#and may be thinking up things for winslow with it)

[awsugar]

ok so last night with the help of @anothersuperstition i really dove into all of the images projected on the screen with the lyrics during mama during the infamous line 'but there's shit that i've done with this fuck of a gun, you would cry out your eyes all along' and i have sucessfully found 11 of the 20 images and their sources, as well as background info on most of them.

this is gonna be long! so it's going under the cut. but i want to put out that this is an opportunity for collaboration. i did not find all of the images and i would LOVE some help on finding the remaining 9 so if you feel like you're a good sleuth or you happen to recognize one of the ones that we didn't get, PLEASE feel free to add on!

alright so first of all, the post that i used to keep track of all of the images is this one so thank you to OP for compiling! this research would have been much harder if i hadn't seen that post.

also before i get into it i just want to put a couple notes on connections and references that i think are relevant. one very obvious reference that they keep coming back to is france/paris. one of the first things i noticed before they even came on stage was the pre-show music while they were setting up and when they started projecting images on the screens, like the rules and the WANTED posters a la danger days, etc. the first song immediately stood out to me because it was major tom (coming home) by peter schilling but after a minute i realized it wasn't in english. at the time i thought they re-recorded the song in keposhka ;_; lmfao. but no. after that song, it's funny that the friend who was next to me on barricade is literally born and raised in paris. she was like 'all of these songs are in french'. at the time i didn't think much of it. but looking back, absolutely intentional. i also now know that the version of major tom i heard is by plastic bertrand. which fun fact! plastic bertrand's song 'ca plane pour moi' is on mcr's psych up mix playlist from dd era. the music they would play to get hyped up before going on stage. also during one of the first songs, gerard said 'bonjour' to the crowd, and at the end of disenchanted he said 'paris looks so beautiful at night'. so connections to anything french is not a stretch but imo very intentional.

also, this post is centering around mama but also like all of this somehow ties in to the overall story. but in the new mama verse he says 'you can't see berlin with the sun in your eyes'. so i've kept an eye out for anything that is also german and also made some connections, (even if they are reaches!) to things tying back to ww2 and the cold war as well.

also to say that not all of the stuff has a solid explanation and i may be wrong about the reason for some of their inclusions BUT i don't think anything that this band does is unintentional and i think that all of this stuff has a meaning in some way or another. considering that a lot of the stuff from last tour that we thought was unrelated has actually ended up tying in.

ok so all of the ones that i haven't found yet i'm using the images from the post i linked above, all credit on that goes to them! i thought about leaving those blank but i wanted to include them here for continuity and an easy place for anyone who may want to help to be able to identify which of them still needs identifying.

1.) BUT

Study of a Nude Man - Gustave Courbet, France, early 1840s

this one i didn't find a lot of background info on as it's more of an exercise in human anatomy than anything deeply symbolic but it is french and it's funny that they used a butt for 'but'

2.) THERE'S

3.) SHIT

The Veteran in a New Field - Winslow Homer, 1865 America

this painting depicts a farmer harvesting a field of wheat with a scythe. i believe its during teenagers, theres a video that plays n the screen of two people dancing? one has a head made of a bushel of wheat, the other is holding a scythe. wheat is also a large theme in the concept. the merch tags say that the clothing are made of 100% wheat, they lay wheat on the stage in front of the drum before the black parade comes out, they are selling patches with wheat on them (i think i saw that?), the draag national anthem mentions wheat. gerard has also mentioned wheat in the past to the point of showing us that all of his electronic device backgrounds are fields of wheat because he finds them to be calming lol. but theres more! the man in the field is a soldier post-civil war and from what i read on this painting he is identified as a union soldier due to his jacket and canteen that are on the ground. gerard was drinking from a canteen on stage during the black parade set. what i read about the interpretation of the painting is that the scythe used to cut down the wheat obviously conjures images of the grim reaper (death) but symbolizes his past of death in connection to the war, and parallels the loss of life. wheat has also historically been connected with death bc it was traditionall placed on coffins. i also read one sentence in particular i think on wikipedia that said that it shows that his time at war has prepared him for his new life in the fields. i just think thats interesting, and maybe will be relevant when we find out more about the history of draag.

4.) THAT

(i do have a better image of this without watermark but its too big for tumblr)

Drawings Showing Combat on Foot (Champ Clos) - unknown artist, 16th century german

i could find almost nothing on this but it does remind me of 'Rule 4: Fight only when fought upon. Non-combat is discouraged in all areas.' This one has been perplexing to me because it's clearly contradictory.

5.) I'VE

this is the original image. the best source i've found for this is the Better Homes & Gardens New Cook Book (1965) which i only found here for sale on ebay. obviously in the image used for the show the eyes have black bars over them. i kind of interpret this to be the dictatorship stripping people of their identities. it doesn't seem that families like this exist anymore in this current society, in the concrete age.

6.) DONE

Portrait of a Carthusian - Petrus Christus, 1446 Netherlands

this one i find really interesting. there is a connection to french here, in the history of the carthusian monks, their first hermitage was in the valley of the french prealps. but aside from that, the carthusian monks are very interesting because they live in complete solitude, not only from the world but mostly from each other as well, in their own cells where there is not much of a community aspect to their hermitage. if you look into it theres more about how this particular monk in the painting has a number of details about him that are nonstandard, including the fact that the is not portrayed in prayer like was custom during this time especially for a monk.

but also, the fly that is painted on the painted frame, i read that it represents 'death and decay' and is a reminder of the 'transience of life'. i don't think i have to tell you where in the mychem mythology we've heard of death, decay, and flies before....

7.) WITH

the same painting is used for this word, but this time just a close up of the monk's right eye. i think it's definitely worth noting that this is THE ONLY TIME that they do this and use the same image twice. there's a million eyes out there at their finger tips. i can't even pretend to have any idea WHY but i know that there is an intent behind it.

8.) THIS

armor garniture likely of king henry viii, 1527

this is literally a photo of real armor. again there are better photos online that are too large for me to put in a tumblr post. henry viii is interesting though.

9.) FUCK

10.) OF

11.) A

[Family Portrait] - W. L. Germon & W. Penny, America circa 1855

i couldn't find much on this one outside of the title and artists. but for the sake of tinhatting and a little bit of reaching, i started thinking about the concept of family, the song that they're presented during is mama, the term nuclear family came to mind? i actually didn't know what it meant before but it is apparently just a term for the traditional family unit with two parents and at least one child. but the missile screens and launch that we're shown, mama, 'mother doesn't love you anymore' being on the paper that gerard threw into the audience...idk i think there could be some connection there.

12.) GUN

13.) YOU

14.) WOULD

15.) CRY

16.) OUT

this is literally a stock image of a bear, one article that we found using it credited it to pixabay (stock image website). bears are commonly used in the circus, and when you combine the clown on stage, the final image in the series is of a circus clown, and the new circus music added to the backing track in blood, idk. i think there could be something there. could also be a commentary of some kind on the juxtaposition of the wild bear and the very manmade trash can. i'm literally just throwing out ideas here so we can start a conversation on this stuff, i have no idea lol.

17.) YOUR

18.) EYES

this is the Vienna Boys Choir. the photo used is most likely them singing at the american embassy in paris. during ww2, circa 1948. they seem to have sung for a lot of government officials, notably including hitler and jfk.

i also wanna point out that their outfits are very similar to donald duck on the drum that tucker uses on stage, i talked about that drum in a post here yesterday with what i found. it is also (likely) connected to ww2.

19.) ALL

20.) ALONG

Lem A. Ward putting on circus makeup. between 1935-1939. this clown was employed as part of FDR's WPA federal theater project. this was created as part of the new deal to try and create work for american's who were left unemployed due to the great depression. BUT what i find kind of also very interesting about this is that this program was ended pretty abruptly because some of the entertainers employed were suspected to hold communist ideologies. so 5 years after it started, the federal theater project was disbanded.

and that's everything i found! please if you have any insight on the ones that i've already identified or if you think you know one of the other one's that i haven't or if you have literally anything to add please do!! i won't be satisfied until we figure all of them out.

i do have links and sources for all of the stuff i found too btw if you want it! i've heard in the past that tumblr limits the view of posts with a bunch of outside links in the search so i wanted to try and avoid that but happy to provide any of it!

[thequeenofthedisneyverse]

How to NOT write like Vivziepop guide!

Writing tips:

1. Don't treat SA/Rape as a joke. Seriously, it shouldn't be that hard. EX: In Helluva Boss; Spring Broken, Moxxie goes to talk to Verosika and her crew in hopes to get them to move her car. He gets SA'd as a result and we're supposed to see that as a joke.

I don't specifically remember the episode name, but Sir pentious asks Cherri if she wants to have sex with him but he then gets scared/nervous and says "BECAUSE I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH EVERYONE!!" or something like that. He then gets taken by a bunch of people into a room and he CLEARLY looks uncomfortable. Again, I suppose we're supposed to see that as a joke for some reason.

SA/Rape isn't funny, and you can offend tons of people writing it so carelessly. DON'T DO THAT!

2. If your characters come from a certain era, RESEARCH THAT ERA. Ex: Alastor was supposed to be a famous radio host in the 1920s (seeing as he died in 1933) when he was alive despite being a mixed (Black and white) man. Jim Crow laws existed in those times so Alastor couldn't have become a popular radio host unless he was white passing, which we don't know. Also, from what I got from @bump-inthe-night the first black radio personality in Louisiana was Vernon Winslow, known as Dr. Daddy-O, in 1949.

Also, from @bump-inthe-night - (her words were pasted here because I couldn't have said it better myself) Despite dying in 1947, Angel overdosed on PCP. This drug was discovered in 1926, and it started being utilized as a general anesthetic in the 1950s. PCP became a street drug in the 1960s and gained popularity in the 1970s. It's impossible for Angel to have overdosed on this drug when he was alive. RESEARCH. BEFORE. YOU. WRITE. THE. CHARACTER.

This is also from @/bump-inthe-night. Sir Pentious died in 1888, but he’s wearing a shoulder-padded suit. Shoulder pads, invented in 1877, were used in football uniforms. They didn’t cross over into fashion and become popular until the 1930s. Sir Pentious shouldn’t be wearing a shoulder-padded suit, and neither should Vox, who died in the 1950s, when this started falling out of style.

3. Don't victimize characters that obviously shouldn't be victimized. Example: Stolas.

I will tag the people who inspired this post and paste their stuff here because they say these things better than me.

@flower-boi16 says "So fucking what if Stolas was neglected as a child or had a mean wife? How does that relate to ANY of his actions he takes throughout the series??? It doesn’t excuse SHIT. Granted, the “this character’s trauma is not an excuse” argument is a kind of argument I’ve grown to be annoyed by due to how often it gets misused. Yes, a character’s backstory or trauma doesn’t excuse or justify their actions.

The issue arises though when the character’s bad actions are a direct response to that trauma and so it can make it look like your just ignoring major context for what lead to the character doing these actions just so you can label them as irredeemable. With Stolas, however, I have no hesitation in saying that whatever backstory and trauma he may have I genuinely don’t care because that trauma doesn’t matter to ANY of his actions.

The “his daughter doesn’t like him” defense doesn’t work because 1. Octavia is shown to still care for her father and is actually shown to be excited to spend time with him in Seeing Stars and 2. Octavia has a perfectly valid reason to dislike Stolas given how shitty of a father he is to her.

The “Stolas is well meaning/believes that Blitzo likes being treated like a sex toy” defense also doesn’t work when Stolas can very clearly see that Blitzo does NOT like being treated that way. Ffs Blitz was completely shocked and disgusted by Stolas’ sexual remarks on him on the phone in Loo Loo Land, Stolas can clearly see Blitz DOESN'T ENJOY THIS but continues flirting with him anyway. Anyone who is well-meaning can still see when they fucked up."

@floralcavern "Stolas is the epitome of writers thinking they wrote a deep character when they actually created the most shallowly written character of all time. Stolas receives no consequences, no call outs, no growth, because he gets the excuse of ‘he’s abused’ to not have to face anything bad happen to him. It’s infuriating how shielded he is by the writers."

4. Understand what your writing! This is also from @/floralcavern and I couldn't agree more. "And Helluva Boss didn’t need extremely deep characters. It started off as a comedy, where characters could do messed up, edgy shit because nothing is meant to be taken seriously. But then suddenly the show decides to become a super serious, soap opera drama?? It completely derails its original premise to be something completely different. The beginning of Helluva Boss and what we currently have are 2 completely different shows. And I’m not saying comedies can’t have depth. One of my favorite examples is Dan Da Dan! It’s literally a show about a guy whose dick was stolen by a ghost. And yet, the show writers know how to balance ridiculous comedy and storytelling with genuine, human moments. But Viv’s shows don’t have that balance. The show is hardly a comedy anymore and takes itself way too seriously, while also refusing to acknowledge actual things that need to be acknowledged."

5. This should be obvious but don't make male characters (or any characters for that matter) that are supposed to be gay call their sisters "hot" or "Sexy". Example: Andrelphus or whatever his name is. It comes off as extremely gross and really unnecessary. Vivziepop said he does that to make others think he's straight?????...Andrelphus was literally in the pride parade art. WTF VIV?!

So yeah, don't do that unless it's relevant to the plot. Like the characters have a secret incestual relationship or the incest is being pushed/forced onto the other sibling character or SOMETHING! And no, before you say it, Stella never looked comfortable being called attractive by her own brother.

5. Don't fetishize rape or have/hire people that work under you that do. It's as simple as that.

6. When writing serious topics such as SA, TREAT THE TOPIC SERIOUSLY!

7. Be mindful of stereotypes. I've learned (with the help of others pointing it out) that Angel Dust is a stereotype of gay men.

8. Call out your characters for their actions. Angel is shown to sexually harass other male characters with no call outs or apologies. Same can be said for Stolas.

I'm not sure of what else to add. If anyone else wants to add something, feel free to comment or reblog. Your words will help others a lot!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Interesting 1975 home in Williamstown, NJ. I didn't know where that is, and it's way down South Jersey. Did you know that there's a line of demarcation and N. Jersey & S. Jersey have different names for things? They also don't like us N. Jersey people comin' down the shore in the summer- they call us Bennies. I wish the state would get along, this is stupid. Anyway, this home in South Jersey is a little weird. 3bds, 3ba, $420K (also, homes in S. Jersey are much cheaper).

Covered outer entrance. I don't care for that rough stucco, it holds onto the dirt.

As soon as you enter the foyer, there's a coat closet and there's also a window facing the door.

I'm disappointed in the entrance. There're stairs to the lower level, and the main floor, plus a loft.

The stairs come up to a living room on the right, with a stone wall and a nice modern fireplace. (Hmmm, if it was painted green it would look like Gumby.)

And, straight ahead is the kitchen.

It's an open concept with the kitchen, what I think is the dining room area, and spiral stairs. The loft is above.

Ooh, it has a smart refrigerator. I wonder if they'll be leaving that.

Kitchen's nice. Looks like there's a new sticker on the dishwasher, too.

That purple area is definitely the dining room. Weird thing over the island.

I guess that these are the only stairs to the 2nd level.

I'm not sure, but I think that the primary bedroom and bath are on the first floor. Notice the decorative ceiling.

The loft above is a narrow seating area.

Then this would a bedroom on the 2nd level.

And, the 2nd bath.

The 3rd bedroom is the smallest. I don't like the contrast of the green in the carpet with the electric green on the wall.

Stairs to the basement where there's a rec room.

It looks like the owner may have painted the art on the fireplace, but it looks good. . Plus, there's also a bar in the corner.

It's cute.

There's a half bath down here.

And, also another bedroom. If this home was all decorated it could be pretty cool.

The laundry is in the utility room. I see a holder for water softener next to the water heater. I don't know what those other tanks are for, though.

Large deck on the back.

Plus a patio with a hot tub and fire pit.

There are 7.15 acres of land. S. Jersey has a rural areas with lots of land.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1764-Winslow-Rd-Williamstown-NJ-08094/38792639_zpid/

[duckprintspress]

Yeehaw! Queer Western Book Recs!

What’s the occasion? There is no occasion! We just thought it’d be fun to make a list of queer cowboy/girl/enby books and westerns! Say “Howdy, pardner” to our 8 picks. The contributors to this list are: Shadaras, Meera S., hullosweetpea, Nina Waters, boneturtle, and two anonymous contributors.

American Hippo (River of Teeth series) by Sarah Gailey

Years ago, in an America that never was, the United States government introduced herds of hippos to the marshlands of Louisiana to be bred and slaughtered as an alternative meat source. This plan failed to take into account some key facts about hippos: they are savage, they are fast, and their jaws can snap a man in two. 

By the 1890s, the vast bayou that was once America’s greatest waterway belongs to feral hippos, and Winslow Houndstooth has been contracted to take it back. To do so, he will gather a crew of the damnedest cons, outlaws, and assassins to ever ride a hippo. American Hippo is the story of their fortunes, their failures, and his revenge.

Done and Dusted (Rebel Blue Ranch series) by Lyla Sage

She’s off-limits, but he’s never been good at following the rules.

For the first time in her life, Clementine “Emmy” Ryder has no idea what she’s doing. She’s accomplished everything on her to-do list. She left her small hometown of Meadowlark, Wyoming; went to college; and made a career for herself by doing her favorite thing: riding horses. But after an accident makes it impossible for her to get back into the saddle, she has no choice but to return to the hometown she always wanted to escape.

Luke Brooks is Meadowlark’s most notorious bad boy, bar owner, and bachelor. He’s also the unofficial fifth member of the Ryder family. As Emmy’s older brother’s best friend, Luke spent most of his childhood antagonizing her. It’s been years since he’s seen her, but when she walks into his bar and back into his life, he can’t take his eyes off her. Despite his better judgment, he wants to do a whole lot more than just look at her.

Emmy’s got too much on her mind to think about romance. And Luke knows he should stay away from his best friend’s younger sister. But what if Luke is just what Emmy needs to get her spark back? Or will they both go up in flames?

Outlawed by Anna North

The day of her wedding, 17 year old Ada’s life looks good; she loves her husband, and she loves working as an apprentice to her mother, a respected midwife. But after a year of marriage and no pregnancy, in a town where barren women are routinely hanged as witches, her survival depends on leaving behind everything she knows.

She joins up with the notorious Hole in the Wall Gang, a band of outlaws led by a preacher-turned-robber known to all as the Kid. Charismatic, grandiose, and mercurial, the Kid is determined to create a safe haven for outcast women. But to make this dream a reality, the Gang hatches a treacherous plan that may get them all killed. And Ada must decide whether she’s willing to risk her life for the possibility of a new kind of future for them all.

Prize Money by Celeste Castro

Eva is saved from impending disaster by a tall, dark, and handsome bullfighter–a woman. Toma Rozene is an equestrian stuntwoman fresh off the set of a blockbuster film when a family emergency calls her home to help run the family business: rescuing fallen rodeo riders before blustering bulls and bucking broncos trample their dreams. Eva and Toma’s shared passions and competitive spirits make friendship easy, but, as their feelings deepen, they must decide if the divergent futures they seek will stand in the way of love.

Wake of Vultures (The Shadow series) by Lila Bowen

Nettie Lonesome lives in a land of hard people and hard ground dusted with sand. She’s a half-breed who dresses like a boy, raised by folks who don’t call her a slave but use her like one. She knows of nothing else. That is, until the day a stranger attacks her. When nothing, not even a sickle to the eye can stop him, Nettie stabs him through the heart with a chunk of wood and he turns to black sand.

And just like that, Nettie can see.

But her newfound sight is a blessing and a curse. Even if she doesn’t understand what’s under her own skin, she can sense what everyone else is hiding—at least physically. The world is full of evil, and now she knows the source of all the sand in the desert. Haunted by the spirits, Nettie has no choice but to set out on a quest that might lead her to find her true kin . . . if the monsters along the way don’t kill her first.

Trigun: Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action!! by Yasuhiro Nightow

Somehow the past has placed a sixty billion double dollar bounty on Vash’s head, and the gunslinging pacifist can’t seem to get away from money grubbing, itchy-trigger-finger citizenry. Find out why Vash is worth so much money dead! Feel the clumsy worry of the unfortunate citizens of the pulverous planet! Follow the follies of an unlikely hero in a forbidding world! Join Vash the Stampede – with his troubled past and an uncanny ability to dodge a gazillion bullets – and a cavalcade of unlucky characters on a dusty, desert planet in the distant future.

Frontera by Julio Anta

As long as he remembers to stay smart and keep his eyes open, Mateo knows that he can survive the trek across the Sonoran Desert that will take him from Mexico to the United States. That is until he’s caught by the Border Patrol only moments after sneaking across the fence in the dead of night.

Escaping their clutches comes at a price, and lost in the desert without a guide or water, Mateo is ill-prepared for the unforgiving heat that is sure to arrive come sunrise. With the odds stacked against him, his one chance at survival may be putting his trust in something, or rather someone, that he isn’t even sure exists.

If you’d asked him if ghosts were real before he found himself face-to-face with one, Mateo wouldn’t have even considered it. But now, confronted with the nearly undeniable presence of Guillermo, he’s having second thoughts. Having spent his afterlife guiding migrants to safety, Guillermo knows things about the Sonoran Desert far beyond what could be explained by a mere hallucination. But even as Mateo forms an uneasy partnership with Guillermo, survival is still uncertain.

The Sonoran Desert, with its hostile temperatures and inhabitants, is teeming with danger as the Border Patrol, rogue militias, and animals prowl its deadly terrain. As his journey stretches on, Mateo will have to decide exactly what and who he’s willing to sacrifice to find home.

Bitter Springs by Laura Stone

In 1870s Texas, Renaldo Valle Santos, the youngest son of a large and traditional family, has been sent to train with Henry “Hank” Burnett, a freed slave and talented mesteñero—or horse-catcher—so he may continue the family horse trade. Bitter Springs is a sweeping epic that takes themes from traditional Mexican literature and Old Westerns to tell the story of a man coming into his own and realizing his destiny lies in the wild open spaces with the man who loves him, far from expectations of society.

Bonus Recs:

Caravan by Whisperforge – audiodrama

First rule of Wound Canyon: No one who gets in, ever gets out. So when a brilliant, ghostly specter flies through the sky amid the rain and lightning, Samir stumbles off a steep cliff and into a hidden world, one in which demons, vampires, and all other manner of paranormal creatures take sanctuary. 

Second rule of Wound Canyon: No one makes it alone. Samir’s decided to tag along with Argeaux’s Caravan, a band of supernatural bounty hunters and vigilante peace-keepers. Together with an ever-expanding train of fantastical tagalongs, Samir and his new friends venture deep into the bowels of the canyon to find a way out of the magical boundary that imprisons all who cross it.

Cowboy Bebop – tv series

A ragtag crew of bounty hunters chases down the galaxy’s most dangerous criminals. They’ll save the world – for the right price.

What are your favorite gay cowboy books?

Want to chat your favorite reads with us? Join our Book Lover’s Discord server!

Love reading queer books? Our Queer Book Challenge is running on Storygraph through the end of 2024. Come join us!

[smeowchi]

Hey guys, long time no see, here’s another meme! Plus a mini update, teehee ;3c

I’ve been working on a few things, mainly doodles (which will be posted in an art dump soon), and a few AU things!!

The PAMA Returns AU is still being worked on, I’m partway through Chapter 2. It’s going a bit slow because I’ve been busy + lost a bit of motivation, but we’re getting there! (Also I’m thinking of changing the title, so if anyone has any ideas, lemme know!)

I also have a new AU, titled ‘Admin’s Pawns’ (not final). Have you ever wanted to see what would happen if Season 2 starred all the ‘villains’ from the portal hall arc? Well, now you can! Romeo’s picked up a new set of champions, enemies from Jesse’s past who have been specially trained to catch them off guard and attempt to defeat them. Cassie (+ Winslow <3), Aiden, Hadrian, Mevia, and even a few extra familiar faces make an appearance, as the Admin’s army grows to give Beacontown’s hero an adventure they’ll never forget.. for better, or worse.

Stay tuned for more updates on either, as well as that doodle dump I’ve been talking about! I may also have some Red Dead Redemption content sometime, but that’s.. definitely not final, haha!

[the-s1lly-corner]

Long time lurker first time requester, hello! I've seen you mention Phantom of the Paradise before and I was wondering if you could write a reader who's like Winslow Leach? Shamura and the Lamb please!

Lambert and Shamura x winslow leach!reader

i need to rewatch potp its been a hot minute hissshisss i love the soundtrack so much RAAAAAAAAAAH notes: reader is gn, any creature, shamura is a bishop, reader owes their soul to someone however its not exactly said who they owe it too, reader is not a follower rather theyre on their own , reader is a musician though they dont play the piano in shamuras part since... they cant really lug one around and about LMAO cws: none

LAMBERT

would try to get a piano or piano adjacent instrument in the cult to try to get you to come play for them- they love your music, plus theres the added perk that it may raise morale and faith in the cult

youre... pretty cagey about your music though- you want to share it but it seems youve been wronged in the past before, perhaps someone has stolen from you?

relates to you with your soul contract, as they are the god of deaths vessel... sometimes they ramble about it you, regardless of if you answer them or not... you still seem to listen, though...

thinks your mask looks cool but wants to see what you look like under it, may or may not make grabby hands at you as a joke

is not at all phased by your aggression, though you hardly ever direct it towards them- you adore them and you could never do anything horrible to them

youre both obsessed with each other, both in a "aww look theyre close :)" way and "oh theyre both little freaks" way

SHAMURA

getting this one out of the way, they love listening to your music whenever youre passing through silk cradle- it alerts them almost immediately of your presence

does not question the origins of your scars, actually they may not even pay any mind to them- whether out of respect or simply not being unnerved by them... perhaps both...

is not at all phased by your more aggressive moments where youre lashing out at others, they have the patience of... well, a god! they have all the time in the world to wait for you to soothe yourself

loves how passionate you get about things, and is more than willing to listen to you ramble about what you like.. if your vocal cords are messed up, they wait for you to draw the words out or write them down if the struggle is too great

you cannot sneak around them no matter how hard you try, no matter how stealthy you try to be

is aware of your contract, and by extension knows your soul is no longer your property- offers you guidance and comfort in these times as well as sympathy, perhaps... you can get them to find a way to break it

[adhdnursegoat]

Episode 8

Word count: 6.8K

Content Warning: mild descriptions and discussions of sexual assault. I want to make clear here and now that Edward does not ever engage in SA in this story, but other characters may (never in graphic detail).

Pairing: Edward Nashton X OC Romy Winslow

Setting: Pre-Arkham Origins; 2013

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Thursday, January 24th, 2013

The next morning found Edward groaning as he rolled over in bed, a familiar ache settling deep in his neck. He felt the crick there, stubborn and sharp, a reminder of the hours he spent hunched over his desk, poring over his work. Despite his age, despite being in his prime—the youthful, strong age of 30—he had noticed the toll: the stiffness creeping up his spine, the subtle pressure building in his neck and shoulders. Maybe I do need to start taking breaks, he thought, reluctant as the idea was. He frowned, thinking of how Romy would likely have told him, “I told you so.” He had spent so long in his routine that he hardly knew what “rest” felt like, but now, he couldn’t ignore the persistent ache.

With a sigh, he pushed himself up, shifting his shoulders before giving his neck a slow roll. A satisfying pop echoed through the quiet room, easing some of the tension, and he sat there for a moment, letting the relief settle. Twisting, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet meeting the floor. The wood was cold beneath his skin, a chill that bit just enough to remind him of the season. He had always liked the winter, found a strange comfort in the coolth of it, the way the air had a clarity, a bite that kept him sharp.

If he was being honest with himself, it was more than preference. It was just what he was used to. Memories tugged at the edges of his mind once more—the years he spent with his family, bundled in layers as the cold seeped into their apartment, their power cut off more times than he could count. The electricity bill had always been the last priority—his parents too poor, too careless, always managing to let things fall just out of reach, whether by accident or by sheer idiocy. Back then, he had learned how to build up a tolerance, how to sit through the biting cold of winter and the sweltering heat of summer with little complaint. It was a resilience born of necessity, a quiet survival skill that he barely thought about anymore.

But here he was, on a winter morning, feeling the familiar bite of the cold seep into his bones. This time, though, there was no resentment, no bitterness over the chill that greeted him. Instead, there was something unexpectedly comforting about it.

He lifted his gaze to the window above his desk, where soft snow flurries drifted down, silent and steady against the gray morning. From this angle, he could see out to the bay, the water choppy and dark, capped with thin ice at the edges. The view was striking, even to him—someone who rarely let himself pause long enough to appreciate such things.

His apartment was clean, minimalist to the point of sterility, each item in its place, each surface unadorned and bare. Nothing there held any warmth, no remnants of the past, no hints of sentimentality. His life, he realized, was like this space—carefully curated, almost devoid of personality, as if to remind him that he wasn’t meant to indulge in attachments or comforts. They complicated things, created unnecessary distractions.

He exhaled, the sound breaking the quiet, a mist of his own breath lingering faintly in the cool air of his room. Pushing himself up, he shuffled toward the bathroom, his bare feet padding across the cold wood floor. There was a heaviness to his thoughts that morning, a certain stillness in the quiet apartment that felt thicker than usual. He couldn’t quite shake it—the sensation of something unsettled, a small but growing awareness of the life he had built around him: precise, controlled, solitary.

Reaching the bathroom, he caught sight of his reflection and was struck by the faint lines beginning to form around his eyes, shadows of weariness etched into his face. He stared at himself for a moment, feeling an emptiness echo back at him from the silence surrounding him. This was it. The realization settled heavy and cold in his chest. This was why he kept himself busy, why he constantly occupied his mind, filling every quiet space with puzzles and calculations. It was a distraction, a way to keep the loneliness at bay, to avoid confronting the hollow stillness that sat at the edges of his life.

Edward soon stepped into the shower, turning the knob until the water hit him with a near-scalding heat. The sharp sting was comforting, and he let it burn against his skin, as if the intense warmth could somehow wash away the solitude that lingered beneath the surface, giving him a warm embrace he had so long lacked. But as he stood there, the steam rising around him, he became aware of the strange pattern that had emerged in his life—how everything he surrounded himself with was extreme. It was as though he was perpetually swinging from one end of the spectrum to the other, from searing heat to biting cold, from poverty to relative wealth, from isolation to… well, he was still isolated, wasn’t he?

He let the hot water run over his face and body, eyes closed, as he realized there had never been a middle ground for him. There was no balance, no calm, only these opposites he used to fill the spaces of his life. He lived within these small, intense comforts because they were all he had, all he had ever had.

Stepping out, he dried off with a towel that was as crisp and bare as the white walls of his apartment—blank and unadorned, devoid of any mark of who he was. No pictures on the walls, no memories captured in frames, no face to greet him on his phone’s background, no voice on the other end of a call to look forward to. There was no one to share his thoughts with, no one to even ask how his day was.

And that thought, more than anything, felt like a weight settling into his chest. He took a breath, forcing it down, trying to shake off the feeling as he wrapped himself in his towel and headed to the kitchen to start his coffee. As the machine gurgled, filling the space with the aroma of dark roast, he found a bitter comfort in the routine. This was why he worked so much, why he surrounded himself with tasks. It kept him from facing the reality that his life, for all its complexities and achievements, was an empty one.

He returned to his room to dress while the dark liquid brewed. 

Edward Nashton didn’t need anyone—never had. It had always been him against the world, a carefully constructed solitude he had come to rely on. People were distractions, unnecessary variables in his life that only complicated things, that clouded his vision. He had always thrived on his own, depended on his own mind, his own abilities. There was a certain pride in that, a satisfaction in knowing he had kept himself self-contained, untethered by anyone else’s presence.

What about her…?

The thought slipped in uninvited, pulling Edward from his hard-earned sense of control as he made his way to the kitchen to pour himself a cup. With a scowl, he gripped his coffee mug tighter, his fingers digging into the ceramic as he glared at the blank, impersonal wall of his kitchen. The question lingered, taunting him. He didn’t need anyone—he’d made that abundantly clear to himself a thousand times over. But somehow, there Romy was, edging into his mind again, sidling into his stream of consciousness with maddening ease. It was infuriating, the way her face, her voice, the faint scent of her perfume seemed to haunt him, returning in stray, unexpected moments even when she wasn’t present.

Then, completely unbidden, his mind drifted to yesterday… to what he did to thoughts of her... The memory struck him, sharp and electric, leaving a dull, persistent hum in its wake. A stirring began in his pants, unwelcome and maddening, a betrayal of everything he told himself he was. Any other man might revel in the thought, indulging in a moment of foolish, self-serving fantasy. But Edward Nashton was not any other man. His teeth gritted, his jaw tightening as he sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, his expression hardening beneath his glasses.

We’re not doing this again today. His internal voice lashed like a whip, but the command felt weak against the memory that lingered, stubborn and unyielding. He’d addressed it—resolved it yesterday. He’d allowed himself that fleeting lapse in judgment, that indulgence, under the guise of catharsis. But now it was back, vivid and all-consuming, taunting him with its refusal to fade into the recesses of his mind.

If she found out what he did to thoughts of her… He’d die. Edward Nashton would rather die than let her discover the truth.

But the bitter chuckle that echoed in his thoughts felt like mockery. His memory, the one gift he’d always relied on, betrayed him now. It was as if it was laughing at his pathetic attempts to erase her.

Edward gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sharp sigh. The image persisted, dancing at the edge of his thoughts, taunting him with its vividness. And for the first time, he found himself hating the way his mind worked.

Because no matter how much he told himself to forget, he knew this would stay with him.

Forever…

The stirring in his pants intensified for the briefest moment before his disdain overtook it, the anger bubbling up to burn through the unwelcome heat. His lips curled into a sneer, more directed at himself than anything else.

Pathetic.

Edward exhaled sharply, the sound harsh in the quiet room, and adjusted his glasses with a deliberate motion. His hands flexed, clenching and unclenching as if to wring out the irritation coursing through him.

Let it go, he told himself again, though the words felt hollow, insubstantial against the vividness of the memory. He knew better than to dwell. He forced his focus to shift, his eyes narrowing at the off-white wall in front of him. Still, the thought remained, buried but alive, simmering beneath the surface of his mind—a constant, uncomfortable reminder of something he wished he could unsee.

And yet… he knew he wouldn’t forget.

Edward hated it. Hated how the idea of Romy, just the mere presence of her, slipped past his walls, threading itself into his routines, clouding his focus. She was an intruder in his solitude, a disruption he didn’t ask for and didn’t want. Or at least, that’s what he told himself as he stared into his coffee, watching the steam rise, willing it to settle his thoughts. She was just another distraction, he insisted, another unnecessary complication in a life he’d already perfected without anyone else’s interference.

Yes, a distraction, with her stupid, pretty face and irritating self-confident indifference, and enchanting essence.

Edward needed to keep Romy at a distance. He needed to ensure the boundaries they had remained opaque and sturdy.

Today, he would make sure she knew her place in his life, knew her place in his world. She was a silly little girl. She really didn’t deserve his attention.

The entire walk to work was a mental exercise in convincing himself that her presence was nothing but an inconvenience. Each step brought a new reminder of the countless ways she had disrupted his life, how she had twisted his once orderly routines into a chaotic mess. How could one person cause so much disorder? he wondered, jaw clenched as he mentally tallied each offense.

She had brought him nothing but complications and distractions—her involvement with the case had likely ruined his chances with Loeb. If only he had handled the data alone without her meddling interference. Yes, this had to be her fault. And now, thanks to her presence, he had even found himself the target of more of Hartley’s crude remarks, lowering him to the level of common gossip, a situation he found downright humiliating.

As he marched up the precinct steps that Thursday morning, a cold resolve settled over him. This is exactly why I work better alone, he reminded himself. His best work, his most brilliant moments, had always come when there was no one to consider but himself—no other human factors to calculate, no voices other than his own to muddle the clarity of his thoughts. He had built a life of control and solitude, and her presence, her opinions, and especially her allure, were an intrusion on that carefully curated existence. He needed no reminders of how much simpler his work became when he was the only one he had to manage.

He threw his office door open, his irritation mounting as he found her already there—early, again —occupying his space like it was her own. It was as if she were completely oblivious to the disruption she caused, sitting there so casually, her presence infiltrating every part of his office. He could barely stomach the sight of his coat hung next to hers on the rack. The scent of her gentle perfume permeated the air, light and alluring, an irritating contrast to the musty calm he once found here. He clenched his teeth as he stepped inside, determined to ignore her.

But as he walked to his desk, Romy leaned back in her chair with that easy, effortless grace, her gaze tracking his every movement with that calm indifference she so coolly exuded. Then she greeted him, her voice smooth and lilting, like she was trying to disarm him.

“Good morning, Mr. Nashton, sir,” she lilted—as if he were Charlie and she his Angel.

Edward frowned.

How could she sit there so easily, as if she were perfectly at home in his office, in his presence, as though none of this was a disruption to her at all? It infuriated him that she was so comfortable here, so at ease, while he was left with nothing but the seething frustration of her intrusion.

Everything about her pissed him off.

And why are her mornings always good?!

Edward dropped his messenger bag to the floor, near tossing it from his hand before setting his coffee tumbler down with a hard clack . He didn’t return her sentiment. Instead, he sat down, his chair squeaking as he adjusted himself and turned his computer on. He didn’t look at her; he didn’t grace her with his attention. She would be blessed to have his acknowledgment. But she wasn’t that blessed.

He told himself he wasn’t going to indulge her with more attention than necessary. She was pretty, yes, but that was about it. Her looks, while perhaps captivating to others, did nothing for him. He told himself they were superficial, inconsequential, and her charm was little more than a facade. So, he remained silent all morning, focused on his work, determined to keep her in her place as an occasional assistant, nothing more.

When she invited him to lunch, he declined without a second thought, his tone clipped. And, in her time gone, she seemed to take the hint, returning from lunch without a word, settling back into her work without further interruptions. He would admit, if only to himself, that she was perceptive; she knew when to stay quiet, when to be unobtrusive.

Maybe she finally knows her place.

“Mr. Nashton, sir…?”

Or perhaps not. He felt the tension creep back into his jaw, a subtle irritation at her voice breaking his carefully built silence. “What?” he snapped.

“Did you talk to Commissioner Loeb yesterday?”

He kept typing, continuing his work in silence, until he finally uttered a tight “Yes.”

There was another pause, and then she pressed on. “Well?”

Edward’s eye twitched. “Well, what?”

“Well… what did he say?”

“He said he would look into it.” 

“‘Look into it’?” she repeated, disbelief lacing her tone.

“Yes.”

“Like, what does that mean?”

He gritted his teeth. “‘ Like ’, it means what I said. He will look into it.”

“And you’re content with that answer?”

His fingers stilled on his keys, his gaze narrowing. Aren’t you? Finally, he glanced at her from the side, catching the determined set of her jaw as she turned in her seat to face him. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and he registered this in his periphery, but he didn’t focus on it. Instead, he tried to hold onto his waning patience.

He rolled his eyes. “Maybe you need to learn some patience.”

“Maybe,” she replied, unperturbed. “But maybe we deserve better. We’ve worked too hard. Built an undeniable case and—”

“ We? ” He scoffed. “Listen, princess, I won’t deny that you’ve provided some modicum of assistance in menial organization, but there is no ‘we.’ ” He gestured between the two of them, making his point clear. “‘We’ are not a thing, you stupid girl.”

“Okay—”

“What happened to being quiet?”

“I—”

“No.”

“But—”

“Uh-uh.”

“Sir—”

“Jesus Christ!” Edward gritted his teeth and slapped his hand on the desk. He looked her dead in the eyes. “ Shut. Up. ”

He took note that she didn’t seem startled by his demeanor or harsh treatment; however, she did quiet down. Silence finally filled the space between them, and he let out a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he was holding.

At last, he thought, some peace.

Edward really couldn’t wait for the end of the semester, and it was only the end of January... This was going to be a long, long semester.

“Mr. Nashton, I’m sorry, but I disagree with all of this. Something isn’t right… Like, I don’t know. I just don’t understand why the Commissioner didn’t accept the case as you presented it. It was airtight.”

His shoulders stiffened. Romy’s words rang in his ears, striking a nerve. “Something isn’t right.” The case was airtight. Every piece of data, every statistic, every trend was undeniable. He knew that—he had checked it himself—and somewhere deep down, he sensed her frustration was valid. But now he couldn’t help but feel like she was questioning him. Questioning his resolve to watch and wait.

He narrowed his gaze, a lick of anger flaring within him. “And who are you to question the situation?”

“Someone who knows what it’s like to have to prove oneself,” Romy snapped, meeting his narrowed gaze with her own.

A sly, calculating expression crossed Edward’s face as he considered her words. “Interesting choice of phrase…. When have you ever had to prove yourself worthy or right of anything?”

She frowned. “…You’ve seen my records.”

Oh. How could he have forgotten?

“Ah yes, those ‘records’ of yours. I’m glad you brought it up.” His mouth curled into a smirk. He turned in his chair, finally facing her with his full attention. “I’m honestly surprised it took us this long to breach your shady academic history.”

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation passing over her face. “Shady?”

He leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together on his abdomen. “Well, you can’t expect me not to be curious. I believe any respectable boss would… So tell me, did you cheat? Likely cheated all the way up until that point, and you finally got caught, yes?”

Something unreadable shaded her usually cool gaze. “...I didn’t cheat.”

Edward cocked a brow. “The records say otherwise. D to an A?” He tilted his head, his lips pulling to the side in amusement. “Couldn’t you have chosen something more humble like a B? Maybe then you wouldn’t have gotten caught.” He snapped his fingers, pointing at her with assurance. “That’s it… You got greedy, didn’t you?”

Her nostrils flared with the deep inhale she took. Her tone was calm, but he did not mistake the grit of her teeth and the subtle tightening of her lips and jaw. This was the widest range of emotions he had seen on her yet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about...”

“Don’t I?”

“I deserved that grade, asshole.”

“Don’t they all?” His smirk didn’t slip. “I don’t particularly care for cheaters or liars, girl.”

“ Liar ?” To his surprise, she raised her voice. “For your information, that teacher failed me even after he—” But her mouth snapped shut, and her nose scrunched up in disgust as if the words were sour. She clicked her tongue, blinked, and then relaxed her face into that cool, neutral expression, donning her mask with ease. “You know what? You wanna to know why I changed the grade? Look up case number: GC:08SA207. It will tell you all you need to know and then some.”

Taking him completely by surprise, she stood up suddenly, her chair rocking back, precariously close to tipping over. With more spice than he anticipated, she slammed her laptop shut and shoved it into her bag. Following close behind, and with more force than he had ever seen from her, she shoved that ridiculous fuzzy notebook, her coffee tumbler, and water bottle away.

His brows knitted together. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home.” She didn’t even cast him another glance when she turned on her heel and strode away, her boots clacking against the linoleum.

Edward narrowed his gaze, feeling quite perturbed by the attitude. He glanced at the clock: 12:47 PM. “You won’t get your hours.”

She tore her coat from the old wooden hanger, raking it and his coat to the floor in the process. “I don’t fucking care.” 

As a final insult, she slammed the door on her way out.

Honestly, he was surprised by her out-of-character, volatile outburst. But this was the moment he had been waiting for. The moment she would break. The moment she would quit. He had known it was coming. All he needed to do was wait.

But Edward Nashton was not one to let someone have the last word, especially when it was something so disrespectful. He was fine being petty if it meant he won. So, he slammed his hands on the desk and shoved himself to a standing position, quickly making strides to follow her out, to give her a piece of his mind, to put her in her place, and to tell her to never come back. He yanked the door open.

But she was already too far away.

Heat simmered in Edward’s chest as he watched from a distance, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame of his office door. His gaze remained locked on Romy as she stormed out with quick, furious strides, the anger radiating off her in waves. Even in her irritation, there was a grace to the way she moved, each step assertive, her hips swaying just enough to draw the attention of the nearby officers. He frowned, feeling an odd prick of annoyance as a few of them straightened up, sharing amused glances and nudging one another with smirks.

Then, as if on cue, Officer Hartley stepped forward, the same charming, smarmy smile plastered on his face—one that Edward recognized. He narrowed his eyes, watching Hartley intercept Romy, his posture relaxed but his gaze predatory.

Edward’s fingers curled into fists against his tucked arms, the sharpness of his nails digging into his gloves as he watched the exchange unfold. He couldn’t hear the words being spoken, but her body language was clear. Her face was set in a hard line, an annoyed look in her half-lidded gaze as she responded to Hartley, clearly disinterested in whatever he was trying to say. She made a move to walk past him, but Hartley snapped his hand around her wrist to pull her back.

The sight of it—Hartley’s hand gripping her, forcing her to stumble—sent a surge of something volatile rushing through Edward, a dark, hot feeling that bubbled up before he could temper it. His teeth gritted, jaw clenching as he uncrossed his arms, taking a step forward with every intention of intervening and putting Hartley in his place.

Just because he was angry with Romy, irked, irritated, did not mean she deserved to be subjected to Jack Hartley’s idiocy. No one did.

But he stopped as he watched her jerk her hand away, the movement defiant, recoiling to clutch her appendage to her chest.

“Don’t touch me!” Her voice screeched through the bullpen, loud and clear enough for even Edward to hear. The tone was sharp, biting, and left no room for interpretation. She looked at Hartley with wide eyes, her teeth bared in a manner that almost made her look like a caged animal. 

Is—is she scared…?

The precinct seemed to freeze, all eyes turning to her. Edward watched as a flush spread across her cheeks, and for a moment, he was taken aback. He had never seen her embarrassed before, never seen that hint of vulnerability in her expression. The sight unsettled him, a pang of unease twisting in his chest as he realized she was genuinely distressed. It was a side of her he hadn’t anticipated.

Maybe she isn’t as Teflon as she presents…

As if sensing his gaze, her eyes met Edward’s, glassy and raw in a way that felt like a punch to the solar plexus. For the briefest moment, she held his stare, and he grimaced, feeling something stir beneath his irritation. There was a shade of shame in her look, something unspoken but undeniably there, and he didn’t like the way it affected him, the tightness that crept into his chest at the sight of her discomfort.

Then, with a final, frustrated shake of her head, Romy turned back to Hartley, glaring with an intensity that Edward recognized as pure, unfiltered disgust. He watched, surprised but grudgingly impressed, as she held her ground, a flicker of admiration stirring within him as she made it abundantly clear that she wouldn’t tolerate Hartley’s advances—in fact, she seemed repulsed by them—frightened by them even. She said something, gritting her teeth, jabbing her finger in the officer's chest.

When she shoved past Hartley, heading for the precinct doors with purposeful strides, Edward found himself rooted in place, stalled in the doorway.

The still-silent precinct seemed to crackle with her frustration, her form tense and radiating fury as she shoved through the doors, not sparing anyone a second glance.

Edward’s arms uncurled, the urge to chase after her fading as he watched her storm away. Whatever he’d meant to say, whatever swift reprimand he’d been ready to deliver to her, felt suddenly irrelevant. She had stood her ground with Edward, and only moments later, she had dealt with Hartley’s idiocy on her own terms, and that realization left him feeling… conflicted. His gaze lingered on the door long after it swung shut behind her, a slight tension still knotting in his chest as he replayed the scene in his mind.

He felt a strange pull as he processed what he had just witnessed. Romy, the pretty girl who garnered attention so effortlessly and spared none of it for anyone who didn’t seem to meet her standards. It was a power he’d expected, yes, but her application of it confused him.

On paper, it made so much sense: a meet-cute with a rugged cop, a bit of harmless flirtation, something both parties could laugh about later. But there had been none of that from her—no humor, no flicker of interest, just sheer, unrestrained frustration. She had turned Hartley down with a clarity and force that left no room for doubt, and somehow, the finality of it resonated with him, stirring something he couldn’t quite identify.

Still standing in the doorway to his office, it wasn’t long after she had left that he finally realized what she had said. The case number was stored in his working memory, and having remembered it, he converted it to short-term. Almost instantly, he computed the serial of digits and letters, knowing the code of Gotham City’s case nomenclature by heart.

GC:08SA207.

Gotham City 2008; SA case number 207. The 207th report that year.

SA.

Sexual Assault.

It was a long time before Edward moved, having sat with the information for a minute. He blinked, then his feet shifted, and he turned back to his office. He strode across the small room, stepping over the fallen coat rack. Soon, he was sitting and maneuvering his chair to face the monitor. His hands raised, pausing above the keyboard, thinking hard about his next actions. He wished he could say he was a more honest man—that he curbed the nosy urge to stimulate and satiate his curiosity.

But the mystery of it all, the mystery of Romy, the mystery of what had happened that had her breaking her so-curated contemporary, cool-girl demeanor in front of him, in front of the precinct, was all too much to bear.

After all, she did tell him it would answer his questions…

In a few clicks, Edward had the report pulled up, the case title standing stark on the screen: DOE, JANE vs. CORREN, JAMES, February 23rd, 2008. The words seared into his mind, and, much to his chagrin, he felt a growing sense of dread as he scrolled down, the details unraveling line by line. Very quickly, he realized he didn’t want to take it in, knew that with his memory, every word would be imprinted, unshakeable. But the need to understand—fully, truly understand—kept him reading.

The summary was clinical, blunt: James Corren, a tenured history teacher at Gotham Preparatory, was accused of coercion and sexual assault. Edward’s stomach churned as he read further. Jane Doe, a student, a senior at Gotham Prep, claimed Corren had assaulted her during a private AP practice session. The words were detached, almost cold, but he could see through them to the reality—the afternoon when the teacher had tried to use his power to back a young female student into a corner. Edward’s fingers tightened over the keyboard: Corren cornering her, leveraging his authority, pushing his advances when she couldn’t escape.

His pulse quickened as he skimmed further, his breath hitching when he reached the details that stopped him cold.

“Pinned to the desk.”“Forcefully undressed.”“Vaginal penetration.”“Digital insertion.”

“Penile insertion.”

The words infected his mind, leaving him feeling heavy and nauseated. Edward’s face contorted in disgust, his anger a raw, visceral thing. He pulled back from the monitor for a moment, jaw clenched, feeling the sickening weight of what the girl had endured.

Edward took a deep breath, forcing himself to continue. Against his better judgment and at the behest of his insatiable need to put the pieces together, he pulled up Romy’s juvenile record, matching the dates. And there it was—her arraignment just weeks after the incident. One month of juvenile detention for hacking and grade tampering. The entire last month of her junior year, a time meant for joy and celebration, was spent in juvie. The anger sharpened as he realized the timeline, the painful irony of it all.

She hadn’t hacked the school’s system out of arrogance or entitlement or because she was cheating.

She had been trying to take back control over a situation that had left her utterly powerless.

And then he saw it: a footnote at the bottom of her record, a casual line that most would skim over. Edward’s gaze hardened as he stared at the screen, the words “Evidence from a related case not permitted in court” sinking into him like a knife. That line—so dismissive, so coldly bureaucratic—hid the truth of what had been done to her. His fingers curled tightly on his keyboard as he absorbed the implications. The system had erased the context, taken her desperate act of survival, and twisted it into a simple “offense,” stripping away the pain, the desperation, the sheer injustice that had forced her hand.

It made his blood boil.

He flipped back to the case report, staring once more at the black-and-white text of DOE, JANE vs. CORREN, JAMES. As he read, a thought occurred to him: she had chosen anonymity, hadn’t she? She hadn’t wanted this part of her life to follow her, to haunt every future decision, every opportunity. She was already dealing with the one black mark in her life as it was. Jane Doe—it kept her hidden, allowed her to walk through the world without this hanging over her head. She had wanted to move forward, to keep this from defining her, to prevent people—people like him—from connecting this case to her if it were to come up.

Finally, he read the case conclusion, and something inside him snapped.

Ruled in favor of James Corren on grounds of lack of evidence.

Just her word against his. No definitive DNA proof had been found since it seemed she had reported it days later—days past the time any DNA would have been viable… 

Edward felt the bile rise in his throat as he stared at those words, realizing what they meant, what they had cost her. The man who had hurt her, humiliated her, walked away without consequences because the “evidence” wasn’t enough. Just her word against a tenured teacher, her big truth drowned by the voice of a respected adult. He could picture it—the doubt, the way she must have been scrutinized, questioned, blamed, while Corren had left unscathed.

The injustice of it, the cruelty, knotted in his chest, and for a moment, Edward’s vision blurred with anger. The hacking, the grade change—it wasn’t just an act of rebellion; it was a lifeline, Romy’s way of clawing back some small piece of control in a world that had denied her justice. A bitter, helpless anger built inside him as he thought of it—the loneliness, the desperation she must have felt, trapped in a system that failed to protect her.

Edward leaned back in his chair, his hands motionless, the screen still glowing with the damning text. This wasn’t just about Corren, he realized. It was about every institution, every system that turned its back on her. The school system that ignored her, the courts that dismissed her, the system that took one look and chose to see a delinquent rather than a survivor. She had been reduced to a record in a file, a single mistake used to erase her humanity, to ignore the truth.

His chest tightened, a pressure building that he didn’t know how to release. This wasn’t something he could brush off, not now. The realization gnawed at him, a strange, hollow ache that he couldn’t just ignore. He’d always seen Romy as a nuisance, a spoiled, privileged brat who flaunted her looks and effortless charm, someone who breezed through life without much care for the real world. But that picture he’d formed of her, the shallow, one-dimensional judgment he’d held onto, crumbled as he stared at the damning words on the screen.

She was someone who had endured. Someone who had been betrayed by every system that should have protected her, forced to claw her way back from academic hell, to rebuild herself in a world that stripped her of any fair chance. Despite the injustice, the violation, the betrayal—somehow, she had kept going, kept fighting, kept reaching forward to a future that had once seemed inevitable. He realized, with a discomfort that sat heavy in his stomach, that her resilience was something he had never given her credit for.

Romy wasn’t just a pretty face in his office.

And she wasn’t a victim.

She was a survivor.

As Edward sat there, a dark, simmering anger twisted in his gut, churning with a depth he didn’t often allow himself to feel. This wasn’t the kind of anger that came from annoyance or frustration; it was deeper, sharper, almost painful. He could feel it settling into him, demanding that he confront it. He couldn’t just look away. Not from this, not from the truth of what she had gone through, of who she was. For once, his anger wasn’t a selfish response to a perceived slight. It was for her. For everything that had been stolen from her, for the scars she had to carry, for the path she had been forced to walk.

And then, unbidden, his recent conversation with her slipped to the forefront of his mind, like a mocking reminder of his own cruelty. He remembered his words—how he had accused her of cheating, mocked her need to “prove” herself in the face of Loeb’s dismissal, in the face of him dismissing her academic struggle as an act of entitlement.

But now, knowing the truth, his words felt like a slap in the face. She had been smart—honor roll, perfect marks, a near-flawless record before Corren destroyed it. She had built herself up from scratch, achieved everything with grit and intelligence, until that one fateful year. That failure, that stain on her record—it hadn’t been her fault. It wasn’t a reflection of her capabilities. It was a scar left by a system that ignored her, failed her, twisted her trauma into a simple narrative of delinquency.

She had been a smart kid, from a good family with her whole future ahead of her. And it hit him, how deeply unjust it all was. How Corren’s cruelty, his manipulation, had set off a chain reaction that left her struggling to prove herself to people like Edward—people who never bothered to see the person beneath the mistake, the real story behind the choices she had been forced to make.

He could feel the anger building, burning hotter now. It was a righteous anger, a rare thing for him to feel for someone, usually so wrapped up in his own ambitions, his own need to stay one step ahead. But now, this fury was laced with something else, something unfamiliar and uncomfortable, something that was triggered by Romy and Romy alone. She was always so cool, so easygoing, so funny, so smart, so resilient.

Edward exhaled sharply, the sound lost in the din of the precinct outside his door. His office was quiet, insulated from the chaotic hum of ringing phones and hurried footsteps, but the silence offered no solace. He dragged a hand through his hair, the motion rough and impatient, before leaning back in his chair. The frame creaked under his weight, a faint, deafening sound.

His neck craned back, gaze fixed on the cracked tiles of the drop ceiling. The sickly fluorescents buzzed above him. But Edward’s focus wasn’t on the room around him—it was on the storm in his mind, each thought louder, vivid, more insistent than the last.

What do I know about her?

The question looped in his head, a desperate attempt to impose order on the chaos of his thoughts. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair as he forced himself to catalog, analyze, understand.

She was young. The kind of youth that felt untouchable, invincible, alive . It irritated him, the ease with which she carried it, the sharp contrast to the weight he felt in his own years.

She was beautiful. Infuriatingly so. A kind of beauty that turned heads, that lingered in someone’s eye long after they’d looked away.

She was clever. Too clever. Quick-witted, sharp, always a step ahead in conversation. He hated how often she disarmed him, how often she made him falter in ways no one else had.

She had been a cheerleader. His research had uncovered this—it felt insignificant then. But now, it fit neatly into the mosaic of her. Confident. Agile. Poised.

She had gone to juvie. That initial information being the catalyst for why he had chosen her—and something now a jarring contrast to the polished veneer she presented. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more it clicked. There was an edge to her, a hardness beneath the surface that could only come from surviving something brutal.

She was in a sorority. Yet another piece of information uncovered in his late-night background check. Offsetting and emblematic of how effortlessly she embodied the roles she played. Student and sister.

She was a sexual assault survivor. The heaviest truth of all. It loomed over the rest, casting shadows on every other detail. It complicated everything—his thoughts, his feelings, his understanding of her. He didn’t want it to matter, but it did. It did.

Edward’s teeth clenched, his head tilting forward now, his gaze boring into the scratched surface of his desk. He couldn’t ignore the weight of these truths, the dissonance between what he thought he knew about her and the reality that had been thrust upon him.

And then the final, damning thought rose to the surface, unbidden and undeniable:

She was perfect.

His lips parted slightly, his breathing shallow as the thought settled, unwelcome and yet immovable. The contradictions, the flaws, the maddening complexity of her—they all added up to something he couldn’t ignore.

Despite all this, despite all this private information, despite this big picture he was piecing together today, why did he feel like he still had no idea who she was?

The precinct’s muffled noise outside seeped back into his awareness: a ringing phone, the clatter of an archaic typewriter one of the old crones insisted on using, the distant hum of voices. He closed his eyes briefly, willing the thoughts to fade, to dissolve into the cacophony outside his door.

But they didn’t.

Edward exhaled, his breath shaky, his pulse loud in his ears.

“Fuck.”

Ao3 link here!

[tookishcombeferre]

I give you three mini-sodes from each of the three Winslow children in one chapter! I have no particular bond to James and Clio as being crush buddies. But, I love Clio, and I wanted to feature her for a moment. So, she is briefly mentioned in a flashback in this chapter. However, as I mention in the author's note, I do love the idea of these two having a wee little middle school crush on each other. They've known each other a long time. I think it's cute. I also just really love Clio, Zooey, Zandar, and Vivian so expect me to make any excuse to have them show up in my stories. Of the RPA specific friends, they're my favorite. Don't have any particular reason why, but I do like them.

These are super random tangents. XD Lots more bits and bobs of backstory and lore that I've chucked in in various places throughout the chapter. It gets mostly(?) tied up at the end of the fic. But, bare in mind, this is also a prequel for a story that I have drafted to be, I think now, 40 chapters and counting. So, I can't solve everything for you yet. I've had to edit a few things on and off here for the last couple of days. I have the ending of this whole fic like almost completely done, but the chapter in between this and the ending is non-existent. So ... you will likely be waiting a while for the ending. But, I promise! I promise it will be worth it!

Also, much thanks for your grace with my author's note and my delays in posting. This Christmas is not one free of grief for me. And, I may or may not have been channeling some of that into my writing. I'd kindly ask that people refrain from projecting weird intentions on the characters that simply aren't there because a solid lot of this chapter was me reflecting on how I cared for my late grandfather into the end of his life despite the fact that no one is dying in the chapter. My grandfather was *my* Cedric, and really more my Fionn, in many ways. He was my second father. So, please, don't make it weird. I'm like begging y'all don't make it weird. Thanks y'all. You're the best. Cheers, Pip💚💜

[mad-hunts]

Headcanon Ask Game: Fragrance Prompts

[ Bergamot, Mint, Lemon ]

fragrance prompts.

AHHH, hello, jonathan! thank you so much for the ask :D i really do appreciate you all sending things in like this because it allows me to take about the INSANITY that is barton - /hj (LOL, i'm partially joking here, but he is kind of insane so... you know. i'm also being partially serious jsjsj) but anywhozies, i hope you have drank plenty of water today and also ate plenty of delicious food! now buckle up because i'm about to answer all of your headcanon questions haha.

Bergamot: What gesture of kindness made the biggest impact on them, and why?

OOF — you know what? it took me a hot minute to come up with this one because i feel like, although there have definitely been moments that have changed barton's life... they weren't exactly due to kindness. but then i thought about barton's childhood and how, despite him not having the slightest clue as to who he was at the time, winslow took him in as a kid. and this certainly would fit into the category of a gesture of kindness since, for all extents + purposes, he wasn't obligated to help barton by taking him in whenever he came to his door.

because even though barton was in quite dire straits, he could've easily called the police and just waited with him until they showed up, but winslow could sense that something was definitely wrong + he doesn't have the best relationship with the police himself. so, the next best thing was allowing barton to come into his house and nursing him back to health. but considering that he had nowhere else to go after winslow had done so and he has a rather big soft-spot for kids... he allowed barton to stay there for as long as he needed. + unbeknowst to both of them at first, this would later forge a familial-like bond between the both of them as winslow became a surrogate father to barton.

Mint: What is their sharpest sense, and how does that impact their life?

whenever it comes to barton's sharpest sense, i have to admit, the first thing that came to mind for me upon being asked this was his hearing — so that is what i shall be talking about here. i think i have mentioned this a few times before, but as a kid, barton literally adapted to becoming a light sleeper because of his bio father as he (unfortunately) had reason to be afraid of wesley. and this meant that, as a result, barton's hearing became extra sensitive to picking up sounds that were slight like creaks in the floorboard or whispering.

now, this is something that carried on wayyy into his adulthood + serves as both a blessing as well as a curse. because, yes, as one might be able to imagine — it has gotten barton out of some sticky situations in the past along with the present. but on the downside, he finds himself being quite easy to rouse whenever he's asleep, and so stuff like even his partner getting up in the middle of the night for something harmless like going to the bathroom might wake him up. orrr barton might hear a conversation occur between two people that he wasn't supposed to, and now he has information that he has no idea what to do with.

so, in a nutshell, i'd say that it affects his life both positively as well as negatively. there are certainly some advantages to having a keen sense of hearing whenever you're a part of gotham's underground, as it may or may not allow you to do things like know where to go when escaping from a place... or what-have-you. but yeah!

Lemon: What is something seemingly inconsequential that can put them in a bad mood for the rest of the day?

inconsequential, huh? honestly — though this isn't something that happens too often, having to deal with people who are entitled and/or bossy at his job is something that can really put barton in a sour mood for the rest of the day; even though he knows that, in any job where you're dealing with the public, you can expect to encounter at least a couple of people who aren't so nice every few weeks. but it still manages to like completely tilt his day in a negative direction if that makes any sense. because there are good people out there, but unfortunately, the likelihood of 'bad people' overshadowing the positive interactions you've had during a certain day... it's unfortunately rather high.

a way that barton tries to alleviate this feeling is through basically telling himself he'll get a 'reward' if he makes it through the day without crashing out (JSJSJ), though, which mostly works. mostly. but anyway, i hope you enjoyed reading my responses to all of these questions and that you're having a good start to your friday, my friend!! ❤️

[paulisperpostridie]

Winslow what do you think of modern pop. Do you fucks with Lady Gaga.

hello, cupid! :)

first off, i’d like to mention how much i appreciate your gesture of sending a question directed towards me specifically. while it may seem small to you, it’s been difficult rekindling my connection with greater society ever since my string of incidents- even with the unfulfilled prison sentence aside, haha. little things like this keep my long-held philosophy of humanity’s inherent goodness alive. to answer your question though, living with a music journalist has given me plenty of time to not just keep up with what new acts spring up these days, but to better appreciate the fan culture surrounding them. i used to consider these “fan bases”- a term i see often nowadays- a parasitic fixture of most art communities, frivolous at best and gullible at worst. however, through the hundreds of messages paulie and i read almost every day, it’s become apparent to me that these aren’t just drooling teen hedonists in need of better emotional outlets, but aspiring artists themselves, wishing to show their appreciation for those that remind them that they can have their own special place in the big media-reliant world we live in.

despite all of this, i’m unfamiliar with the lady gaga. i’ll have to ask paulie if he’s got anything on her (them? with the names groups pick nowadays, you can never know…. jeez, i’m starting to sound old). if you want to know my opinions on acts that’ve been cropping up often in our household, i’m excited for that upcoming queen album, especially after i’ve relished in the stylings of sheer heart attack for a good few months. they’re definitely one of my favorite groups of the current decade so far… i think i might prefer their earlier more progressive works, but that doesn’t stop me from finding fascination with their newer style. paulie’s currently raving about the synthesizer-heavy “autobahn” by kraftwerk that came out this past november, but, in all honesty, the repetitive elements in its 22-minute behemoth of a title track just makes me feel a little uneasy…. that new dylan was just okay. have you seen those electric light orchestra people, though? jeff lynne’s approach to musical depth and arrangements is super admirable, the kind of fresh approach to rock n’ roll i’ve been leaning off the edge of my chair waiting for the arrival of- but that’s just on our end. what are some groups and artists you’ve been spinning lately, cupid? i’d love to hear from you!

sincerely,

winslow leach :)

[summmeister]

A Look Over the Art I Made in 2023

2023 has come and gone, with a sizeable improvement on my art skills. Once again, I am VERY proud of the work I managed to accomplish this year. I'll be going over some of the highlights month by month in this post, being sure to point out anything of note.

JANUARY

Starting off the year, I made some new artwork of Skweeb! I consider this fairly outdated now, but it did start a few trends with the character, mainly how I draw shine on him. His eyes bulge outwards, they're not holes! I also drew @akfamilyhome's character, Leddy.

FEBRUARY

This was a BIG month for me! I tried a lot of new things, and most of them worked out! This month also contains what I consider to be one of my best drawings this year, a celebration of Hollow Knight's 6th anniversary. Other highlights include a dashing tribute to Dangeresque and an entirely new reference sheet for Skweeb!

MARCH

March was not a particularly noteworthy month. These are the only two drawings from it! That said, I am quite happy getting any drawings out this month at all! As you'll see later on, this wasn't actually my most dry month.

APRIL

A VERY full month! I can't even fit everything I wanted to! Lots of Skweeb here, some Lucy too! Also a fitting send-off to Courtney (very sad Dead End got cancelled). Tried some big things here, like with the parody Album art, but for the most part I was just doing what I was good at: simple character full-bodies.

MAY

VERY dry month for art. This is the only piece from May! I participated in @some-fool-fp's aRtPG collab this month. Skweeb joins the party!!!!! Made my own custom logo for him, too.

I had a LOT of college work this month. I was working on a game!!! I got the highest grade possible on it, very proud of that. If you would like to play it, you can do so here. Just a warning though, it's very short and VERY jank at times.

JUNE

Another big month!! Some proper reference of Winslow, another Jevil drawing, and my FAVORITE piece of Skweeb art to date!!! The pose and the shading is just so good on it, I love it.

JULY

...Well this is awkward.

Art Fight was this month, and with all of my effort going towards that, I kinda... didn't draw any of my own art this month. Whoops.

Let's press fast forward, shall we?

AUGUST

A NEW OC WAS CREATED THIS MONTH!!!! Meet Chao. He helps out at the circus. He babby. I put a TON of effort into getting his design just right and ensuring he had the proper referencing before working on anything else. I love this 'lil guy.

Also some of my favorite art from this year!!! Inspired by Lemon Demon's "One Weird Tip", I made some art that takes place on a ficticous desktop! Getting the shapes and text right was hard, but I am so glad I put the time and effort in.

SEPTEMBER

Always Watching.

WOW, I am so so proud of what I accomplished with this CoTL piece. Everything from the pose to the composition and the use of colour is just PERFECT. This is up there in my favourite pieces of art from this year.

Skweeb and Jack Frost are here too... wait, it's not December yet!

OCTOBER

A certain someone turned 2 this month! My baby boy, now 2 years old... how time flies...

It was halloween this month too... but Skweeb isn't dressing up this year. It's Lucy in his place! Got some nice Jax art here too, I love that asshole.

NOVEMBER

I was never the most content with my previous Jevil artwork. I never felt like I was giving it my all, which is why I'm happy to say that this month, I did!

I also took a second shot at drawing Jax; this time, featuring Pomni! I used thinner lines and taught myself how to draw hands a whole lot better, I think it helped, haha.

Lastly, (part of) my piece for @hillelart's 10th Anniversary FNAF collab! The full thing is staying secret for now. Keep an eye out for January 15th!

DECEMBER

Finally, we arrive at December.

Funnily enough, I didn't actually draw for half the month. But when I got back into it, I got BACK in. I'm very proud of both of these pieces, and the shading and blending I used in them! This certainly feels like a new era of my art, and I'm looking forward to continuing it!

And that's it. You made it to the end! Most people just together a simple image for their art recap, and while that certainly works just fine, I like to go into the nitty gritty, write down my entire year in art, y'know?

I'm not sure if this year contains as much progress as 2022, but it certainly contains a BOATLOAD of progress! Look back at the start of the post and compare it to the end of the post, the difference is insane!

Lastly, I've got just one more thing to show, once again, redrawing my first ever piece to mark off yet another year. I hope you like it, you'll only have to wait another 365 days for the next one!

Bring on 2024!

[sapphicbookclub]

The Last Place You Look by Aurora Rey

Julia Pierce can think of nothing more humiliating than her wife of eight years leaving her for her personal trainer. Oh, wait. She can. Without a career or a place to go when that exact thing happens, she’s forced to move home and take a job at her family’s winery.

Taylor Winslow has been in love with Julia since tenth grade. Not the desperate, pining sort, but the kind that never really went away. When Julia reappears, Taylor has a chance to finally win her heart. The only problem? Julia’s hell-bent on making up for lost time by dating every eligible lesbian in town.

Signing on as Julia’s wingman may land Taylor in the friend zone for good, but it’s a gamble she’s willing to take. With Taylor in her corner, will Julia find love, and herself, where she least expects it?

Genres: contemporary, romance

Get the book from Blackwell's with free worldwide shipping here!

[reviiely]

Omigoodness hello!! I just found out you have a tumblr and I was so happy to see some AoS stuff posted here! I definitely didn’t binge through all of them when I still have an assignment due in 52 minutes… haha… not at all…

Something did pique my interest tho!! You mentioned Cal having an ‘angry conversation with Phil and May over how they handled Skye/Daisy’s situation’? I’m super curious what you meant by that! So could I please ask for maybe just a few more crumbs? 🥹🥹

Hope you have a great day! x

Hi Anon! Always lovely to hear from one of y’all. I’m glad to hear that you liked my stuff!

• when Skye/Daisy runs away from SHIELD after Lincoln’s death (yes, I was still gonna kill him), she constantly seeks refuge in Cal’s vet place, to the point where he becomes a trusted confidant. Eventually, he remeets Coulson and May, and has a sort of angry conversation for how they handled Skye/Daisy’s situation.

So! I actually really like the post-TAHITI protocol Cal and post-s3 Daisy dynamic that I made for them. Here’s a few things to start so y’all have all the context you need:

- Cal’s post-op name is Dr. John Winslow (DVM)

- Daisy first showed up after getting in a fight with the Watchdogs, she’s badly beaten up, she doesn’t know where to go, and the first place she thinks of is the clinic.

- She ends up passed out in the alleyway behind the building, and Dr. Winslow finds her and helps her clean up and patches her wounds.

- Daisy doesn’t confide in him at first because she’s afraid that too much info will override the procedure, but over time, she lets go.

- Dr. Winslow feeds her, cleans and patches her up as needed, and is generally very understanding. He’s basically Cal if nothing bad ever happened to him, and Daisy wonders if this is what it would’ve been like to grow up as his daughter.

- For a short period of time, she even lives with him in his apartment above the clinic. Dr. Winslow says it’s to keep her out of trouble, but it was actually because Daisy was slowly slipping into a depressive episode, and he wanted to keep an eye on her.

- Daisy learns to cook from him. Coulson tried to teach her, but it never stays. Dr. Winslow teaches her very simple things, starting with how to make rice and a simple broth to tide her over until her next meal (> this makes Coulson a teensy bit jealous. Just a teeny bit.)

- She reveals her powers to him after a few hours of knowing him. There’s no way of explaining her injuries without it, and something in her just trusts him. She was afraid of how he might react, but Dr. Winslow just nodded and offered her a drink.

- Daisy talks about her parents (Coulson and May) a lot, once even venting to Dr. Winslow about them when she was delirious from a fever. This is when he gets a bad impression of them, but he still respects that if she loves them as parents, he’ll be nice to them.

Basically, Daisy healing from her biological daddy issues. Because yes. Girl needs that. The ficlet will come later, probably. We’ll see.

[ncisladaily]

Jeff Kober has thrived on playing the baddie for much of his long career. The prolific actor has almost 150 credits to his name with stops on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The X Files, Walker, Texas Ranger, The Walking Dead, New Girl, and NCIS: Los Angeles to name a few. Then there are more regular roles like Jacob Hale Jr. on Sons of Anarchy, Sgt. Dodger Winslow on China Beach, and most recently, on General Hospital where he won an Emmy for his portrayal of shady Cyrus Renault.

Next up is the pool shark thriller Break, where he takes on the role of pool hall hustler “The Hand” Jimmy. In the film, he looks to stand in the way of Eli (Daniel Weiss), the hotshot son of a former rival, from honoring his legendary dad and former rival’s legacy. Here the veteran actor talks about the project and reminisces about some of his favorite parts.

After all this time, how is it being that go-to bad guy? 

Jeff Kober: I don’t know. It is interesting, but I enjoy working. What I’m trying to do these days is humanize everyone. Even if they’re not terribly nice people based on the story being told. They can’t be all bad. What’s human about that? That’s fascinating. So you’re not ever acting. You’ve built some type of world you’re living through. As a natural result of your belief system, this is what happens.

You’re the bad guy in Break. What stands out about Jimmy to you? 

What I liked about him was it was such a specific world. So foreign to anything I’ve experienced, except bits here and there. I was in a carnival for a while as a younger man and that character would have fit well in the carnival. Someone lost a wallet on a ride. The carny who ran that ride and the carny who ran the ride next to it argued not about who got to turn in the wallet back to the person who lost it but who got the money that was in it. I didn’t understand those kind of people then. Now I kind of do to find my way in and what it would take for me to be like that. This is what made the role so fascinating to me.

How much of a pool player were you beforehand? 

I played a lot of pool in bars as a younger man. I once was beaten I think 17 times in a row by Megan Branman, a casting director in Hollywood. So I was a moderately okay pool player. I enjoy the sport, but I am never able to play even remotely like in the movie. I got an evening of lessons. This guy just corrected a couple of things for me and suddenly a whole new world opened up for me. That was amazing.

What did you make of the environment the film takes place, gritty Detroit? 

We’re seeing it everywhere today. People are frightened of so many different things. They are struggling to behave in a way with respect to themselves. They may be following the fear and doing things they don’t respect. Like when Eli decides to bet all the money he was saving for his sister’s education. That’s not out of a sense of love and compassion and wanting to do the right thing. That’s out of the terror of I can’t be shown up like this. I can’t have my ego smashed like this. We all have those challenges every day. I just look at it as is this the ego working here or the truth working here and are they aware there is a difference? Those are the questions that occur to me.

How was it sharing the screen with Darren Weiss as Eli? 

With Darren, he stepped up and met me. We really play in that area of wanting to beat each other in the script. I’m really proud of what he did in this.

It has been more than 35 years since China Beach hit the airwaves. How do you look back on the show today?

I know it didn’t come out to watch easily over the years when so many others came out because of the music rights that were so spread out. It was impossible to get permission from that many music companies and have it make sense to make it commercially available. I love the fact people are still moved by it. Everyone was trying to do the best they could in order to honor the women and men we were representing. That’s really special when you get to do a job like that.

A lot of times shows will get canceled without getting a formal goodbye, but China Beach was lucky enough to have one. A touching one at that. 

I’m grateful we did in the end show these characters accelerated forward and what it was like to visit the Vietnam Veterans Memorial wall in Washington D.C. This was very special, especially for me who have been around many Vietnam veterans. I still have Vietnam veteran friends in my life and see what they had and lost and the rebuilding process that had to occur. I really feel that China Beach was a part of opening up the consciousness of the U.S. Like, “Hey something happened here, and we’ve been ignoring it. Wake up.”

These days a lot of viewers know you from the soap opera world on General Hospital. How is it to step in and out of Port Charles as Cyrus? A role that won you a Daytime Emmy Award. 

It’s more like being a sprinter than a distance runner. You have to be ready to go. You have to be ready to jump in any direction because you don’t know who you’re going to be from one week to the next until you look at a script. You never get to see where that script fits into the larger fabric of the story they’re telling. It’s a hoot because it’s jumping into the unknown.

Cyrus has been through a lot. What do you make of his evolution? Where do you see this character going in the future on the show? 

It started out as a short gig. Whatever happened, they decided to keep me on a little longer. So they made me the mysterious half-brother of Genie Francis’ character [Laura Spencer]. They wrote this evil criminal as someone who is broken and needs his mother’s love. I was like, “How do you play that? I guess we’ll find out.” It was so much fun to do that. Then they sent him away to prison and he found Jesus, or did he? For me, it’s always about finding what’s the most interesting and grounded and most passionate perspective this character can have in a given time. They keep you guessing on that show. What he has come around to now, and being holier than now. The last time I saw him he was saying, “I got to work on myself before I tell anyone else how to do this.” Don’t you wish more people in the world realized that?

You’ve been in the shoes of a lot of characters. What are some of your favorites? For me, The Claimers leader on The Walking Dead has to be included. 

Joe on The Walking Dead was fantastic because it was so rich. The people I worked with were also just fantastic. I would have done anything on that show for as long as they wanted me to.

What a way Joe went though. 

It was the best death in the show up to that point I think. The last line for him was just great, “What the hell are you gonna do now sport?” Just amazing. I loved China Beach, too. The people, we’re brothers and sisters. We left a mark on all of our lives. A lot of us were really beginning our careers when we did that. It holds a place that will never be touched by anything else. I’ve had really exciting experiences. I had a run on NCIS: Los Angeles. I got to work intimately with Linda Hunt. That was otherworldly. There was an intimacy with her and strength in her work. She is like a national treasure. I can always tell how wonderful someone’s talent is when you just get in their face. They go, “Oh, someone is here.” Then they just jump in themselves. They did this.

Jeff Kober and Linda Hunt (Henrietta “Hetty” Lange) in NCIS: Los Angeles (Bill Inoshita/CBS Broadcasting, Inc.)

One of my favorite turns for you was also when you were on New Girl as this curmudgeon of a landlord. During the rewatch podcast “Welcome to Our Show” the cast revealed a few years ago that Bruce Willis was almost cast as Remy. You made it your own though. 

It was a hoot. I actually did a movie with Jake Johnson that is on Hulu now called Self Reliance. He wrote this character with me in mind. Then right around Christmas, I did his podcast where they give advice for people on really stupid things. We were reminiscing about the characters almost doing this threesome. I was in my underwear and cowboy boots. We shot the scene many times, and every time I would come up with a different yoga pose or something I’d be doing when they came to me like reading a book or spraying aftershave in my private areas. They give you free rein to be crazy. That was a gas.

[winwild]

you’re not from around here, are you? i figured because you totally just missed winslow wilder walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who he is ? they kind of look like andy samberg and i could be wrong but i think that they might be 45 years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last year. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of jesse swanson from pitch perfect.

STATS.

full name.  winslow pincus wilder. he’s stockpiled mountains of jewelry to thank his mother for spurning a hyphenated surname.

nicknames.  answers to mr. wilder first and foremost, but accepts winn or winnie with brutal bruxism.

label.  the filmophile.

date of birth.  22 june. celebrates billy wilder’s conception more consistently, though.

place of birth.  mer rouge, louisiana. his mouth frequently confuses this with moulin rouge.

current residence.  mango bay, palmview grove, florida. a chronic couch crasher nonetheless.

languages.  fluent in english and asl. speaks high school level spanish with a middle schooler’s accent.

education.  got a b.a. in music composition. between his bank account and acclaimed career in cooking burgers, he thinks it should've been a b.s.

occupation.  music teacher at seaglass heights elementary school.

gender. cisgender male. he/him.

orientation.  bisexual in a ‘crushed on both shirley maclaine and jack lemmon in the apartment’ way.

marital status.  single. not quite ready to mingle.

family.  very loving mother and father. less loving older sister and younger brother. a couple of nieces and nephews who call him the cool uncle.

pets.  a prelapsarian rose-ringed parakeet named reginald. maybe a mouse colony or two behind the microwave.

PERSONALITY.

the brief.  winslow thinks of life as a movie. one with labyrinthine twists and turns, highs and lows and hopeless romance, and an audience somewhere just out of sight that ought to enjoy themselves. he’s cast himself as the heroic comic relief (or is it comic stress?) and wants to help people find their happy endings, even though he’s just about abandoned finding one for himself. whether that’s because he thinks it’s the stand-up thing to do or because he believes karma’s watching, you best believe he’s bringing a pumped playlist along.

the good.  winslow is outgoing to the point where his parents have advised him to pack his bags and make someone else pay the rent. his easygoing empathy and ability to laugh at anything (even… no, especially himself) have allowed him to amass quite the number of acquaintances. the natural blitheness that plagues his monologues may suggest otherwise, but he’s loyal and dependable enough to have had his room dubbed the kennel by siblings, cousins, and actual stray animals. only a select few can surpass the confidence he’s been saving since college, and most of them turned out to be presidents in the making. according to the wilder diaries volumes 23 through 47, no job is too small and no joke is too corny for him to not give his all. then there’s usually a doodle of a ginormous smiley face that bleeds over to the next page. look, there’s a reason he didn’t become an english teacher.

the bad.  winslow forgives and forgets before he can remember what he’s forgiving in the first place. idealism is the only idea he has of how to interact with people, and it’s a herculean task to get him to acknowledge something can’t be solved with a sliver of time and an acoustic rendition of a progressive rock song. he’s passionate to a fault, and his dogged pursuit of whatever or whoever piques his interest can end in disappointment on both parties’ end as he overpromises and underdelivers due to the sheer length of his to-do list.

the ugly.  winslow’s sense of worth is, was, and perhaps always will be dependent on what others say and do. without the promise of applause or a sordid afterparty he struggles to find purpose in being himself, his boundaries weak and expectations silent while his vocal cords soar into sardonic condescension. he’s the first to believe he’s got some growing up to do before he becomes one of those floridian retirees floating by in life with peace and a pina colada, but whether he’s ready to work on that is a whole different ball game. and he sucked at ball games. why else would he join an a cappella group at the ripe old age of eighteen?

APPEARANCE.

height.  5’8. he could’ve taught at mango bay high, but the prospect of telling off teenagers taller than him was terrifying, even for a guy who knew the room’s script by heart.

build.  generously described by his crossfit coach as lean. hits the vending machine more than the gym, though.

style.  his contacts list may very well be a tourist’s guide to nearby thrift shop owners. patterned comfort takes precedence above such trivial things as social appropriateness–his closet is a menagerie of flannel, florals, graphic tees, and hoodies; his shoe rack is a museum of besmirched sneakers and bedecked crocs.

notable features. floppy brown hair married to bedhead. a cleft chin bereft of any substantial facial hair. a crooked smile that smells of bubblegum toothpaste.

BIOGRAPHY. content warning for a brief mention of unplanned pregnancy and a longer mention of medical issues. skip the not-so-young adulthood sections if you’re uncomfortable with this.

childhood.  it takes a darn difficult couple of months, but eventually, winslow pincus wilder is born to be weaned on diet coke and family comedies in the most anodyne suburb america has to offer. of course, his parents work at the office and his sister works at dismantling the patriarchy one pierced ear at a time. he has to make his own fun with whomever he finds interesting, and by the time his brother’s born, he’s befriended half the neighbourhood with his taste in music, movies, or lawnmowers. school passes by like a breeze–not because he’s smart, mind you, but because he’s bored to death and c grades are, y’know, passing–and he’s happy with his dinners and chores and everything else about real life that’s a bore, because he’s got movies.

adolescence.  winslow is a social vagabond, drifting from pack to pack lunch to lunch. people come to his bar mitzvah, yeah, and people don’t point out how his action figures are poking his jaws poster in a very strange place, but his sister’s destroying her professors’ egos at some ivy league and his brother’s destroying books or baseball bats or whatever while he’s still drawing stop-motion ninjas in the corner of his notebooks. for the first and last time in his life, he feels awkward, resorting to such desperate projects as a garage band, a lemonade stand, and a detective agency. when he watches the breakfast club at seventeen, he sees himself in the screen more than ever before. he feels himself in the fugues of electric guitar and a god-given falsetto. he knows he has a future in music, even if he did mistake first runner up at the talent show for first and got his garage band booed off the stage.

young adulthood.  winslow is the one being watched, for once. eyes bore into his back when his parents nearly squeeze his spine out of his body, wondering why he had to move more than a mile away to study music. a smug senior with the most insufferably dulcet voice looks at him with a cocky, ever-cocked brow when he signs up for the campus radio internship. but there’s also an an absurdly intense cappella group and a schedule that leaves him way too much time to lounge around and a roommate that leaves him way too little space for any personal effects (not that he’s complaining!) and a girl. it’s something out of a movie. then he graduates, they break up but remain on great terms, and he moves many miles away to try and use his degree for something deserving of the blockbuster billboard top thousand. keyword being try.

not-so-young adulthood.  winslow is happy in his big city bachelor’s pad, working a greasy spoon’s greasier counter and calling in sick every now and then to perform at open mics. he’s not quite as appreciated as he was in his a cappella days, but at least he’s not getting booed off. one night, though, his bemoaning to the big boss about another cold is cut off by a call from his ex. she’s got a kid and she thought her boyfriend was kidding when he said he’d leave by the end of the football season. the morning after, winslow’s at her door and doesn’t intend on leaving. he finds work he loves at the local school training the next generation to play hot cross buns and finds that being a father is just as, if not more fulfilling, than being a friend. but pride cometh before a fall.

not-so-young adulthood: act two.  a literal fall, in fact, as his dad is hospitalised for a heart attack and his mom’s never got half the same mind after. he’s not making enough to cover the bill and his siblings barely ever call back, so he’s left scrambling for money. asking for help from the woman whose baby he’s helping raise? what are you, the court jester? no, help comes in the form of the child’s father, calloused knuckles and jingling pockets approaching. the deal’s simple: let the kid have their real dad and wake up to a fat wad of cash under his pillow, no broken teeth needed. winslow agrees. it’s not like the kid’s even old enough to remember him, and his ex will understand if he moves to be closer to his parents as their conditions worsen. he leaves no trace of him in the house but a really stupid mixtape of rapped lullabies with his address scribbled on and moves to mango bay.

now.  winslow is an infinite amount of people stuffed in a plaid shirt, sutured with a smile. he’s the newcomer to one cantankerous convenience store clerk who needs to deal with his bulk purchase of popsicles, artificially coloured tongue still stumbling over street names. he’s a human map to a young couple who need the perfect picture on the beach to make their shared ex jealous, hands deftly working their camera with a director’s eye for detail. more than anything, he’s a man looking to score movies and share stories. even if they’re super, duper embarrassing for all parties involved.

MISCELLANEOUS.

radio.  john williams. simple minds. charlies williams. kansas. ralph vaughan williams. are you sensing a theme yet?

recommended reading.  wonder boys by michael chabon. a wrinkle in time by madeleine l'engle. out on a limb by shirley maclaine. the fan by bob randall. big fish: a novel of mythic proportions by daniel wallace. 

potential relationships.  a fellow film bro (gender neutral). a fan of his a cappella work. a former coworker at burger flipping inc. a former bandmate because you know this man’s done some weird gigs for a good buck. a fling from high school. a fling who saw his suitcase covered in movie memorabilia as he stood outside his shiny new palmview apartment because he lost the key he was literally just given and went yeah i’d hit that. a friend of his sibling’s, who’s heard or seen more male-led horror stories than present in a stephen king’s bibliography. a friend of his kid’s but god would that require plotting lmao.

assorted headcanons.  has a better dvd collection than any blockbuster; the plastic on all of them’s worn out more than the fabric of his singular suit. way too good at dodgeball and trampoline tricks. always chooses never gonna give you up as his last karaoke song. instinctively harmonises with the radio, which must be turned on 24/7 lest he die of ennui. learned to play the piano at age twelve to impress a crush who never inhaled in his general direction. a prodigious malingerer; fakes a classic dad sneeze to cover up his real sneeze, which should, for all intents and purpose, belong to a coloratura soprano. has invested in at least one pyramid scheme.

[bleuangel88]

So much to unpack with this season finale, it's hard to pick out snippets. But here's some bulletpoints from the review!

I cannot applaud Adrian Greensmith enough for his exceptional work as Spoon Spindell.

Spoon emerges from the opposing sides of Ema and Rachel regarding Abeona as someone who has his eyes wide open about the pitfalls and flaws but doesn't write off the good work .Mickey may be the most obvious choice of running lead in Abeona, as is his legacy, but Spoon Spindell feels like the most unexpected but well-rounded choice for working deeply within this organization.

Adding Rachel Caldwell into the mix only makes them stronger. They're a precious, untouchable, endearing quartet like no other that works, and it's impressive how effortlessly the cheerleader slots into place among them.

It's also adorable to think of this Gen-Z version of The Breakfast Club, a jock, popular girl, nerd, and emo actually speaking to each other, hanging out, and saving the world together and openly.

One of the other promising components of the finale is the special bond that emerges between Ema Winslow and Rachel. Seriously, is anyone else shipping the hell out of them?

We have barely scratched the surface of Abeona, what it does, and the good and bad among it, and Brad is the key to unraveling all the mysteries about it.

As much of an ass as Troy Taylor was to Rachel and all the blunders he made, one can't help but feel bad for him. He had to piece things together about his mother on his own, and when he confronts Hannah about it, her first instinct is still to lie to him. Nothing is worse than when you know something is true and finally give someone the chance to be honest, and they still lie.

Troy confronting his mother gives a bit of drama, but then we cut away before Hannah tells Ken the truth, which essentially robs us of the tension the series has built up all season.

Harlan Coben's Shelter has so much story left to tell and so many directions to go in after this strong finale. We need a second season! I'm not ready to let go of these characters when they've worked themselves into my heart.