sweetheart." The boomerang guy grinned, jumping off the pile. He landed with a grace she wouldn't have expected from him. "I spent the last three years in a shithol´ before they shipped ma to Arkham. I would kill for a burger.”

Not liking his punctuation of the word killing, Janie gave him another one of her grimace-like smiles. “A burger… at one am in the morning…”

“I´m hungry, too,” piped up the one in the blue scrubs before awkwardly scratching his head.

“Yeah… Didn't she say something about cake earlier?” A voice coming directly from behind her had Janie jump which only made the tattooed one smirk, Charlie rolling his eyes.

“My cake – ” Janie protested but was cut off by the emo-version.

“Cake sounds fantastic. I hope it´s chocolate.” With an elaborate gesture of his arms, he stepped away from the door, clearing the path. “Lead the way.”

Shell-shocked by the happenings, Janie did not even think about protesting this time and pushed the door open, inhaling deeply the cold autumn air. Sadly, trying to make her hallucinations disappear did not work. Trudging after her, boots loud on the leaves, she led the four identical but so entirely different men to her house. After all, if they wanted to kill her, they could have done that in the barn, so why not let them into the house too?

She just hoped her cake would survive.

Turns out, Janie did not get her piece of cake. To be honest, after the four grown men were finished with her fridge, the only thing left was an old package of blue cheese that was well over three months old. They didn’t even leave her her peanut butter, those bastards.

At least she found out their names.

Charlie she already knew, after all, he had tried to choke her. She wouldn't forget him that soon.

The one clad in black; who had saved her life, was Eric. The other, Kyle, who still appeared rather disturbed. He was cowered away in the farthest corner of her kitchen, eyeing all of her electronic devices as if they would come to life at any second. She had to roll her eyes at that. They weren't in Transformers after all.

But if you asked Janie, a self-cooking oven was what she dreamed of at night.

For Kyle, she had gone through her father´s old shirt, not being able to stand the pitiful sight of him in hospital scrubs. Now he was wearing old jogging pants and a tattered shirt that stretched too tight over his arms. Despite his anxious appearance, she had to admit he did have muscles.

Lastly, there was Boomer, or Captain Boomerang, or George ‘Digger’ Harkness, or daddy; like he had asked her to call him followed by a raaawr and a low purred ‘Kitten’.

If Janie hadn´t been doubtful of his - how should we say it - mental state, that would have had her almost convinced that something wasn´t quite right with the fellow. But what happened after letting her know he belonged nowhere else but in an asylum. Where he most likely came from. Perhaps grown up and raised, like in one of those bad horror movies.

There was an old unicorn hidden away in her storage room where she had kept the mattresses for them to sleep on, and as soon as he saw the pink, fluffy unicorn, he lunged for it, shoving Charlie into an old closet. He hasn´t laid it down ever since; even took it with him into the bathtub, something Janie practically had to force onto him. But with Eric´s help, who blatantly refused to sleep beside him for a whole night while he was smelling like rotten fruit, it was manageable.

Janie felt more than a little insane for even entertaining the idea of letting all four of them live with her, but surprisingly, it worked out quite well and in the meantime, she learned a lot about her new subtenants.

Boomer, unsurprisingly came from the country down under which she had already guessed from his accent, not to mention the strange phrases he used. Busted after knocking his partner in crime out in the middle of the bank they had robbed by a guy in a red, leather body suit, he had been shipped to the US to play hero. But after watching his friend's head getting blown away; which he described with the most gruesome details, he suddenly found himself in the barn with no knowledge of how he had gotten there.

The same with Eric.

Just like the Captain, he was a lot more full of himself than Janie liked a man to be, boasting and gloating like a parading cock. From what she understood, he was a leader of some sorts in a city that had been cut off from the outside for hundreds of years and was divided into groups, based on their genetic information. Whoever came up with that shit had no idea how genes really work, just saying.

All in all, he was a cocky arrogant bastard, but Janie couldn't help but find him attractive either way. There was just something about bad boys. But this one also had a brain.

From the other two, she had neither heard nor seen very much after that first evening. Kyle had been suspiciously silent, even while shoveling food into his mouth, the other´s starting to bring out the big guns. Not the muscles on their arms, no they were pretty similar, but their real ones.

Charlie, a company worker from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and the only one that seemed to be from this century, as well as not an alternate timeline, prided himself into fabricating all his bullets by himself, as well as being a sniper. In fact, he had found his rifle and a full case of bullets in the barn where he had appeared. Janie had wanted to forbid him to bring it into the house, but Oh, well… Arguing with a psychotic gunman that had the rifle in hand wasn't that high on her life-goals list. In the end, they banned it into the attic to where he disappeared at once and did not come out for two days straight.

Eric´s gun, on the other hand, was a small one; almost like a child's toy but its deadly firing power was not to be questioned. Especially not when he started describing the initiation process – and how much he hated one of his co-workers.

Janie could relate, she too wished to eliminate tattletale of the office, a woman named Patrice that was annoyingly persistent in wanting to be her friend.

It got problematic however when Boomer started to display his weapons, a wide range of boomerangs hidden in the depths of his trench coat that he never took off. Not sure if it was an accident or a spontaneous burst of insanity but he pressed the button on one of the explosives. He had to haul his ass out the kitchen and into the garden, only just managing to hurl it away before it exploded against her favorite tree, smashing the old oak into pieces. The only reason the thing didn’t catch fire was the storm the night before, a sheen layer of wetness coating the bark and preventing a disaster.

Either way, the police came to investigate, alarmed by a frightened neighbor that had heard the bang even though he lived the quarter of an hour away. While Janie was busy placating them, because no, no one here blew anything up, three of the anarchists hid in the potato cellar while the other one just... vanished.

Later, and after being creeped out by the strange noises coming from under her stairs she would find him, curled up in a nest of blankets in the cupboard under the stairs, where he hid cables and machine parts. As soon as Janie poked her head through the door, cautious because she still hadn´t forgotten what happening in Conjuring, Kyle threw one of the blankets over his stuff, hiding it from her before screaming at her to get out.

Janie had only once witnessed such an outburst when her mother walked in on her brother with his inflatable girlfriend, an event that was never talked but always snickered about on family reunions, even long after he managed to score himself a real one.

So in all, the only time she heard or saw anything from Kyle was when he sneaked out to the fridge at eleven in the evening and really early in the morning. She was pretty sure he had not showered once yet and that the suspiciously yellow looking bottle beside him wasn´t filled with soda.

The thought alone made Janie shudder.

She was currently taking a long, hot shower to calm her nerves. Living with four full-grown men that either behaved like teenagers or sociopaths was too much even for her. When she had moved out from home with eighteen to attend college, she thought she never had to share her bath with an ape again (with ape she meant her three brothers that were equally loud and hairy as the former speciesism), still, here she was. Again.

Not only had Charlie come in unannounced and used the toilet before her very own eyes but not even ten minutes in, an ear-shattering scream had her flying out the bathroom, only covered with a towel.

Worried that someone had been seriously hurt, she sprinted to where she thought the scream to have come from and already expected to see a young woman pierced with one of Charlie's bullets, after all, which man had such a high-pitched voice?

Following the shouting, all she found was the Captain shouting profanities and Eric releasing a knife with a calculating smirk pulling up his lip.

The blade whizzed past Janie´s head, only centimeters away and landed with a dull thud that was followed by another outcry from his doppelganger.

“C’mon, man! Ya can´t do that! What has pinky eva done to ya?”

Eric rolled his eyes, flicking around yet another blade in his hand. “It´s pink.”

“Mate, It´s a unicor- NO!”

Flinching a second time, Janie clutched her towel to her chest, her voice coming out as a whizz. “What are you doing?”

“Target practice.” Eric´s wandering eyes were not lost on her and Janie felt herself blush a little, realizing that the skimpy towel just barely covered her ass. This fact was not lost on him, his smirk broadening.

“Thank fuck ya´re here!” Boomer threw his hands in the air before grabbing her, giving a few good shakes. “He´s killin’ ma unicorn! You gotta help me!”

“Alright, alright!” Freeing herself from his grasp, Janie made sure all her lady-parts were covered before turning to Eric, giving him her sternest gaze. “Give him pinky back.”

“You´re not serious, are you?” When his long hard stare was met by her long hard stare, he shook his head, chuckling sarcastically.

“Eric.” Cocking her hips to the side, she tried to not think about the fact that she was almost naked and he a very, very attractive man. Instead, she channeled her inner Oprah, despite the fact that she was dripping on the carpet. "How about you give him pinky back and instead use a… a ham or something like that! I don´t know…" When he raised one eyebrow at her, Janie threw her hands in the air.

Hand.

Janie threw her hand in the air, the other one clutching the towel tightly. She wouldn´t give the two of them a peep show. Even if Boomer was just interested in the wounded unicorn that was pinned to the wall with a knife in his abdomen.

“Just give him back the damn stuffy!”

“Fine.” His change in attitude was so fast, it gave Janie whiplash. Boomer sprinted towards the wall to free the wounded unicorn. Crocodile tears gathered in his eyes as he took in the damage left behind by three sharp blades, the stuffing starting to spill out. Reacting immediately before those two could start WW 3 in her living room, Janie promised to sew it up if he waited in the kitchen.

When he was gone, Janie turned to Eric. “You are really mean, you know?”

“I guess.” Scrunching up his face, he shrugged his shoulders. “But that´s usually how the girls like me.”

“Well, certainly not me.” Janie declared, staring at him challenging. Eric took a step closer, intense eyes almost scorching her.

“We´ll see.” His eyes raking over her semi-naked form, Eric could no longer suppress a smirk.

“Nice packaging for your fanny you got there. You should think about investing in some panties.”

With one last chuckle, he was gone, leaving a shell-shocked Janie that was scrambling to cover herself and her bald fanny behind. Finally alone, she sunk down on the couch and covered her eyes with her hands.

Only a week living with those anarchists and she was already well on the way to the looney bin. This level of stress definitely called for a night in her favorite PJ’s, a sweater mess of fluff and comfort that always made her feel like a fluffy bunny. Well, rather a fluffy bunny than a bald fa- you know what I mean.

At least she didn’t have to worry about Boomer anymore.

As soon as she patched the unicorn up, he was back to his old, rambunctious self – not the whinny little girl she had got to meet. When he started to rip the door to the closet under the stairs open just to scream ‘Karry Rotter in the cupboard under the stairs!' (so it really had been slutty Hermione) and run away, cackling like the maniac he is, Janie was almost tempted to behead the unicorn and leave it on his pillow. But she had heard to many horror stories about what kinds of animals were at home in Australia.

And she much rather have a unicorn called pinky in the house than a boa constrictor called choker.

Later that week, Janie had a date. Neither did she want to call it a date, nor did she like the guy, but Jean-Luke was an unpleasantly persistent guy. Countless times he had asked her out, seemingly taking every rejection in stride and still, his wounded puppy-dog eyes haunted. No longer able to ignore him – or his advances – she had accepted, unwillingly but he didn't care.

If one bad date would be enough to keep him from ‘accidentally meeting’ her at the theater and following her home, even though she knew he had in the past, then so be it.

If it should not be enough, there still was a psychopath sitting in her attic right now, thirsting for murder. She had no doubt in mind he knew how to make it look like an accident.

As six o’clock approached, Janie was just done applying one last coat of mascara, grabbed her clutch and made her way downstairs, careful to not trip over her heels as she descended the stairs, the clicking of her shoes heard through the whole house.

It drew Eric from the kitchen where he, face contorted in his usual scowl, tried to get the popcorn machine to work. There was another one of those secret agent movies and he was determined to watch them all.

But when he arrived in the hallway, bowl in hand and ready to snap at her, the sight in front of him was enough to shut him up.

The woman, who he usually only knew to be clad in amity jeans and those insanely strange fluffy pajamas that made him want to throw up, stood a few stairs above him, a small black number hugging every delicious curve of her body, her usually straight blonde hair pinned up in an intricate up-do, accentuating her simple but elegant make-up. When she looked up, blue eyes meeting grey ones, the only thing being heard was the bowl falling, shattering into a thousand pieces.

While they both stared at each other, Eric transfixed, Janie startled, everything around them exploded in chaos.

“Burglars! Hide yo’ loot!” The Captain came crashing into the hallway from his hide-out in the utility room, one of his explosive boomerangs raised high above his head while the red spot appearing on Eric´s chest announced Charlie´s arrival with the silence of a skilled killer. How he made his way down from the attic where he had laid low on the floor, scouting the grounds around the old farm through the lens of his semi-automatic weapon, his finger always on the trigger, was a mystery to them all.

Realizing there was no danger around, Charlie rolled his eyes and put the gun down while the Captain furrowed his brow, after wildly looking around but finding no one that tried to steal his treasures.

“Oi! What was that for, you wonker? I almost blew us all to shit, ya –”

He trailed off as he noticed the woman in front of him. Trying to cover up his freak out, he propped one hand against the wall, with the other trying to tame his unruly beard.

“Yo, doll, ya going somewhere?”

Before Janie could answer him, Eric had already pushed him away with an inauspicious but painful shove to the ribs, trying to get her attention back. But by now, all four of them were vying for her attention. Yes, I said four.

Even Kyle stuck out his head from the cupboard, the thought of having to destroy an evil A.I. forgotten at his first sight of creamy white thighs.

It made her a little uncomfortable having all of these strange men staring at her intensely so the knock on the door came just at the right time.

The only problem, that Eric was the first to answer, the Captain lurking around in the background, scaring the poor lad that was standing there with exactly four daisies in hand. If we were in a comic, the sight of the bulky, tattooed, as well as the hairy burglar-like men towering over his form, would have the flowers wilt on the spot but as it is, he only swallowed heavily, glad the exit behind him was clear.

Well, until the Captain stepped forward and clasped his back almost painfully. Still, it was the tattooed one that addressed him.

“You must be Janie's friend. We've all been waiting for you.”

“You… you were?” he stuttered, thinking that maybe he was at the wrong house. After all, Janie did not live with guys that looked like

a) An underground fighter

b) Some wannabe rapper that made his money with burglaries and drugs just to spend it on prostitutes after

And c) a creepy guy staring down the stairs while inauspiciously shoving something away from his line of sight.

And was this… did that guy really just come from the cupboard under the stairs?! What was this, freaking Harry Potter and the mob?!

“Of course.” Eric shoved Boomer out of the way, pulling Jean-Luke inside where he led him through the hallway into the kitchen. Janie only managed an awkward smile before he was gone again. When Charlie pushed past, she unfroze, hurrying after them as fast as her heels allowed it.

The sight that greeted her when she came into the kitchen was vying for the spot of the strangest encounter of her life, competing with the night she found the four anarchists in the barn of course.

Eric had politely forced Jean-Luke into a chair on the dinner table, taking a seat opposite of him while Kyle, being the only one that had mechanic experience battled with the coffee-machine, because that's what you do when you want to appear friendly. You invite people for a coffee.

Janie´s date looked utterly lost, eyes frantically flitting between the four men that all looked strangely similar. Did Janie have secret quadruple brothers?

He was convinced, avoiding the stare of the tattooed man, just to catch the eyes of another that was staring at him with what he could only describe as bloodlust. When the third started cackling to himself while picking his fingernails, he thought to himself that the one operating the coffee maker must be the normal one of the lot. That was until he placed a cup of brown water in front of his face with a satisfied smile.

All the poor man was able to do was smile back awkwardly. Whatever the hell their problem was. Every single one of them looked as if they lifted steel beams in the morning and whole cars in the evening.

“So…” Eric drawled, sending Kyle with a move of his hand to stand in the opposite corner of the room. “You wanna take Jan out, right?”

“Yes, that was the plan.” Trying to come over as the honest and hard-working man he is, Jean-Luke mirrored Eric´s stance, hands folded on the table and leaning forwards. But all he got in return was a disdainful glance from the man in front of him and a snicker from the Captain that had made himself at home on the old bench, busy inspecting what seemed to be his toenails.

“And where do you want to take her?” Hand closed around the cup in front of him, Eric´s tone was almost bored but like always the glint in his eyes gave him away. He was more than just interested.

Behind him at the other side of the room, Kyle took a sip from his cup and immediately spit it out again, all over Charlie´s shoes who retaliated with a muffled curse and a hit over the head.

“Ehh, there's this…” Ripping his gaze away from the strange scene before him, Jean-Luke’s focus switched over to the block tattoos that adorned his neck, asking himself how the man could have lived through so much pain. He only had one tattoo of his own, a little fairy on his right butt cheek, a reminder to never bet on anything while drunk – especially not on ducks.

...Don´t even ask.

“There's this new restaurant that just opened in town. We got reservations in like, thirty minutes, so we have to leave soon…”

“Yeah, right. And you will have her back before midnight?” Recoiling in surprise, Jean-Luke furrowed his brows.

“No offense, but are you her brother´s or something like that?” He laughed awkwardly, trying to hide how uncomfortable he felt in their presence but trailed off quickly when no one joined him.

“Something like that.” Eric tilted his head and Jean-Luke suddenly got the feeling that he just failed an important interview. He stayed basically iced onto the chair while the other men started trickling out of the room one after another, Eric stopping in the threshold to fix him with one last stare.

“Midnight, yeah?”

“Yes, of course!” He jumped at the opportunity to reassure him. “She´ll be back way before then… Not way, no, but in time. Yes, just in time.”

Alone in the kitchen, Jean-Luke rambled on and on while Janie stood in the other room, earning herself a wink from the Captain and the rare sight of Eric wearing a self-satisfied smirk. Those were usually kept for himself.

“Good luck with that one.” Bending over, Eric´s mouth was right beside her ear, breath washing over her face. “You'll definitely need it.”

With another chuckle, that was worthy of a real villain, he followed his three doppelgangers into the depths of the house while Janie stayed back, already exhausted before the night had even started.

Closing her eyes in horror, she rubbed her forehead as she relived every single word that had been spoken in her once tranquil kitchen that was slowly being taken over by a bunch of wildlings.

She was in for a long night.

The date went to hell, or should she say to the doppelgangers. Not that Janie had wanted to go out in the first place, but spending the whole night being badgered with questions like ‘Who were they?’ or ‘Where did they come from’ made it even worse. But when Jean-Luke asked if they were here for a porn production she had just had enough. Cutting their date short may have just been the best thing she experienced the whole week.

Well, except, of course, the day before. She and the three (Kyle was hiding in the closet under the stairs again; all she heard from under there were mechanical clunks and a few groans and Janie hoped it was because he had hit his head, not something else) guys went grocery shopping. She had had enough, having to carry around heavy bags when she had three guys of which not one skipped leg day, and it was obvious.

Not just to her but also to the other women from the village who were out for their weekly errands. Janie had never gotten so many scandalous stares, but at least every one of them was envious.

Envious that she had three guys at home, men that helped with the shopping while theirs were wasting away on their couches, beer in one hand, the remote in the other. She would bet that at least half of them would trade their husbands (and bag-sized dogs) in for one night with one of her men.

Little did they know, that Eric got up every morning at six am, made scrambled eggs and coffee, only for himself, before training until his shirt was soaked through, stinking up her whole garage.

That Charlie, ever since he found his sniper, spent most of his days lying in the attic with his gun, scouting out the area.

That Kyle had created something akin to a lair beneath her stairs, stealing blankets and disassembling her electronic devices because he was searching for parts to build a time machine with.

That the Captain liked to strip down naked and walk through the house. Or that she was convinced he had used her laptop to watch porn. OR, that she discovered it really was a slutty version of Hermione, giving head to the headmaster.

Yeah, living with them wasn't as great as one would have thought.

After three weeks of Boomer lounging around in front of the TV with his hand in his sweatpants (yuck), Charlie building a fort in her attic, Eric having a mental breakdown because he had nothing or no one to beat up and Kyle being holed up in the cupboard that started to emit a strange smell, not even mentioned the clanks and cluttering at night, Janie had enough. She needed a whole day just to herself, with no suggestive glances, no bitching about pointless stuff and especially no guns.

Just this morning, Charlie´s gun went off in the middle of breakfast. He almost shot Kyle in the ass and managed to destroy her favorite vase, so they had to go. All of them. Just for a few short hours of uninterrupted me-time.

Janie asked herself if that´s what motherhood felt like and she seriously hoped not.

To send them out, exploring the wilderness around the cottage was just one of the best things she could have done.

A long, relaxing bath, a good book and several chocolate bars later she felt as if she could deal with the whole bunch again. She even had the time to clean the cupboard, exchange a few of the blankets, leftover food from two weeks ago and the full bottle that most certainly was not lemonade (double-yuck). The other thing she found was mechanical parts, lots of them, that have been assembled to a one-foot-high round device, that seemed to be a work in progress. Shifting through the parts, Janie could have sworn that at least one of them belonged into her washing machine that suspiciously stopped working a few day´s ago. As well as her clock, her cell phone, and the remote control.

That bastard.

The only reason he must have left the TV alone was, that Boomer would have skinned him alive. His new-found love for soccer instead of cricket made him a little more violent than usual. Well, as long as it made Kyle happy and prevent him from going off the rails, she was okay with it. The washing machine needed replacement either way.

However much she loved the solitude, after dust was setting in, Janie began to worry. What if they got lost on their way home. Or worse, got arrested for trying to rob the local bank? God knows they have the skills for it. Kyle would be the one to keep watch, Charlie would take out the security as stealthy as a snake, Boomer would break open the bank vault and Eric would help carry the loot.

The longer Janie thought about it, the more vivid her imagination became and she was just about to jump up and go search for them, maybe on the police station, when the front door opened.

Face red from the chilly autumn air, Kyle was the first to come in, closely followed by Eric and the other two. Janie breathed a sigh of relief because neither of them looked bruised or battered in any way. Them killing each other would have been the second point on her very long list.

But the relief was short-lived because Boomer opened his coat to expose a cat nestled into his warmth. As if on cue, the other three stretched out their arms, presenting Janie three mini-me´s of the big one. Kittens.

Where the hell did they get kittens?

“Where the hell did you get kittens?” Janie asked quite loudly, already fearing the worst.

“Found them on the street. Don´t worry, we didn’t steal them.” Eric rolled his eyes, putting his kitten back into his pocket.

“This little mama was screamin’ for meh to get her. Look at that fluff!” The Captain raked his finger´s through her fur and was promptly rewarded by a loud purring. “She´s purrin’ louder for me than most of me kittens.”

A resonating groan echoed through the room and Janie scrunched up her face. She had always hated when someone called her that. But she had no doubt that most of the women Boomer associated with liked to do strange things in the bedroom. The tales she heard could never be forgotten. They were burned into her memory so deep, not even bleach would help.

“Can we keep them?”

“No – what? No!” Janie heaved a frustrated sigh, raking a hand over her face. “We can´t keep them.” Four heads snapped up, varying between shock and anger.

“Why not?” Charlie questioned, his unnerving gaze trailed onto her.

“Just… because!” Janie stuttered, trying to come up with a valid reason. “Because… the dog doesn´t like cats! That´s it. And we all don´t want kitten kebab, right?”

The looks being thrown her way almost made her feel as if she was the kitten murder. It didn´t help that in the same moment the dog came in, trotted over to where Boomer held the mother and gave her a lick before laying down on his bed.

Janie felt her resolve crack under their accusing stares. She threw her hands in the air.

“Fine! Keep them.” Pointing with her finger at them, she narrowed her eyes. “But you will be cleaning the litter tray!”

It turned out, that keeping those smoll fluff balls of love may have just been the best that´s happened to Janie in the last month. Boomer finally had an occupation of his time, instead of just watching TV and drinking beer he spent most of the time in the laundry room where the kittens could toll around freely. The mother-cat, with the new-found name Miss Dixy, was in love with him.

If she didn´t look after her babies, she slept curled in his lap, or on his chest, wherever she could. Eric was enamored with the complete black little tomcat, claiming that he matched his clothes while Charlie always carried around the orange-striped one that he´d named Sandy, after a long-lost love.

Even Kyle came crawling out of the cupboard for an hour a day to watch them roll around and play. Not once had Janie heard Boomer call him Karry Rotter after that.

They all seemed to get along.

One afternoon, just a week shy of Halloween, Janie was sitting in her kitchen, reading through the daily paper when Eric joined her. Looking up, she raised her eyebrows.

“Where are Tweedledee and Tweedledum? I thought you were a package deal?”

"Not today." He suppressed a snicker. "Miss Dixie peed on his coat, right onto pinky."

“Oh no!” Janie groaned. “And Kyle dissembled the washing machine…”

“Yeah, he´s been scrubbing and whining the past twenty minutes.” No matter how much he tried to hide it, Janie saw the satisfaction ghosting over Eric´s face. Stepping closer to the cabinets, he pulled out a pan. “You already ate?”

“Nope. Just wanted to start cooking.” Getting up with a sigh, Janie was not prepared to be pushed back into her chair. When she whirled around, Eric´s face was unreadable.

“We all know I´m a better cook anyway.”

“Oh, really?” Janie raised her eyebrow and sat back. “Then let´s see.”

And see she did.

With a grace that was reserved only for dancer´s and the masters of material arts, Eric made his way through the kitchen, pulling out herbs and other ingredients as he went. Within minutes the mouthwatering smell of well-prepared food floated the kitchen. Janie´s eyes not once left his body.

With her chin leaned on the backrest, she spoke what she had thought countless times these past few weeks.

“You know, you always insist that you´re so scary. But honestly, you´re not half bad.”

Eric let out a loud, carefree laugh. Grabbing a pinch of salt, he poured it over the dish, turning off the stove

“That´s what she said.” With a wink, he shoveled the omelet onto the plate and placed it in front of her. “Bon Appétit.”

While she stared at the plate flabbergasted, he was already gone, vanished in the depths of the old cottage. Janie felt a strange tweak in her chest. She had never had a man cook for her, nonetheless in such a casual way. As if they did this every day.

A nice, kinda warmish feeling.

Curious, if the omelet would taste as good as it looked, Janie picked up the fork and took a bite. When the flavors exploded on her tongue, she had to suppress a moan. It was even better.

“Jan, ya there?”

She looked up from her book, furrowing her brow at the Captain's strange behavior; acting like a little boy surely did not suit him.

“Yes, what can I help you with?” Closing the book, she cocked her head at him when he started rubbing his neck.

"Ya see… there´s a…" He scrunched up his nose, bowing forward towards her ear. The last thing he wanted was the other buggers to hear him talk about his tallywhacker. He didn't discriminate between men and women but this would go a little far, even for him. Making sure one last time no one was around, he whispered at her. "There´s a bushfire going on, you know, down there…”

Blinking incredibly, Janie´s stare wandered from his face to the bulge right in front of her face that he covered with one of his hands, obviously scratching his itch right in front of her face. Before she could regain her countenance, Eric strode into the room, a book of his own in hand. Barely sparing the two of them a glance, he went over to the cabinet and poured himself a drink while the Captain squirmed uncomfortably in his spot, trying to be inconspicuous. But with years of experience around crabby teens - no pun intended - Eric knew exactly what was going on.

Turning around, he leaned against the wooden shelf, taking a sip of his drink, keeping a straight face despite the burn in his throat he asked casually.

“You shagged a sheep?”

Sputtering, the Captain straightened up, looking at the other man in horror. " ‘course not! Whatcha talkin ‘bout?! My willy´s going nowhere near a jumbuck! I´m not that toey!"

“Really?” Eric raised one eyebrow, hiding his smirk behind the rim of the tumbler. “Never looked at one thinking it was a good root?” Eric taunted him further, enjoying easy prey in the bastard way.

“No!” Boomer called out again, his face immediately falling as he stumbled over his words, shooting the woman in front of him a quick glance. Every chance of getting her for a good shag just flew outta the window. “But… There was this orange…” he surrendered, trailing off.

Janie stilled in her seat, suddenly realizing why she had found at least three different oranges with only holes in them laying around in her utility room. She shuddered violently, thinking about how she touched them. Of course, it hadn't been the dog!

“So…” Eric trailed off before coming straight to the point. “You decided to fuck an orange?”

“The computer told meh to!” the Captain cried out, glancing at the shocked woman to his side. “I was searching fer vids when SheepShagger69 told me to just make a hole and put it intah the microwave!”

“I know. I found your browser history.” Eric rolled his eyes, shaking his head. But when he fixed the Captain with another stare, he could no longer suppress a smirk. “You know, Janie really has a nice collection of rosehips. Luckily, she freed them from all of their seeds because they itch like hell…”

Both Janie and the Captain understood the underlying message in the same moment and she watched Boomer's face slowly turning red as he realized what exactly Eric had done, a malevolent glint sparkling in his eyes that promised manslaughter.

“YA FUCKING PUT ITCHING POWDER INTO MA ORANGE?!”

Not a second after the words had left his mouth, Boomer lunged for him, knocking him straight into the old oak wood wardrobe and both went down. All Janie could do was watch first in horror, then slowly resignation took over while both men were swinging at each other, rolling around and bumping into the furniture.

Without another word, she got up and left with a new resolve. Never again would she buy anything fragile and never, ever in her life would she touch something she didn’t know where it came from.

Or where it had been.

Clad with the laundry basket under her arm, Janie was on her way to her bedroom. Because the washing machine was out of order, she had to use the antique laundry tub in the second, older barn. Not only did her hands burn from the hard, unusual work but her whole appearance was in disarray, being splashed with water for so often. That was, why when Kyle called her name she was reluctant to go see him. A shower sounded so much better.

But because she was such a great person and he never really bothered her, Janie turned around and gave him a smile.

“What can I help you with?”

Scratching his head, Kyle seemed to have no idea where to start. “I want you to know that I appreciate it, everything you´ve done for us. I mean, the cooking, the cleaning up after us, washing our clothes by hand… By the way, sorry for that.” Scrunching up his nose, he gestured towards the basket that she had cocked up on her hips. “I just… I think it´s time for me to go home.”

“Go home?” Janie questioned a little confused, setting the basket on the floor so she could focus on Kyle. “How would you do that?”

“You see, I´ve been working on the solution for the past few weeks now and I finally got it right.”

“So you´re leaving?” Janie asked, only realizing how upset she sounded when she had already spoken. Kyle gave her a sad smile.

“Yes.”

"Oh, okay…" Lost, Janie had no idea what she should do until she was suddenly enveloped by a pair of sturdy arms. Reciprocating his hug, she realized that even though he was a lot skinnier than Boomer, for example, he could most likely still crush a small vehicle with that muscles of his.

“I´m going to miss you.”

And she spoke the truth. Over those four weeks, she had known those four anarchists, she somehow got to like every single one of them, even Charlie, though he still scared her sometimes. She had got accustomed to the metallic clattering in the dead hours of the night, as well as bursts of steam wafting through the slits. If Janie wouldn´t have known a mechanic was working in the cupboard under the stars, she could have mistaken it for a wizard.

Pressing her against his chest one last time, Kyle released her.

„You´re really nice, and I would love to stay for a little bit longer but...“

"Sarah." Janie nodded, giving him a warm smile. In the few hours, he had spent with her in the living room while the others were out wreaking havoc she had gotten to hear quite a bit of her. And even though he didn´t know her all that much, Janie knew he was head over heels."

A smile tugged up the corners of his mouth, a strange spark behind his eyes.

“Yeah, she´s waiting for me to come home. Well, to Los Angeles in 1987 but that´s just figures…” He stared at Janie for a long time before shrugging his shoulders. “I guess this is goodbye?”

"Yes." Giving him a sad smile, Janie took a step back. "I´m going to miss you, Kyle. You strange guy."

“I´m going to miss you too. I will think of you when I defeat Skynet.”

“You do that!” Janie laughed and picked up the basket, a small sliver of melancholia tugging in her chest. “I hope everything turns out well for you.”

“For you too. Goodbye Janie.” With one last wave, he disappeared back into the cupboard. When the door closed behind him, Janie knew she would never see him again.

The other´s found her sitting in the hallway with the basket on her lap two hours later. Veiled by white fog that came from the cupboard forty minutes ago, Eric almost stumbled over Janie´s feet, just to stop short in his path and be run over by Boomer. Shooting him a glare, he perched down in front of Janie, scrutinizing her face closely.

“Everything´s alright?”

“He´s gone.” Was all she answered, cocking her head.

“Who´s gone?” Charlie inquired before shoving Boomer out of his way and the door to the cupboard open. A new surge of smoke wafted into his face, making him cough. But when it cleaned up enough for him to see, he turned around with furrowed brows. “He´s gone.”

“I know.” Janie sighed, getting up from the floor. She had heard the exact moment he left, the buzzing and whirling coming to a new high that had the house shake in its foundation. Then, all had become still. Kyle was gone. “I’ll need a new washing machine, but at least he´s home now.”

“You think so?” Eric asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, I hope so. No idea where he´d end up at if not in LA 1987." With one last look at the circular machine in the middle of the cupboard, she walked into the kitchen, all three trailing behind her like lost kittens.

“Now,” She threw open the door of the fridge. “who wants cake?”

The 31st of October, one of Jamie´s favorite holidays: Halloween.

Dressing up had always been one of her favorite past times, if it was dresses from the 18th century England, her mother´s favorite lingerie or those huge yellow blobs they called minions – it didn´t matter. As long as she was disguised so heavily not even her mom recognized her, everything was well. Or not, if you counted that time she called the police because the Babadook was haunting her house. It was an uncomfortable night and many uncomfortable days of being grounded afterward.

Still, she just loved it.

Spending the day carving a pumpkin with the three as well as trying to hide the candy from Boomer (not that many ever came out this far, but still) the hours flew by and before she knew, dusk was settling in, an eerie feeling adding to the spooky atmosphere. Having put the men in charge of installing the pumpkin light chains, an effortless try to tire Boomer out for the night, Janie was busy finishing up the pumpkin-spice soup when she heard the tell-tale slamming shut of the front door.

Raised voices alerted her that something was wrong. Pulling off the apron, she hurried into the foyer.

Squaring up to each other, Boomer and Charlie were facing off, the gunmen’s skin flushing a dangerous shade of red. “You stabbed me!”

Holding up his bleeding hand for all to see, Janie´s eyes widened in disbelieving.

“T’was an accident!” Boomer shouted back, no feelings of guilt marring his conscious.

Gritting his jaw, Charlie took a step closer, pointing his finger into Boomer´s face. “Twice!”

Diverting his stare at the ceiling, Boomer scrunched up his face in concentration. After a short moment, he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, two accident´s.”

“You little…!” Charlie´s advances at Boomer were intercepted by Eric stepping in between, doing nothing but stare at him. Seizing him up, for a moment it seemed as if Charlie would try to take him on too but ultimately, he knew it was a bad idea and stepped back. Even a serial-killer training couldn’t match up to Eric´s routine.

When it came to exercising, Eric was like a mad-man possessed.

Trying to diffuse the situation, Jamie stepped in between them pushing Charlie back with her palms on his chest when tried getting to Boomer, who did nothing but grin at him.

“What the hell is going on?” Janie demanded to know, making her voice as stern as she could. When both men started yelling simultaneously, she turned to Eric.

He could barely suppress a grin.

“Captain here thought the knife from the box wasn´t a real one so he tested it out… twice.”

“RIGHT INTO MY FUCKIN’ HAND!” Charlie shouted, lashing out. The sound of porcelain breaking against the wall had Janie jerk, the men were unfazed.

Until a voice resonated in the room that belonged to none of the four.

"Nah, nah. Why so violent? There is nothing to be upset about." Whirling around, Janie came to face an elderly man in a full-blown Halloween costume. A beard going well over his chest, his hair almost the same length was covered by a large hat with a pointed end. His walking stick was frighteningly huge and sturdy enough to knock someone on their arse with. But his clothing was the most bizarre because it was -

“Is that a cloak?” Eric asked incredibly, eyebrows pulled up into his hairline. Boomer grunted out a disagreeing sound.

“Nah, I think it´s one of those maxi-dresses the more corpulent women like to wear. You know, to hide their titties…”

“Silence!” The man bellowed, throwing Boomer a glare that surprisingly did shut him up. “We are not here to converse about my choice of attire, which is, if I may say so, the hottest shit in Mordor –“

“What´s a Mordor?” Boomer whisper-asked Eric who just shrugged his shoulders, the corners of his mouth slowly pulling down. Narrowing his eyes, he spoke up, suspicion laced in his voice. “Who are you?”

“It is, in fact, a kingdom.” The hooded man answered with a sigh. “And my name is Gandolf, the grey.”

For a moment everything was silent, then:

“Your name is Gandolf, the grey?” Boomer exploded into a fit of giggles that grew worse with each passing second. Choking on his own voice he wheezed out: “An’ ya´re from Mordor? Where´s tha’? Right nex’ to Hogwarts?” Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Boomer brushed away a stray tear. “ For meh ya lookin’ like an idiot in a cloak. Better get back to you´re nursin’ home, old man.”

"Enough!" Eye´s blazing, Gandolf, the grey, slammed the end of his walking stick into the ground, making not only Boomer but also the other two freeze on their spots. Wide-eyed, Janie gaze flew from the petrified men towards the wizard, taking a cautious step back.

“Now that those big-mouthed idiots are quiet, we shall have our talk.”

“O-our talk?” Janie squeaked out, wishing that the knife Boomer abused was somewhere near. If she should go from this world it would not be with twenty-six. No, she´d be at least forty-seven, unmarried with 12 cats. When they would finally find her corpse, three weeks later there would not be much left of her. After all, her darlings had to eat.

“Of course, our talk. I am sincerely sorry for sending you those four idiots, there was a slight mix-up in our wish-granting factory.” Gandolf sighed.

“A… a mix-up.” Janie asked unbelievingly, staring at him. She consciously chose to disregard the wish-granting thing.

"Yes, you see," He started, gesturing for her to take a seat on the bench right beside the shoe rack. With shaky legs, she sunk down. "Right at the moment, you wished for your perfect man, a woman in an alternative reality that was in a bit of trouble wished upon the gods for them to save her. You see, her husband had to sell himself into slavery and she wished for someone to bring him back to her. Your two wishes were confused.

I would have liked to right this wrong, but by the time we realized what went wrong, the four meant for you had already, sadly, found their end in an arena by the hand of a very vicious lion.

I am sincerely sorry for that.”

Nodding along to everything he said, Janie felt just the same, if not even crazier than the night she found the four anarchists in her barn. “So… my perfect men are… dead?”

"I fear so." Gandolf sighed. "And they were the last one of their kinds we produced. Semi-hard working, slightly homophobic men, just a tiny, weeny bit. They would have been perfect in the beginning, charming you off your pants until you said yes, then impregnated you in your wedding night before forcing you to quit your job. Three kids later, two too much for their liking, but they had insisted after you worked day and night to keep the house clean and your body in shape, they would have to work longer and longer. Then weekends, whole trips with the firm.

After a talk with one of his colleagues, you would finally find out that he has had an affair for as long as his new secretary worked for him. First you´d ignore it, try to keep the appearances up but when they got bolder, even doing it on your kitchen counter, you know because you found her thong in the cupboard beside your kid´s lunch boxes you would have enough.

Following a divorce, a few one-night stands with bikers from the freeway that frequent the local pub and a steamy affair with your twenty-year younger gardener, a son that hates you and a daughter with an attention deficit, because all she´s interested in are boys and makeup.

For the next ten years you lived comfortably off of life-support, draining his sorry-ass dry and while you live your self-centered life, your husband's girlfriend would leave him for someone more successful, he gets bald and a beer-pouch until he ultimately looks like the slimebag he is. How does that sound?"

“Just like I always imagined it to be.” Janie sighed almost dreamily. It sounded like a dream come true.

“Too bad.” Gandolf shrugged his shoulders. “Either way, I hope you found your match under those four. The other ones were insanely… bland. Well, the lion didn´t think so but still. No matter how insane, I´m sure their body fat percentage is just as low as the number of premature ejaculations in life.” He took a long look at Boomer. “Maybe not him… looks as if he´d shot like a rocket after a little hanky-panky in the backseat.

Sooo… which one of the four do you want?”

Turning around, Gandolf stared at her expectantly.

“Three…” Janie stuttered. “There are just three left. Kyle went home just last morning.”

“Oh right.” He scrunched up his face before rolling his eyes. “Home? Pfft! Transported himself into the Italy of the 17th century that bullock, naked as the day he was born. Had to get him back from there.” Nodding his head as a wide-eyed Janie, he continued.

“Kyle was trapped in an atelier with no way of getting out without being burned at a stake. Indecent exposure plus strange language… they would have totally branded him as a witch. Luckily the guy owning the house understood a bit of mechanics, he was alright. Even made us a tea.

But I think we left quite the expression on him.” Turning his stick in hand, Gandolf sighed.

“Now somewhere in this world, a painting of an old, bearded man in a cloak and a naked idiot dramatically stretching his hand in the air are branded onto a ceiling. Thanks very much for that.”

"I´m sorry?" Jamie spoke hesitantly, just willing him to stop speaking in riddles. All that was not comprehensible for her poor brain.

“It´s alright, dear.” Gandolf fixed her with a long stare, her state of mind obvious to him. He decided to have mercy on her. “I´m going to take them with me now. Well, two of them at least. The one your heart solely most desires. I hope it chose wisely.”

Janie wanted to ask him what he meant by that but before she could even move a finger, a darkness slowly settled over her and she could feel her consciousness slipping away. She could just hope it wouldn´t be Boomer.

Even a life in an asylum sounded better than being forced to live with a maniac like him.

Janie awoke to the smell of breakfast wafting up into her little bedroom. A small smile on her lips, she got out of bed, slipped into her dressing gown and the fluffy slippers before making her way downstairs into the kitchen. There he was, her man, making scrambled eggs without his shirt on, a sight she could very well get used to.

Walking up to him, she slung her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on her back. Turning his head, she could just barely see his lips pulling up into a lazy smile while he flipped around the eggs without missing a beat

“Smells great.” Janie muttered, rubbing her face on him before pressing a kiss to his bare skin.

“I know.” All she got in return was a cocky grin. “Sit down, I’ll bring you your coffee.”

"Alright." Only half following his orders, she perched herself up on the kitchen counter, a sly smile on her lips. Just until he bent forward and bit her bottom lip in warning.

“Careful kitten.”

“Raaawr.” Pretending to extract her claws, Janie only earned herself a heated glare, that was warning and promise at once. With one sweep, he grabbed her hip and pulled her from the counter, ignoring her loud squeal. Instead of taking her up into the bedroom again, like yesterday night, he set her down onto the bench much to her chagrin.

But she wasn´t grouchy for long, the food he placed in front of her simply too delicious to pout over.

Shoveling eggs in her mouth while simultaneously trying to look sexy, Janie thought about what her life had become in just a few short weeks. What difficulties she had to face with the four of them and how she came to find the one she had desperately wishing for. Not one that would cheat on her as soon as she got her first wrinkle but someone she could spend the rest of her life with, even when she was old and fat.

Someone that wouldn´t leave her even when she was on her period and cranky, or bloated and pregnant. Not a hanger-on in a stage of her life but someone to walk along the whole way, no matter how far it would be.

Yes, Janie wished upon a star. She wished for a man she thought should be the one but instead, she got a maniac. A glitch of the universe, maybe it was fate. She was starting to feel it, a certainty deep inside her chest that she hoped to be able to tell about when she was old, a grandmother.

He was the love of her life.

Her leader.

(Kyle... what did you do?!)

#crack fic #fanfiction #Eric Coulter #Divergent #Captain Boomerang #Charlie #Jack Reacher #Kyle Reese #Karry Rotter #Halloween #Gandalf

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