#Chuck Versus the Fake Name

[renegadesstuff]

SHE'S KNOWN CHUCK FOR 3 YEARS AND NEVER TOLD HIM HER NAME. BUT SHE TELLS SHAW, WHOM SHE'S KNOWN FOR 3 DAYS 😭

[zanephillips]

Brandon Routh in Chuck 3.08 “Chuck Versus the Fake Name”

[y3ager]

STORYTIME I (26 F) FUCKED MY SUPERSTAR CLIENT (24 M) AFTER MONTHS OF SEXUAL TENSION!

— ‘i’m a manager for a pretty big music label and my client is the biggest dickhead in the world but i fear i fucked him after one of our usual arguments.. 😵‍💫’

eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, smut, porn not much plot, hate(?)sex, cunnilingus, cowgirl, reader gets called ‘mama’ and ‘boss’, unprotected sex, mild choking, musician!eren, manager!reader. minors do not interact.

my first collab entry MAKE SOME NOISE YALL WTF!!! but no seriously thanks so much to @k9nto for letting me join your event i had a blast writing this! hope you all enjoy! 🤭

YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED SOME annoying people in your life. in kindergarten, a boy taunted you by picking up one your fallen hot pink knocker-balls and refusing to give it back to you. in high school, some chick named tiffany ripped down all of your junior class president posters that you spent weeks designing and printing out on the highest quality paper. your college advisor had been completely useless, you’d still be dragging yourself through your bachelor’s degree if you didn’t stay on your toes and realize the classes you were dropped in were a waste of time. but all of these people, and many more that have slipped your mind, shaped and molded you into the woman you were today. strong, tenacious, independent, a go-getter who never gave up and thus was able to reap her hard work, in the form of three nice crisp degrees and a never pitiful bank account.

but eren yeager, grammy award winning singer, songwriter and musician, with multiple weeks spent at the top of the billboard hot 100 and 200 charts, millions of units sold worldwide, and stadiums packed to the brim, took the fucking cake.

you were warned he’d be difficult. every manager he’s assigned quits before one of them ends up in a body bag. none of them have a single nice thing to say about him, and he finds that hilarious.

for better or for worse, you took the challenge because you’re a sucker for them. nothing in life comes easy, and you figured that the managers before just didn’t come hard enough. maybe eren’s fame and status made them falter, but such a fate wouldn’t befall you.

you dragged him to his magazine shoots, you kept his mouth in line during interviews, you kept his socials clean. he was never a second late to rehearsals and recordings. he was a reflection of you, and if you were perfect goddammit he was going to be too.

until today.

“i’m not putting in another extension, eren. the label is starting to get really irritable. we need to go to the studio now.” you furiously swiping along your ipad, pacing around the singer’s deluxe hotel room. while you’re dressed for the day in clean crisp clothes, sharp stilettos, and jet black lace front expertly melted and laid, eren’s still in the bed. the covers are everywhere, his shirt is next to a couple pillows on the floor, and he’s laying on his back eating a croissant from room service, paying you absolutely no mind. it takes everything in you to not chuck your device at his big head. “i’m serious. get. up.”

“and i said i’m not,” he mocks your assertive tone, voice oozing in sarcasm. “going.” he coughs, obviously faking. “my voice hurts. can’t make those greedy bastards money if my vocal chords ache. they’ll live.”

“you are on a strict deadline this era. if you want to catch award season, this album needs to be finished and dropped in the next month. amidst the press tour, your window of recording time is dwindling fast.” dates in your digital calendar glare at you, red and angry. every time you check something off your to do, ten new things pop up. you feel your jaw clenching, teeth gritting together uncomfortably.

“i’ve won enough awards. i don’t care. i’m not getting up.” eren finally raises up from the bed, narrowed green eyes meeting yours. it’s fire against fire, an unstoppable force that is a manager determined to do her job versus an immovable object, a musician who’s not budging from his spot. “it’s my album. it’s my music. i finish it when the fuck i get ready. that label will burn before they drop me.”

“if you don’t follow contract, they will drop you. they put a lot of money into you-”

“money i made back for those dumbasses-!”

“they are your bosses, without them-”

“they need me way more than i need them-!”

“get,” you toss your ipad over to a small couch, storming over to the bed. you snatch the edge of the covers and yank hard. enough is enough. if he won’t get up, you’ll make him get up. “the fuck out of this bed, eren, now!”

“you need,” the cover is yanked back, tugging you forward along with it. you lurch momentarily before righting yourself upwards, leaning back to give yourself more leverage in this childish tug of war you find yourself in. “to calm the fuck down, ___. i’m not going and that’s fucking it.” eren may be lean, but he’s toned like a MMA fighter, muscles rippling under tan skin when he calls upon them. another tug and you topple onto the california king bed, one expensive heel sliding off your foot and falling across the room.

your heads snaps up from the covers, brow furrowed deep in anger. “stop being so fucking difficult, you moron!” emotions welling, you grab one of his arms, preparing to drag him out of this bed. your to do list is a nagging itch on your brain that by the grace of god you are going to scratch. you’re not about to let this bad-with-authority dickhead best you when all he has to do is record a fucking vocal.

“oh, we’re doing this?” easily, too easily, so easily that you register your back hitting the soft bed before you realized he even grabbed you back. he pins you down easily, slightly calloused hands grip your upper arms firmly, pushing them down. he places his legs other either side of your hips so yours are forced in between them, but doesn’t keep you from writhing to free yourself. “whatever fucking—stop doing that—chip you have on your shoulder, you need to fucking solve it because shit’s not going your way today. i’m not going and that is final.”

the tussle leaves you two of you panting, eyes boring into each other’s. eren’s long chocolate brown hair is disheveled not only from a night’s sleep but from this impromptu wrestle. small beads up sweat trickle down his naked chest. your writhe again, and he presses down against you, a synonymous hiss sliding through both of your mouths.

“i hate you, eren.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, ___. looks like you wanted an excuse to feel up on me.”

“oh, like you wanted an excuse to hump me like a mutt?”

there’s another beat of silence as you two watch each other. eren’s hands tighten their hold just a tad before he presses his hardening length hard against your clothed cunt. against your better judgement, your head tilts back and a small moan fights against your bitten bottom lip.

eren hums lowly, his dick bulging against the constraint of his boxers. “hate me too much to actually fuck me, huh? i’m only worth a dry hump.”

oh how eren frustrates you. how he makes even the simplest things in life painstakingly difficult. how he makes you want to smoke ten packs of cigarettes after a day of dealing with him. but oh, how handsome he looks under the lights at photo shoots. how his deep, smooth voice reverbs in your ears. how his fingers move so deftly on his guitar, as if it’s merely an extension of his body. who wouldn’t fantasize about that late at night, him bending you over and snatching down your pants to fuck the stress out of you, or yourself knocking him down a peg and making him beg to let you cum inside.

“shut-” another roll of his hips makes you gasp. “up..”

“i want you, ___,” eren confesses. his hips don’t falter, his cock becoming hungry for release. “i want that pussy. i wanna fuck that little attitude out of you, can i? i see how you look at me and i stare right back.”

you shiver, hand rushing to undo your dress pants and feel more of eren’s dick against your dampening cunt. his hands work with your perfectly, yanking your pants down. it’s a whirlwind of clothes, your sweater, bra, your other shoe.

eren reaches up to grab your breasts, rolling them in his palms, squeezing the supple flesh, pushing them together. “oh, pretty girl. pretty fuckin’ tits.” leaning down, he kisses down your sternum, stomach, inching closer and closer to your center. he wastes no time grabbing your thighs and licking a nice, long stripe against your drooling cunt and sucking on your clit.

your back immediately arches up and your hands fly to grip eren’s hair, tugging at the locks and pulling him in closer so you can feel everything. “oh my god, eren.” the singer’s not shy at all, audibly sucking at you and reaching up to twist and pinch your pebbled nipples.

with another languid lick eren pulls himself away. he pulls his boxers down on and off, freeing his dick from the constraint. he rubs the thick, weeping tip up and down your slit, staring hungrily at the juices leaking out. the feeling of it makes you shiver in anticipation.

“mmm, mm-mm.” you push yourself up. “let me get ‘n top..” there’s a greedy look in your low eyes as you place your hand on eren’s solid chest and lay him down on the bed.

“take charge here too, huh?” your forwardness makes him chuckle as he watches you straddle his waist. “okay then. ride me.”

you brace yourself on your toes as his hand and yours grasp his shaft, directing it to your pulsing hole. you slide down gingerly onto him, his size quickly stretching you out. “ahh, fuck, eren. fuck…”

“you got it,” he assures you, one hand on your thigh as you sink lower and lower, taking him in inch by inch. he bites his lip at the wet tightness of your walls, squeezing and sucking him in. it makes him throw his head back, a couple of small pants escaping his mouth. “mmhm, fuck that pussy feels so good. take that dick, boss.” his hand raises only to land on your ass check with a sharp slap.

you start out slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the wideness of his dick but that quickly gets old. you’re soon addicted to the feeling of him fitting inside so perfectly. gripping his free hand in yours, you swivel and raise your hips faster and faster, effortlessly, desperate for that feeling of him pounding that oh so sweet spot. your juices slide down his length, the slap slap slap of your ass against his muscled thighs filling the room. “‘s so big, feels so good,” your voice slurs.

eren hisses from his spot under you, eyes trained on where you two connect. mouth slightly agape, he watches your cunt swallow him up and the fluid that leaks out. “yes, mama. keep fucking me just like that. feels.. f-fuckin’ amazin’…” his hands grab your plump ass cheeks, fingers digging in hard as he thrusts his hips up, driving the tip of his cock even deeper inside you and pulling a loud moan from you. “keep goin, mama, ‘m almost there, don’t stop, please..”

his pleading make you clench even tighter around him, and that feeling deep inside your tummy aches for release. you place a hand around his throat to better balance yourself, relishing in his low groan. your thighs quake and tremble, your hips meeting his eager thrust perfectly. “oh, my god; oh my god. i’m— shit!” you throw your head back in ecstasy, cumming hard enough on your client’s dick to leave you numb.

“aw, fuck, boss.” eren thrusts up to push his cum deep inside, holding you against himself to ensure a single drop doesn’t leak. “take it, take it..”

the two of you are left panting hard, bodies sweaty and gleaming with the afterglow of sex. you gingerly pull away, cunt left sore and spent from a round of sex months in the making. eren reaches over to caress your ebon lips, admiring the smooth, wet feeling once you roll onto your back. “no more attitude from you, yeah?”

“no more attitude from the man reduced to calling me ‘mama’ and begging to cum either, i’d assume.” your teasing laughter is cut off by him purposefully sinking three fingers deep inside you. “mmh…”

“mhm, sure.” roles reversed, eren climbs on top of you and stares down with green eyes aflame with lust through his tousled brown hair. “now i want to see what i can make you call me.”

[unleashthejohncasey]

3x08 Chuck Versus the Fake Name

[harrypotterximagines]

Hey! I wanted to ask if you do Oliver Wood! If you do, could you please do an angst fix when female! Reader gets bullied a lot by the quidditch team in her house (She's not Gryffindor) bc of Oliver, and she remains silent about it... And even though it's more than obvious that she's having a bad time, Oliver doesn't notice bc he's so focused on quidditch, that until one of her friends snaps at him! Fluffy ending pls!

A/N: I love this request so much!! Thanks for submitting! Please check out my Etsy shop for a personalized Harry Potter painting! CLICK HERE TO VIEW MY ETSY

__________________________________________________

“You’re going to choke on that pumpkin juice,” You said, looking down at Oliver.

Oliver covered his mouth with the crook of his elbow, big brown wide eyes staring up at you. He took a second to gulp before swooshing his arm down to his side, smiling up at you.

“Come to wish me luck on our match in a couple days?” He teased.

You jokingly rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Just the opposite, actually. You already know us Ravenclaws are going to whoop Gryffindor’s butt on the field.”

A petite girl with strawberry blonde hair that stopped at her neck giggled. You looked over at cheery laugh, your smile widening. 

“You know us Gryffindors are undefeated,” Samantha spoke up. 

You pouted your bottom lip at the girl, wishing that you were playing on the same time as her. Samantha has been one of your best friends since you arrived at Hogwarts. 

“That is true,” You pointed out. “But not a fact.”

Oliver scrunched his nose up at you, his contorting to confusion. “Wait, what does that mean?”

Samantha scoffed, instructing Oliver to return his focus back on his breakfast to fuel up for practice later today. 

You waved goodbye at your friends, your mood dropping as you exited the Great Hall. The overwhelming feeling of joy and happiness that electrified your body was quickly evacuating. Your body forced its way to the Quidditch pitch, cold air bitterly nipping at your nose. You wanted nothing more than to curl up in your room and sleep the day away. Although you adore Quidditch and could possibly see yourself becoming pro. 

The dull gray sky and the dried patches of grass made the Ravenclaw team sweaters look blander than usual. Your team was lightly joking around, small chatter over-talking the whistling of the wind until you arrived.

“You’re going to get the ball into the hoop this time?” Your team captain, Randolph spoke up. 

You sucked in a breath and took the broom your teammate extended out for you, the group quickly flying off into the sky.

The one Hogwarts house stereotype that you believed to be accurate was that all Ravenclaws were competitive. You watched as your teammates aggressively chucked quaffles, dodged bludger bats, and squinted through the mist to see that sparkling golden ball. 

You forced yourself to get into the rowdiness, desperate to prove to your teammates that you belonged on the team. You understand that they expected a lot out of you, but sometimes it felt like you needed to sacrifice a limb to get their approval. You would leave Quidditch practices with bloody lips or bruised arms, overexerting your body to get the smallest of smiles from your captain.

You’ve only been on the team for about two years now, but even though you’re considered the “newbie” your skills in the sport were anything but. However, even though you never missed a single shot and tactfully watched out for any obstacles that may come your way, your captain kept barking at you.

You were ready to give up mid-practice. Either you were going to jump off your broom, purposefully crash into the ground, or bark at your captain back. All options seemed desirable and you were debating which one you were going to take up. The fantasy of ditching your team and going back to your friends in the Great Hall dampened your mood even more. The realization that most of your friends, who were Gryffindors, were going to be rolling onto the pitch soon. 

Just when you were going to bring your focus back onto the match, an obnoxiously loud clapping noise echoed into your ears. Staring right at you was Randolph, looking extremely pissed. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. His face was blazing, rosy red cheeks a physical symbol for his anger. 

“Where the hell is your head at!?” He snapped, eyes wild. 

“I swear, for these past previous practices all you’ve been doing is looking like a fool floating in mid-air! Do you just take all your energy and impress me for the first half of the match to only self-destruct and spiral!? Do you not understand that I need your focus to be on the team from the moment you step onto the pitch till you reach those locker rooms at the end?”

You stared at your captain, jaw unhinged. If you all weren’t so high up, flies would be nesting into your gaped mouth. You licked your dry lips, unsure of what to say. Your captain stared at you for a minute longer, expecting an explanation, and when not a peep left your lips he shook his head, flying away.

You silently cursed at yourself, biting back tears. There was no point in crying. Your team would make it harder on you anyways. For the rest of the match, you tried your best to keep up with everyone else. However, it seemed that the team sensed your frustration, tension thickening the skies. 

When the familiar whistle was called to end practice, you were first to fly straight towards the ground. Once you dismounted your broom, a familiar shout called your name.

Oliver and Samantha waved at you, coming up and tackling you with a big hug. You stiffened, the unexpected love and appreciation wanting to make you breakdown on the spot. 

Samantha quickly noticed your mood, examine your face whereas Oliver chirped on about how well you did up in the air. You clenched your jaw, softly thanking Oliver for his kind words.

“Are you okay?” Samantha whispered, taking a step back. 

A few other Gryffindor team members came to your side, congratulating you on a successful practice from their point of view. Oliver began to preach his daily sermon about the importance of stability and control in the air, claiming that you were one of the few people who knew how to incorporate the gravitational pull versus the body’s balance when flying. He seemed so lost in his own mind space that when Randolph came over to yell at you once more, he didn’t notice.

“You need to do better. Or else we’re going to have no choice but kick you off the team,” Your captain spoke up. 

Samantha stared shockingly at your team captain, surprised by the words he was spilling out. Her fists balled, ready to fight in your name when you held her back.

“Seriously. Get your head in the damn game,” Randolph scoffed, leaving you speechless as he walked off.

“Are you serious?” Samantha spoke up once he was out of earshot. “Is he always like this or just to you?”

You blinked a couple times, trying to dry your eyes. You shook your head, not wanting to get into it. You gave Samantha a very obvious fake smile, exclaiming that you were okay and needed to hit the showers.

“No, this isn’t okay!” Samantha bursted out, eyes wide and upset.

Oliver stopped chatting, looking over at Samantha confused. 

“What do you mean? I thought we had our game plan down pact since last week-”

“Shut up, Oliver!” Samantha hissed, rage filling her body.

“I’m talking about the way how Randolph is treating our friend!”

A look of defeat washed your features and it seemed that Oliver noticed. He took a step closer to you, lifting your sunken chin with his finger, bringing your eyes to his own.

“What is he doing to you and I will speak to him,” He said in a low yet demanding voice. His cheery attitude was gone and pure concentration and tension stiffened his features.

“Oliver-”

“No, tell me.” He said, cutting you off. “Please.”

You licked your lips and began to explain the past couple of weeks. You could see in both Samantha and Oliver’s faces that they knew the way you were being treated wasn’t right. Once you were done speaking without any interruption, Oliver instructed Samantha to start practice without him and that he’ll be back soon. Samantha nodded and gathered the team, taking off. You looked up at Oliver like he was nuts, not understanding why he wasn’t up in the air with the rest of his crew.

“We’re going to bring this to Madam Hooch, okay?”

“Oliver, I can’t do that. I can’t let my team think I’m being a tattle-tale.”

Oliver scoffed, bringing your body close to his. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You deserve to have your voice heard. I’m not going to stand here and allow you to take the abuse. You’re a brilliant player and it’s time that you stop forcing yourself in the shadows.”

You released a shaky sigh at Oliver’s words of encouragement, hugging him tightly back. Once he unglued himself to you, he firmly held your arms, kissing your forehead.

“We’re in this together.”

[chuckaf]

chuck soundtrack, episode by episode: chuck versus the fake name

[shirtlesssammy]

15x10: The Heroes’ Journey

Then:

Heroes

Now:

Monster Fight Club! RAWR. In one corner we have wolf-man and in the other, we have wraith-woman. I felt like I was watching a Sci-fi channel show or another show on the CW with this opening scene. I have to give it up to the music and cinema of the sequence though. It’s quite lovely, even as the wolf-man gets stabbed to (near) death.

Meanwhile, in tiny Lebanon, Kansas, Dean’s picking up essentials (plus pie magazines) at his local Kwik Trip. 

I have many things to say about this. First, who knew Lebanon had such tall buildings in it? And I’ve read many a comment about Bobo getting his name on something, and while YES, that’s technically true, this Kwik Trip (a real regional chain of gas stations/convenience stores in Wisconsin) is also named after the comedian behind The Manitowoc Minute, Charlie Berens. The Open sign missing the ‘n’ is a reference to it as well. Bless Jerry Wanek and his love for his home state. Anyway, Dean’s credit card is declined, his fight or flight instinct kicks in when faced with the store attendant's psoriasis, he gets a toothache, AND he gets a parking ticket. 

Sam Fucking I Don’t Need Hotpads Winchester royally messes up dinner by burning the food, dropping the pasta all over the food, and breaking all the plates. 

The weirdness continues once Dean gets home. Sam trips when running to greet him and he’s getting a cold.

Dean gets a call from Garth who needs some help. On the road, they discuss their Very Bad Day. Dean thinks they’re cursed. Sam’s too busy sneezing to contribute. I’m surprised Dean didn’t make him sit in the backseat. (Did Dean seem sarcastically unhappy about Cas seeking out angel help? #missinghusbandhour). Then the ultimate travesty happens: Baby breaks down. 

They have to walk the last ten miles to Garth’s. When they make it, he welcomes them with open arms (Sam declines the hug but Dean gets one and a compliment -- “You smell so good.”)

Garth was previously feeding his twin baby boys, and he takes them to meet his children. He has a daughter, Gertie, and twin boys, Sam (named after Sam) and...Castiel. Dean is confused and disappointed. I love how there’s no explanation as to why Dean didn’t get a namesake. Natasha wrote a thing though. 

Garth then takes them to see why he called. Bess’s cousin is unconscious on Gertie’s bed. He has wraith cuts all over his body. 

Dean, the candy eating monster that he is, nabs some candy beans from Gertie’s dresser and Garth notices his pained reaction to eating them. Dean makes note of how nice Garth’s home and life are. (SOFT) Sam sneezes again and Bess tells him she has something to help. 

Beth hands Sam her family concoction for helping the common cold. Sam downs it in one go --and instantly has regrets. It’s mostly cayenne pepper. Wherps. Sidenote: Gertie’s little wolf stuffy. All the hearts! 

Poor Sam really goes through something --and it is a sight to see. Little Sam and Little Cas are sympathy crying with him and he tries to reassure them that “Big Sam’s okay.” He’s really not. 

Garth asks about Dean’s teeth and Dean confesses they’ve hurt since the previous day.

Garth takes Dean to his basement dentist office. It seems he finished getting his dental degree and is now a dentist for other werewolves. “Fang maintenance is a B.” He assesses Dean’s mouth and finds 17 cavities! 

He rolls out the nitrous oxide and gets to work. We get to stay with Dean though, AND GOOD FUCKING CHUCK ON A CRACKER. 

I can’t explain what I witnessed with my own two eyes. I really, really can’t. @neven-ebrez​ had a great thread on Twitter that I fully love. 

In any event, Dean tap dances to Cole Porter’s Let’s Misbehave. Garth starts showing him the ropes, but then he takes over on his own and starts dancing with a light stick LAMP. He blows a kiss at the lamp and ascends a stairway to heaven the top of the map table and finishes his dance. They dedicated almost 2 minutes to this scene. I --I just. can’t. Also, Dean going for the lamp is timed to line up with the “lovebirds” lyric? I’m so very tired. 

Anyway, Dean comes to with a mouth full of gauze, and presumably no cavities. 

Everyone reconvenes in the Fitzgerald’s living room. Garth wants to know what’s happening. Sam tells him that they’re kind of on the outs with God. Garth realizes that they’ve been the heroes of Chuck’s stories, and wonders, “what’s that make me? A supporting character? A special guest star?” Garth's happy being the guest star. Being the hero is the worst. Their lives are going to suck until the end. Also, little vanilla couple Garth and Bess apparently love 50 Shades. Lol. Garth points out that the hero never sweats the small stuff because that stuff ruins the story. They’re normal now. (Dean suggests cursed, which, like, lol bud, normal people's lives just suck.) 

Bess’s cousin calls for her and they all rush to his side. He doesn’t want to talk to hunters. Sam turns on the ol’ puppy dog eyes and….it does nothing. In fact, Brad can hardly believe that that shtick works at all. Ooof. Bummer, Sammy. Bess digs into the wraith wound to get some answers. And ugh. That was squishy grossness. Brad starts talking about the monster fights though. He tells them where to find the place. 

The Winchesters bid Garth farewell. Garth is VERY WORRIED about them. “The old Sam and Dean” could handle a whole warehouse of monsters but the Supernormally Normal boys don’t stand a chance. Dean’s resolute. Fighting monsters, righting wrongs? That’s just who they are. Dean implores Garth to stay home with his wife and kids, and the Winchesters head off. 

They arrive at midday outside the arena. Dean polishes off his SEVENTH grilled cheese sandwich and they gather weaponry to storm the place. Sam’s concerned that Garth’s theory that the Winchesters are normal is correct, and they need to take precautions. They gather extra ammo, dead man’s blood, and Dean pulls out his beloved precious weapon.

Upon entering, Sam immediately trips noisily over a bucket and Dean’s grilled cheese extravaganza decides to throw a party right back into his mouth. Dean races for a bathroom, leaving Sam to peruse the room holding the main fight cage. 

While Dean is throwing up in the toilet, I desperately try to pretend this isn’t happening. I’m FINE with entrails but upchuck is a hard no, apparently. The bathroom stall opens and one of the monsters from the cold open’s fight night stands there, training Dean’s grenade launcher on him.

Sam and Dean end up locked in the cage-match cage (not to be confused with the CAGE cage). The monster, Cutty, owns the fight club. “Man? Monster? They’re at their best, their most pure, in the heat of competition.” Pardon me while I fake cough “Purgatory” for twenty-five minutes. 

Cutty introduces them to their new friend, Maul, a huge monster who grimaces gloomily and flexes his muscles. He wants the Winchesters to fight Maul (together) in the cage match that evening. 

Dean tries to tell a story to get out of the situation and I HAVE NEVER BEEN PROUDER. He draws on their legends - the mighty creatures they’ve taken down - and questions whether any MERE monster should even think about trying to attack them. Nobody’s buying what he’s selling. 

A short commercial for the upcoming cage match plays. It’s….

AMAZING

All the monsters are gathered around, ready to watch the two mighty cage matches. KILLER WRAITH versus JAMAICA DJINN and MIGHTY MAUL versus THE WINCHESTERS!!!

It’s battle royale time, motherfuckers. When the first fight begins, Dean and Sam are locked up in cells just outside of the ring. “Just how I wanted to die,” Dean grouses. “With a freakin’ audience.” We shall not speak of the 200+ times we have witnessed Dean die on this show. 

Dean pulls a nail from the ceiling and proceeds to try to pick the lock. He…fails. Miserably. Sam gives it a try on his lock and neither of them can pick it. 

“Could we ever actually pick locks?” Sam asks, frustrated. I’m with others in guessing that both their natural and learned skills have been hugely demoted through Chuck’s interference and this downturn won’t last. But this is a great way to make them doubt themselves. This is the black moment in the hero’s journey - at least for this episode. They’ve never doubted themselves more! Dean delivers a stirring speech anyway. “We’re the best in the world. I say we go out there. We kick some ass.”

Cutty returns to fetch the Winchesters. “Shirts off,” he demands on the way. EYEBALLS EMOJI. But Sam and Dean are gone, the cage doors wide open! The episode rewinds, this time with another point of view. Who’s that lanky man in the floppy-eared hat walking through the crowd? It’s everyone’s favorite werewolf hero, that’s who. Garth frees them by just…BUSTING off the lock.

Outside, Sam and Dean are ready to flee. But Garth has other plans. He whips out a detonator and we get a quick clip show of Garth planting C4 around the club. The club is DECIMATED by fire. Maul survives, however, and strides out of the burning building. Garth goes up against him, but Maul knocks him out. Sam and Dean stand and face Maul, despite their low, low expectations of themselves. Like real damn heroes!

What follows is a HIGHLY comical fight. Sam and Dean do their absolute, precious best, but fortunately the fight seems to be operating on some modified Looney Toons rules. 

Garth saves them with a machete through Maul’s head. “You got Garthed!”

Back at Garth’s home, Dean and Sam cradle the babies. “This Cas keeps looking at me weird,” Dean notes. “So kinda like the real Cas,” Sam says. OH SAM. OH SHOW. How we are blessed!

They head out, Dean clutching a bag of grilled cheese sandwiches from Bess. Sam and Dean thank Garth for saving them and call him a hero. Excuse me while I CRY FOR FIVE MINUTES this is so soft. “I guess I learned from the best,” Garth returns. Garth gives them a tip - a place in Alaska where you can go when your luck’s run bad. “There’s always a catch,” Garth warns. 

They hug!

“You don’t smell so bad yourself,” Dean notes when he hugs Garth. “It’s Hai Karate,” Garth says. Guys. I love them. 

Werewolves of London plays us out. Garth and Bess dance together through the window as the Winchesters get into the Impala. It’s. So. Precious. And. Warm. 

“I always thought I could be a good dancer if I wanted to be,” Dean muses. Sam admits that Dean’s good at the Macarena. Ah, yes. My generation!

Dean and Sam reflect on their situation. Their lives are far from normal, so being “normal” is dangerous by its very nature. They need as many advantages as possible, so it’s time for a road trip to Alaska!

The music mounts dramatically! Triumphantly! It’s time to ride into the sunset!

Baby sputters out. “Son of a bitch!” Dean shouts as the screen fades to black.

Natasha: I can tell you IMMEDIATELY and WITHOUT RESERVATION that this episode is going to be on my short list of comfort rewatches for all eternity. <3

Werewolves of Quotedom:

Seriously?

Still a hugger, huh?

You smell so good!

You’re very strong

Fang maintenance is a B

Mommy, the giant’s crying!

I wanna be the guest star. Being the hero sucks.

You need a colonoscopy STAT

Just because God yanked the magic horseshoe out of our ass, doesn’t mean we’re gonna give up

I’m a growing boy!

I think you might be lactose intolerant now

You keep all your friends in a cage?

You know them. You don’t like them. The WINCHESTERS

You are SO STRONG

C4, a hunter’s best friend

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[ashtheshortstack]

Waiting for Your Curtain Call - ch 3

Rating: M Ship: Kristoff/Anna Chapter 3: You’ve Got Me Coming Back For More

Tags: Modern AU, Bodyguard AU, Popstar AU, KristAnna, human!Sven, Eventual Smut, Slowish Burn, Fluff, Bodyguard Kristoff, Popstar Anna, Popstar Elsa

Read on Ao3

Previous Chapter/Next Chapter

Kristoff awoke the next morning to his phone full of notifications. It was his job to keep up with Anna on a daily basis—and maybe he took that part of the job too seriously—so, when she had posted on her social media apparently there was a ferocious reaction. 

  @annaarendelleofficial: Thank you all for your support during this trying time. I’m sorry I was unable to attend the charity concert last night, but my sister did an amazing job out there. I ask for time to myself while I figure this out… I hope you all understand. Love you all! 

  There was an all out battle of words between fans of Hans versus fans of Anna. Many of Hans’ fans were claiming the photo was being taken out of context, that everyone didn’t really know the truth. But Anna’s fans were arguing that if it was a fake then Anna wouldn’t have missed the concert. Which was true. And he couldn’t really blame Hans’ fans. They didn’t actually know him. Didn’t know his true nature. They were just a bunch of girls who liked cute singing guys. 

Anna was trending even more so with her quiet statement that morning. The outcry was mostly supportive. Kristoff often made a point not to feed the trolls, but sometimes there were some snide comments directed towards Anna--that she was inferior to Elsa or that she deserved Hans’ treatment somehow--those made his blood boil. The internet could truly be stupid sometimes. 

Hans hadn’t posted anything since the photo leaked. Comments on his last post from a day ago had a mixture of emotions. Some supported him while some called him a coward and a cheater. The latter comments were correct, of course. 

All Kristoff wanted to do was see Anna. Just to check on her. The Arendelles were supposed to have the day off, so he and Sven were technically off the clock. There were different security guards that protected their home on the daily. Sven and Kristoff were the travelling agents basically. If there was one thing Agnarr Arendelle took seriously, it was the protection of his daughters and home. Or it could just be about keeping a watchful eye on them at all times. Kristoff wasn’t sure if Agnarr really knew the difference. 

He showered and dressed before heading downstairs to the kitchen. Even if Agnarr was high maintenance, he did put Kristoff and Sven up in a nice place to live not far from the Arendelles’ mansion. When he made it into the kitchen, there was already a pot of coffee brewed on the counter. Kristoff poured a cup, adding in a bit of sugar before joining Sven at the table. 

“Hey, man. This whole mess with Hans is crazy, right?” Sven asked, glancing up from his phone. He must’ve been checking Twitter.

Nodding, Kristoff sighed. “Anna was devastated. She was crying so much and I--I wish there was more I could’ve done for her.” 

Sven grinned behind his mug. “Ah yes, you’re evening curing the heartbreak of one Anna Arendelle. Did you go for the comfort kiss?” he teased as he poured a bowl of cereal before adding the milk. 

“Sven! C’mon, that’s ridiculous. As much as I care for Anna, I would never want to be the rebound guy. Especially not Hans Westergaard’s.” 

Humming in agreement, Sven slurped down some cereal. “True that, man. I know Anna’s pretty update, but at least we don’t have to deal with that vermin anymore.” 

“True,” Kristoff sighed. “I feel guilty for being relieved.” 

“It’s not selfish to be happy that the girl you like is single. Especially since her boyfriend was a pain in your ass.” 

With another sip of coffee, Kristoff gave a small nod. Sven was right, of course. But it didn’t change how much he worried for Anna. All he wanted was her happiness and seeing her so upset the previous evening made his heartache. If he hated Hans before… he loathed the bastard now after he dared to use Anna like trash he could toss aside. Teeth clenching at the thought, he tried to calm himself. Getting angry at that bastard wouldn’t make Anna feel better. 

Kristoff stood quickly after finishing his coffee, setting his cup in the washer. Sven perked up, brows raising as he glanced at him. 

“What’re you doing? Aren’t you gonna eat?” 

“Not hungry,” he grumbled. 

Sven gave him a knowing glance before Kristoff went to the entry hall, grabbing the leather jacket from the coat rack. He slipped it on, grabbed his keys, and slammed the door behind him. There was no need for full leather chaps when he was just going five minutes down the road. Technically, he would walk to the Arendelle mansion, but he hadn’t gotten on his bike in a while. It’d be nice to have some change. 

Kristoff clicked the helmet beneath his chin and slipped on his shades before mounting his bike. He kicked the stand, cranking the handle, and took off towards the mansion. The wind whipped and hit his cheeks, but the breeze felt wonderful considering he’d felt so cooped up lately. It was nice to be free for once in a while. Not that he felt trapped by his job… Anna did make it worth it. Even if it was just her friendship. But he knew his job would be so much easier now that Hans was out of the picture. 

When he arrived, he gave a quick nod to the security guards at the entrance gates, and they let him in immediately. He kicked down the stand to his bike and hooked his helmet on the handle bar. Kristoff was let in the door by Kai, one of the house managers, who gave him a smile.  

“Good morning, Kristoff. You’re not on shift today,” Kai stated. 

Nodding, he pursed his lips and lifted his shades to his forehead. “I know. Just--I--After yesterday, I wanted to check in on Anna. She wasn’t in very good shape after the--you know.” 

“I understand,” he said with a slight smile. 

Kristoff made his way through the home. He started up the stairs only to be stopped by Iduna calling his name. 

“Kristoff! What’re you doing here? Isn’t it your off day?” 

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he felt himself tense when he nodded. “Yeah, I just wanted to check on Anna.” 

God, he sure was having to tell that to a lot of people today. And anyone he told kept giving him the same smirk. It really boiled beneath his skin. Did everyone know something he didn’t? Or was he just that obvious? Or was it a combination of the two? Either way, it was beyond frustrating. 

“She’s actually with her father right now discussing some matters, but you can go wait in her room if you’d like.” 

Kristoff cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sure,” he replied with a curt nod. 

He did just that. When he opened the door to her room, he certainly didn’t expect to see the pile of tissues gathered on her mattress. Had she slept like that? There was a tightening in his chest at the thought of her crying herself to sleep over that bastard. Oh, how she deserved so much better. Deciding to take matters into his own hands, he did some tidying up. He was sure the maid would appreciate not having to pick up the crispy snotted tissues. Kristoff tossed the tissues into the trash, made her bed, and chucked away the now empty ice cream tub. 

When Kristoff stood at the foot of her bed and looked over his handy work, his shoulders sagged. “God, am I really this whipped?” he muttered to himself. 

“Kristoff?” 

He quickly turned to see Anna standing in the doorway, her jaw slack and eyes wide at the sight of him. 

“Hey, Anna. How are you feeling today?” 

Blinking at him, she still seemed a bit stunned at his presence. “You--You came here to check on me?” 

He gave a noncommittal shrug and glanced away from her. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” 

Anna smiled, eyes softening at his words. “I’m glad you’re my friend, Kristoff.” 

“Me too,” he smirked. 

Striding across the room, she hopped onto her bed and patted the place beside her. Kristoff took the hint and slid on top of the covers next to her. Anna tugged her legs to her chest, hugging her arms around them. 

“Well, Hans texted me this morning.” 

Kristoff felt his chest tighten. “Oh, really?” 

“Yeah, some bull about it being a mistake and wanting me back,” she explained with a roll of her eyes. 

Scoffing, he shook his head at that. “Seriously?” 

“Oh, no, it gets better. When I said ‘no,’ obviously. He quickly changed his tune and tried to persuade me into fake dating so we could continue getting good publicity for one another. And again, I told him no. He really must think I’m an idiot, you know? It’s so stupid--ugh--anyway. So, then he decided to insult me, call me easy and desperate, and other insulting things. God, I’m so stupid. I was so wrong about him.” 

“Wait, he what?” 

“He’s an asshole, Kristoff, pay attention.” 

“No, no, no. I got that. He called you easy? ” 

“Yes.” 

The growl that left his lips wasn’t human. “That little--” 

“Hey,” she placed a gentle hand on his chest. “It’s okay. I know I was upset yesterday, and yeah, he hurt my feelings. But there’s so much better out there. This is just a set back. I’ll make it through. No use in crying any more tears over that prick, right?” 

Despite the rising anger heating in his gut, Kristoff took a long look at her calming demeanor. Seeing her a little more positive today helped him relax a little. He knew Anna was pretending to be okay. She was still hurting deep down. Her rambled excuses didn’t work on him. Kristoff knew her well enough. 

“You’re right… But it’s okay to be hurt. You don’t have to be so brave all of the time.” 

Anna’s face relaxed, her bottom lip quivering slightly. “Thank you, Kristoff. That means a lot.” 

“Don’t let anyone tell you that you have to suck this up and move on. You don’t, Anna. You’re allowed to hurt.” 

“I feel more stupid than hurt.” 

“You’re not stupid… Just new to love. Maybe that makes you a little naive,” he backtracked when she frowned. “I-I mean--Okay, maybe not naive. B-But that was your first relationship, and it’s okay that you didn’t know what it was supposed to be like.” 

Anna gave him a sideways glance. “What is it supposed to be like then?” 

He shrugged. “I-I don’t know. Like, uh, Ghost , I guess? You know how their love lasts even after death. When you care for someone else’s well being more than your own,” Kristoff murmured with a bitter smile. “A-And flowers and chocolates and all that,” he added. 

“I never took you for a romantic,” she teased while bumping his shoulder with her own. 

Kristoff laughed. “Y-Yeah, well…” he ruffled his hair nervously. “There’s a lot about me that people don’t know.” 

She hummed. “Will you tell me more, sometime?” 

“Uh, sure. I-I guess, I can do that. Sometime.” 

Anna’s smile was infectious. He couldn’t help but return the sentiment. She suddenly glanced away, chewing her bottom lip. “Uh--well--Papa is supposed to ask you and Sven this when you get back to work, but since you’re here I guess I could ask you myself?” she sucked in a breath. “Elsa and I are going on tour. Do you want to come?” 

“What?” 

“Do you want to be my bodyguard on the road? I know that you live here in LA, so I can’t ask you to leave if you’re not up for it. But of course, you’ll be paid for extended hours and everything. I just--I wouldn’t trust anyone else but you and Sven.” 

Kristoff nodded quickly. “Yes, Anna, of course. I’d be happy to go on tour with you guys. Traveling the country and getting paid for it? Sign me up.” 

“Great! I’m so glad you’ll be coming along.” 

The door swinging open shocked them both, Elsa seemed equally as stunned to see Kristoff sitting on the bed beside Anna. She seemed out of breath, as if she’d rushed to her sister’s room. Elsa stood straighter, sighing. 

“Hey, Kristoff. Considering how calm you both are, I assume neither of you have checked Twitter?” 

Anna’s eyes went wide. “Oh, God.” 

Reluctantly, Kristoff pulled his phone from his pocket. He pulled up the app, and there on trending was Hans Westergaard once again. God, what now ? 

  @HansWestergaard: There are two sides to every story. Not everything is as it seems. Maybe, some people should take responsibility for their own actions and stop pretending to be a victim.

  Kristoff’s jaw clenched as he swallowed. Was this douche for real? Was he really trying to pass blame onto Anna? How ridiculous could he be!? That tweet was so loaded…

Anna sighed beside him. “Is this ever going to end? He got caught… the least he could do is try to apologize gracefully rather than pretend I did something wrong.” 

“You should post screenshots of the messages he sent you,” Kristoff suggested. If anything, that could prove Hans’ true nature. 

But Anna shook her head. “No, that’ll just cause more trouble. People will accuse me of editing them. I can’t do anything until there’s physical proof of how he treated me, and frankly, I’m not going to confront him anytime soon. This will blow over, right?” 

Agnarr pushed the door wider from behind Elsa. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is a PR nightmare, Anna.” 

“I’m sorry, Papa, it’s not like I wanted this.” 

“I know, I know,” he told her, voice hard. “Look, don’t say anything else about this. You two have a tour and a new album to focus on. And Anna, I’m sorry, but I can’t have anything like this happen again. No more boys for now, do you understand?” 

“What!? Papa, I’m an adult . You can’t ban me from dating!” she retorted as she hopped to her feet from the mattress. 

Agnarr scowled. “I mean it, Anna. This isn’t an open discussion. You will not date anyone.” 

“But Papa!” 

“No! That’s enough. I’ve said what I said as your father and manager. You will not be seeing anyone. It was a mistake to allow you to date that pompous boybander to begin with,” he hissed before slamming the door behind him, nearly smacking Elsa in the process. 

Well. Fuck.

[douxreviews]

Supernatural - ‘Nihilism’ Review

"Dean's not home right now. Please leave a message."

One thing about Supernatural: no one is happy for long. And there is no situation that can't get more complicated.

Archangel Michael is good at distraction. He is amused by setting people against each other with believable lies, much like a handsome male Nurse Ratched. Although he did finally reveal his core motivation. Like Lucifer, Michael has father envy. He wants to kill God/Chuck and take over. Was Michael right that Chuck creates entire worlds (churning out draft after draft) and then leaves them when they don't quite work out?

At any rate, if Michael was able to get out of those handcuffs as he kept suggesting, and didn't in order to keep them all off balance, then wow, did he make a major error. And now he's trapped in a walk-in bar fridge in Dean's mind, a most unpleasant cage, to say the least. Unless Michael likes beer. I don't think he does. Michael feels like a wine guy.

It was nice to see Dean happy, wasn't it? I enjoyed the repeating loops in Rocky's Bar. (I assume it was "Rocky" because of what Crowley used to call the boys, which is adorable.) It was really nice to see Pamela Barnes again, although I kept wondering, why Pamela? Why not some form of Sam or Castiel or Mary, or one of Dean's love interests from the past, like Lisa or Jo? Or all of the above? Was it because Dean would have realized they were fakes? He never knew Pamela that well.

Yay for good continuity, bringing back the British Men of Letters "head thingy" from "Who We Are." And it was clever, Sam finding Dean in the bar by ignoring lines from old episodes when Dean was in despair, and only listening to happy words that Sam didn't recognize. Sam knows his brother too, too well. "If I wanted to distract Dean, I'd give him something he's never had before." Like happiness.

Maggie is a character that I keep expecting to die, and I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd died in this one. Instead, she managed to lead the Lebanon Alternate Universe Irregulars from Kansas City back to the bunker in time to defend it from Michael's Monsters. Except that they didn't have to, because Jack got his powers back in time to mow them all down. Except that there's a serious drawback – Jack sucked that power out of his own soul. Hey, we all knew there'd be a drawback to this soul-powering thing.

Billie was the one who teleported our guys from Kansas City to the bunker in the nick of time. I thought maybe she had started liking the Winchesters, as unlikely as that seemed, but no. Apparently, all of Dean's death books in her library now end the same way – with Michael emerging and using Dean as his vessel as he burns down the world. Except one book, and of course, the writers didn't tell us what happens in that one.

So Dean now has to save the world. That's why Billie saved him. What do you think, season finale, perhaps? Or even series finale? We still don't know if there will be another season.

Bits:

— The bar was obviously a little tribute to Jensen Ackles' new beer business in Austin. Dean even referred to "an IPA from Austin." IPA stands for "India Pale Ale," by the way. I didn't know that before.

— Earlier in the season, I thought the dizzy spells meant that Michael was hiding inside Dean. Instead, he was just eavesdropping.

— We got a Jensen versus Jensen fight, just like Star Trek. That's happened before, though. Hasn't it? Anyone remember which episode or episodes?

— Again, a bit of good continuity with Sam mentioning what Gadreel did to keep him "under."

— Also, "Poughkeepsie." Clever of Sam.

— How is Garth doing? Maybe next time.

— Jensen as Michael got to do a Castiel impression. Gotta love it.

Quotes:

Sam: "Get him downstairs, dump him in the trunk of the Impala, take him back to the bunker." Jack: "But Garth is in the trunk." Sam: (pause) "It's a big trunk."

Sam: "Where's Jessica?" Violet the Reaper: "My name's Violet. It's my shift. We have shifts now because you mess up so, so many things." Reapers are now monitoring the Winchesters in shifts. This time, it was a good thing. Probably not always.

Dean: "I'm the Cage." It doesn't seem likely that Dean will be able to keep Michael in there forever without going nuts, of course.

Good one. Three out of four reaper shifts,

Billie Doux has been reviewing Supernatural for so long that Dean and Sam Winchester feel like old friends. Courageous, adventurous, gorgeous old friends.

[aion-rsa]

The Trial of the Chicago 7: Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin Were the Martin and Lewis of the Radical Left

https://ift.tt/3497VU7

“You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows,” Bob Dylan intoned on his song “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” influencing a group of young mad bombers to blow against the wind. The group at the center of Aaron Sorkin’s The Trial of the Chicago 7 didn’t blow up bathrooms in federal investigative agencies; they protested bombings, and all other forms of violence, when they stood against authority at the Democratic National Convention in 1968.

The Youth International Party, or Yippies, was non-violent, even if one of the co-founders, Abbie Hoffman (played by Sacha Baron Cohen in the movie), wrote his first radical tract, Fuck the System, under the pseudonym George Metesky, a mad bomber from the 1940s. The other, Jerry Rubin (Jeremy Strong on screen), blew bubbles while dressed as George Washington at his HUAC hearing.

Rubin would go on to beat bongos as part of John Lennon’s morphing street musician crusaders, playing live at political demonstrations across America, while Hoffman was knocked upside the head with the guitar of The Who’s Pete Townshend when he interrupted the band at Woodstock. But Lennon had the last word about Rubin. “I gotta ask you comrades and brothers, how do you treat your own woman back home?” Lennon asked in the song “Power to the People.” He was singing to Rubin.

Abbie Hoffman was a radical. He believed in the redistribution of wealth and power, universal hospital care, and that the richest country in the world should not have homeless people. Radical, said his political enemies. Insane. Crazy like the Flower Power movement he was part of. Flowers don’t power things, oil does. Money does. Blood does.

Hoffman’s contribution to political literature was a guidebook on living free, and the first step was to take the title literally: Steal This Book. By the time Hoffman resurfaced from his years underground as a drug dealing charged fugitive, he expressed his primary concern, and that of many caught up in the insane no-tolerance drug policies of the time, with the book Steal This Urine Test. It didn’t suggest dumping them in the holy water. It waged guerilla warfare on the War on Drugs.

Hoffman was a born outlaw, a duck-tailed, leather jacketed teen rebel looking for a cause. Born Nov. 30, 1936 in Worcester, Massachusetts, he was expelled from Classical High School when a paper he wrote concluded God could not possibly exist, prompting his teacher to call him a Communist punk. Hoffman proved it by jumping the teacher.

Rubin was born July 14, 1938 in Cincinnati. His father was a union organizer. Rubin was one of the leaders of the 1967 anti-war march on the Pentagon. After the heyday of the protest movement, Rubin moved from radical politics to freeing the mind with human potential, although it wasn’t free of charge.

Rubin was a burgeoning businessman, but was also an outlaw at heart. He even died breaking a law. One of the most basic laws almost everyone, regardless of class, color, or creed, thinks nothing of breaking. Rubin died of a heart attack two weeks after being hit by a car while jaywalking. The implications seem almost surreal, but the Yippie movement was filled with ridiculous ways to challenge legal authority.

Well before Rubin’s death in the ‘90s, he was there with Hoffman on Aug. 24, 1967, tossing fistfuls of dollars, real and fake, on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange to protest capitalism. Traders went crazy grabbing at the cash. The NYSE built a wall to stop the unfettered financial fun. The Youth International Party nominated Pigasus, a pig, as its candidate for president in the 1968 election campaign.

The “Chicago Seven” trial, named after Bobby Seale of the Black Panthers was tried separately from the original defendants, was loaded with courthouse street theater. They even wanted to design their own costumes. The first things Rubin, Hoffman, Rennie Davis, David Dellinger, John Froines, Tom Hayden, and Lee Weiner did when they went into trial was to stomp on their judicial robes. When Hoffman got sworn in as a witness, his hand was giving the finger.

The defendants were charged with conspiracy to incite a riot, but they were a riot in court. Sadly, the judge at the bench didn’t get the jokes. Judge Julius Hoffman’s humor went another way. He thought it was fitting to have Seale bound and gagged when he wanted to be tried separately, and didn’t like to be heckled. The giddy group of mischievous militants were cited for contempt over 200 times.

The Chicago Seven Trial saw the appearances of “cultural witnesses” like Allen Ginsberg, Phil Ochs, Arlo Guthrie, and Norman Mailer. Hoffman gave a speech saying if Abraham Lincoln were alive and in Chicago during the convention, he would have been arrested in Lincoln Park. When he was being sentenced, Hoffman offered to hook the judge up with an LSD dealer he knew.The U.S. 7th Circuit Court of Appeals overturned the Chicago Seven convictions, cited errors by Judge Hoffman and criticized his courtroom demeanor. The Walker Commission, which investigated the disruption at the Chicago Democratic Convention, concluded it was a “police riot.”

The old guard Left was also lacking in its sense of humor. The militant youth movement, hippies, self-proclaimed freaks and Free Speech movers, were merry pranksters. Diehard socialists fought with placards, bricks, and feet. Hoffman tried to levitate the Pentagon. Was it childish? The demonstration would have heard noted baby-rearing author Dr. Benjamin Spock speak about the importance of protecting children of any age. The protesters were met by soldiers of the 82nd Airborne Division. With poet Allen Ginsberg leading Tibetan chants behind him, Hoffman telepathically tuned in and declared the Vietnam War would end when the Pentagon started to vibrate and turn orange. 

The Youth International Party had no official membership or leadership. Before the Yippie movement, Rubin ran as the radical candidate for mayor of Berkeley, on a platform of exposing his opponent’s racist hiring policies. Hoffman was involved with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) and a radical community-action group called the Diggers, who kicked him out for being a media junky. Abbie published a book blowing “the hustle of every poor person on the Lower East Side,” according to Peter Coyote.

Following the trial, Rubin wrote the books Do It! and We Are Everywhere, which made him think he was a rock star. He appeared with Lennon, Yoko Ono, Bobby Seale, Ralph Nader, Chuck Berry, and George Carlin on The Mike Douglas Show. Until the end of his career, Douglas maintained that was the most interesting week of his entire career.

On Aug. 28, 1973, Hoffman was arrested in New York City for trying to sell $36,000 worth of cocaine. He said he was set up and entrapped. He jumped bail in 1974 and vanished, occasionally popping up to remind police he’d disappeared. Turns out he was actually working for the rock magazine Crawdaddy! as a travel writer under the name Barry Freed and had his face rendered unrecognizable by plastic surgery.  He surrendered to authorities in 1980, but not until after he taped an interview with Barbara Walters for ABC’s 20/20. He received a one-year sentence but was released after four months.

In the late ‘70s, Rubin discovered seminar training with est and sold a nutritional drink called Wow, which had plenty of kelp, ginseng and bee pollen. Bobby Seale was one of his salesmen. Having broken down the $20,000 financial firewall constructed after the fistfuls-of-dollars stunt, Rubin returned to Wall Street in the 1980s decade of greed and trickle-down voodoo economics. At first, he claimed he was trying to bring some consciousness to the spiritual center of capitalism. But then he sold his soul for a three-piece suit and became a broker. He opened Business Networking Salons, Inc., hosting parties at Studio 54, and said he was part of a real American revolution. Rubin and Hoffman went on a speaking tour giving public debates about yuppies versus Yippies.

Read more

Movies

The Trial of the Chicago 7 Ending: What Happened Next?

By David Crow

Movies

Aaron Sorkin: Donald Trump Made The Trial of the Chicago 7 Movie Possible

By David Crow

Rubin took to the “Me Generation” with the same fervor he had with the cultural revolution of the 1960s. He embarked on an inner revolution, eating carrots until he turned orange. He also atoned for his misogynist past by discussing his own sexual shortcomings in the 1980 book The War Between the Sheets, which he wrote with his wife, commodities futures trader Mimi Leonard.

Rubin could afford it, he had by this time become a multimillionaire, having invested in Apple Computer. Hoffman never bit the apple, continuing in the tradition of American civil disobedience whether it came to saving trees from deforestation or Third World Countries from the U.S. intelligence community. One embraced the unfettered financial social coup, the other was disgusted with the anti-capitalist complacency of Reagan America.

Hoffman made a cameo appearance playing himself in Oliver Stone’s Born on the Fourth of July, the story of anti-war activist Ron Kovic. Rubin would have been quite comfortable as himself in Stone’s Wall Street, the embodiment of the “Greed is Good” mentality.

Hoffman was arrested In November 1986, along with Amy Carter, the daughter of former President Jimmy Carter, for trespassing at the University of Massachusetts Amherst to protest CIA recruitment on its campus. The federal district trial which followed exposed CIA involvement in Nicaragua, along with decades of illegal covert activities.

Hoffman was found dead in his apartment, on April 12, 1989, in an apparent suicide. When Abbie died, Jerry was the only Chicago conspiracy defendant at the funeral. “I used to say, ‘Don’t trust anyone over 30,’” Rubin told a reporter in his financially fatter latter years. “Now I say don’t trust anyone under 50.” Abbie maintained the ideals of his youth, but found far fewer dividends.

The pair were happy to be the “clowns for peace” Lennon called himself during his and Yoko’s honeymoon protest. They brought the generational divide closer together by exposing the ridiculous nature of the divisions. Aaron Sorkin’s The Trial of the Chicago 7 sets out to capture all three rings of the circus of political justice. Rubin and Hoffman were masters of ceremonies in the most unceremonious of ways.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post The Trial of the Chicago 7: Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin Were the Martin and Lewis of the Radical Left appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2HdI18O

[unleashthejohncasey]

3x08 Chuck Versus the Fake Name

[writtenwordsoffic]

In Your Head - Part 4

Jughead Jones x Reader

Reader: Y/N

Brother: Y/B/N

Word Count: 2,129

Summary: You are almost 3 months into a relationship with Jughead Jones. You are going through a tough time being too much in your head as the anniversary of “that night” comes closer. Jughead can sense something is wrong.

Warnings: Features sexual content, as well as a rape flashback and parental abuse. Please don’t read if easily triggered.

….“I’m going to kill him…”.

Jughead sprung up after uttering the words and made his way out of the library. “Jughead!”, you screamed after him.

Jughead paused in front of Betty with such a stern look, Kevin looked in awe and in fear from the kitchen. “Where is he?!” You had never heard Jughead really shout before, not out of anger at least.

Abruptly answering while looking at you, “He left after you knocked him down” Betty answered.

“Jughead!”, you tried calling to his attention again.

Archie and Veronica had joined in the kitchen by now, still trying to determine what had happened outside.

“I need your keys!”, Jughead pushed out his hand giving a look to Archie that practically scared the ginger out of his own pale skin.

“Maybe we should go…” Veronica interjected grabbing Kevin’s elbow.

“Forsythe!” You finally caught his attention along with the rest of the kitchen.

Veronica sat back down on her stool, “Never mind….” while amazed at what name just came out of your mouth that commanded Jughead’s attention.

He paused, looked at you, and within a split second his whole face softened. While moving his eyes to his feet, “Sorry”, he mumbled.

“Can we just get out of here?”, you walked up to him and reached for his hand.

Archie looked at you once again reaching for his keys out of his pocket, you stopped him. “No, that’s alright, we’re walking”. Archie gave a reassuring smile.

“Can I get my stuff at your place?”, you turned back to Veronica.

“Okay, but we’re talking about ALL of this later”. You gave a nod in answer. 

“Do you want us to come with you”? Betty had interjected, knowing more what was going on than anyone else in the group.

You shook your head while giving a reassuring smile. “There’s a key to the front under the smallest potted plant”.Veronica looked back at Kevin who still seemed astonished by the use of the name Forsythe.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow, and have a good rest of your night, okay?”, you looked to everyone’s eyes and they either let out an agreement or a nod. While still holding Jughead’s hand, you led him out the front door.

He was quiet for a few minutes until you broke the silence. “Sorry for using a name you loathe back there”.

“It’s okay, it was warranted”. Still holding your hand he was looking at his feet while mustering up his next second statement. “I want to kill him”.

“Part of me still does too”, you confessed.

“Why didn’t you tell me Y/N?” He finally looked to you with his silver blue eyes.

“I was scared, for lots of reasons. For one, THAT reaction”. One thing you shared with Jughead was a similar exaggeration to certain words in your speech. “Another…before Betty today, only my therapist has known”.

“You’ve been seeing someone then? About this?” While a little surprised he understood why.

“Not just for that reason, but yes. Before you, even before everything with Chuck last year, I’ve had a lot of issues. I mean mostly my life just being that, but none of it exactly typical….“ Your words once again, started to fade from you. 

You made it to the front of Veronica’s house. Found the key and opened the door to the very large home. You walked with Jughead to Veronica’s room, looking for your bag and the rest of your stuff you had laying around. You opened your bag and saw your pill bottle. You knew you were finally going to tell him everything. As nervous as you were, you just threw everything in your bag, unconsciously sighing. “Come on”. You grabbed his hand again, and with a determined look you made your way to Archie’s house. 

He waited a few minutes before stopping you on your rather fast paced walk. “I know I’ve asked this a lot today, but are you okay?”. He grasped a side of your face with his palm. 

 “Yeah I’ll be alright, I just want to get to your place”. 

He gave a surprised look. One as to calling it his place as he still very much saw it as Archie’s. Two, he retorted vocally, “I thought I was walking you to your house?”. 

 “No, I don’t feel like being there tonight. I want to be with you. I need to talk to you about all of this and it’s probably time”. You said it more determined than intentioned. 

 He could tell you were getting nervous. “If you don’t want to tell me, Y/N, that’s okay. There’s not any pressure of me putting any of this on you". 

 “No. Ever since you told me about your parents a few weeks ago, what happened with your dad and everything, I’ve wanted to tell you. It’s kind of a lot I know in one night, but I need to get this out and there is no where safer than when I’m with you. I know that”. You hadn’t ever told him before of what being around him truly meant to you. 

 He gave that great smile again. He pulled you in to hug you first before laying on a very heavy kiss. This time it was his turn to say it, “come on”.

 You had made it to his house and he unlocked the door. Fred was out of town for the weekend and Archie probably knew better than to be back yet and it being only 10, it seemed plausible he wouldn’t be back until Valerie and the Pussycat’s were done playing at Cheryl’s. He led you to his room. 

You had been in the kitchen and living room a few times whether it be to watch a movie or to make Jughead and Archie something that couldn’t be found at Pop’s. And while he had been there a little over a month, you still hadn’t seen the upstairs. While being present in the moment that Jughead had punched out Chuck had sobered you, you were still a little tipsy and took every step carefully.

 You entered into his room. He didn’t have much around, but you could tell what posters were his as well as stash of cds and old records. You looked to the right side of the room and saw a bookshelf, practically filled to the fullest like your own. And on one of the shelves was a stack of books you yourself had let him borrow. One’s with new pages cornered. You smiled, seeing how whenever you usually saw Jughead in his free time, he was on his laptop writing versus reading something you gave him. “You read them all huh?”. You turned to him with a smile.

 “Of course. I already loved reading, you just enhanced the genres”. He gave a loving smile while leading you to the bed to sit down.

 1….2…..3…..you opened your bag while saying the first thing you wanted to tell him. “Well here’s one thing”. You gave him the pill bottle. 

 “What’s are these for?”. He was reading all of the label now. 

4…5…6… “I suffer from extreme anxiety and depression and I’ve been on them since this”. You took off your cardigan, while you could tell he was mentally noting that he had never really seen your bare arms before. You yourself had almost forgotten you were in a full crop top from Veronica. He touched your somewhat healed scars from years back, one a bit more recently than the others. 

You went into the story of that one. How after last year, after Chuck, you didn’t feel like you belonged anywhere. That you had honestly never really fit anywhere. About the breakdown you had, how long you were in the hospital for and then you went into your family. 

How your mother didn’t really understand the point of “mental health”, and while she gave a good fake face to those who didn’t know her - that sometimes the worst monsters, were those found at home. You went into how she acted mentally, in and out of anger spells. And how when it was really bad, there was more than just emotional abuse. You went into why your confidence as a person was so down, and how it always started with her. Never thin enough, never smart enough and never pretty enough. You said all this while looking away until then end when you turned your body and moved your hair to probably the worse thing your mother had ever done to you physically. And on the side of your shoulder, you showed the burn marks. Still somewhat heavy in skin healing over as you could still easily feel the raised scars. You turned and explained that while it had been years since that one, that it came from the time you last told someone what it was like at home. 7th grade when you had told a teacher. But with your parents facade on the outside, no one had really bothered to believe you. You finally looked back to Jughead’s eyes. He locked his eyes on to your back. 

Before, when you had told him about Chuck, he was heavily angered while feeling something horrible for you. And while he had experienced a more than less perfect parent, and had some instances with his father of his own, he hadn’t expected this. 

 “I’m sorry it’s a lot. I know, we haven’t been dating that long. Heck, you’ve only known me for about 6 months…but with everything else that happened tonight, I needed to tell you everything. I couldn’t lie to you about all of this anymore…”. You looked away from his face, ashamed of your life’s scars. 

 His concerned face was brought back. “How long since the last time she….”. 

You cut him off, knowing that this would be a question. “Once in the last 9 months. Around my birthday, she’s never really okay around any holiday”, your mind thought back to certain instances in your life. “She found out she has a severe heart disease and since the amount of medications they put her on, she’s been better. Still distant as a parent…but better to us at least”. 

 “Your brother..?” 

You cut him off again “Yeah, but I always tried to make sure if something was happening, she’d focus on me instead. I’m easier for her to get at…”. You paused again and started hearing your mother’s voice and what she would scream at you. 

 Instead of if you were okay or going out to now “kill” your mother, Jughead looked at you again. Holding your hands with tears in his eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”. 

 “My mother wise, no. My Dad stays away from it himself, he leaves on “business trips” a lot. And again, she’s been better. As for me…you could just hold me”. 

 “I can do that, but first I need to tell you something”. You looked at him with questionable eyes as he put his hands around your hips. “You are the most caring, intelligent and most beautiful woman I have ever met and will probably know in my lifetime. You are more and deserve more than what you have been handed. You are amazing, and I plan to show you that whenever I can”. He grabbed the side of your face again and brought your mouth into his. He stopped to realize you were crying again and lifted his head looking into your eyes making sure you were okay. 

 You smiled and gave a small laugh while wiping your tears. “It’s okay, they’re happy tears”. You brought him back to your lips while moving his body back to the bed. You held him by his neck kissing him deeply. You really hadn’t felt like anyone in your life was home before. Not before him. Your body was on top of his now. Your legs over his. You kissed him harder and a little faster.  He could feel the tension in your body, it wanting more. He paused and pulled your head from his. 

“We don’t have to do this now. I love you Y/N, without all of this”, he motioned his head down to both of your bodies. It was the first time he said those words yet you had thought about saying them 20 times by now, 5 times in instances just that day. 

 “I love you too. And I want this. I have a connection to you more than anyone else and”, you paused as you were a bit nervous “I want to show you how much you mean to me”. 

 He smiled, “I already know how much”. 

 You gave a gleeful smile back, “but now I want to show you”.

[alvertesongdiary]

Kendrick Lamar - The Heart Part IV

Don't tell a lie on me I won't tell the truth 'bout you Don't tell a lie on me I won't tell the truth 'bout you 30 millions later, my future favors The legendary status of a hip-hop rhyme savior Travel round the atlas in this spaceship candy-coated My day shift's been devoted to fuckin' up bundles of paper Pi equals 3.14 The devil's pie is big enough to justify the whole thing Wait up Lampin' in Jamaica, the cloud's turnin', my thought's turnin' Burnin' castor oil, I been determined to make an earnin' This seed in this soil is classified I'm satisfied when I strategize my kid's future I ain't sanctified enough to say that I won't shoot ya I done vandalized the industry full circuit The earthiest slash thirstiest nigga you know versus this Scum of a land that transcends two surfaces The richer the poorer, the bigger the picture The more blood pours, but... Don't tell a lie on me I won't tell the truth 'bout you Don't tell a lie on me I won't tell the truth 'bout you My fans can't wait for me to son ya punk ass and crush your whole lil shit I'll Big Pun ya punk ass, you a scared little bitch Tiptoein' around my name, nigga ya lame And when I get at you homie don't you just tell me you was just playin' Oh I was just playin' with you K-Dot, c'mon You know a nigga rock with you, bro Shut the fuck up, you sound like the last nigga I know Might end up like the last nigga I know Oh you don't wanna clash? Nigga, I know I put my foot on the gas, head on the floor Hoppin' out before the vehicle crash, I'm on a roll Yellin', "1, 2, 3, 4, 5 I am the greatest rapper alive" So damn great motherfucker I've died What you hearin' now is a paranormal vibe House on the hill, house on the beach nigga (facts) A condo in Compton, I'm still in reach nigga (facts) I'm fresh out the water I'm 'bout to breach nigga The five foot giant woke up out of his sleep nigga Oh yeah, oh yeah, more cars, more leers More bars, no peers, no scars, no fear, fuck y'all, sincere I heard the whispers, I curved the whispers, you know what the risk is Earth indigenous, ya body reverting to stiffness The whole world goin' mad Bodies is adding up, market's about to crash Niggas is fake rich, bitches is fake bad Blacks that act white, Whites that do the dab Donald Trump is a chump, know how we feel, punk Tell 'em that God comin' And Russia need a replay button, y'all up to somethin' Electorial votes look like memorial votes But America's truth ain't ignorin' the votes It's blasphemy, how many gon' blast for me? I prophesied on my last song, you laughed at me Oh when the shit get brackin', don't you ask for me How many leaders gon' tell you the truth after me? G Malone big bro, kudos to him I was 2 Os from an M, tryna be big as Em 30 millions later my future favors The legendary status of a hip-hop rhyme savior Salmon and capers, fame and lawsuits You looking at me in Chucks, I'm looking at y'all suits Me and Top Dawg playing rock, papers, scissors in court And real hustler lose money just to go get some more I said it's like that, drop one classic, came right back 'Nother classic, right back My next album, the whole industry on the ice pack With TOC You see the flames and my E-Y-E's It's not a game and the whole world is going mad, daddy It's sad, daddy My only advice? Go and get you a bag daddy Lee Baca, on trail tryin' portray a boxer Beatin' up on my niggas while the COs watch 'em Tables turn, lesson learned, my best look You jumped sides on me, now you 'bout to meet Westbrook Go celebrate with your team and let victory vouch you Just know the next game played, I might slap the shit out you Technical foul, I'm flagrant, I'm fouled They throwin' me out, you throwin' the towel Look at the crowd, they (nah, I don't like that) Look at my smile, I'm smirking Calm but urgent (that ain't the style, fuck) So many verses, you live in denial (fuck) So many verses, I never run out, what? You making him nervous, the music is loud Hoe, Jay Z Hall of Fame, sit your punk ass down (sit yo' punk ass down) So that means you ain't bigger than rapping (what else?) So that means no more playing the backseats (what else?) My spot is solidified if you ask me (what else?) My name is identified as "that king" I'll let y'all worry about a list, I'm on some other shit A difference between accomplishments and astonishments You know what time it is, ante up, this is in forever Y'all got till April the 7th to get ya'll shit together Let's get it! Look look, on foenem

27/03/2017

[beatmyaudio]

the heart part 4 Song Lyrics – kendrick lamar

the heart part 4 Song Lyrics

the heart part 4 Song Lyrics From Popular Hollywood Artist kendrick lamar from Album.

This song is sung by singer ” kendrick lamar ” in Year .

Lyrics of the heart part 4 :

Don’t tell a lie on me I won’t tell the truth ’bout you Don’t tell a lie on me I won’t tell the truth ’bout you 30 millions later, my future favors The legendary status of a hip-hop rhyme savior Travel round the atlas in this spaceship candy-coated My day shift’s been devoted to fuckin’ up bundles of paper Pi equals 3.14 The devil’s pie is big enough to justify the whole thing Wait up Lampin’ in Jamaica, the cloud’s turnin’, my thought’s turnin’ Burnin’ castor oil, I been determined to make an earnin’ This seed in this soil is classified I’m satisfied when I strategize my kid’s future I ain’t sanctified enough to say that I won’t shoot ya I done vandalized the industry full circuit The earthiest slash thirstiest nigga you know versus this Scum of a land that transcends two surfaces The richer the poorer, the bigger the picture The more blood pours, but… Don’t tell a lie on me I won’t tell the truth ’bout you Don’t tell a lie on me I won’t tell the truth ’bout you My fans can’t wait for me to son ya punk ass and crush your whole lil shit I’ll Big Pun ya punk ass, you a scared little bitch Tiptoein’ around my name, nigga ya lame And when I get at you homie don’t you just tell me you was just playin’ Oh I was just playin’ with you K-Dot, c’mon You know a nigga rock with you, bro Shut the fuck up, you sound like the last nigga I know Might end up like the last nigga I know Oh you don’t wanna clash? Nigga, I know I put my foot on the gas, head on the floor Hoppin’ out before the vehicle crash, I’m on a roll Yellin’, "1, 2, 3, 4, 5 I am the greatest rapper alive" So damn great motherfucker I’ve died What you hearin’ now is a paranormal vibe House on the hill, house on the beach nigga (facts) A condo in Compton, I’m still in reach nigga (facts) I’m fresh out the water I’m ’bout to breach nigga The five foot giant woke up out of his sleep nigga Oh yeah, oh yeah, more cars, more leers More bars, no peers, no scars, no fear, fuck y’all, sincere I heard the whispers, I curved the whispers, you know what the risk is Earth indigenous, ya body reverting to stiffness The whole world goin’ mad Bodies is adding up, market’s about to crash Niggas is fake rich, bitches is fake bad Blacks that act white, Whites that do the dab Donald Trump is a chump, know how we feel, punk Tell ’em that God comin’ And Russia need a replay button, y’all up to somethin’ Electorial votes look like memorial votes But America’s truth ain’t ignorin’ the votes It’s blasphemy, how many gon’ blast for me? I prophesied on my last song, you laughed at me Oh when the shit get brackin’, don’t you ask for me How many leaders gon’ tell you the truth after me? G Malone big bro, kudos to him I was 2 Os from an M, tryna be big as Em 30 millions later my future favors The legendary status of a hip-hop rhyme savior Salmon and capers, fame and lawsuits You looking at me in Chucks, I’m looking at y’all suits Me and Top Dawg playing rock, papers, scissors in court And real hustler lose money just to go get some more I said it’s like that, drop one classic, came right back ‘Nother classic, right back My next album, the whole industry on the ice pack With TOC You see the flames and my E-Y-E’s It’s not a game and the whole world is going mad, daddy It’s sad, daddy My only advice? Go and get you a bag daddy Lee Baca, on trail tryin’ portray a boxer Beatin’ up on my niggas while the COs watch ’em Tables turn, lesson learned, my best look You jumped sides on me, now you ’bout to meet Westbrook Go celebrate with your team and let victory vouch you Just know the next game played, I might slap the shit out you Technical foul, I’m flagrant, I’m fouled They throwin’ me out, you throwin’ the towel Look at the crowd, they (nah, I don’t like that) Look at my smile, I’m smirking Calm but urgent (that ain’t the style, fuck) So many verses, you live in denial (fuck) So many verses, I never run out, what? You making him nervous, the music is loud Hoe, Jay Z Hall of Fame, sit your punk ass down (sit yo’ punk ass down) So that means you ain’t bigger than rapping (what else?) So that means no more playing the backseats (what else?) My spot is solidified if you ask me (what else?) My name is identified as "that king" I’ll let y’all worry about a list, I’m on some other shit A difference between accomplishments and astonishments You know what time it is, ante up, this is in forever Y’all got till April the 7th to get ya’ll shit together Let’s get it! Look look, on foenem

the heart part 4 Song Lyrics

Youtube Channel Link

Lyrics, English, Hollywood, kendrick lamar, the heart part 4 from WordPress https://ift.tt/3feSjSA via IFTTT

[writeallofthethings]

Nuts and Bolts: “Thought” Verbs

CHUCK PALAHNIUK AUGUST 12, 2013

In six seconds, you’ll hate me.

But in six months, you’ll be a better writer.

From this point forward – at least for the next half year – you may not use “thought” verbs.  These include:  Thinks, Knows, Understands, Realizes, Believes, Wants, Remembers, Imagines, Desires, and a hundred others you love to use.

The list should also include:  Loves and Hates.

And it should include:  Is and Has, but we’ll get to those, later.

Until some time around Christmas, you can’t write:  Kenny wondered if Monica didn’t like him going out at night…”

Instead, you’ll have to Un-pack that to something like:  “The mornings after Kenny had stayed out, beyond the last bus, until he’d had to bum a ride or pay for a cab and got home to find Monica faking sleep, faking because she never slept that quiet, those mornings, she’d only put her own cup of coffee in the microwave.  Never his.”

Instead of characters knowing anything, you must now present the details that allow the reader to know them.  Instead of a character wanting something, you must now describe the thing so that the reader wants it.

Instead of saying:  “Adam knew Gwen liked him.”

You’ll have to say:  “Between classes, Gwen was always leaned on his locker when he’d go to open it.  She’d roll her eyes and shove off with one foot, leaving a black-heel mark on the painted metal, but she also left the smell of her perfume.  The combination lock would still be warm from her ass.  And the next break, Gwen would be leaned there, again.”

In short, no more short-cuts.  Only specific sensory detail: action, smell, taste, sound, and feeling.

Typically, writers use these “thought” verbs at the beginning of a paragraph  (In this form, you can call them “Thesis Statements” and I’ll rail against those, later)  In a way, they state the intention of the paragraph.  And what follows, illustrates them.

For example:

“Brenda knew she’d never make the deadline.  Traffic was backed up from the bridge, past the first eight or nine exits.  Her cell phone battery was dead.  At home, the dogs would need to go out, or there would be a mess to clean up.  Plus, she’d promised to water the plants for her neighbor…”

Do you see how the opening “thesis statement” steals the thunder of what follows?  Don’t do it.

If nothing else, cut the opening sentence and place it after all the others.  Better yet, transplant it and change it to:  Brenda would never make the deadline.

Thinking is abstract.  Knowing and believing are intangible.  Your story will always be stronger if you just show the physical actions and details of your characters and allow your reader to do the thinking and knowing.  And loving and hating.

Don’t tell your reader:  “Lisa hated Tom.”

Instead, make your case like a lawyer in court, detail by detail.  Present each piece of evidence.  For example:

“During role call, in the breath after the teacher said Tom’s name, in that moment before he could answer, right then, Lisa would whisper-shout: ‘Butt Wipe,” just as Tom was saying, ‘Here’.”

One of the most-common mistakes that beginning writers make is leaving their characters alone.  Writing, you may be alone.  Reading, your audience may be alone.  But your character should spend very, very little time alone.  Because a solitary character starts thinking or worrying or wondering.  

For example:  Waiting for the bus, Mark started to worry about how long the trip would take..”

A better break-down might be:  “The schedule said the bus would come by at noon, but Mark’s watch said it was already 11:57.  You could see all the way down the road, as far as the Mall, and not see a bus.  No doubt, the driver was parked at the turn-around, the far end of the line, taking a nap.  The driver was kicked back, asleep, and Mark was going to be late.  Or worse, the driver was drinking, and he’d pull up drunk and charge Mark seventy-five cents for death in a fiery traffic accident…”

A character alone must lapse into fantasy or memory, but even then you can’t use “thought” verbs or any of their abstract relatives.

Oh, and you can just forget about using the verbs forget and remember.

No more transitions such as:  “Wanda remember how Nelson used to brush her hair.”

Instead:  “Back in their sophomore year, Nelson used to brush her hair with smooth, long strokes of his hand.”

Again, Un-pack.  Don’t take short-cuts.

Better yet, get your character with another character, fast.  Get them together and get the action started.  Let their actions and words show their thoughts.  You -- stay out of  their heads.

And while you’re avoiding “thought” verbs, be very wary about using the bland verbs “is” and “have.”

For example:

“Ann’s eyes are blue.”

“Ann has blue eyes.”

Versus:

“Ann coughed and waved one hand past her face, clearing the cigarette smoke from her eyes, blue eyes, before she smiled…”

Instead of bland “is” and “has” statements, try burying your details of what a character has or is, in actions or gestures.  At its most basic, this is showing your story instead of telling it.

And forever after, once you’ve learned to Un-pack your characters, you’ll hate the lazy writer who settles for:  “Jim sat beside the telephone, wondering why Amanda didn’t call.”

Please.  For now, hate me all you want, but don’t use “thought” verbs.  After Christmas, go crazy, but I’d bet money you won’t.

For this month’s homework ...pick through your writing and circle every “thought” verb.  Then, find some way to eliminate it.  Kill it by Un-packing it.

Then, pick through some published fiction and do the same thing.  Be ruthless.

“Marty imagined fish, jumping in the moonlight…”

“Nancy recalled the way the wine tasted…”

“Larry knew he was a dead man…”

Find them.  After that, find a way to re-write them.  Make them stronger.

Thanks for last month’s questions.  If you have more, submit them, and I’ll get to them in mid-June.

[swipestream]

The Spy Game Game Changer

By now you’ve heard that Castalia House completed yet another hugely successful crowdfunding campaign.  It’s just the latest feather in the cap for the publishing house that’s going to need a bigger hat before long.  On the surface it looks like just another title – a modern day adventurer taking on a vast and shadowy criminal conspiracy.  Look a little deeper though, and you’ll see that this project represents something far more profound.  I think – and this may just be wishful thinking – but I believe Alt*Hero: Q represents the first of a new kind of espionage tale, and that it will spawn a host of similar titles.

Infogalactic reports that spy fiction:

emerged in the early twentieth century, inspired by rivalries and intrigues between the major powers, and the establishment of modern intelligence agencies.

Checkpoint Charlie – the Gate in the Iron Curtain

That’s a pretty narrow definition.  For the sake of this analysis, we’re going to consider espionage tales to include any story that revolves around small and dedicated heroes investigating large and powerful organizations that operate in the shadows.  There’s a natural progression of this broader definition that allows the genre to evolve and change as the geo-political and economic conditions change.  And it’s that malleable factor that has made the genre so robust over the years.  Let’s look at how it has changed since the end of World War Two, and you’ll quickly see where the genre is headed and why Alt*Hero: Q represents the next phase in the genre’s evolution.

  The espionage genre really took off during the Cold War, which allowed for the white hat/black hat stories in which the various western powers faced off against the evil forces of the Warsaw Pact.  When the Berlin Wall came crashing down under the weight of the inevitable failures of communism, the genre trundled along with a new set of villains.  The most popular of the villains was large mega-corporations led by megalomaniacal CEOs, but mileage was also wrung out of stories with large drug cartels, with no clear cut bad guys, or stories in which the good guys were painted as bad because Reagan amirite?

And then came the X-Files.

A little heralded monster of the week show that featured aliens and Men In Black, The X-Files found that the monolithic evil of communist governments could be easily replaced by the monolithic evil of small, shadowy conspiracies within the American government.  The fall of the Soviets left a vacancy for distrust that the US Federal Government seemed all to eager to fill.  Rumors of the US Federal Government hiding aliens in military warehouses, or experimenting on citizens with mind-altering drugs without their knowledge, or trapping and studying urban myths like bigfoot or the Chupacabra had long circulated through the underbelly of the American culture.  Controversial government attacks on citizens such as the bombing of the Philadelphia MOVE commune, the shootings at Ruby Ridge, and the Waco massacre added more grist to the mill, as did the increasing number of airline tragedies whose coverage was plagued by inconsistencies.  Everything discussed in hushed tones on late night AM radio became fodder.  Add to that the ongoing military actions in the Middle-East with no clear end and no clear objectives, and it is no wonder the mood of the country and the interests of media consumers had shifted.

Instead of good Us versus evil Them, film viewers and TV watchers flocked to stories about good men struggling to push back against the shadows inherent in their own governments.  Jack Bauer in 24, Michel Westin in Burn Notice, even Law and Order couldn’t resist cashing in on the craze with several episodes touching on or diving head first into conspiracy territory – every show in the series has brought in resident conspiracy expert Detective John Munch.  They sold, so they got made.

And then came 9/11.

With this titanic shift in the public mood and the groundswell of public patriotism that followed, blaming the government fell out of fashion for a time.  Those who asked awkward questions about the events of that fateful day were mocked, regardless of whether they delved too deep into the men who conducted or caused the attacks Twin Towers or those who merely capitalized on it.  Coupled with a vicious backlash against any hint that the culture that funded and inspired the 9/11 attacks might have anything to do with them, the espionage genre turned into a schizophrenic mess that lingers even to this very day.  Amazon’s Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan takes the huge risk of showing no-fooling evil middle-eastern terrorists, but bends over backwards to assure the viewers that Muslims are good Americans and even the worst terrorist is really a victim of white cisheteropatriarchy.

For a time the joke became that literal Nazis were the only allowable villains in cinema any more.  A few abortive attempts were made to anoint large corporations or international financiers as the appropriate dark and powerful menace, but those rang a little too close to the truth for the large corporations and international financiers who fund big budget productions to continue very far down that road.  Films such as The Kingsmen and FX’s show Archer posited worlds where private intel companies vied with each other while the world continued along its merry way, unaware of the high stakes games played in dark alleys and elegant restaurants all around them.  Each film and each show became an island unto itself, forced to rebuild the world in its own image and to laboriously communicate the complexities of the internal logic of the story.

The genre was tired.  Without the central focus of the Russkies or Men In Black or Global Corporations, the production of espionage stories tapered off.  No doubt you can name a few of the exceptions, but in general the genre was moribund.  It had no foundational culture on which to rest.  The only thing anyone really knew was that nobody really knew what was really going on in the halls of power.  With no clear cut villains and no clear cut heroes, what was the point?  You might as well just focus on the car crashes and shoot ’em ups and over the top spectacle, because the cloak and dagger stuff just didn’t mean anything any more.

And then came WikiLeaks.

And Fake News.

And Hilary’s emails.

And PizzaGate.

And President Donald Trump.

Suddenly a lot of thing that were not clear to anyone became very clear to everyone.  Yes, elections were rigged.  Yes, corporations couldn’t be trusted.  Yes, the Deep State existed.  Yes, the “objective” news lied to viewers on a regular basis.  Yes, a few lone actors could bring down powerful people.  Yes, the panopticon that so many feared had arrived, but it turned out the people most vulnerable to the power of universal oversight were those most likely to want to turn it on others.

The espionage genre had its new paradigm.  Lone agents, scattered researchers toiling away in anonymity, working to expose the nefarious deeds of bad actors installed at the highest levels of governments both national and supranational.  That story will resonate with the public, no matter how you dress it up, but it lacked a creative team with the talent and vision – and yes, the freedom from the tangled web of deceit that binds traditional publishers – to bring a story like that to the public.

If that’s the story the Legend Chuck Dixon brings us with Alt*Hero: Q, and so far nothing we’ve seen suggests otherwise, you can expect a raft of similar stories to follow in its wake.

Disclaimer:  The good folks at Castalia have been kind enough to allow me room on their blog to share my own thoughts on sf/f and popular entertainment.  I’ve had no direct involvement with the Alt*Hero: Q campaign other than as a fan and financial backer through the IGG campaign.

The Spy Game Game Changer published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames