#Seriously look at all of the pictures on Amazon there are so many great little details on this bag

[alphashley14]

THERE’S AN SDMI LOUNGEFLY BACKPACK!!!! 📣🤩

AND THERE’S ALSO A MATCHING WALLETTTTT!!!!! 📣🤯

I AM SCREAMING!!!! This is SO near the top of my Christmas List!!! 😍

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @padacklestm donated $25 and requested a timestamp/sequel to ‘the archivist’ with more photography. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

After Dean gives Sam the camera, taking the pictures feels different. It's not—he didn't feel illicit, exactly, before. It was something hidden but it wasn't dirty. Secret, not shameful, and he's had a long, hard life of learning the difference between the two. Dean doesn't get it, but he doesn't need to. It's enough that, with an Amazon order, with a brief conversation, Dean's given permission. Like he does with almost everything that Sam wants. Steadfast, Sam's thought before, but that wasn't right, or wasn't exactly right. His brother. Like steel, sometimes, but most of the time an incredible, malleable gold.

They're alone in the bunker, ninety percent of the time. Sam takes to leaving his camera in random places because there's a chance he'll get a good shot, no matter where they are. The shower room. The gym. In the library he leaves it on the shelf with the Abyssinian mystics, and on a rare day that Dean gets up earlier than him, Sam shuffles out of the hall hoping for coffee, and finds his brother ruffle-haired, in his soft grey robe, cupping a mug to his chest and reading a book in the ancient leather armchair, and it's so—it's so—that Sam slips in his socks over to the shelf and goes to one knee, taking the picture like a voyeur over the table, past the dim glow of the lamp, so he catches Dean's bent head, the gleam of his cheekbone with the blackish bruise marring it, and of course the shutter is loud so Dean looks up, surprised, but Sam got the picture either way. Dean blinks at him, clearly not quite awake himself, and the book disappears out of sight behind the arm of the chair, but then Dean sighs, shakes his head. "Morning, creeper," he says, rough, and lifts his face, so that Sam's allowed both the picture and the chapped sour coffee-flavor of a kiss, which he takes leaning over, his thumb on Dean's jaw, and as a bonus he gets a tiny smile, against his mouth, before Dean pushes his empty mug into Sam's chest and says, "Refill," and then the day starts, like it always does.

They hunt. The camera stays home. When they come back he or Dean will have bruises, cuts. Dean has to stitch up a four-inch gash on his tricep that pulls every time he does—anything, and Dean's quiet until he sees that it's healing and then keeps asking him to get things off of tall shelves, just to fuck with him. Dean dislocates his tricky shoulder, again, and Sam gets in back in place with Dean's forehead pressed against the table and a stream of curses spilling toward the floor, and when he helps Dean take his shirt off that night there's a constellation of dark purple-black around the stiff joint where the vampire grabbed him and yanked, and Sam smooths his hand over it, knowing how sore it'd be. "Ow," Dean says, but just stands there, his shoulders moving gently with his breath, and Sam bites his tongue. Dean tips his head, looks at him. A little pause, then: "Dude, you know you want to," and Sam leaves the room, and Dean's still standing there with his head tipped onto the opposite shoulder, his eyes closed and tired, when Sam comes back with the camera, and Sam takes four shots from different angles, mostly of the shoulder but with Dean's shuttered eyelashes always in frame, and when he's done he puts the camera down on his desk and draws Dean down, to bed, and they sleep chest-to-back, Sam's lips at Dean's hairline, their hands not tangled but—touching.

They have sex just as much as they always did, which is to say—frequently, but not constantly. They have work to do, after all. Dean wants to talk about it more, now. He has questions.

At breakfast, Dean eating something frosted and Sam actually enjoying his oatmeal, regardless of how Dean mocks him for being Wilford Brimley: "So," he says, eyebrows wagging, and Sam sighs and sprinkles chopped almonds into his bowl, stirring them in. "Like—what position is best?"

"Dude," Sam says. Jesus, it's—eight in the morning.

Dean shrugs a shoulder, shovels in cereal. "Shouldn't do it if you can't talk about it," he says, garbled through a mouthful of flake-shards and milk, and Sam stares at him and then looks away before his libido is actually assassinated. "C'mon. What gets Sammy going?"

"Anything," Sam says. Dean rolls his eyes and Sam says, "Seriously. I mean, it's—all good."

It is. Dean should know that, by now. They fuck missionary, doggy, on their sides with Dean scooped up against his chest, in dumb porno positions that Dean wants to try because he's seen them on the internet—and those aren't great because they're more about looking good than feeling good, but it's still sex. They don't switch often, but when they do Sam knows that Dean prefers to take him from behind, and that's great, too, Dean blanketing his back and kissing his shoulders, going slow, making it good for him. He shifts, on the stool, looks down at his oatmeal. Takes a bite and ignores how his cheeks are starting to feel hot.

"Okay," Dean says, after a few seconds. He sounds a little delighted. Sam sighs, and gets up for more orange juice. "But like—okay, so we're sexperts. Awesome. But what about for your pictures?" Sam pauses, frowning over from the fridge, and Dean gestures broadly at himself, show-offy as Vanna White. "Dude, not like you haven't thought about it. What angles are best?"

Sam closes the fridge door, leans against it with the box of orange juice held in both hands. He actually hasn't thought about it. Not specifically. It's just that sometimes they're in bed—or he's joined Dean in the tub—or bent Dean over the library table—and he has his camera close by, and he sees a little moment that he just—wants—and since Dean will let him have them, he takes them, and it's not some big plan.

He's been silent too long. Dean's looking at him, but less lascivious and more thoughtful, now. "Put it another way," he says, leaning on his elbow on the table. "Which ones do you go back and look at most?"

Dean's face. That's always the answer. Dean's face, and the shape of his bones picked out in the often-harsh light in here, and his eyelashes and lips and the slight brokenness of his nose, and the delicate shell of his ear, and the way his freckles spatter his skin, and that little scar, just by his mouth, that somehow has never gone away no matter how many times an angel has healed him. Sam licks his lips, flipping through his mental stockpile. "When you're on your back," he says, and looks across the kitchen at Dean. "Position doesn't really—I mean, if I'm—on top, it's easier to use the camera. But I—I like it when you're on your back so you're not really moving, or thinking about how to move, and you're just—uh, taking it."

One in particular: Dean with his hands clenched hard around Sam's headboard, his knees spread wide and high, his body straining, arched. Sam had been on his knees, Dean's ass nestled sweet up against his hips, and he'd been barely moving, churning his dick inside more than thrusting, and it had been driving Dean nuts, and he'd been cursing at Sam, telling him to get a move on, and Sam had stopped completely and reached for the camera and Dean had breathed out fuck and held on and held still and turned his face away, his mouth open and panting, and it was—perfect. Spread, like that, and open. Sam looks at it sometimes on his laptop, his chin in his hand, just taking in details. If all his pictures were that good, he'd be a lucky, lucky man.

Dean's ears are pink, across the kitchen. "Taking it, huh," he says, and Sam says, "You asked."

"Yeah, I did," Dean says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and turns back to his cereal, and then it's done, for that day.

Sam doesn't actually know that much about photography, either theory or practice. He just pins down moments and that's all he really thinks about. He knows, though, mostly from watching movies, that great photographers want their subjects to not be thinking about the camera—to just be themselves, and let themselves be captured without thinking about how they look.

Dean starts thinking about it. He's kind of a show-off, it's not really a surprise. He rolls Sam onto his back in bed and gets Sam's dick inside him, sheathing it slow, and then settles there on his knees while Sam's brain is still trying to recover from the slick heat. He bites his lips, his hips shifting, and then smiles, his face flushed. "How's this?" he says, and Sam blinks at him and only then gets it, and Sam laughs, because of course. He reaches over to the side table and Dean looks right into the lens, and that picture's good just because it's Dean in a good mood, his eyes crinkled with a smile, but it's different, somehow. When Dean's asking for the photo, versus when Sam just—needs one.

In Dean's bed, after a lazy round when Sam didn't reach for the camera at all, Dean kisses his collarbone and then says, thoughtful again, "Taking it."

It's been weeks. Sam doesn't make the connection to the conversation until Dean lifts up on his elbow, looking down at Sam's face. "What?" Sam says, and then remembers, and even if they've just been inside each other and they're covered in each other's cooling sweat, he feels his cheeks heat. "Oh."

Dean snorts. His fingers are messing with Sam's chest hair, pulling it lightly and then smoothing it down. "So, is it… Like, do you want me tied up, or something?" He's watching Sam's face, looking for reactions. "We've got that rope."

Jesus. Sam swallows, picturing that. It'd be… that'd be… "Do you want to get tied up?" he says, instead.

Dean's eyes narrow, just a tad. He shifts, sits up more fully with his hip tucked against Sam's, keeping Sam down with a hand on his chest. "All right, not that I guess," he says. Almost to himself, like he's working something out. He bites the corner of his mouth. "And you don't want me helpless."

Odd note in his voice. Sam reaches over and grips his hip, and Dean keeps watching his face, thinking. "You look like you're doing math problems," Sam says, trying to break whatever weirdness is here, and Dean blinks and then rolls his eyes, and goes to the sink in the corner to wet a rag.

"Yeah, friggin' Isaac Newton, that's me," Dean says, and when they're both cleaned up he crawls back into bed and settles at Sam's back, this time, and Sam relaxes, the weight and warmth of his brother all around him, like being a kid again, like a hug.

A hunt. A ghost on a farm, simple enough. Dean gets thrown through a half-rotted barn wall and Sam can't breathe for a few minutes until he's burned up the bones, wasted the spirit, sprinted across the field to find Dean still, his face white in the moonlight, and he drops to his knees and grabs Dean's shoulders and it's only then that Dean coughs, dragging in mold-dust air, raggedly says, "I hate farmers," and Sam laughs breathless and says, "Yeah, yeah, they're the worst," and drags him upright and holds him, shuddery, cupping the back of Dean's head and thinking, god, god.

Neither of them are actually hurt that bad. They drive back through the night and Dean bitches about his torn-up jacket, and says that he's taking a shower the instant they get back to the bunker. Sam looks out the window at the black fields passing by, his knuckles against his mouth, and his very, very good visual memory keeps playing back Dean's body among the broken boards, the way his eyes had looked dark and hollow.

They get back to the bunker. Dean parks in the garage, and looks at Sam, and says, "Yeah, you're filthy too, come on," and so Sam follows Dean to the shower, and they clean up side by side, the bathroom filling up with steam from the hot water, everything warm and clean and bright. Dean's got red marks all over his back that are going to turn into bruises. Sam's got grave-dirt under his nails that he scrubs at until his fingers are abraded, but finally not black. He stands there, under the spray, arms wrapped around himself to stretch his back, and the thing is that he actually does like hunting, he loves the sensation that they're making a difference in the world, but sometimes—sometimes it's just—

"Come on, Sammy," Dean says, and the water turns off. Sam opens his eyes and Dean's holding out a towel. It's—what, three in the morning. Sam's a little foggy, maybe.

They end up in Sam's room. Sam stands inside the doorway and thinks about putting on pajamas and thinks it's probably too much effort. Dean goes around him, turns on the lamps at the bedside and at the desk, and when the room's full of dim golden light, Dean takes off his towel, and while Sam's blinking at that Dean comes over to him and takes off Sam's towel, too, and folds it in a few quick turns and drops it to the concrete floor, and then goes to his knees on it, right in front of Sam, looking up at him.

Sam says, "Dean."

"Just go with it," Dean says. Like Sam wouldn't.

It's almost—workmanlike, at first. Practical. Sam's not hard and so it's easy for Dean to suck his dick in all the way, wetting it to the base in long practiced strokes of his soft hot mouth, dragging back to the head and playing his tongue there under the crown. Not teasing but focused, making Sam rise for it. Sam spreads his legs just a little, rests a hand on Dean's shoulder, and sinks into it, just feeling. He is rising, chubbing up inevitably, because Dean's good at this, knows his body, knows him. Callused fingers on his nuts, holding them easy; the firm pressure of his tongue on the underside, gliding. It's—god, good, it's really good, comforting as it makes his brain just focus on one thing. Dean's mouth, the plush of his lips, the easy suction on the way up, the wet give on the way back down. Sam pets through his hair, tips his head down to watch. Dean's eyes are half-closed but Sam still gets other details—the freckles on his cheeks, on his bare shoulders. His pinked-up face, his red ears, and Sam runs his fingers over the hot shell of one and then down to the bolt of Dean's jaw, feeling how it flexes, working. Dean draws up to the head and his mouth—god, it's pretty. Split and red, Sam's dick hard and fat and dark, breaking him open, and he does glance up at Sam then, while he licks the slit, and the sight and the feel together almost buckle Sam's knees. He slips his fingers down Dean's jaw to his chin, wet with spilled spit, and then up to the swell of his bottom lip, and Dean closes his eyes and pushes back down, slow, and Sam feels the plush give of it, the way he tightens his lips at the base and pulls back up, leaving slick behind, and it's—fuck, it's so good, and Sam—

"Can I," he says, and Dean pulls off for a second, gasping, and looks up at him.

"Don't ask," he says—again, insane—god, Sam's brother—and Sam grips his jaw and Dean tilts for him and lets Sam drive inside. Not too deep, not hurting, but setting the pace, working his hips. Oh, it feels—right, good, easy. Just to give himself up to the pleasure of—fucking, of chasing it, knowing that Dean wants him to, that it's good. Dean kneels up, holds Sam's hips with his thumbs rubbing over the bone, and Sam shifts his grip to the sides of Dean's head and goes fast, shoving in and in, Dean's tongue spread flat for him and the ring of his lips just tight enough, and it's—fuck, it's getting him there, faster than he thought it would, his balls clutching up, his gut feeling like a coiling, twisted-tight spring.

Dean's eyes sweep up at him and that's it—that's—"I'm—" Sam says, and Dean—fuck, pulls off, using his grip on Sam's hips to get the leverage, and Sam gasps at the abrupt cold air but Dean's already jerking his dick, hard and fast through the slick, cupping his balls and pressing his fingers into Sam's taint, and he licks under the head and keeps looking at Sam's face and Sam was already a second from it and starts coming, and Dean—what the fuck—holds Sam's dick right up against his closed lips and the first spurt hits him there, and then on his cheek, and then Dean closes his eyes and rubs Sam's flexing furious dick against his cheekbone and it's just—everywhere, creaming him everywhere, Sam's balls unloading and just covering him, covering him.

Sam's thighs are shaking, when it's done. "Jesus christ," he says, weak, and tips up Dean's face. He's keeping his eyes closed, now, but none of it got in his eyelashes—but it's all over the right side of his face, his mouth, dripping white on his cheekbone.

Dean lets his dick go. His mouth looks bruised. He tips his head, keeping the come-laced side tilted up, and says, softly, "Sam."

God. Sam stares at him. He reaches over to the desk, and gets the camera. A click and there's Dean's face, filling up the screen. Like a claim's been staked. He takes one, standing there just above Dean, the exact pose Dean's holding for him—the clean side hidden, the come thick and held on his cheek—and then says, "Stay," and goes to his knees, too, and takes a picture at Dean's eye-level, so that the light's gleaming over the wet, and there's the contrast. Dean's half-hard, his nipples tight, and Sam would take a picture of that, too, but it's more important then to get the camera back safely to the desk and then gather up Dean's jaw and kiss him, tasting it, trying to put in even an ounce, even a moment, of how—grateful he is. How much it means. Dean loses the stillness in a second and pushes in close, wrapping his arms around Sam's neck and fucking his tongue in so Sam can taste himself, all salt and bitter. Sam drags a thumb across Dean's cheek, smearing himself, and thinks—maybe—and yeah, when he pushes the gob of wet between their mouths Dean licks it up and then bites his lip hard enough to hurt.

"You're—" Sam says, holding Dean's jaw, and can't find the words.

"Sticky, is what I am," Dean says, a little raspy—and oh, Sam must have gone deeper than he meant—but even if he feels bad he laughs, a little nuts-feeling, and pulls back to find Dean wiping his face, his nose wrinkled.

"Sorry," Sam says, but he's not. "That was all you."

Dean grimaces for a second, but then shrugs, and licks his lips, and touches Sam's chest with his cleaner hand. "Well," Dean says, "sometimes we suffer for genius. Bet you'll make it up to me."

Sam thinks there's no possible way he can ever pay back everything that he's been given. "Bet I can," he says, instead. Dean's mouth curves, and he leans in easy, and he takes a kiss.

[kyotakumrau]

2020.09.19 ROCK AND READ 091 - interview with utA - translation PART 2/2

And so hati and I left Niigata with very little money, but carrying a guitar and a bass with us, we went to Tokyo.

Interview: Yukinobu Hasegawa Photos: Yosuke Komatsu (ODD JOB LTD.)

Translation: kyotaku You can buy the magazine on amazon, tower records etc ฅ( ̳• ·̫ • ̳ฅ)♡

PART 1 HERE

-- With 40~50k yen you can do a short sightseeing trip to Tokyo (laughing).

utA: Yeah, that's why we got part time jobs soon and started saving, and together with hati we rented a cheap place in a wooden building for about 40k yen. And there our Tokyo life has started.

-- Sounds very Showa style (laughing). Where in Tokyo was it?

(*Showa era, 1926-1989, is often referred as nostalgic old times, retro style; but the house utA and hati lived in was likely an actual Showa building... which are seen as not safe during disasters and thus very cheap to rent)

utA: It was in Komagome. There was no bath, but it was something like a detached house, so for 45k it was super cheap. But it was a considerably old building.

-- But still that's cheap. For a detached house. Was it a stigmatized property by any chance?

utA: Right? But it was cheap, so we thought why not (laughing). The two of us. Even if there's some issue.

-- There's issue with you two (laughing). There were two of you meant to live there, but it would be totally fine if the third unknown occupant appeared suddenly?

utA: Yup (laughing).

-- So you wouldn't be bothered if some floating life form came out?

utA: Yup, no problem at all (laughing). Actually, there was an episode of the ghost visit. You probably won't publish this part of the talk, but it seems like I can actually sense the supernatural. It was when I was writing music when living in that place, I suddenly felt strongly some weird presence behind me, I've been hugged tightly, and when I shouted surprised 'who's it??!' I couldn't see anyone. I thought, ah, someone had passed away in this room at some point. There is really a lot of interesting stories from when we lived in that house (laughing).

-- This is something that must end up in the printed interview for sure.

utA: Seriously?! Won't that be too scary for people who really believe in ghosts? (laughing)

-- Have you encountered many phenomenons like that?

utA: Yes, I have. I could feel many spiritual beings already from before, but there were just a lot, in that place. When hati came back from his part time job I remember telling him 'holy shit someone just grabbed me from behind, we have to move out as soon as possible' (laughing).

-- As you were living in a crazy place like that you have later started a band, it was 9GOATS BLACK OUT, right? It's a bit spooky/ominous band's name, was it because of this?

utA: I guess (laughing). It was crazy living over there, but also very fun. During summertime, the two of us would be bathing in the small garden outside, hati would be taking a shower in the kitchen sink, or sleeping in the oshiire*(laughing). He was a great guy, super funny. With this hati I've done one more band in Tokyo before 9GOATS BLACK OUT. But it only lasted about a month. When looking for a good potential band members, we reached out with invitation to a vocalist ryo from Niigata who done bands like D'elsquel or GULLET. And even as we went to Tokyo to look for band members, we ended up forming a band with 3 guys from Niigata, starting activities in Tokyo. And for that ryo moved to Tokyo.

(*oshiiire is Japanese closet. It's much deeper than Western style closet and has a shelf, you can actually put a single mattress in😆)

-- To that stigmatized/haunted house?

utA: No, no!! (laughing) He actually refused 'I'm not coming to a place like that!' (laughing).

-- ryo was working as a designer then.

utA: Yeah, he was working as a designer in Niigata, but we asked him if he wouldn't quit (laughing). As we could write great songs to make it [in music]. And ryo agreed. Starting the band in Tokyo was like turning over a new leaf. All of us moved to Setagaya ward in Tokyo.

-- Did you choose a stigmatized place again?

utA: It was also an older building, but without any strange situation going on, it was fine (laughing). This time not house sharing, all of us got our own small apartments.

-- 9GOATS BLACK OUT has a very firm image as a very original, strongly idiosyncratic band.

utA: That's definitely true. From when we started activities, the pace of work has never decreased, I think it was a good condition.

-- It was a visual kei band, but musically it had quite a lot from the ambient like elements. You had many very interesting songs.

utA: Yup. Gradually I was leaning more and more to add ambient style to songs. As for why, when we started in Tokyo, in my mid 20s I was increasingly listening to Western artists. Before that I think I wasn't listening to artists outside visual kei, but as I progressively became a better musician I started noticing more and more the greatness of the overseas bands and music. I really got into Radiohead and MUSE, and the songs I was writing got a bit more ambient.

-- Those artists place big importance on the sound of each album.

utA: True. My favourite band now is Radiohead. But at that time I was probably aiming to have a band in a style of MUSE. But our songs were not as rock-ish as MUSE is.

-- MUSE is not only an English rock, their sound is very much arena rock like.

utA: The MUSE now definitely is like that, but I really love their first album 'Showbiz'. Starting from the first song 'Sunburn' there was an amazing ambient, I was probably influenced by that.

-- You got attracted to the clean tones from when you started to play the guitar, so do you like the air surrounding the sound, the pleasant feeling of the ambient style?

utA: That's right. It was with 9GOATS BLACK OUT that we gave shape to songs like that, so musically it was very fulfilling.  Speaking of albums, songs were mainly written by me, ryo and hati done 1 or 2 songs each. So with that it's like I kinda run out of song ideas fast (laughing), or I used everything I had [and it wasn't enough]. There was a pattern that with each album I felt I had to open new doors.

-- You included plenty of synthesizer sounds, creating a three-dimensional sound.

utA: I did, yeah. I was exhausted with every song. There were times when I'd write the main part of the song, and after that I would throw it to the drummer or bassist asking them [to finish it]. Creating songs with 9GOATS BLACK OUT was a good learning experience, but I also experienced how it is to use everything you had and look for new doors to open. I had a healthy attitude towards music, but on the other hand it was also harsh.

-- Around 2013 9GOATS BLACK OUT has ceased activity, where did that come from?

utA: We disbanded 5 years after the formation. It was due to the differences between the band members (about music/band direction).

-- Each of you were writing songs, when you followed through did the music production make each of you do some soul searching?

utA: Yeah, it felt like each of us was changing a bit and the gap growing between us was slowly getting closer to reaching the limit. And as a result, we arrived at the point where we didn't agree where to go next as a band. That's why I think at the latter period each of us felt that as a band our demise is nearing.

-- When that came did you start thinking about your next step?

utA: Nope, not at all. This is similar to when I was graduating the high school, I don't think about what's next (laughing). For now let's stop. After that somehow it will work. Like I'll do what I have to. Weirdly optimistic, I didn't know what's ahead. I wasn't planning on quitting music, but I was tired of writing songs, I was thinking of taking a break for 1 or 2 years from that, wanted to do it properly.

-- And then Kyo contacted you?

utA: Yup! I was very grateful, happy and surprised.

-- I heard that Kyo contacted you saying that he has listened to 9GOATS BLACK OUT music and wants that sound?

utA: That's why I was so moved when I heard that. Since I started music I felt I wanted to maintain my own worldview, this hasn't changed even now. I was glad I could continue, really glad. I felt 'even among musicians there's someone who really appreciates [my sound]'. That time Kyo and Takumi already started writing music for sukekiyo, and were at the stage of thinking what to do about other band members.

-- Have you met those two before?

utA: Not really. But I think we played at some big event with RENTRER EN SOI. And I also had a chance to see DIR EN GREY live twice. But we haven't met then, so our first meeting was when we talked about sukekiyo. [It went like] 'it's really an honour, I'm really grateful that you appreciate my music, I'm really looking forward to working together'.

-- Did Kyo had any specific requests?

utA: It's the same now, he told me to do whatever I want. He hasn't changed since then. That's why from the start I had freedom when working. When working on "IMMORTALIS" I could just let out my worldview freely, so I really enjoyed it. But from the next title "VITIUM" I started to wonder what exactly do I want. So for me, the freedom was the reason I started to lose my way. From around "ADORATIO" Kyo might have started to ask us 'what about something like this as a big picture?', but beyond that it was all 'please do whatever you like'. Not only in terms of music, but I'm quite a free spirit, also among band members (laughing). So I'm very grateful to receive such a generous support from Kyo and other members. YUCHI and Takumi, and Mika help to unify my songs. I really have freedom when creating the original melody. I really think I'm blessed to have those people around me. I'm truly thankful that even though I'm such a free spirit they are all people who can understand me and treat me kindly. They are amazing.

-- It's been 7 years since sukekiyo started, is the gratitude only getting stronger?

utA: On one hand it's getting stronger, but as our time together becomes so long there's also a thing it's by now embarrassing to say. It became difficult to say thank you. Especially having all this support from Kyo, I'm just so grateful to him. It feels like he cares so much, for me. If I got it wrong, sorry for assuming (laughing). When I fail, I get pulled in by that thought, I'm not able to do anything including song writing. Having freedom when creating songs, there's no end of ideas, but rencently they came a bit. With the release of "ADORATIO" in 2017 and "INFINITUM" in 2019 I've been thinking about it a lot, what will we do next. sukekiyo is doing quite a lot music wise.

-- So now it's not like you get influenced by something so you can write?

utA: That is rapidly going away.

-- But for example, even when you write a thing influenced by something else, when it's finally sent to other member shouldn't it be reborn as a totally new thing?

utA: You're totally right. Yeah, it will be reborn as something new, so I just thought it'd be totally fine if I let my mind wander more and create. Of course I want to push myself and always create something that will make you think 'oh amazing' the moment you hear it, including the worldview as well, but if I only do things this way it will always be like that, when I instead pass the idea to the band members it's so interesting to see how it will change. So now, you gave me a very good hint (laughing). Just, my hate of loosing in weird way comes out here, I want to be able make people react 'I'll be damned, what was that!' all by myself. I want Kyo or other members to accept the song when listening at first only to the sound I created. I want to surprise Kyo, who blessed me with 'I want your sound'. Actually, I already made some crazy songs, I want to make more songs I'm happy with and that members can listen.

-- When thinking specifically about the next [work], what kind of sound or songs do you want to pursue?

utA: It's something I've been saying from the start, I want to bring out abnormality/transformation. If the band's sound become electro or other, I don't care about this direction, but there's the thing were I don't want people to listen without questioning it. When no matter how many times you listen but it's hard to understand. And then after a year or so you start thinking it actually might be a good song. Saying that this is my ideal might sound strange, but I think songs like that are way more attractive. Not a song that you like from the first listen.

-- I totally get that feeling. Listening to the song, you can enjoy the wrestling with the music. It's beyond your comprehension, but you're drawn to it somehow. Because when you keep listening to it again and again, you start noticing more sides to it.

utA: That's true. It took me about 5~6 years to truly understand Radiohead. Especially "Pabro Honey" or "The Bends", at the beginning they totally didn't resound with me. The vertical axis felt off, or wasn't there a better chord than this etc. I was thinking that for so long, but then I finally understood after some years, it's because of those things they are good. I hope to someday be able to reach that level. Even if fans probably don't want songs for which you need 5~6 years to understand (laughing). But there is a joy of bringing something unknown to life. sukekiyo has created that for each album, so I'd really like to give birth to something even better again.

[dameronology]

anakin skywalker fluff alphabet

as requested by @drinksomecoco​ {happy belated birthday!💕) 

i wrote this on my phone bc my laptop charger is broken (thank fuck for amazon prime) so pls excuse any grammar errors, i have proof read it but a few might have slipped through

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

anakin likes to spend time with you in either your quarters or his. when he’s in his own space and away from the noise and stress of the jedi temple, he can really let his guard down. his favourite thing is to hang out with you after a long day and catch up (and sometimes he’ll attempt to cook).

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

anakin being anakin, he would admire it when his s/o has a bit of a rebellious streak or the courage to go against the rules. that doesn’t mean he expects you to be as blatantly insubordinate as him, but he’ll always have your back if you get into a bit of trouble.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

anakin’s main concern is always you, so he’ll drop anything and everything when you need him. he’ll wrap you in a blanket and bring you tea, usually telling you stories of missions he’s been on to distract you & when you’re ready to talk about it, he’s all ears. 

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

anakin thinks a lot about moving away from coruscant, maybe to the outskirts of the city or even to a new planet entirely. he didn’t have the best childhood so he dreams about having kids of his own and giving them what he didn’t have. he knows it’s unrealistic, but he has moments where abandoning the order to start over with you feels so worth it. 

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

he’s got a very head-strong personality, so anakin probably comes across as the dominant one without meaning to. with that said, if you call him out for it, he’s quick to act on it. 

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

anakin is so blindly in love with you that he’d probably forgive you for just about anything. with that said, he’s known to pick fights just for the hell of it if he’s in a difficult mood; they become rarer as your relationship progresses, but he can be very difficult. 

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

he doesn’t show it everyday, but anakin is extremely grateful for you. you’re the only thing that stops him losing it completely some days; when he’s in a particularly soft mood, he’ll hold you for ages and whisper softly to you about how much he loves you and how much you mean to him. 

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

anakin can’t stand lying to you. he tells you everything; literally everything. it’s a symbol of how much he trusts you and the fact he can come to you with anything is one of the many reasons that he adores your relationship. 

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

on the whole, you make anakin a much brighter person. he has a tendency to be grumpy and difficult when he’s in a bad mood, but when he so much as thinks about you, his mood increases ten fold. he also becomes much less reckless given that coming home to you is his number once concern.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

anakin is usually very sure of himself but his biggest fear is you leaving him for someone who’s not a jedi, for someone who’s not so busy, for someone who’s not got so much on his shoulders. that can lead to him becoming quite insecure and skittish around people who show an interest in you, but it’s usually trumped by the fact he has total faith in you. 

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

the first kiss was probably a little awkward, especially given that he has little experience, but once anakin has got it, he’s got it. he takes note of what you like and he puts it to use.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

anakin would just sit you down and tell it to you straight. he’s not the kind of person who beats around the bush, but he’d probably stumble on his words a little bit.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

if you’re down, so is he. anakin is very much aware of the risks and he knows what would happen if the council found out, but for you, it’s worth it. with that said, he doesn’t see it to be completely necessary; you guys are very much committed to each other, with or without a legal binding. 

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

sweetheart would be his number one nickname, and baby if he wants something

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

anakin is adorable when he’s in love. it’s a stark contrast from his usual emo attitude™ & everybody notices it. the only person who actually suspects love being the reason for it is his master, but he’s much happier and brighter.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

anakin is down for very low-key pda; he’ll have his hand on the small of your back or your fingers gently intertwined. he can be a little bit risky sometimes, pulling you behind pillars or into closets, but he’d never do anything unless he was certain you could get away with it. 

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

anakin skywalker has your back, no matter what - seriously, he’s the best ride or die you could ask for. nothing is too big or too small; you guys are a team, and he’s always looking out for you.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

anakin is romantic in the every day sense and the traditional sense. his main concern is looking after you; he’ll do little things to make your morning easier like bringing you coffee or laying your clothes out the night before. then, in a bigger sense, he loves bringing you flowers and surprising you with dinner.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

referring back to the ride or die thing, anakin will support you through anything and everything. your goals are his goals and he wants to see you do well and succeed, so he’ll do whatever he can to help you.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

anakin actually appreciates a little bit of routine; his job is pretty crazy, so he likes having a constant. with that said, he has a taste for adventure and sometimes he loves taking you on random getaways to different systems and planets. 

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

anakin knows you like the back of his hand. he’s a very observant person and he’s very quiet about it but he sometimes surprises you with how well he knows you. 

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

there is nothing he holds in higher regard than your relationship. when he met you, everything else he used to consider important suddenly seemed so trivial.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

anakin likes to be the little spoon sometimes. for the most part, he’s usually the one holding you but when he’s had a rough day and needs a break from everything, there’s no place he’d rather be than your arms.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

when he’s in the right mood, anakin will refuse to let go of you. he has days where he’s super clingy and he just wants to hold you. seriously, you will have to make your plans work around him because the boy isn’t going anywhere. 

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

anakin is always a bit worse-for-wear when he’s missing you, and he’ll become a lil grumpier than usual, but your force connection is strong. he can always feel your presence, even when you’re not with him. 

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what's the limit?

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Fourteen

Previous Chapter HERE

Warnings: Language, NSFW Language

Tags: @jennmurawski13 @kelbabyblue

Note: Apologies, this is a repost from yesterday for reasons I won’t go into now. i hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Fourteen

Sarah jostled with the mail as she entered their building, trying hard not to knock over the newest fresh plant currently adorning the entrance. They usually took it in turns to handle the post and whatever parcels the Supervisor had signed for that day but she was starting to feel a little short-changed as Shanna had consistently more post coming her way these days. Sarah realised she needed to get out more. Carting everything up the stairs was starting to become its own workout. Today’s treasures involved two Nasty Gal packages, a package from Pottery Barn, a box from Amazon, and what appeared to be a free sample of a Louis Vuitton fragrance. Sarah might just keep that last one to herself.

Jocelyn had sent another care package of sorts her way but it only served to remind Sarah that she had not called her folks in over a week. Ever since the accident, Jocelyn had been so consumed with worry that she had taken to sending Sarah articles ripped form magazines and gift cards for relaxation therapies. Despite Sarah’s many protests to the contrary, Jocelyn was sure Sarah was struggling with some form of undiagnosed PTSD. She’d read about it in a magazine. “If affects upwards of half a million American every year, honey.”

After successfully dodging the neighbour’s schnauzer, she eventually reached their floor and was just about to turn her key in the lock when the door swung wide open. Before she had time to react, she was brought face to face with a stressed-out Shanna, hair dripping wet from a shower. Not her favourite Shanna it had to be said. Not even in the Top Ten.

She grabbed Sarah by both shoulders. “I don’t know what I’m going to wear, Sarah! I’ve got less than an hour!”

“And hello to you, too!” Sarah smiled broadly, almost comically so, before Shanna lowered her head in embarrassment and moved out of the way so Sarah could physically get into her own home. She held the packages up. “Maybe there is something in here?”

Shanna shook her head. “No, they’re more summery. More formal.” She’d started fluttering around Sarah in a panic. “Do you still have that leather midi skirt? Do you think I could fit into it?”

“Uhh yeh it’s in the back of my closet somewhere.” she remembered. “Might be a bit warm, though? What are you gonna wear with it?”

“Well it’s a punky kind of bar, think it has live music and stuff so I thought maybe that Rolling Stones t-shirt and the maroon boots? Keep my hair down and casual?”

“So basically all of my clothes?” Sarah retorted. Shanna pressed her hands together in prayer and gave her the best pitiful smile she could manage, one she knew Sarah couldn’t resist. Shanna seemed to genuinely like this guy and if this guy was as charming and as smart as she told her he was, Sarah was sure she would like him, too. Hell, he’d be best friends with Scott and Chris in no time so long as he enjoyed football, Sam Adams, and didn’t put points on Shanna’s licence.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll see what I can pull together. Do you wanna borrow that heart necklace of mine? If you’re wearing your hair down, it’s probably best you avoid wearing earrings unless you want me to cut you out of them again.” Sarah shouted as she walked into her room unaware that Shanna had followed her closely behind.

“Oh god I hadn’t even thought that far. You know what, I might just cancel. This is just too much right now and I’m not even sure if he really likes me as anything more than a friend.” She feigned a dramatic flop onto Sarah’s bed, one arm landing across her forehead. Sarah delved through her closet to locate the desired items. If Shanna was threatening to cancel the date already, it must be serious.

“How many of you are going to this club?” Sarah asked, emerging from the closet doorway.

“Don’t know. Think three or four from my department and another couple from his?” she responded, hopelessness evident in her voice. Shanna never did well with vagueness where guys were concerned; everything had to be black and white with her.

“Come on, you’ve still got time.” Sarah encouraged as she carried some clothes and a couple of pairs of boots towards the bed. “Dry your hair and we’ll figure this out, OK?”

“Have I told you how much I love you lately?” Shanna pouted and Sarah tried to shrug off the pit growing in her stomach from her words. Shanna used every ounce of energy she could muster to get up and drag herself back into the bathroom leaving Sarah shaking her head.

It was only a rare occasion when Shanna took less time getting ready in the bathroom. Sarah had fond memories of shouting through the door back when they were at college and deciding to move in together required a complete 180 degree shift in her expectations. Still, in less than half an hour, here she emerged fully dressed, primer and foundation applied, and hair dried accordingly. It was a miracle of epic proportions and if she hadn’t shoved some false eyelashes into Sarah’s hand, Sarah would have snapped a photograph to send to the family as evidence that their little girl was growing up.

Thanks to her professional, steady hand, Sarah was always the eyelash-fixer among their group. While fixing a couple of lashes to the corners of her eyes, Sarah’s phone buzzed. It buzzed a couple more times in quick succession and she would have managed to ignore it had it not been for Shanna’a roving eye.

“Looks like someone wants you.” she murmured, trying her hardest not to move as Sarah held the glued lash in place with some tweezers.

“It’ll just be Audrey probably.” Sarah responded in no rush to check for herself, keeping a firm hold on what she was doing.

Shanna tried glancing to her side one more time to catch who it was but couldn’t quite make it out. It buzzed again. “I’d hate for you to miss out on a date with Greg on account of helping piece my pathetic love life together. Oooh maybe we could double-date!”

Shanna’s exclaim nearly caused Sarah to lose her grip on the tweezers but a sharp intake of breath convinced Shanna to give up the inquisition. “Sorry. Sorry.” she held her hands up as an apology before feeling Sarah’s hands relax as she moved across to the other eye.

Sarah was pleased to see Shanna eventually leave their apartment. Not because she wanted the peace particularly but just because it was nice to see her get excited over a guy that wasn’t Ben. She looked gorgeous, too. Sarah was quite proud of her work. If it wasn’t to be a proper date, it definitely would be after tonight. Robbie would be an absolute fool to miss out.

It was only when she slumped dow onto the couch and spent the next hour or so flicking through television channels that she remembered her phone had buzzed earlier on. She reluctantly peeled herself off the sofa and retrieved it from where it had originally landed on her bedside table. Honestly, it was like Shanna had taught her nothing.

From just two messages, Chris had attempted some mild flirtation with her before asking her if she knew what in God’s Name Penhaligon’s was.

Sarah 8.19pm: Perfume I think. Pretty old school brand. Why?

Chris 8.23pm: Mom wants it for her birthday. Never heard of it before. Scott thought it might be some kind of scarf??

She googled the name to make sure. Last thing she wanted was to end up ruining Lisa’s birthday celebrations with a present she absolutely did not want. Her birthday was something she took with increasing seriousness as each year passed by and her children and grandchildren grew older in front of her eyes. There was always a party of sorts, a massive cake, perhaps a theme, and a “suggestion list” for possible gifts. Well, they say “suggestion” but rarely did anyone dare deviate from “the list”. Sarah hadn’t yet considered buying a present but if Chris was already looking, she would no doubt need to catch up.

Sarah 8.34pm: Yep, pretty certain it’s a perfume. Pretty pricey. Good shout.

Sarah started scanning through her phone as another couple of messages caught her eye, some she had accidentally missed from earlier in the day. One from Audrey. One from Greg that she was not expecting.

Greg 7.02pm: Great news! 29th is set up. All you need to do is say the word! Don’t know how long I can hold the spot open so let me know as soon as you can. Have a great evening x

It took her a moment to register what he was talking about.

Chris 8.37pm: Cool THX What are you wearing??

Sarah stared down at the phone. She felt light-headed. There was far too much going on for this time of the day. She wiped at her forehead with her sweater sleeve and took a deep breath.

Sarah 8.41pm: You wouldn’t be interested lol

Chris 8.42pm: try me..........

He had a surprising habit these days of cheering her up.

Sarah 8.46pm: Nah I look a mess. Get out while you can.

Her phone started ringing almost as soon as she’d pressed ‘send’, Chris’ name flashing on her screen. She contemplated not answering now that her mood had taken a turn but she knew he would work out something was wrong and immediately dive over.

“Hey,” she answered, trying for a jovial tone but coming up just south of delirious.

“Hey you,” he smiled through the phone, happy to hear her voice. “In all the years I have known you, Bernette, not once would I describe you as looking like a mess.”

She laughed down the line. She made the right decision.

“...you are far too cute to ever be a mess. Do you know that? Like, I can already picture you with your sweats on, your hair tied up, soft skin...” he trailed off with a low sigh that she was sure was filthier than he intended it to be. “Man, that really does something to me.”

“You really know how to charm a girl. Have you figured this Penhaligon’s thing out yet? Was I right?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

She laughed again. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m not great with flirting over the phone. You should know that by now.”

“Then do it with me in person.” he proposed as if it was the easiest solution in the world. As if she wasn’t going to be distracted with thoughts of work and studies enough to not focus on him entirely. And he didn’t deserve to be second best.

It would have been all too easy to allow him to come over. Forget about overthinking things again. There truly was no one better at making her feel good about herself these days. Like, honest, through-the-bone good about herself, whatever that entailed. Goosebumps raised on her skin at the thought.

“I’m pretty whacked to be honest and...”

“What’s going on? Are you feeling alright?” he asked, concern evident in his tone. Whatever he had been pottering about with in the background had stopped all of a sudden.

“Yes! Yeh, I’m fine. Just...I dunno, boring. Plus, it’s Friday night! You should be out with the guys or whatever. Shan said Scott is having issues with Zach again. Is he OK?”

He laughed at her second lame attempt to deflect. He knew something was going on and he knew she knew he wouldn’t give up easily.

“Is Shanna there?” he asked.

“No, she went out with some friends.”

“So why don’t you ask me to come over and I’ll make you feel better than fine?”

She was lucky she was sat down or that her legs were crossed underneath her as she lounged on the couch, her back against the arm rest. His tone was causing her to feel things she shouldn’t be focussing on. What must it feel like to always be confident of your effect on people?

“Do you wanna come over?” she asked, treading lightly, not entirely anxious should he decline.

“I’ll be there in twenty.” He ended the call almost as abruptly as he had dialled it.

She remained where she sat for a moment, Greg’s text message still lighting up her screen. She wasn’t expecting for things to suddenly be so easy for her and it was strange how opening herself up to more possibilities could cause her to feel so immobile.

She would need to move at some point and as a helpless and as confused as she now felt, she knew it would look far too obvious to Chris if she bid to make herself up. She also didn’t really have the energy to do so. Lord, Chris really should have taken the out when he had the chance.

“Have I just walked into a teenage girl’s bedroom?” Chris asked, taking a look around as he entered the apartment not long afterwards. He clearly found the scene amusing although Sarah couldn’t under stand why. It was partly Shanna’s home after all. He should be used to girly mess. “What’s going on?”

“Shan has a date. I was helping her to get ready.” Sarah replied, humourously holding up the hairdryer like a trophy before dumping it back in her bedroom. “Sort of, actually. She doesn’t quite know if it’s a date date or a friend date.”

“I was told those didn’t exist.” Chris smirked, reaching for a bottle of water from her fridge.

“Well, she’s dressed up for one. Looks gorgeous.”

“I think you look gorgeous.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Chris, you don’t need to make any more effort, OK? You’re already in the apartment.”

“I think it bears repeating is all.”

He swallowed half the bottle of water before fixing her with a semi-quizzical stare. He tried to figure out what was going on as he watched her potter around the kitchen table, swiping something away into a cupboard, phone grasped in her hand. “What’s going on? You sounded weird on the phone and now you look like it as well.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” she answered far too quickly and tried to shrug it off but his body language told her he wasn’t buying it. She wasn’t sure what was bothering her more in this moment; him knowing her too well, or that he knew he knew her too well.

“OK, alright, well, it’s Friday night and I’m happy just hanging out and doing whatever but you can also talk to me as well. I’m not a monster.”

“It was her turn to look back at him, unsure of her next move or indeed his. she wondered if he was very likely regretting his decision to meet her now when twenty minutes in the opposite direction would take him to one of his favourite downtown dive bars. Instead, he rested against the side of the kitchen doorway, arms folded, a softness still present in his facial expressions. He seemed hesitant of what to say and she didn’t like the slight awkward air surrounding them. She didn’t want to venture into work-territory either.

“Do you want me to go, Sarah?”

She looked back up at him after a short spell spent staring down at her feet. “No. I don’t want you to leave. I’m just...there’s something...” she paused to re-evaluate her words. “You know what, it’s find. It’s nothing major. Of course I’m glad you’re here now.”

He pushed himself off from the counter and moved towards her, accepting of the greeting smile now covering her face, the bottle of water still in his grip. “Cool. Shall I follow your lead then, or...?”

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something?” she suggested, more casually than he would have liked. She didn’t know what to say to him now that all of her brain space was taken up with possibilities and wanting to call Audrey with the news. Chris hadn’t factored in watching a film but she seemed like she wanted a little peace and quiet and he had pretty much dived into the apartment as soon as she gave him the green light, eager as he was to see her without threat of Shanna walking in at any point.

“Movie sounds good.” He bobbed his head in agreement, content in their surroundings for now.

*

At some point towards the end of Searching, Chris quietly excused himself to go to the bathroom. Realising something was about to happen and not wanting to have to explain it to him after he returned, Sarah put the film on pause and headed into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She had held him at an arm’s length for most of the night, the couch seeming longer somehow, but was now feeling a slight chill despite the thick sweater reaching midway down her thighs. He would no doubt have been cosy to snuggle up to but she was still pondering Greg’s message and couldn’t concentrate on much else.

Her demeanour hadn’t gone unnoticed by Chris. A couple of times he caught the glare from her phone screen illuminating her face from below and wondered who had gotten her attention this evening. He stopped himself from making an obvious joke and was disappointed that she hadn’t noticed him glance across at her several times during the movie. He wasn’t much interested in watching it. Telling the truth, he’d seen it via a DVD screener Matt had sent him months earlier but she’d mentioned she was looking forward to watching it and in all honesty, he had figured they would curl up together and he would have still gotten something out of it.

“Chris? Do you want a cup of tea?” she hollered from the kitchen doorway. No response for what seemed to be a long, long minute. She switched the kettle off and began pouring him one anyway. She could always drink two if he didn’t want it.

“Chris?” she shouted again.

She walked into the lounge to place the cups down and clocked the bathroom door ajar and seemingly empty. Maybe he left without telling her. In all fairness, she wouldn’t have been surprised or annoyed. She’d barely given him a moment of attention for the last two hours.

She wandered slowly down the hallway first passing Shanna’s bedroom before reaching her own and finding him stretched out across the bottom of her bed. She giggled and leaned on the side of the doorway. He looked rather comfortable. A little too comfortable. Maybe he wanted some company?

“What are you up to, Evans?”

He tilted his head up to find her standing there. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to notice I was gone.” He leaned up further and rested on one arm to fully take sight of her. His eyes appeared a little dopey, a thing that always seemed to give away his nefarious intentions. From the angle he was now lying in, the size of his bicep looked ridiculous. It could not have been an accidental move and she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t working for her.

“Are you bored? You can absolutely go if you have a better offer, I promise I won’t mind.” she offered by way of an apology but he stayed looking at her, not moving or responding to her offer. Being caught under his glare like this was unnerving to say the least. His hair looked a little messy from where he had been lying down yet he still made zero effort to move at all.

“I’m not bored.” He finally spoke, sincerity lacing his voice. “Are you? You seem distracted tonight.”

She didn’t know how to respond except to say he was right and to apologise again. She hadn’t figured out what to say to Greg yet so explaining her thought process to Chris wasn’t going to get her very far. It was times like this, when he was looking at her like that, that she wished she had the confidence to try and shut him up the old-fashioned way.

“Come here...” It was barely a whisper and she would have doubted he had spoken at all if it wasn’t for the hand he was now holding out towards her. He didn’t blink once.

She couldn’t refuse him and moved slowly to stand in the middle of his now-parted legs hanging off the end of the bed as he sat up. She watched as he closed his eyes when he felt her fingers smooth through his hair. There was something so calming about her touch, the deliberate graze of her nails sending little shocks down his spine. He wasn’t normally fussed by a woman playing with his hair even if occasionally he liked it when they pulled on it but something about her slow, tender touch was unlike anything he had felt before.

He moved his hands to the side of her thighs before pulling her legs down to either side of him. “I love looking at you from here.” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist making sure she couldn’t get away from him.

She moved in to kiss him, softly at first before she felt his tongue glide along her bottom lip, a wordless request for her to open up. He paused for a second, taking her in while she caught her breath before kissing her deeper than before. She pulled his t-shirt up from the hem and he reached up over his back to grab it and whip it off in record time. Not one of his proudest moments, it caught on his watch as he tried and failed to fling it to the side of them and he made a mental note to try that move again when he felt her chuckle against the side of his neck. He didn’t much mind being a dork in front of her. She knew he wasn’t as cool as he made himself out to be.

His hands found their way into her hair as he caressed the strands out of her face. He loved how silky it felt between his fingers and how faintly it smelled of coconut, her signature smell by now. Her hands gripped his wrists before slowly moving up his biceps and grasping at his shoulders while he pulled her down onto him to allow her to feel how hard he was becoming from her touch. He wanted to know she was only thinking about him. She felt him push up into her core and arousing her even more. His breaths were getting shorter while his hands moved down her sides in an attempt to hook into her leggings and drag them down and off her body. She moved a hand away from his shoulders to help him with his mission but a tapping sound soon broke her from her reverie.

“Wait.” she was still holding on to his arms to steady herself until things went quiet and his hands froze on her waist. Their breathing levelled out quickly and Chris threw her a confused look. “Do you hear something?”

“What?” He gasped. “No, nothing.” He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her back down to kiss him hard. His hands firmly gripped her ass until she was putting pressure back where he wanted it. She quickly forgot what she was thinking about while he moved her slowly along his growing length. He moved one hand up her side, dragging her sweater up with it so his fingers could finally feel her skin underneath. Her hands were pushing down on his chest a bit harder and in a moment that took her by total surprised he quickly flipped them over so she was lying underneath him, completely encased by his strong forearms.

Kissing her was so easy he couldn’t believe he hadn’t done it sooner. Her lips were soft, some of the softest her had ever touched. He figured she kissed like she wanted to be kissed, and he wanted to kiss her back like no boy had ever kissed her before. It was soft and hot and breathy and turning him on immensely. Neither was trying to win a battle but rather seeking and enjoying their closeness, the sharing of this one single sensation, outside world be damned.

The prospect of being uninterrupted was giving him all kinds of ideas. Her breathing was hot against his skin and he knew she was in the zone with him. They’d never particularly been slow and up until this point, he hadn’t much minded but he knew there was some part of her she was holding back and honestly, it was thrilling to him that he was determined to figure her out.

Pinning her underneath, one hand reached down and grazed the inside of her thigh. A little more pressure just over her clit caused her breath to hitch with a sudden squeak ever so slightly until they smiled back into their kiss, tongues massaging together. Honestly, he could carry on doing this for hours if he knew for sure there would definitely be another time they had this opportunity.

She opened her eyes to find him resting so close above her and evidently relishing the way she was lightly tickling the back of his neck with her fingers. Another languid kiss followed before he caught the side of her neck between his teeth and pushed himself against her core, her wetness increasingly apparent to him. She was growing accustomed to his need to tease her like this that she almost missed the scraping sound that had returned, only this time it was louder and sounded like it was coming from just down her hallway. She would have loved nothing more than to continue focussing on the hot breath now ghosting across her neck and shoulders but, panicking, she grudgingly pushed him off her.

“Fuck, what is that?”

Helpless and slightly dazed, all he could do was watch her get up from the bed to stand by the door. With an ear close to the gap, she listened out for another sound. Quieter than before, she swore she heard what sounded like shuffling followed by something being dropped on the ground.

Spying him about to protest, she shook her head. “Nope. Nope, that’s definitely something.” She proceeded to tiptoe out of her room and down the hall towards the kitchen, her bare feet treading ever so lightly and managing to dodge the one creaky floorboard. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to find but felt a brief surge of confidence knowing the vision of Captain America might alarm whoever was attempting to break in to her home and presumably try to murder them both. He was 6 foot and built like a tank, he could absolutely save them both if push came to shove.

Of course, no one was there that she could immediately see. Maybe something had fallen off the wall instead, or perhaps had been knocked over by a strong breeze coming in via the open window in the lounge? Maybe she was hearing things after all or maybe it was a burglar but they got startled and ran away when they heard footsteps inside. Maybe it was just their neighbour moving around next door but it sounded a little too close for that. She resorted to the only thing she could think of in that moment and picked up a spatula just in case.

Chris was reluctantly putting his t-shirt back on when he followed quietly behind her, shaking his leg to relieve some of the tension in his boxers. Something banged again but this time she was sure it was coming from outside of her front door. He could now hear it as well but wasn’t entirely sure what she was hoping to accomplish with a plastic spatula in her hand.

She held her finger up to her lips to stop him from making any noise and peered through the peephole. She couldn’t see anything. Gingerly, she decided to open the door and jumped backwards when there, on the ground hunched up and leaning against the door frame, was a rathe intoxicated Shanna. Her bag had been emptied in a hurry like she’d been trying to locate her keys, and her coat was falling off her shoulders. She was half-asleep.

Chris snorted from somewhere close behind Sarah unable to contain himself, instantly familiar with the view in front of him. Sarah exhaled with some kind of relief that they were safe from a mass-murderer.

“I don’t believe it...” she spoken quietly.

“I do!” Chris could barely stop the laughter coming out now.

She and Chris moved to help her into the apartment, each grabbing her under one arm. Chris bared the majority of her weight while Sarah carried her bag and as a many contents as she could find. They managed to manoeuvre her into her bedroom where she promptly fell forward, head first, onto her bed,

“Fuckin’ waster,” he laughed heartily before Sarah punched his arm to stop him  from waking her. the room fell silent for a moment before the unmistakeable sound of Shan snoring took over. Chris closed the door behind them before following Sarah to the kitchen where she collected the remaining items that had fallen out of her bag. Picking up her phone, she checked for scratches.

“Well at least she didn’t lose it this time,” she held up the mobile to him but noticed he couldn’t stop grinning. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” he shook his head. “I just wish I’d taken a picture of her. Scott would have a heart attack. Always told her she couldn’t handle her drink!”

“i don’t know how you’d explain getting hold of a photo of her.”

“Oh yeh, good point.” he chuckled in reponse. They regarded each other for a moment, Chris clearly hopeful they could pick up from where they left off.

“I think you should go,” Sarah thought apologetically.

He paused before answering, expecting her to have been joking. “Why? She’s passed out on her bed. She’ll be asleep for hours. Do you have any idea how many times I have seen her like this?”

“Have you any idea how many times I have seen her like this? She’ll wake up in the middle of the night and get into bed with me and it’d be a lot easier to handle if I didn’t have to explain to her why her bother was also there.”

“Sarah, we could throw a rave and she wouldn’t wake up.”

He was making no effort to move, instead fixing her with a stare waiting for her to recognise how ridiculous she sounded. His hands pinched at his hips and he looked a foot taller than before

“Seriously, Chris, you’re just going to have to leave.”

He took a couple of steps towards her, bare feet padding along the hard, cold floor. “I haven’t see you all week.” He moaned, hands reaching out for her hoping the memory of where they had been would be enough to convince her he should stay.

“That’s not true. You saw me the other day.” It was a weak response. Even she knew that.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

She offered back nothing. She had no response. He was disappointed and equally as frustrated with his lack of a decent comeback. He should definitely stay. He should be rocking her world right this moment and whispering filthy things into her ear but instead, all he could do was stand there and shake his head in defeat. When he made eye contact with her again, she looked somehow smaller in some way and he found it hard to continue being frustrated with her. He understood what she was doing as much as he didn’t want to.

Resigned, he shuffled towards her and embraced her in a hug. She felt him semi-hard against her tummy, briefly doubting her choices. It stirred something exciting inside her to think she could make him feel that way and mentally chastised Shanna for cock-blocking her. She felt bad for kicking him out like this.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you.” she whispered.

He loosely pulled away from their hug and looked down at her. He playfully raised an eyebrow and looked down at her lips, still pink and swollen, before chastely planting a kiss on them.

“I am absolutely going to hold you to that.”

*

Shan finally made an appearance the following morning looking like death warmed up. She’d somehow managed to remove her clothes but had a pyjama top on backwards and her hair was sticking out in all directions. She had Sarah’s expert eyeliner and a false lash smudged down one cheek.

Sarah was eating breakfast and checking the news on her phone when she saw the creature from the black lagoon emerge into her kitchen. Stifling a laugh at the sorry sight standing before her, she felt a pang of sympathy seeing every step cause her pain. Shan just pouted at her before taking a seat at the kitchen table, resting her forehead in her hands while Sarah fixed her a glass of juice and some aspirin. She took it gratefully before groaning.

“Remind me never to do shots again.” she stressed. Sarah knew it wouldn’t last, not with that Boston blood coursing through her veins. “Was Chris here last night?”

Sarah froze, a sudden ring clouding her ears. “Erm, no, he wasn’t.” She turned to put her bowl in the sink and tried to hide any blushes. She didn’t know who felt more like shit in this exact moment.

“Oh I could have sworn I heard him is all.” Shan said, more to herself than to anyone else. “God, it’s good he wasn’t. He’d have a ball game seeing me in that state. How awful was I?”

“Not very,” Sarah lied again.

“How did I even get home?” she asked, trying to piece together the flashes of memories that kept racing through her mind.

“Um, I think your friends dropped you off in a taxi and you somehow managed to get up the stairs but then I guess you couldn’t find your keys...?” Shan managed a puzzled look. “You were slumped against the front door.” She refilled her glass with juice. “You’ve been in bed for, like, twelve hours.”

“Shit, we must have started early.”

“Well it happens to the best of us.” Sarah sat next to her and pushed a loose piece of hair out of her sweaty, red face. “Your hair looks OK! I don’t think there is anything stuck in it this time.”

Shanna laughed for the first time before her head panged in revenge.

“So? Did anything happen with Robbie?” Sarah asked, a cheeky grin crossing her face. By the look on Shanna’s face, the answer was a resounding “no” but it could very well have been the alcohol-induced hurricane currently running though her head.

“Well, it was a great night regardless. You’d love the bar. I think we ran into that guy, the porter from your hospital? Pat something? Did you know he plated in a band?”

“Um, no, not at all. Wow.” Sarah was trying to picture Patrick with an array of different instruments to see which suited him before remembering the awkward time he attempted to drum Phil Collins’ ‘In The Air Tonight’ with two scalpels. “Actually, he does seem the type. I’ll have to let Audrey know. She’ll love this.”

“He sounded pretty decent. It’s not just punk music or heavy rock. I think we should all go one night. Maybe as part of Mom’s birthday week.” Shanna perked up a little, proud of the idea that had materialised in her head against all odds. “It’s amazing what people can do when they put some effort in. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Where you might be now if you just took a chance.”

Following a night of heavy drinking, Sarah wasn’t expecting such an existential conversation at this point in the day. But it was a good point regardless. She grabbed her phone from the table and typed out a message to Greg.

“Yes. I’m in.”

*

[ranma-rewatch]

Episode 16: Shampoo's Revenge! The Shiatsu Technique That Steals Heart and Soul

I can’t believe it, 2020 is finally over. Or at least, it will be on the day this goes up. From where I’m writing it, we’re nearing the finish line, but haven’t yet reached it. Part of me wishes I could have finished season 1 in the same year I started this blog, but I’m getting close to there anyway, so I shouldn’t despair. This episode...yeah, looking at the episode title, I cannot remember for the life of me what the Shiatsu Technique is. By next paragraph, I’ll have rewatched the episodes, and I’ll know. See you in a second!

That was an...interesting direction for Shampoo’s introductory arc? I mean, it’s her second episode, and she’s barely in it. I think I’ll have quite a bit to talk about, but I will say once again I’m holding off on doing a Shampoo Character Spotlight just yet, just because I want to have more material to discuss.

So, anyway, the episode starts with the Tendo’s asking Akane to wake up Ranma, and it’s made clear once again just how angry and jealous she is over the whole Shampoo situation. That doesn’t get any better when she relents but finds that Shampoo is snuggling in Ranma’s bed with him, without him knowing. She dumps water on them, activating the curse, Shampoo tries to kill Ranma, he turns back, she wants to kiss him, it’s a bunch of hijinks.

As Ranma and Akane walk to school, they bicker a little more fiercely than usual, now that the spectre of Shampoo’s affections have come into the picture. Ryoga is chilling on a nearby rooftop, and he’s actually ready to leave. He’s being very angsty, upset that Akane only likes him as P-chan, and knows that if Akane ever admits to loving Ranma, it would break his heart. He tries to head back on the road, only for him to get hit by random water throwing lady’s water, at which point Shampoo finds the piglet in the road.

Next scene, the amazon breaks down the wall of Ranma’s classroom to give him lunch, which as it turns out is Ryoga, though he hasn’t been killed or ever really cooked. Still, Akane and even Ranma are concerned, even if Ryoga doesn’t really appreciate the latter. Angry at Akane ruining her plans for Ranma several times now, Shampoo gives Akane the Kiss of Death, but Akane doesn’t back down, and is ready for a match, despite the fact that Ranma seems absolutely sure that Akane has no way of winning.

By the time Ranma gets to the place they are fighting at, the match is already over. Shampoo is gone, and Akane is unconscious on the ground. When she wakes up, she feels rather refreshed, but is more than anything confused: Akane has no clue who Ranma is. It isn’t regular amnesia, either. She still remembers her classmates, Ryoga, even Ranma’s dad.

After a lot of Ranma trying over and over again to remind Akane who he is, which even fails when Ranma activates his curse, they eventually go to Dr. Tofu. As it turns out, he knows what did this: the titular Shiatsu Technique. It actually has a much longer name, but I will stick with that. Anyway, Ranma’s dad was passing by and saw the whole thing. The move is actually just washing and styling the person’s hair, but using specific herbs and massaging scalpel pressure points to specifically remove memories of a single person.

The only way Dr. Tofu can imagine curing it would be with more Chinese herbs, so Ranma takes Akane out on the city to try and find Shampoo and get what they need. Only thing is, Shampoo shows up at the clinic right afterwards, because it turns out she’s been living there, working with Dr. Tofu.

So, that’s the episode. I’m going to start with some things I didn’t like as much, before getting into what I thought actually worked. The entire premise is just a bit...odd? Like, I have to admit I’m kind of down on amnesia plots in general, just as a matter of personal preference, but even if I wasn’t I feel like using one in the middle of a main character’s introduction arc is a tad bit strange.

I talked a bit last week about how I find that shows using jealousy as a way to show much a person cared about another is kinda sucky, so I won’t go over it again, except to say I’m still not a fan. I’m even less a fan of the fact that Akane is still being looked over as a fighter. First she never really got to fight Kodachi, and now that Shampoo is here they get...a fight we don’t see that only lasts a few seconds.

Shampoo is an amazon warrior, I get that. But I just find it annoying that they completely sideline that conflict for the amnesia one, when giving Akane an opponent to fight who is better than her would be a great way to make her grow. Even if we got a real fight and she lost, it could be something to build on later, a way to see where Akane is as a martial artist. Sadly, this series doesn’t really take Akane seriously as a martial artist, so that wasn’t ever going to happen.

Only other small thing to cover in the negatives column is that I didn’t really like the whole comedy bit of, “Uh oh, Ranma shows Akane his curse, but she thinks he’s a cross-dressing pervert!” It’s just...yeah, I don’t have the mental energy to dive into that topic, let’s just say it left a very bad taste in my mouth.

So, what did I like about the episode, then? Well, quite a lot. As much as I dislike the general idea of doing an amnesia plot here, I liked some of the specifics of it. The fact that not only had Akane forgotten Ranma, and only Ranma, but that it seemed as though she couldn’t even form new memories of him, no matter how much he or others tried to make her understand, definitely added urgency. In a good way.

I also found myself liking the technique itself, strangely enough. The fact it’s just washing the person’s hair, but with special martial arts stuff, is just kind of amazing, ridiculous in that exact Ranma 1/2 kind of way. The fact that all of the characters treat it dead seriously, none of them laughing at the idea, also helps make it even funnier.

Speaking of funny, the slapstick was pretty on-point this episode. It wasn’t quite as funny as some other episodes, but I definitely was at least smiling for a good portion of it. The whole scene of their class trying to help Akane remember Ranma was pretty funny too, in English and Japanese.

For something more heartfelt, I love that after half an episode of Ranma teasing Akane, of so many episodes of Ranma kind of being a jerk, his immediate response to her forgetting him is to do everything he can to fix it. It goes uncommented on so far, but he clearly hates the idea of Akane never knowing who he is. It could just as easily have been done with Ranma not caring in the slightest, being an aloof jerk, but this shows that Ranma does genuinely care about Akane, even if he often has a bad way of showing it.

Ooh, also, on the characters front! Ryoga! My boy! I haven’t really talked about it in a while, but I’ve been kind of unhappy with how Ryoga is being portrayed for a while now. Ever since his arc, he’s just been chilling as P-chan, only turning back to try and take Akane from Ranma in some way. He’s been very scheming and underhanded, which doesn’t fit what I remembered of his character at all.

This episode was much more like it. Ryoga fits so much better as the brooding boy, stuck in the moral dilemma of what to do about his position with Akane, scared of how she might really feel. More of this, please, and less of him making schemes to steal her.

So then, how does this episode shake out, on the whole? Well, I don’t think it’s a surprise that I wouldn’t say it’s as good as last week’s. In fact, it’s dropped quite a few places. Just barely in the top half of episodes I’ve seen thus far, I’m putting this episode just above the Ranma vs Ryoga fight and one spot below the big fight that ended Kodachi’s arc. So, here is the new ranking.

Episode 7: Enter Ryoga, the Eternal ‘Lost Boy’

Episode 12: A Woman's Love is War! The Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 15: Enter Shampoo, the Gung-Ho Girl! I Put My Life in Your Hands

Episode 9: True Confessions! A Girl's Hair is Her Life!

Episode 2: School is No Place for Horsing Around

Episode 6: Akane's Lost Love... These Things Happen, You Know

Episode 13: A Tear in a Girl-Delinquent's Eye? The End of the Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 16: Shampoo's Revenge! The Shiatsu Technique That Steals Heart and Soul

Episode 8: School is a Battlefield! Ranma vs. Ryoga

Episode 11: Ranma Meets Love Head-On! Enter the Delinquent Juvenile Gymnast!

Episode 4: Ranma and...Ranma? If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Another

Episode 5: Love Me to the Bone! The Compound Fracture of Akane's Heart

Episode 1: Here’s Ranma

Episode 3: A Sudden Storm of Love

Episode 10: P-P-P-Chan! He's Good For Nothin'

Episode 14: Pelvic Fortune-Telling? Ranma is the No. One Bride in Japan

Next week, I think we’re finishing this arc? I’m not completely sure? We’ll have to see? All I know is, the penultimate episode of the season is titled “I Love You, Ranma! Please Don’t Say Goodbye”. Sadly, unlike Ranma, I do have to say goodbye, but only until next week. See you all then!

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Fractal Scarring

[Broadway Kids]

FINALLY THIS IS FINISHED. two days to write 12,000 words? that’s so shameful :/ 

also i hate writing in present tense

Word count: 12,029

Prompt: “And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” “Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

Tw: Abuse, waterboarding

--------------

The sound of the doorbell ringing rudely interrupts the heated kiss between Lynn and her girlfriend, Estelle. Lynn pulls back with a growl of frustration, waiting a moment before leaning into Estelle again.

  “You’re not going to get that?” Estelle asks.

  “No need,” Lynn says dismissively. “It’s probably just the Amazon guy.”

  “What did you order this time? More sneakers? Special energy drinks?” Estelle says teasingly.

  “Oh, hush,” Lynn bats at her. “Just because I’m a coach doesn’t mean everything revolves around sports. You, for example.” And then she leans in again, locking her lips with Estelle’s and falling back into the warm, buzzing trance of kissing.

And then the doorbell rings again.

And again.

And again, until it was going off every second in a rapid fire cacophony of chiming.

  “Persistent Amazon guy,” Estelle observes.

  “Oh my god!!” Lynn yells. She rips off the blankets, nearly exposing her girlfriend’s own naked body in the process, snatches her robe from the bathroom door (although she had considered flashing the solicitors to scare them off), and marches to the front door. There was a glass window at the very top, but was too high to see who it was, so she had no idea who was ruining her time with her girlfriend until she yanks open the door with force.

  “Sue?!”

Her student blinks at her from the stoop, trying very hard to not look at the white robe she was swathed in and put the pieces together. The way she clears her throat and then proceeds to say absolutely nothing didn’t help the situation be any less awkward, either. A halo of raindrops from the drizzle falling from the grey-blue sky twinkles on the crown of her head like dozens of silver spider eyes that seemed to stare straight through Lynn’s fluffy covering.

  “What-” Lynn finds her voice, although it came out tight and strangled from embarrassment for a moment. “What are you DOING here?! How do you know where I LIVE?!”

Shrugging nonchalantly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, Sue says, “Chris knows a guy.”

THAT Lynn didn’t doubt. She wonders if this “guy” was Billy Nolan or her father tracking her or someone else entirely. Feeling like there were several more eyes on her, Lynn shifts uncomfortably and pulls the laces around her stomach even tighter.

  “Why are you here?” She demands with her Coach Voice. It made Sue jump, but then she realized that it wasn’t in fear like she was hoping, but some sort of jolt of remembrance.

  “Oh! Right!” Sue looks over her shoulder. Dismayed, Lynn saw that Tommy was there, too, but he was halfway hunched in his Jeep, fumbling with something. “Miss Gardener, you are the most trusted adult we know. Something happened- something really bad, and we need you.”

Usually, Lynn would instantly mount the problem that one of her students was facing and bring it down, but right now, she really rather be mounting something else and be brought down on a bed, so this was not her top priority at the moment. If none of her loved ones were dead, then she really didn’t want to hear it.

  “What about your PARENTS?” Lynn says, shooing Sue backwards. “Go to them!”

  “No, Miss Gardener, you don’t understand!” Sue cries. “It’s Carrie!”

Lynn froze.

And, at that moment, Tommy pulled out a bloody, beaten Carrie out of the backseat of the Jeep and into sight.

  “Bring her inside.” Lynn says without a shred of resistance. “Sue. Tell me everything.”

------

  “How do I look?” Tommy asked. “Good? Good enough? Christian-like?”

Sue giggled. “You look great, you dork. There’s no need to worry. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “It absolutely IS a big deal!” Tommy squawked.

It really was, Sue had to admit. It was the first time Carrie White was EVER having people over at her house.

She said she had begged her mother for hours, swearing up and down that she would be the best daughter and never ever complain ever again if she could have her friends over, and her mother had finally relented. So, now Tommy and Sue were parked outside a cottage as old as time itself. It’s swathed by tendrils of ivy climbing their way towards the roof that was missing several shingles and splotched with patches of emerald green moss. The weathered wood is a chalk color, paint peeling and flaking off, and black peppering along its breast. The windows are tinted a deep brown and covered up by drapes, many of them cracked. The yard was a sea of weeds and the walkway leading up to the house was lined with deceased trees; their ebony branches bore no leaves. The very age of the cottage is shown in its deterioration.

This was no place for any child to be raised.

Withered brown leaves rustled in the ghostly wind. The street was almost silent, if not for the wailing gust, the crackle of fronds, and the gentle rumble of the Jeep’s engine. Black tires trampled over the dead blades scattered on the edge of the poorly-kept street, the crunching of their filaments like bones beneath a hammer. A flurry of brown leaves swept across the windshield. 

The couple slid out of Tommy’s car after Tommy checked his neatly-combed hair for the tenth time. He was acting like he did the day he met Sue’s parents for the first time in junior year, which was actually quite polite of him to do so. He was taking this very seriously. 

Above, the sky was awash with low churning clouds. Towering trees with ebony branches reached down far, almost blocking the way. Their naked twigs grabbed like fingers, clawing at their faces as they trekked up the driveway. The brittle limbs snapped and fell as kindling onto the ground when brushed away. They too cracked beneath footfalls as Sue and Tommy made their way up to the stoop, across the cracked sidewalk and through reaching snarls of weeds sprouting from the overgrown yard. The porch creaked beneath their weight, and for a split second they feared it might cave in, but the old wood held together firmly despite its age. Tommy knocked on the door; there were cracks inside the frame and the hinges were green. It looked like it would fall over if the curved door knob was yanked too hard.

There was a shuffling sound from inside and the tumblers of a locking mechanism fell away with a grinding crack. When the front door was pulled open, the hinges protested with a deafening creak, sounding as though the rotten wood was splintering even as the heavy door scraped along the floor. Carrie peered out at them like a lime green macaw in a tunnel of darkness in the overalls she was wearing, beaming.

  “Hello!” She greeted eagerly. “Come in!”

They stepped inside and entered a world that reeked of religion.

Wall-to-wall there were crosses ranging in various sizes and made of many different materials. There were wooden crosses, metal crosses, crosses made of twigs twisted together and crosses created from woven tangles of barbed wire. Among them were pictures of Bible scenes, like The Last Supper and Noah’s Ark and Jesus doing something with a staff and water- or was that Moses? Sue wasn’t very up to speed on Christianity, so she didn’t know exactly what was going on, but the bearded dude was definitely doing /something/ with water.

Aside from the paintings and crosses and some candles, there didn’t appear to be any other decorations. No photos of Carrie as a little girl, no potted plants, no big wooden letters spelling out “WHITE” on the wall- there were only religious adornments.

Carrie led Tommy and Sue through the cramped front room, passing a closet door and a small circular table with a single red candle on it, and into the living room. The smell of baking bread wafted strongly in this room, flowing from the nearby kitchen. A large crucifix was poised menacingly over the ancient fireplace mantle, Jesus’s face frozen in a permanent expression of agony. Each rivulet of blood, every cut opened up on his skull from the Crown of Thorns held so much detail that it almost looked like a real person nailed to the giant wooden cross instead of just precisely carved plastic.

There’s no TV, not that either Sue or Tommy were surprised, so the scuffed, fraying leather sofa taking up a large space in the room was just sitting in front of the fireplace with only a grotesque crucifix to watch. The coffee table in front of it held a Bible that looked like it would crumble into dust if picked up and a well kept nativity set of baby Jesus’s birth. It was probably the nicest thing in the living room, maybe even the entire house, with all the animals shined to perfection and the humans not bearing a single scratch upon their porcelain flesh. There was also a washed out velvet lounge chair with intricate golden designs across the fabric, where a woman sat sewing an article of clothing and watching the new arrivals intently.

Mrs. White was as mangy as her daughter, but not quite as filled out as Carrie was. She was thin and bony, with sunken facial features and spindly fingers like the hands of a skeleton. Tangles of chocolate brown hair were tied up in a messy ponytail, revealing her pale, narrow neck to the light of the several lit candles around the house, and Sue and Tommy both concluded that Carrie must have gotten most of her features from her father because she looked nothing like this banshee of a woman dressed in a grey-blue gown sitting before them. The only noticeable thing they had in common were their brown eyes, which were so dark they were nearly black. Mrs. White’s were piercing, yet tired and haunted, and she was looking at Tommy and Sue like she already hated them.

This woman had done terrible things that tormented her, Sue could tell.

------

  “That definitely sounds like Margaret.”

Sue and Tommy’s head whip around, but Lynn’s whips faster. She stares at her girlfriend, fully dressed, standing in the hallway spitting out into the rest of the house from the master bedroom. Her blonde hair is combed neatly, leaving no evidence of...things...having been going on. Her grey eyes are troubled.

  “You know Margaret White?” Sue asks.

  “Who are you?” Tommy says at the same time.

  “Estelle Horan,” Estelle answers the nosy teenagers. “And, yes, I knew her.”

She strides across the floor and into the living room. Carrie is lying on one of the couches, expression pinched even in unconsciousness. Sweat is beaded on her forehead and she breathes raggedly.

  “How do you know her?” Sue prods further.

Estelle looks at her, then says, “I was their neighbor.”

A beat of silence passes. A pin dropping would be the loudest sound in the room. And then-

  “WHAT?” Lynn yelps.

Estelle gives her an amused look. “Did I never tell you?”

  “No!”

  “Oh.” Estelle shrugs. “There wasn’t ever a good time to bring it up. And I’ve tried to put it out of my mind…” She trails off, a haunted expression flickering in her eyes, like something had shaken her. She looks at Carrie’s frail, bruised body and frowns. “I--never thought she would live this long.”

Lynn gets a terrified look on her face. She didn’t exactly like showing so much fear and weakness around her students, but she couldn’t help it. There’s no way Carrie’s life was as bad as everyone was making it out to be. There’s no way she had suffered so much for so long and she hadn’t done anything to help her.

  “What-- what do you mean?” Tommy asks softly. His expression is a mix of horror and rage and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

Estelle reaches out and gently touches Carrie’s head. “Everyone in the neighborhood knew of Carrie’s treatment. But nobody did anything. And then, one day when I was seventeen, Carrie came up to me while I was tanning. She was five? Maybe six? Anyway, she-” She laughs, “-she pointed to my breasts and asked me what they were. I told her and she said she wished she had some and then said how good girls wouldn’t. She said that her mother was ‘bad when she made her.’ Margaret called them ‘dirty pillows’ or something stupid.”

Tommy snorts. Sue elbows him lightly. Estelle shoots him a quick, agreeing smile, then continues.

  “Then her mother came out and snapped at her to come back inside. Margaret called me a whore, I called her a cow- I was a very mature and polite seventeen year old.” Estelle chuckles. Her expression soon darkens, however. “I could hear--her screams--from inside the house. After Margaret dragged her back in. Carrie started screaming and crying so loud that I could hear them from outside. Everyone started coming out, but--” She sighs, looking ashamed. “--we didn’t help. Not after the meteor shower. We all ran.”

  “Wait-” Sue says. “Did you say ‘meteor shower’?”

  “Yeah,” Estelle says. “These rocks just started falling from the sky, but they only hit the White’s house for some reason. It was so weird.”

Tommy and Sue exchange looks. 

  “Carrie mentioned something about stones…” Tommy says.

Estelle furrows her eyebrows. Lynn kneels down next to her and takes one of her hands, not caring about secrecy around her students anymore.

  “Sue,” She says to the girl, “continue the story. What happened next?”

------

  “Mama,” Carrie said, and the sound of her voice startled both Sue and Tommy. They don’t know why they had assumed Carrie would sign at home; her mother didn’t exactly seem like the type to put up with sign language. “These are my friends! Tommy and Sue!” She beamed at them both, radiating with pride. Her voice was so sweet and youthful.

  “Hmm,” Mrs. White merely said. Her hands are still working a needle and thread through the pale purple fabric, and Sue can see muscles rippling beneath the skin.

Tommy stepped forward first, gathering his shoulders up into a straightened position and marching smoothly across the room. Carrie skittered after him and stood beside one side of the chair, and then Sue followed.

  “Tommy Ross,” Tommy extended a hand and flashed a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs. White looked at Tommy’s hand with visible disgust, but she shook it firmly when Carrie nudged her arm. She did the same with Sue, but with less reluctance. Sue guessed that she probably had something against men, which was something she never had a problem with, there were MANY reasons to hate men, but this woman looked like she wanted to chop off the penis of every male in existence and violently choke them with it. 

Or, perhaps, do something even worse.

  “It’s nice to meet you both, too,” Mrs. White finally said in a voice that could crack an iceberg in two. She sized Tommy and Sue up silently, sneering at Sue’s skirt, which barely reached her knees, but didn’t comment about it. “It’s so...wonderful...to see my precious angel with people she can trust.” She lifted a hand and Carrie eagerly ducked her head beneath it. It was quite cute to see her blissfully get affection, but Sue got a feeling of uneasiness in her stomach when she noticed that the action made Carrie look like a trained dog. And Mrs. White was her owner.

  “Carrie is a lot of fun to have around,” Tommy said, and Carrie grinned brightly at him. “Your daughter is amazing!”

  “Hmm,” Mrs. White said again. She looked at Carrie and a smile tugged on her lips. “She is, isn’t she?” She patted Carrie’s cheek. “Run along, my darling. Go play.”

Carrie nodded and her face scrunched up adorably with giddiness when she got a kiss on the forehead. She jumped up a moment later, darting past Tommy and Sue and to the staircase. She waved to them to follow her eagerly, grinning her head off and doing a little dance on the first step.

  “We’re coming, we’re coming!” Sue laughed as she and Tommy walked over. “Calm down!”

They ascended the stairs, and Sue could feel Margaret’s burning gaze scorch holes into her back with every step she took.

The first thing Sue and Tommy noticed upon entering the bedroom were the bars over the window.

Carrie’s room was plain. Plain cream walls, plain scuffed hardwood floor, plain white bed sheets and blankets (no pillow, as she had once mentioned before). There was a nightstand next to her bed with a lamp and a small Bible on it and a splintering bookshelf with very few books set up neatly. A chest at the end of the bed had ribbons of colorful fabric overflowing from the closed lid and a desk had a current sewing project spread out over its surface. A small table in the corner held a few old stuffed animals stacked neatly in a fuzzy pyramid. 

  “Welcome,” Carrie signed with a grand gesture with outstretched arms. She spun around once, looking around her room, then centered to Tommy and Sue again with a sheepish expression. “I--don’t know what to do now.”

Sue tilted her head, not understanding her hand movements, and Tommy translated. It made her pause in thought- what WAS there to do at Carrie’s house? There was no TV to watch movies on or teach her how to play video games like Tommy usually did. The place was actually quite...boring. Sue couldn’t bear to live in such a bare place.

  “Sorry…” Carrie lowered her head in shame.

  “Hey, no, it’s okay!” Tommy said quickly. “No worries!”

Sue looked around, trying to find something that would hopefully ease Carrie’s tension. She spotted the piece of fabric on the desk, which was a plum color with frills along the breast. She nodded at it.

  “That’s pretty.” She said.

  “Oh!” Carrie skittered over to it. “Thank you. It’s not finished yet, but it’s going to be a dress!”

Tommy translated her signs and Sue smiled. “Do you make all your clothes?”

  “Most of them,” Carrie nodded. 

  “That’s so cool!” Sue said. 

Carrie blushed. “Thank you.” She lightly brushed her project. “I can--teach you how to. If you want.”

------

  “And then we started sewing,” Sue says. She stares into the cup of water Lynn had gotten for her with a deeply troubled look. 

  “I made a scarf.” Tommy states in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “It was supposed to be a sweater.” Sue manages a giggle, although it was tight and slightly strangled.

Lynn wants to smile, she really does, but as she is pressing a wet rag to a welt on her young student’s stomach, watching blood seep into the white fabric, such an action feels impossible. 

If Carrie had looked worrisome when Lynn first saw her, then the removal of most of her clothes has only increased that concern tenfold. The few injuries that had been visible when she first got there were bad enough, but the skin on her torso and back were splattered with impossibly dark colors that were split open in the center of each mark, like she had been beaten with a thin object. Cuts and scrapes marred her tanned skin, which was now horribly pale.

Carrie is stripped down to the black shorts and white tank top she had been wearing underneath her green overalls, which were stained in her blood (not that it was much of a loss- those things were hideous). Her face is tight with pain and all her muscles were tense as if she wanted to run, but couldn’t. Each breath she took came out shallow and ragged.

There’s too many wounds. There’s too many injuries on her little body. She isn’t going to live. Carrie will die.

A touch on her shoulder brought Lynn out of her morbid thoughts. She looks up to see Estelle, still kneeling next to her, a worried, but “I’m here for you” look on her face. She leans against her and a sick feeling settles into the pit of her stomach. Her mind is a jumbled mess, a tornado of disconnected thoughts and overwhelming stress.

Sue takes a deep breath and all eyes turn to her again. She pries her gaze away from her cup, rests her head against Tommy’s shoulder for support, and begins the story again.

------

  “WHAT is THAT?” Carrie signed.

  “IT is a SCARF!” Tommy declared defensively, holding the long piece of red wool fabric as if it were a live snake. “And it’s very stylish!” He flicked it around his neck and lifted his nose in a very haughty, pompous manner. Carrie flopped backwards, giggling and kicking her legs in the air. Tommy looked delighted at her reaction.

  “I thought we were making sweaters…” Sue said, blinking down at the misshapen purple blob in her hands. Carrie giggled louder. 

She giggled and giggled, such a pleasant, relieving sound.

And then the bedroom door opened.

And a thunderous voice that could shatter a glacier spoke up.

  “What is going on in here?”

Tommy, Sue, and Carrie all jumped and twisted around to see Mrs. White slithering inside, growing bigger and more menacing with every step she took. Tommy and Sue both straightened up, trying to look like model guests, while Carrie scrambled up off of her back and to her feet. She was still beaming, however.

  “Hello, Mama,” She greeted sweetly. “I was just teaching Tommy and Sue how to sew! They’re not very good.”

  “I made a scarf,” Tommy said, holding up the droopy ends of his silly creation for Mrs. White to see. She looked at it as if it were the serpent that had bewitched Eve. “Also, oi! Rude!” He poked Carrie in the leg, then glanced up at Mrs. White again, like he was saying, Look at how good I am with your daughter! Look at how nice I am to her! Please like me!

  “Hmm.” Mrs. White merely said. She looked very suspicious of all three of them, even her own daughter. She looked around the room like she was searching for a shred of impurity that would give her a reason to throw Tommy and Sue out. This process, however, was halted when Carrie hopped forward and latched onto her arm.

  “Mama, I finished the dress,” She said. She bumped her head against her mother’s shoulder and smiled up at her.

She really does love her mom. Sue thought. But does Mrs. White love her back?

  “Did you?” Mrs. White said, half distracted. She was trying to not take her eyes off of the guests, Tommy the most in particular.

  “Mhm!” Carrie ran and grabbed the dress she had finished while she was giving the sewing lessons. She presented it to Mrs. White proudly. “See?”

Mrs. White delicately ran her bony fingers along the stitching and frills. Then, she looked up and smiled at Carrie. “Very good, darling.”

That smile flickered away, however, when she looked back to her daughter’s friends. She frowned at Sue, who was rigid next to Tommy. She wasn’t trying to suck up to her like he was.

  “You.” She said. “What are you making?”

  “Oh, uh--” Sue looked down at the malformed, barely-sewn sweater flopped pathetically in her hands. “A-a sweater.” She wanted to kick herself for stammering. Why was she so nervous around this lady? “I think?”

  “My scarf is better.” Tommy muttered, then flashed a smile at Mrs. White. She blinked at him slowly. Even she was curious about his adamant attempt to get on her good side.

Mrs. White sniffed. The edges of her eyes crinkled in distaste. “Maybe you should try lengthening that skirt. You’ll be burning in hell in no time looking like that.”

Sue stiffened. She suddenly felt like her clothes were paper thin--or maybe not even there at all. Mrs. White was staring at her like she had just finished having sex with every man in the entire world and was currently dripping semen all over her floor. Sue struggled not to squirm as silence descended upon the room.

At her side, Tommy’s mouth was half open in shock that an adult would talk to a kid, especially a guest in their house, like that. He kept looking from Sue, to Mrs. White, and then back to Sue, conflicted on whether he should defend his girlfriend and risk Mrs. White hating him even more or not say anything and have Sue possibly hate him (but she wouldn’t hate him. if it were him essentially being called a man slut, she would probably be too scared to say anything, too).

Mrs. White was stood up straight and she looked like she was trying very hard not to smirk. She may be thin and ragged, but she was alight with disgust, like a flame that would never go out. Beside her, Carrie was rigid, but didn’t seem very surprised by her mother’s comment. Her head was lowered, dark eyes flitting towards Sue with an apologetic look. And then, she moved, slotting herself between Sue and Mrs. White.

  “Mama, Sue is the nicest girl I know.” She said, and Sue felt a flutter of guilt inside her stomach. At one point, she had participated in all the teasing Carrie got. She had been in on schemes to humiliate her and had looked at her like she was the most awful creature to ever walk the earth, and Carrie knew this, she had known it, and yet she still defended her. “If she doesn’t go to heaven, then heaven is wrong.”

Crack, went something in Mrs. White’s head.

Carrie noticed it first, the way her mother’s twisted expression twitched and rippled on her face like a melting wax mask, the way a diseased light flickered behind her eyes, the way her nostrils flared with a silent breath, and then Sue and Tommy followed. They could see it now, too, how Mrs. White still had the same look on her face as she had when she insulted Sue, but just slightly lopsided. It was like a wrinkled photograph cut from a magazine or a blurry movie still. There was something awful swimming behind those beetle-black eyes, and Carrie had accidentally awakened it. 

Sue wondered for a fleeting second if she were infected with the same parasite as her mother.

Carrie was very tense, so much so that Sue could see the muscles in her neck bunching up and popping out painfully. Her knees were shaking and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face slowly. Sue and Tommy had both seen her scared before, but this was nothing like the fear that came from bullying at school or being called on in class or getting humiliated somehow.

Carrie looked terrified. Genuinely terrified. Like she thought she was going to die.

  “Carrie.” Mrs. White said calmly, but they all still shivered. The weight of the fury in that one simple word--Sue hoped she would never have to hear anyone say her name like that. She might as well have called her daughter ‘Disappointment.’ “Dear. Come here.”

But Carrie didn’t move. Her breathing starts to become more ragged.

  “No, mama,” She whispered, and Sue had never heard so much fear in her voice before.

Twitch, went something on Mrs. White’s expression.

  “M-my friends--” Carrie went on shakily, trying to give a good reason for her to talk back. “Th-they’re here. C-can’t we wait…” But her words trailed off into meaninglessness when she met her mother’s sharp gaze and she fell into helpless silence.

Mrs. White stretched her neck to the left and there was a series of pops that reverberated around the room. She seemed to be swelling up like a venomous snake.

  “Hey--” Tommy leapt to his feet, the tail of his sweater-scarf wagging lazily in front of him. “It’s not Carrie’s fault. She was just being a good friend.”

Mrs. White snapped her smoldering gaze over to Tommy, and that was enough to send him slamming right back to the floor in a rigid sitting position. Sue had never seen him obey so much like a trained dog before. It was horrifying how much this single woman could strike so much terror into all of them.

  “Carietta Nancy White.” Mrs. White hissed, her voice dripping with icicles. “I will not tell you again.”

She knows she could just grab Carrie. Sue realized with a twist in her stomach. She wants the satisfaction of Carrie obeying her.

Carrie moved slowly, dragging her feet as if they were weighed down by chains, head bowed in a submissive way. The moment she was in reach, Mrs. White snatched her by the forearm and dug her nails in so deep tiny jewels of blood bubbled up around her fingers. Tommy twitched at Sue’s side, like he wanted to jump up and tackle Mrs. White, but his nerves were holding him back.

  “I’m sorry…” Carrie whispered, although Sue doesn’t know if it’s directed to her and Tommy or to her mother. She’s briskly guided out of the room a moment later, so fast that she actually clipped her forehead on the doorframe, but Mrs. White doesn’t stop to let her recover. Their footsteps shuffle and stomp down the hallway, down the steps, and then disappear downstairs.

Silence.

Sue and Tommy waited for yelling, crashing, banging, fighting to break out, but there was nothing. They could only hear the distant sound of Mrs. White’s voice, but neither of them dared to move to listen closer. They just sat there in Carrie’s room, surrounded by scraps of colorful fabric and sewing needles, not speaking a word.

Mrs. White came to get them five minutes later. Her eyes were filled with disgust and hatred and her mouth was twisted in a sneer.

  “Get out.” Was all she said in a voice filled with malice.

Sue and Tommy leapt to their feet and scampered out of the house with metaphorical tails tucked between their legs as fast they could. Mrs. White followed close behind them, like the devil on their heels, until they were out on the stoop. She slammed the door so hard Sue was surprised the entire house didn’t come crumbling down and they heard the sound of a lock clicking into place.

Silence.

  “That...was eventful.” Sue said.

Tommy doesn’t answer. He just began to pace up and down the front walkway, crunching gravel and pebbles underneath his shoes. 

  “Tommy?”

  “We have to do something.” Tommy blurted.

Surprised, Sue said, “What?”

  “We can’t just leave her in there!” Tommy said, then quickly quieted his voice. He looked around. “We have to save her.”

Sue knew they had to, even if the thought scared her. She wouldn’t be able to sleep that night knowing Carrie was probably thrashed for the skirt her friend had been wearing.

The two of them wait a moment, then sneak around the side of the house, romping through overgrown weeds and grass and knowing full well that they’ll get hell rained upon them if they’re caught. Tommy peeked in through a back window with a crack in it and saw the fleeting figure of Margaret ascending the staircase, giving him and Sue a chance to slip in through the back door and re-enter the house.

Being inside that place felt wrong, like they were intruding on sacred grounds. But the house was anything but sacred, especially with the muffled sniffles echoing from somewhere they couldn’t see.

Sue and Tommy ducked into a small closet that was cluttered with moth-eaten blankets and boxes. They were at the end of the main downstairs hallway and it was dark enough for them to crack open the door and peek out without being seen. There, they waited, peering out of the barely-open door. Sue’s back was just starting to hurt from hunching over when footsteps stomped down the staircase. She and Tommy watched as Mrs. White unlocked what they thought had just been a coat closet, reached in, and pulled Carrie out.

  “I’m sorry, Mama!” Carrie blurted instantly, as submissive as always.

Mrs. White answered in a low rumbling noise. She dragged Carrie into the den and out of sight.

  “Mama, please talk to me.” Sue and Tommy heard Carrie beg. “Please, I’m sorry! I just-- they’re my friends and I don’t like when people are mean to them. I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have talked back to you.”

Mrs. White snorted. “Friends.” She repeated the word as if it were a curse. “They aren’t your friends.”

  “They are!” Carrie said. “They are, Mama! And they’re really nice, too, you’ll see!”

Mrs. White huffed out a breath and Sue thought she may be shaking her head. “Nobody is friends with you, Carrie. You don’t have friends. You know why.”

Sue winced. That felt like it was needlessly cruel to the poor girl.

  “No, Mama,” Carrie said, this time much softer.

  “If I told them what you are--what you can do, they’ll run for the hills. Or worse: they’d lock you up and use your gifts. But me? I’ve always accepted and loved you the way you are, my sweet girl.” Mrs. White crooned. “You’re different, Carrie. And you know people love to destroy what is not like them.”

  “I don’t have to be,” Carrie said. “Tommy says I can be whoever I want!”

  “Oh. That BOY.” Mrs. White said with great disgust. “You know how boys are, Carrie. Do I need to remind you of your father?”

  “No, Mama.” Carrie replied with a shudder in her voice.

Sue and Tommy exchanged looks. They had both wondered on their own about Carrie’s father, but neither ever brought it up to her. By the sound of it, whatever happened to him wasn’t very good.

  “They’re good, Mama,” Carrie was saying when focus was brought back to the conversation. “I promise! I’m sorry for talking back, but Tommy and Sue are good people!”

  “They’ve entranced you,” Mrs. White said, not even listening to her daughters. “They are imps sent from the devil!”

  “No, Mama!” There’s a rustle of fabric and the scuffing of feet against the floor- Carrie must have been standing up. “They aren’t! Don’t you dare say that about them! They’re not imps, YOU are!”

The sound of a hand smashing against flesh filled the house; Carrie’s body fell backwards into sight on her stomach. She’s frozen in shock for a moment before pushing herself up on her hands. A second later, one of her legs was grappled and she was dragged backwards into the den, screaming and clawing helplessly at the floor.

It was like a scene ripped straight out of a horror movie.

  “Mama, stop! Stop it, Mama! I’m sorry!”

  “You’re going to repent, you vile little beast--”

Another slap reverberated through the house, followed by a sharp yelp reminiscent of a puppy getting its foot stepped on. 

  “Mama! Mama, no! Please, no! I’m sorry!”

  “You must be washed clean of the filth they put on you.”

There’s the sound of fabric scraping against the floor that traveled into the kitchen. A clatter of a body being thrown into a chair echoed from that room, followed by a stern, “Stay.”

  “Mama, please,” Carrie pleaded. “I don’t want to, Mama, I don’t want to be cleaned--”

Sue heard the sink running in the kitchen. What was going on?

--

A hand yanked her head backwards by the hair. Water hit the over her face cloth- small drips and then a heavy torrent. It flooded into her nose. She instinctively opened her mouth to gasp for a breath, and the water poured in. Her heart was racing, and her whole body was frozen. She could feel the freezing water trickling down her throat. She tried to toss her head to escape the torrent, but she couldn't even twitch. The only part of her that was moving was her chest as her body fought frantically to cough, to escape, to breathe, to survive.

   “Don’t like that, do you?” Mama’s voice was crowing as she lifted the cloth. She smirked at the way her daughter gasped for air, taking in quick, rapid breaths to soothe her lungs. “No, you don’t.” She felt her shake her hand beneath her hand. “Admit it, my darling. Admit that that boy and girl are sent from the devil and dirtied you. Admit it and it will end.”

Desperate to retain at least a shred of her dignity, Carrie said, “No.”

The cloth drops back down over her face with a wet plop.

She felt the moment the water hit her lungs this time around- there was a lot more poured over her. There was a sickening chill, so at odds with the burning pain. And then her arms and legs were tugging against the ropes as sheer panic enveloped her. She wasn't thinking of twisting her wrists to try to free them; her arms moved of their own accord, tearing the skin. She wasn't thinking of kicking out with all her strength; her legs jerked and tugged against the restraints, wrenching their own muscles. She wasn't thinking of trying to get away from whatever was pinning her down; her body writhed and shifted as panic and fear pulsed through it.

When Mama lifted the cloth again, water was spit up from Carrie’s lips. She lowered it, not giving her much room to breathe. She whined sharply, pathetically when she just inhaled a wet rag.

   “Please, please, Mama...” Carrie begged through breathless sobs.

   “Tell me the truth. Admit it. You know you want to. You want to damn their souls to hell for cursing you.”

    “No, Mama, I don’t--”

Carrie cut herself off with a horrid gag and water rushed down her throat, choking her.

Dying. Dying. Dying. She could feel it. Her very bones were vibrating with the knowledge that she couldn't survive. That oxygen, held away from her by nothing more than a piece of fabric, was still too far away for her to reach. That every frantic heave of her chest was drawing the water further and further down, pulling in more and more liquid.

Every fiber of her being wanted to fight, was trying to fight, but it wasn't a fight she could win. There was nothing she could do.

Unless…

   “I--”

Carrie’s squeal ended in an intense dry heave that twisted her stomach so badly she began to feel nauseous. Her head spun and the crying was adding to the extreme pain that infected her chest and abdomen.

   “Mama--”

A whimper, a whine, a keen of helplessness as Carrie’s limbs began to go limp.

   “I do!”

The bowl clattered to the ground. Mama removed the rag from her face, stared deep into her teary eyes.

   “What was that?”

   “I--” A weak sob shook Carrie, “I do. I do want to send them to hell. They made me dirty.”

She thought she’s having to lie to get out alive, but her mind is too fuzzy to know for sure... Maybe she does want them to burn for all eternity in hell.

   “You do?”

   “Yes, Mama. Yes, Mama.” Carrie bobbed her head rapidly. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry. I should have listened.”

Mama knelt down beside her and began wiping her face off with a dry cloth. When fresh tears streamed from her eyes, she gently dabbed them away. Carrie couldn’t help but press into his touch.

   “Is this the truth, Carietta? Are you really sorry?”

   “Yes, Mama,” Carrie said with a sob. “Yes, yes, I am. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

   “Good girl,” Mama crooned, continuing to dry off her face.

   “I’m sorry.”

   “Yes, I’m glad you know to tell the truth, but that doesn’t change what you did.”

Ice cold fear shot through Carrie’s veins.

   “I took your gun.” She was desperate now.

   “You still have to be punished, little jade.”

She lets out a whimper.

   “You know what you did.”

The dry cloth is put over her face.

Water sloshed above her.

She wanted to say she was sorry. She was sorry. She was so sorry. She wanted to be a good, obedient daughter. She wanted to make Mama happy. She wanted her to be proud.

Drip-drip-drip

The cloth soaked up the water, slowly this time, to drag out her punishment. Carrie took a shuddering breath of air, fills her lungs as far as they can go, fills them so full she feels like they’re going to burst.

Mama’s voice echoed.

You need to be punished

The water soaked the cloth. The cloth clung to Carrie’s nose as she inhaled, clung when she exhaled, and the panic exploded in her chest. Water slid down her throat, over her neck and into her hair, over her shoulders. So cold it burns.

She’s drowning. She’s dying. She’s suffocating.

Screaming.

Her throat hurts. There’s no air in her mouth, in her lungs. She can feel the water trickling into her nose. Can’t breathe. No air. No air. No air.

The ropes on her arms loosen and then are gone. She wanted to die. She can’t breathe past the panic in her chest. She was shaking. She was dying. She wanted it to end.

Oh god, please keep pouring. Please. Please. Please. You can kill me right now.

But then the faces of Tommy and Sue and Miss Gardener flash in her head and she thought, Do I really want to die?

--

Sue and Tommy didn’t think anything could get worse than Mrs. White waterboarding her own child, but then she raised a wicked-looking switch when Carrie lurched out of the chair she had been punished in. She coughed violently and slipped in the water coating the kitchen floor, falling to her hands and knees, but jolted forward as the switch swung down at her. It just barely missed her left leg.

  “I’ll thrash the devil out of you!!” Mrs. White screeched.

Carrie catapulted herself over the dining room table to get away from her and her switch. Sue and Tommy watched as she clambered over the top, scattering porcelain plates and cups, before tipping over in a very ungraceful landing. After hitting the ground, she scrambled up again to flee, but her mother was already upon her.

   “Ma--!!”

Before she could get the word completely out, the switch connected with her back with a horrible CRACK.

Carrie doesn’t scream, but she does whine sharply at the burning sensation that had to be blazing through her shoulder blades, even with her shirt on. She scampered around like a mouse below Mrs. White, as she had easily been sent to her knees by the blow. She’s fidgeting and fumbling, trying to speak up without sounding pained, as that would make her seem even weaker.

   “Mama, please, I--”

Another lash streaked across her lower back and Carrie gritted her teeth through the pain. Her fingernails claw and catch into the floorboards, but she would have much preferred splinters uprooting her nails than this beating.

   “Worthless girl! When will you learn to obey me?!” Mrs. White roared overhead before cracking the switch against her daughter’s waist.

Carrie’s arms gave in and she toppled over onto her side. She squirmed helplessly, pushing her heels against the ground in an attempt to get away, mouth agape as she watched Mrs. White raised her arm yet again.

   “Mama--”

This time, Carrie does scream.

She does scream because the switch lashed right across her belly. Her head threw itself backwards, knocking her skull against the floorboards, but it’s not enough to lessen the searing sensation burning itself through her midsection. For a moment, she can only choke and cry out, but then the incomprehensible wail turns into words.

  “MOMMY, STOP IT!! PLEASE, MOMMY, STOP!!!”

But Mrs. White doesn’t stop. She just kept on lashing her daughter until blood is soaking through green overalls and Carrie is a shuddering, whimpering ball at her feet. Even then, she does not stop.

Not until a voice cried out.

  “THAT’S ENOUGH!!” Tommy barreled out into the den, absolutely fuming and seeing red. It surprised Sue, who had been recording the abuse on her phone in shocked silence. She followed after him quickly.

  “Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” Tommy warned. His fingers were clenched and shaking, teeth bared, eyes alight with rage.

  “Tommy,” Carrie coughed out weakly.

Tommy looked down at Carrie and his eyes softened instantly. He looked anguished about how he wasn’t able to go to her, not with Mrs. White poising the switch over her back. 

  “I’m here, Caz,” He murmured. “I’m here.”

Carrie made a feeble whimpering sound. She tried to look up at him, blinking through tears and water and sweat and blood, but she was exhausted from the beating and her head flopped uselessly to the ground. She panted heavily, trying to curl away from her mother.

  “I thought I threw you both out.” Mrs. White said.

  “We would never leave Carrie.” Tommy said. “Not so devilish now, huh?”

Mrs. White snorted. “You think this proves anything? I know what you people are like.”

  “I got what you did on video,” Sue said, holding up her phone. “Just so you know.”

Mrs. White laughed an awful laugh. “Oh, you empty-headed whore,” She cackled. “You think evidence is going to change anything? Everyone in the neighborhood, new and old, have heard Carrie’s cries for years and they have never done anything. Not even when police are called. Nothing is ever done, and you want to know why?” She smirked wickedly. “It’s because nobody cares.”

Sue felt a sinking feeling of dread. Would really nothing be done to save Carrie even with video evidence?

  “I care.” Tommy said. “Sue cares. So does Miss Gardener.”

------

  “I do,” Lynn murmurs, gently touching one of Carrie’s hands. Tommy and Sue both give her tight smiles, then Sue continues telling the story.

------

Mrs. White rolled her eyes. “No you don’t! You’re lying!” She nudged Carrie with her foot and Carrie moaned weakly in response. Her daughter rolled over slightly, blood squelching beneath her, and gave her her full attention, even after being beaten to a bloody pulp. “I’m the only one who cares about you. No one will ever love you except me. You’ll always be a monster to everyone else.”

Sue shivered. It sounded like some kind of chant or curse, like something Mrs. White had repeated this to Carrie several times before.

Carrie whimpered. She craned her neck slowly, wincing in pain, and looked at Sue and Tommy desperately. Mrs. White nudged her again, prodding her foot against one of the cuts along her lower back and making her look back at her.

  “She’s not a monster.” Sue spoke up, glaring at Mrs. White.

Mrs. White barked a laugh. She looked down at Carrie quivering beneath her. “Is that what you’ve made them think? That you’re just some shy, innocent little mouse?” She laughed again and turned her blistering gaze back to Tommy and Sue. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourselves into, children.”

What did she do? Sue thought. What has Carrie done to make her own mother call her a monster? 

And will she do the same thing to us?

  “Don’t you DARE talk about Carrie like that!” Tommy growled. “You have no right!”

  “I have every right,” Mrs. White said airily. “I am her mother.” She spread her arms in a grand gesture. Droplets of sparkling red blood twinkle on the edges of the switch she was still holding. “And I am just trying to cleanse the little devil he put inside of me.”

A tense silence descended upon the den, only broken by Carrie’s soft gasps and sniffles.

  “Who?” Sue asked quietly, reluctantly.

Mrs. White began to pace around the room, swinging the switch at her side and sending blood flying through the air in glittering crimson arcs. “I didn’t want him to put it in me. I tried to fight him.” She said.

  “Mama, please don’t,” Carrie begged weakly. She covered her ears and curled up tighter.

  “But he didn’t listen.” Mrs. White hissed, ignoring her daughter’s pleas. “He made me enjoy it. Satan gave him sin and, in return, he put a devil child inside of me.”

Oh. Sue realized with a jolt. She was raped.

Mrs. White shook her head. “I don’t hate Carrie. Far from it. If I did, she would be long dead.” She looked down at her daughter with a strange look in her eyes. “I just...have to cleanse her. Remove all her sin.” She tilted her head like Carrie was a new plastic body to decorate the crucifixes with. “And then--she will be--perfect.”

There was something very, very wrong with Margaret White. And Sue didn’t feel safe being around her any longer.

How could Carrie live with such a mother?

Mrs. White looked up at Tommy and Sue, scrutinizing them. “Does that make sense?”

Sue nodded a tiny bit and Mrs. White gave her an appraising look. Tommy, however, only fumed even more.

  “What the fuck?” He seethed. “No! Not only no, but HELL NO!” He glared at Mrs. White. “You are fucking psychotic! You can’t treat people like that! Why did I want you to like me? You’re insane!”

Mrs. White glared right back at him. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand. Men.” She nudged Carrie, who tentatively removed her hands from her ears. “Why don’t I show you why purification is necessary? Carrie, my darling little creature, show them.”

Carrie doesn’t move. Mrs. White exasperatedly rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the top of the head, throwing her to Sue and Tommy’s feet. Carrie landed with a heavy thud and a soft grunt. She looked up at the pair with guilty black-brown eyes so eerily like her mother’s. Sue shivered, finding it difficult to look at her anymore.

  “Go on.” Mrs. White waved a hand.

  “No, Mama,” Carrie whispered. She tried to make herself as small as possible.

  “Why not?” Mrs. White smirked. “Is it because you know they’ll hate you for it?”

Carrie whimpered. Fresh tears stream down her cheeks. She began to rock herself back and forth on her knees.

  “Look at that,” Mrs. White mused. “She doesn’t trust either of you at all. How sad. Some great friends you are if she can’t tell secrets to you.”

Sue felt a smudge of betrayal streak through her. What was so important that Carrie couldn’t tell her and Tommy about? Did the best friend's oath she once made them take mean nothing? She looked to Tommy to see his reaction, but there wasn’t a hint of hurt on his face. He squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at Mrs. White.

  “It’s her business,” He said. “She can tell us when she’s ready. I wouldn’t admit anything while being pressured, either.”

I should have reacted like that, Sue thought with a twist of guilt. Not immediately assume Carrie is a bad person. She looked at Mrs. White. She’s...so cunning. And convincing. It’s scary.

  “Tommy,” Carrie gasped from below. She gripped tightly to one of his pant legs. “Tommy, it hurts.”

Tommy dropped to his knees in front of Carrie and bundled her protectively in his arms. Blood smeared against his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to care much. Mrs. White watched with a murderous look in her eyes.

  “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” Tommy whispered to her soothingly.

  “And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” She spat.

Tommy glared right back up at her. “I’m protecting her from you.” He said.

  “Foolish boy,” Mrs. White shook her head. “You don’t know what she could do to you.”

  “Carrie would never hurt me.” Tommy said.

Mrs. White laughed. “That’s what you think! But she could! She easily could!”

  “Mama,” Carrie wheedled. 

  “Release my daughter.” Mrs. White said. “This instant.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at her and said, “No.”

Mrs. White’s face twisted in fury. She gripped the switch in her hands tightly and, for a moment, Sue worried she was going to strike Tommy with it.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t move.

  “Mama, please stop.” Carrie begged. She had her head twisted around to stare at her mother. Most of her wounds have stopped bleeding by now; dried blood clashed horribly with her green overalls.

  “You devil,” Mrs. White hissed lowly. 

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Mama.” Carrie whispered. Her body had gone worryingly cold in Tommy’s arms. Her voice was the sound of dead leaves rustling against pavement. “Please don’t make me hurt you…”

Mrs. White was stiff in her spot, arm half raised. The muscles were contracted tightly beneath her skin. Why wasn’t she moving? Was she scared of Carrie? And if so...why? Carrie was anything but threatening.

The next words Carrie spoke made her mother go deathly pale.

  “I’ll bring the stones again.”

Mrs. White staggered backwards, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t.” She whispered.

Thunder rumbled deeply, then cracked across the darkening sky outside like a warning. Lightning flickered in through the tightly-drawn drapes, illuminating Carrie’s eyes like ebony flames, and Sue realized they weren’t as black as she thought. There were hues of amber and red-brown, and they glowed intensely in her skull. Her gaze was hard and cold.

  “I will, Mama.” Carrie said. Her voice was drained and dry; she sounded so tired. “If you touch them-- If you dare--” She was shaking like a newborn baby goat in Tommy’s arms. She looked up at her mother with the same diseased light that had been in her mother’s eyes. “I will bring the fire down on you.”

Mrs. White dropped to her knees, falling like a bird with broken wings. She clasped her hands together and began to pray loudly, although her words were wavering and slurring together. She rocked back and forth, shaking her head like she was trying to ward off sinful thoughts from worming their way into her brain.

Carrie sucked in a sharp breath, her body shuddering in an awful, bone-shattering way. Her head flopped limply onto one of Tommy’s shoulders, panting heavily. Sweat was soaking her brow and a feverish expression contorted her face.

  “Tommy,” She gasped weakly.

  “Grab her.” Sue ordered. “Grab her, Tommy! Let’s go!”

Tommy scooped Carrie up into his arms and ran for the door, Sue tailing right behind him.

Mrs. White did not stop them.

------

  “And then we got in the car and drove here.” Sue concludes with a frown.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the house, only broken by the pattering of rain on the window and low rumbles of thunder. Tommy shifts closer to the couch, casting Carrie yet another worried glance. His gaze practically screamed, Wake up. Please wake up.

  “That can’t--that can’t be true,” Lynn whispers. Her breath is caught in her throat in horror. There was just no way. No parent could possibly be that cruel to their own child. She didn’t want to believe it.

  “It is.” Sue says sadly. She slips her phone out of her pocket and hands it to Lynn. Estelle leans over her shoulder to see. A video is displayed on the screen. With a quaking finger, Lynn presses the play button.

And it all fell away.

Hope that the story wasn’t true, hope that Margaret wasn’t as bad as Sue and Tommy made her out to be, hope that Carrie wasn’t getting brutally abused this whole time, right under her nose, and she never did anything to help her.

Because on the screen, clear as day, is Margaret White lashing her young daughter with a whip-thin switch, splattering blood everywhere. And the agonized yowls of Carrie will echo in her ears, haunt her nightmares, for years to come, always reminding her that it was very, very real.

Lynn’s vision blurs and she realizes she is tearing up. She blinks and claws away the tears hopefully before anyone would notice, trying her best to be strong, trying to not let her facade fall and reveal that she was actually horrified. Horrified and sickened and shocked and livid. She would not let her mask fall, and not just because she was supposed to be a tough-as-nails gym coach that would make numerous students vomit during Suicides and never flinch when bones broke savagely during games. But because she has to be strong for Carrie’s sake.

And then she looks up and sees blank onyx eyes peering at her blankly and tears cloud her vision all over again.

  “Carrie!”

Tommy is the first one to react, lunging to his friend’s side in an instant, nearly falling face-first into the rug in the process. He clasps one of her hands with both of his.

  “Carrie,” He says again, this time quieter. “How are you feeling?”

  “Everything hurts,” Carrie replies in a soft, hoarse voice. She sighs. “But what else is new?”

She...doesn’t sound very surprised, Lynn realizes with an awful twist in her stomach. Like this has happened before.

Like she’s gotten used to it. Waking up in pain.

Carrie lifts her head slightly, wincing, and looks around the room. “Where am I? Why is Miss Gardener here?”

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Lynn smiles at her warmly.

  “We brought you here.” Sue says.

  “Oh.” Carrie’s dark eyes dart around again, searching, and then fall on Estelle. Her brow pinches together. “I know you.” She whispers.

Estelle moves closer. “Hello, Carrie. It’s been a long time.”

  “You were my neighbor,” Carrie says. “I asked you what breasts were. Estelle.”

Despite the situation, light laughter ripples through the room. It almost, almost eases the weight pressing on Lynn’s heart.

  “Yes, that’s me,” Estelle chuckles. “It’s good to see you again, Carrie.”

  “You called Mama a cow,” Carrie muses, slightly dazed. Sue gets up to grab the painkillers Lynn left on the kitchen counter.

Lynn gives Estelle a look that says, “You what?” Estelle returns with a crooked smile.

  “Where is she?” Carrie asks. She’s looking around more fervently now and trying to get up. “Where’s my Mama?”

Lynn feels that awful twist in her heart again. Even after what Margaret did to her, Carrie is still so attached to her mother. But after living with such a treatment all her life, she must have gotten used to it. Maybe she even learns to overlook it.

  “She’s at your house, Caz.” Tommy says, brushing back a loose fringe of hair from Carrie’s face.

  “Is she alive?” Carrie asks. Then, more softly, “Did I hurt her?”

The beat of silence and exchange of worried glances is just a bit too long; Carrie begins to whimper and cry. Tommy soothes her quickly, brushing her tears away with gentle hands.

  “She’s okay, Caz. She’s alive, I promise.” He assures her. “Shh… It’s okay.”

Carrie looks up at him and calms slightly. Lynn is impressed- out of everyone in the room, she would have thought Tommy would be the least comforting, but here he was, treating Carrie so tenderly. Perhaps the most awkward one with comfort, at least with Carrie, would be Sue, who was standing listlessly with the bottle of Ibuprofen gripped tightly in her hands. Lynn takes it from her and she and Tommy are able to convince Carrie to swallow two of the pills.

  “They’ll make you feel better,” Tommy tells her, stroking her hair.

  “Do you ever take medicine?” Sue asks curiously.

Carrie shrugs. “Sometimes. Not always. Mama didn’t--believe--in that kind of stuff.” 

With weak arms, she pushes herself up into a sitting position, despite the several arguments for her to stay laying down. She sucks in a sharp breath, the cuts along her belly straining and stinging in the open air, and she stubbornly tugs her shirt back down to shield the expanse of scarred flesh. Lynn makes a clucking noise of disapproval.

  “You shouldn’t have your clothes covering them,” She says. “They could get infected.”

Carrie gives her a wry smile, “I haven’t got any awful infections yet, have I?”

Lynn’s heart wrenched once again, like a claw was dug inside her chest and turning it to mush. Carrie looks so used to this, so used to getting up and shaking off wounds from abuse, and she hates it. She wants to take her away from that kind of lifestyle so badly.

For a long few minutes, the house is silent. Carrie is looking down, her eyes clouded and haunted; Sue is over near the window, hands gripping the sill firmly, peering out at the storm with a deeply troubled expression, like she was considering leaping out into the tempest so the rain could wash away the chill rattling through her body; Tommy has climbed up onto the couch beside Carrie and kept squeezing her hand like he was trying to remind himself that she was still there with him and still alive; Estelle’s arms are crossed over her chest and she’s considering Carrie in thoughtful silence, most likely straining her memories back to the days when she was the White’s neighbor; Lynn is currently getting her heart turned into pulp, emotions tumbling over themselves in the whirlwind that was her mind- anger, guilt, shock, fear, maternal instincts, anger again, then guilt...it was all mixing together. 

Everyone was lost in their individual thoughts, listlessly wandering the winding corridors of their own minds.

The one who speaks first is Sue.

  “Carrie,” She says slowly, turning away from the window, “why do you love your mother?”

  “Sue!” Tommy hisses, then whips his head around to see Carrie’s reaction.

For just a moment, there is a flash of anger, and Lynn so badly wants to see it come out. She wants to see Carrie get mad at her mother for the treatment she got. But it is chased off by deep sadness and confusion, like Carrie herself didn’t know why she was so attached to such a wicked woman.

  “How much do you know about her?” Carrie asks instead of answering. She looks around, including everyone in the question. “Aside from her being an extremist, how much do you know?” 

Looks were exchanged as minds were dug through for any information on Margaret White that weren’t rumors. Carrie waits patiently, a tiny, sad smile ghosting her lips. 

  “You once said,” Estelle starts slowly, “that she was ‘bad when she made you.’”

Carrie nods, her smile twitching up a little more. “My Mama,” She says, “is a delusional, accursed witch.”

Stunned silence. Carrie tilts her head at them, as if to say, “What? I thought you were waiting for me to say something mean about her?” She shakes herself out, like she was getting rid of evil spirits clinging to her, then went on, “She hates everything about the world. Men, most girls, people who follow different religions, even churches. She doesn’t trust them, so we hold our own ceremonies at the house. She’s the preacher, I’m the congregation…” She splays open her hands and looks at them as if they had nails lanced through the palms. “She hates my father the most, I think. Even though I believe she does love him still, despite what happened. And that makes her hate him even more.” She closes her fists and looks up with dark eyes. “She hates me, too. She says she doesn’t but I know. I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I remind her of him.”

  “Have you seen him before?” Sue asks softly. “Your dad?”

  “Only once,” Carrie answers. “In a picture. I look like him.”

There’s a beat of silence. Carrie runs a hand thoughtfully over her bottom jaw, looking horrifyingly calm while speaking of her home life. But there was fear in her eyes. Lynn could see it flickering in her hugely dilated red-brown-black pupils, very much there, but being stamped down. It was honestly quite startling to see her young student, who would flinch when someone simply raised their hand to ask a question, who always tried to make herself seem smaller when teams were picked for games, who had to use sign language to speak to people because she was too anxious to even verbally talk, be so reserved and nonchalant.

That was another thing- Carrie speaking so many words. Lynn doesn’t think she’s ever heard her talk so much before. She’s wanted to hear her talk, yes, but not like this.

  “If a prayer was said just a little wrong,” Carrie begins again, “if a cross was bumped and became crooked, it all fell apart for her.” She leans back, staring out the window. What is that look in her eyes? Disdain, fear, anxiety, relief about finally telling about this? “And she took it out on me over...”

  “…and over…”

  “…and over…”

  “…and over…”

Carrie’s eyes became vacant, darkening until they looked completely black, lost in the abuse that gripped her so tightly. The calm demeanor only then breaks and is replaced by intense terror and anxiety. At her side, Tommy is too stunned to react, so Lynn lunges forward, grabbing the girl by the shoulders. As soon as contact is made, Carrie begins to thrash and cries out, “…AND OVER!” 

Lynn’s grip on Carrie’s shoulders does not break, even when the girl swats fearfully at her arms in a panic. She could only stare as she seized out of control. It was like watching an exorcism happen right in front of her.

  “Carrie, stop!” Tommy pleads.

With a start, Carrie stops breathing and tightens every muscle in her body. Prolonged contact with someone who wouldn’t hurt her is starting to have an effect. Her eyes close and her spasms slow. Silence fell around the group.

Then, Carrie expels her breath and sucks in another. She grasps Lynn’s hands and gently pries them away from her shoulders; her touch is like ice.

Sue beseeches her, “What happened to you?”

And on the inside, Lynn thinks, “Is this the girl I want to take in?”

Carrie didn’t look at anyone. Shame carves deep grooves in her face. 

  “Mama says I’m different,” Carrie smolders. “That I was born from my father’s sin and that’s why--I’m the way I am. And she believes that she has to purify me and remove the devil from inside of me.” 

After a second, Carrie turns her head back ever so slightly and peers at the group around her out of the corner of her vision. There was pain in that bloody ebony eye. 

Her next three words were tight with humiliation.

  “She broke me.”

The pit in Lynn’s stomach dropped until it was a chasm. She can’t speak. Nobody could speak. Carrie looks away again, hiding her disgrace from sight.

  “My Mama damaged me in a way that cannot ever be repaired. No matter how many decades pass, I will always be just as broken as I am now. I can’t become whole again.” Her voice cracked as she mourned. “She passed her sickness onto me.”

Tommy reaches over, slowly bridging the gap between him and his dear little sister figure, but Carrie shrinks away from the hand, shaking her head and whimpering, “It’s like a curse that spreads from people to people.”

Tommy swiftly retracts his hand, and the speed at which he does so causes guilt to bloom all over his face. Carrie looks up at him with an understanding frown.

  “I will never let anyone share in my sickness. I can’t.” She shakes her head miserably. “I have to--stay away--from people. To protect them. That’s what Mama says.” She clenches her fingers into claws and anger, pain, longing, shame all flash in her eyes. 

  “But Carrie, how could you pass that sickness onto other people? Onto us?” Tommy asks. “You wouldn’t hurt us!”

Suddenly, a guilt-ridden sob tears out of Carrie’s throat and she doubles over, face buried in her hands.

Quivering, Tommy whispers, “You wouldn’t hurt me, right?”

Carrie wails. 

Everything is falling to pieces, to ashes. Lynn is frozen, unable to think straight. At her side, Estelle is frowning--like she’s seen this before.

  “You don’t want to hurt us.” Estelle says. “You don’t want to hurt anyone at all.”

Carrie sniffles and looks up from her hands. She looks absolutely miserable.

  “Would it matter if I did?” She shakes her head and looks at her hands with so much hatred. “I’m a monster. Just like Mama always says.” She covers her face again and sobs.

Lynn can see it now: Carrie wasn’t just shy and anxious and socially awkward, she was fragile, too--too fragile for the awful things she’s been through.

  “Oh, Carrie,” Tommy murmurs. Despite what had been said, he pulls Carrie securely into his arms and she lets him, curling into his warmth. “Carrie. Carrie, I love you anyway. I don’t care.”

And Carrie cries.

She cries and cries and cries for a long time. She cries until she’s reduced to weak sniffles and hiccups and can barely lift her head from Tommy’s chest. She looks absolutely exhausted by the end of it, completely drained. She is feeling the full effect of her wounds, now, and whimpers softly.

  “I have a spare bedroom,” Lynn says. “She can sleep there. She’s tired.” She frowns at Carrie’s pale face.

Tommy nods silently and carefully picks Carrie up. Lynn leads him to the guest bedroom and he sets Carrie down beneath the blankets. Her eyelids are fluttering as sleep--or maybe unconsciousness--begins to take hold of her. Tommy kisses her forehead.

  “Sleep well, Caz,” He murmurs.

Silence descends upon the house once again. Lynn, Estelle, Tommy, and Sue all sit at the dining room table with mugs of peppermint tea Estelle had made. They didn’t look at each other for a long time.

  “What are we gonna do?”

Everyone looks up. Like before, it was Sue who spoke first.

  “About Carrie.” Sue states, but it wasn’t really necessary. They all knew who she was referring to.

  “She can’t go back home,” Tommy says. 

  “But she also needs help.” Sue says. “I’m not-- I don’t know if it’s the best idea, but there’s a mental hospital in--”

  “No.” Tommy growled. “Hell no.”

  “Tommy, she needs help!” Sue says.

  “She wouldn’t last a day in a place like that!” Tommy reprimands. “You know that. And mental hospitals aren’t exactly well known for actually helping people. Locking Carrie up with batshit insane people isn’t going to fix her, it’s just going to make her worse.”

  “He’s right,” Estelle nods. “I have a cousin who was in a mental hospital for a few days. He said that both suicidal people and homicidal people were put together. So there would be someone who tries to kill themselves with any object they could get their hands on and then someone who loudly talks about wanting to kill everyone in the place in the same room. Not exactly very comforting.” She shakes her head. “What Carrie needs is a stable place to live with sane people who can take care of her. Does she have any relatives?”

  “Doubt it.” Tommy sighs.

  “She can stay here.”

All eyes turn to Lynn. Her jaw is set and she looks confident in what she said.

  “Really?” Tommy’s eyes lit up slightly in hope.

  “Yes, really,” Lynn says. “As Estelle said, she needs someone who will take care of her. I can. I /will/. And I want to.”

  “That’s a really sweet thing for you to do, Lynnie,” Estelle coos.

  “Ooooo, Lynnie?” Sue and Tommy tease simultaneously. For the first time in hours, they had real, wide smiles on their faces. 

Lynn rolls her eyes. “Watch it, Snell. I’m still your coach. I can make you run until your legs give out.”

  “But you’re not mine.” Tommy says, puffing out his chest.

  “You doubt my ability to make kids run Suicides.” Lynn smirked at him.

For just a moment, things felt good again. And maybe they would continue to be good, because if Lynn had her way, Margaret White was never going to see her daughter ever again.

[munchflix]

MUNCHFLIX - “DEMON” HOUSE

IMDB BLURB: Paranormal investigator and moldy walnut Zak Bagans documents the most authenticated case of possession in American history.

WARNINGS: Zak Bagans is a fucking asshole. Correllation is not causation. Also mentions of suicide and murder. 

RATING: An 8 out of 10 on the demon scale

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: All reviews are done solely for humor and should not be taken seriously ever. If you cannot handle cursing, crude humor and probably some offensive things, pls do not read this. 

Munch: I'm Munchflower Zaius, paranormal movie investigator. I've investigated like 10 terrible paranormal movies this week. I don't have a t.v. show but if I did it wouldn't be a ghost hunting show. I'm one of the leading researchers on ghosts and demonology because if Zak fucking Bagans is then so am I - and this is the movie that really fucked Biscuits up. This movie was the next paranormal activity, it was the next Asylum movie, and I went all out. I had resources like Amazon Prime, a great crew of just Biscuits, I thought I was gonna crush this review. But in the end...nothing was as it seemed.

M: Biscuits fell ill and couldn't leave his room for 8 days, he didn't feel like himself. He screamed and wailed and tore at his hair. (no really ) He drew pictures of Zak Bagans and set them on fire.  I fired him or he quit or something. Witnesses and experts ended up in the hospital and at the heart of it all was a little screwed up ghost hunter. It took us three years to write this review, we had everything we needed...but the truth is...this film is cursed. 

Biscuits: I hate this fucking movie. I have watched some terrible movies, we have reviewed some terrible movies. But this movie...this movie makes me angry beyond words. This movie makes me hate. This movie made me so furious that I not only hate it, I hate Zak Bagans, the man. I have never met him, but if I did, I think I would punch him in the balls. This review is going to be 90% me just screaming, because it makes me that mad. 

M: This is gonna be my fucking opening gif right here...

B: Oh yeah, this - there's a demon here in this fucking Amazon Prime video. He got in with his fucking 30-day free trial. Oooo it's gonna come get us! I'm so scared!!

M: ...

B: Oh, Zak "I-have-a-series-on-the-Travel-Channel" Bagins! Yeah, that makes you a qualified expert demonologist, Zak. "One of the world's LEADING researchers on ghosts and demonology" - no, no you're fucking not! What do you actually know about demons?? Also, let's add the fact that Zak Bagans is a terrible actor, and his monotone narration does nothing to improve the atmosphere of the movie.

B: It took him three years to finish this film, and it still sucks! Way to go buddy, it took us three days to make that potato salad!! THREE DAYS!

B: "This film is cursed!!" Yes it is, this is the curse! It's cursed to make me angry!

M: So spoopy! I'm spooped solid, are you spooped solid? Actually, if I had to say, my spoop level is actually somewhere along the levels of 'explosive diarrhea'.

B: This movie is explosive diarrhea. That's - that's a man whistling into the microphone, subtitled as 'wind whistling'. We are Zak Bagans' therapist for a minute, helping him dissect his dreams. One time I had a dream where I traded my non-existant son for two cool posters. I don't think THAT dream meant anything. Imagine a ghost hunter having dreams about ghosts!

M: Imagine a ghost hunter.

            Pictured: Zak Bagggggans confused by electrical equipment

B: We also introduce the idea of a 12-foot-tall goat man, who never really comes up in the movie again. Is that Orcus himself? Oh shit, this is getting real. I'm not high level enough to fight a demon lord!

M: The demon vaped in my face!

B: "And I knew...this was some serious shit that meant something." I COULDN'T make that shit up. Genuinely. What does it mean, Zak? Would you care to explain? I don't know what does it mean.

B: This movie is NOT actually about the well-known Gary, Indiana story of demon posession. It's mostly about Zak Bagins fucking around.

M: Mentally masturbating himself for being some sort of sick ghost expert. Why would anyone call Zak Bagans about this? I think he made that shit up.

B: So, basically, Zak Bagans bought this house in Gary, Indiana where this alleged possession took place. A newscaster pronounces his name as 'Zak Baggins'. Guys, Bilbo Baggins bought this haunted house! He bought it because he wanted to make a movie about it.

M: Why?

B: To convince everyone that his 'ghost hunting' career is legitimate and he shouldn't have dropped out of college. Useless footage of Zak Bagans convincing some homeless people to move out of this abandoned house. Don't get them involved in this, it looks very cold and they were probably just trying to find a warm place to warm place to stay. Don't get them involved in your shitty fake documentary.

M: Also, if this house is really like, MEGA haunted, why are homeless people hanging out in it? Homeless people ain't got time for ghosts.

B: No, they have real problems. Wow, this fuckin house looks like an empty house! Oh, this is the best part - he gets a text from a psychic medium. a warning he'll 'never forget', and we'll never forget either! He shows us this obviously voice-to-texted message claiming that he saw visions of a very large demon figure and that this house is, and I quote, an '8 out of 10 on the demonic scale'.

                                          Pictured: a demonic scale. 

M: I wanna see this fucking scale. I actually googled demon scale after watching this because I had never heard of a fucking demon scale. Guess what, there's no demon scale. If you have access to this demon scale, PLEASE message me. I have a mighty need to see this thing. 

B: WHAT the fuck is he talking about? Where is this demon scale?? Who made this demon scale?? This bitch just literally fucking made that shit up and thought we wouldn't notice.

M: And again, what exactly does this goat demon have to do with the house? What is the actual connection?

B: Does he just like hanging out there? Also, insert shots of some guy in a goat suit to make it seem scary. But we know that's just a guy in a goat suit. I guess that's what the demon is supposed to look like?

B: This also pisses me off - Zak Bagans and his crew track down this poor family by finding their home address from news footage, which is stalking, because they won't return his phone calls.

B: Also, let's not forget Zak's claim that a clairvoyant said this house was 'home to 200 demons'. WHAT?? Zak recounts some of the story of the family's supernatural experiences. But this is about him now! This movie is about HIM!

            Pictured: I really want to see his artistic rendering of this demon

M: He has about as much reverence for the supernatural as I have for him.

B: Also, they film these people from their car, perhaps as though they didn't want them to know they were being filmed! Good job Zak, stalking an innocent family to record them without their consent for your shitty, self-aggrandizing ghost show. At least they had the decency to blur faces.

B: They then say they don't want to have anything to do with the documentary. Zak Bagans makes up an excuse about how things have attached themselves to him from the house. Just leave these people alone. Problem solved. However, one guy is coerced into talking about what happened during the possession, which mostly affected the kids in the house.

M: I don't discount that something actually happened to the family that lived there, that they may have had some sort of supernatural experience. That's not really what I'm trying to say here - I just don't believe in Zak Bagans.

B: Or, whether it was supernatural or not, something obviously affected them that they perceived as paranormal that made them want to move out of the house. Of course, there are more realistic explanations for many of these experiences, but that's not what we're here to debate. Zak Bagans knows jack shit about parapsychology and is just pretending to for clout.

M: Imaginary clout... Also, these reenactments are the only good part of the movie. Props to those child actors.

     Pictured: children enjoying some fortnite just before becoming possessed.

B: Also, apparently, spirits are like velcro or something. I guess you can get 'infected' with ghosts. Watch out for that coronavirus, of course, but also, watch out for GHOSTS.

B: This priest performed definitely approved and legitimate excorcisms on this house I guess.

M: It's pretty hard to get one of those these days, but what do I know...

B: Yeah, we're not the world's leading experts on ghosts and demonology!

B: Zak Bagans inserts interview footage to make his fake documentary seem legit. If it was a real documentary about the Ammonses' experience, detailing  multiple points of view with people who actually know stuff about supernatural cases and/or parapsycology, it might be a good documentary. However, it is not. Zak Bagans does not know what a documentary is. He thinks he is so cool that he is the only expert necessary because he know EVERYTHING about ghosts.

B: Zak Bagans did not film this. He found footage and has nothing to say about it. He just wants you to believe that he knows stuff. I suppose it's context. But, as I've mentioned, this documentary isn't really about the Ammons family or their experiences in this house, it's about Zak Bagans.

M: All of this is just being set up to try to lend credence to the later part of this movie, which has nothing to do with any of this.

B: Zak Bagans heard someone else was having a demon party and wanted to be invited.

M: It's POSSIBLE, but it's extremely fucking unlikely. Anything is POSSIBLE. You're leading the audience, Zak.

B: Okay, if this was just a horror movie, one of those ones that's 'based ona true story', and Zak wasn't trying to pretend that this is all 100% real, it would be fine. I wouldn't have as much of a problem with it. As it is, it's Zak Bagans trying to convince us all that he's so, so cool. He has found DEFINITIVE proof of demons.

B: Of course it's creepy! It's a basement! It's like saying an attic is creepy - they're ALL creepy.

B: INDISTICT BACKGROUND NOISES??? THAT DON'T EVEN SOUND LIKE A VOICE?? Now we're getting into real ghost shit. While I don't believe Zak Bagans knows shit about ghosts or demons, he obviously has a lot of experience with indeterminate noises.

M: His entire show is indeterminate noises.

B: Ghost hunters LOVE indeterminate noises! Zak Bagans interviews a man about a weird noise on his recording. SO compelling.

B: An AM/FM radio went to static? There can't be any explanation for that other than ghosts... Zak also loves to make claims that he substantiates with NO evidence! It's almost as if he feels the FACTS might not be compelling enough. According to this police officer, the demons affect women and children physically, and 'stronger men electronically'.

M: No input on how it affects the weaker men, though.

B: Also, apparently, the epicenter of this demon outbreak is a spot of dirt under the stairs. Everybody knows dirt is demonic. Demons can't hide in concrete or solid flooring; they like a more naturalistic approach.

B: Aggravate OR abate the demon. Those seem like quite extreme options. Also, listen to the list of super spooky stuff the police officers dug up from the spot under the stairs: a pink press-on nail and PANTIES. Everyone knows a good demonic summoning ritual needs to involve lots of women's panties. VERY spooky. Also, a comb, two children's socks, a heavy bar, and a red tin. All very definitely demonic summoning artifacts and not just random items that got lost.

M: Zak refers to this pile of nonsense as a demonic altar.

                                     Pictured: one demonic altar 

B: This priest is on board too. He thinks these random objects are 100% demonic. Because of reasons. He believes it's NECROMANCY.

M: What does a priest know about necromancy? ...asking for a friend.

B: He knows it involves PANTIES.

M: I've never heard of a necromantic ritual that involves panties...not that I know anything about necromancy.

B: You know more than Zak Bagans does!

M: Ok, I am now an expert on necromancy, and hereby ALL necromantic rituals must involve women's panties...and uhh, a big stick, and a tin, and whatever else you've got laying around.

B: This cop assumed that this was a literal portal to Hell. That's where the panties came from.

M: HELL PANTIES.

B: That would be a great name for like...an all-female metal band. Or a really bad B-movie. Or both.

M: No way those panties could've gotten there any other way...demons is the only logical answer.

   Pictured: Detective Gruszka finally goes to the women’s section at Macy’s

B: THE WALLS WILL OOZE GREEN SLIME! No, wait, that always happens. "Half her hand went completely white" followed by a photo of half of her hand not being completely white.

                                      Pictured: a white person’s hand. 

M: Can I just take a moment again to say how much I don't like Zak Bagans?

B: So many unrelated people...confirmed that there was something on the blinds.

M: Which means...DEMONS ARE REAL! That's the only logical conclusion, right?

B: Insert shot of a spider, because that's SPOOKY.

M: Wow, it must be a lot easier to get an excorcism these days. 

M: Why did Zak Bagans record this phone call?

B: That's a very good fucking question!

M: Did he not? Is he just pulling this shit out of his ass for the camera?

B: His voice is so emotionless you can't tell.

M: Also, what relevance does this have to anything?

B: Big Hollywood producers only want money!! Unlike you, Zak, Zakary, who definitely DIDN'T make THIS movie for money or fame. This nonexistant 'other movie' about this story that is the source of all Zak's problems and DEFINITELY the reason the Ammons don't want to talk to him.

B: The homeless people and the landlord don't believe the house is haunted. That's Zak's version of trying to present a counter-point. Obviously, he never had to write an argumentative essay in school.

M: He was probably the guy in group projects who never did anything.

B: Homeless Person: "Money make you say a whole lotta stuff." Obviously, he's right.

                                   Pictured: no comment needed

B: "I'd like to find out rather the claims are real or false. I'm not here to fabricate nothing or sensationalize on anything..." ZAK.....................................go to hell.

B: You are here ENTIRELY TO fabricate stuff and sensationalize on stuff. That's why you made this MOVIE, Zakary.

M: Gosh it's crazy, it's almost as if money makes people say things.

B: It's almost as if maybe he thought you were paying him to say things for his movie. Did you slip that priest and that police officer some money 'to leave' too? "I'm not gonna tell you that until we sit down and make an agreement" YEAH IT'S ALMOST LIKE HE WANTS MONEY!

M: Zak Bagans is basically damning himself by leaving this in here...this guy's got it figured out, though.

B: He's not telling ghost stories, he's just explaining that this is profitable. Also, Zak does passively mention that there were members of the Ammons family who claim these alleged experiences did not go on. However, he doesn't understand what refuting a counterpoint actually is. It's almost like...he can't. Because, with paranomal shit, there's never enough evidence to truly confirm or deny.

M: "Wow"

B: Wow...insert 'wow' vine here. Oh, and this part where he intentionally brings up a photo he knows is fake and has been definitively debunked. SO, just don't include it!! Also, 'mold and other things' that could've psychologically affected the residents, including carbon monoxide. I have an idea, why don't we make this whole movie about a home inspector inspecting this house...

          Pictured: Munch had the mouse over the screenshot, fuck you. 

M: ALSO, all this shit is just in here to make Zak Bagans SEEM like he's exploring other avenues of explanation, which he then promptly abandons.

B: Zak Bagans has to explain to us (badly) what carbon monoxide and black mold can do to a person psychologically...perhaps causing side effects that can create or enhance the sensation that something supernatural is happening. "It's something to take into consideration." - but he won't.

B: "Some other normal explanation that was now being turned into a money grab." OH. I don't even have anything to say to that. You said it, not me. "Shit got crazy." That's how you know it's legit. Also, we are 32 minutes into this hour-and-a-half long movie, and we are now reaching the point where any sort of legitimacy goes right down the fucking toilet and we are flushed into the festering sewer of Zak Bagans' mind.

B: A family who used to live in the house shows up very conveniently to be in Zak's movie. These kids seem 'very convinced' there are demons. Some mildly supernatural hearsay is presented.

M: Also, point here - if Zak Bagans really believes that spirits can just attach themselves to anyone, then wouldn't he be deliberately endangering these people by taking them down into the basement?

B: An attributed quote that we didn't hear her say...because of course. And, if the basement reminds her of her DEAD BROTHER who used to stay there, that has nothing to do with demons, and is also a perfecty legitimate reason for her to not like going back into the basement after all these years.

                Pictured: A quote that nobody but Zak Biguns heard

M: Zak Bagans then proceeds to TELL THE CHILDREN that he JUST BROUGHT INTO THIS PLACE that demons can 'get inside of you and make you sick'. What, is he immune or something so he's not worried about it happening to him?

B: Also, this woman lived in the house in the 90s when she was only about 10 years old. It's almost as though, and I'm not making any claims here, that he wanted the Ammons family to be in his movie, and when they said no, he got a backup family to take their place in the script.

M: He knows all about possession, 'cause it happened to him.

B: No, for real. I was there. (I was the demon) He started doing ghost hunting because he got possessed once.

M: This is just an excuse for him to tell his origin story. Also, these kids look not on board at all with him being here.

B: Zak Bagans knows how to use Adobe Premiere. He's really proud of it. M: Again, if you believe all this is real, you are genuinely putting these people in danger. If they are legitimately afraid of ghosts following them, you are making it worse. Are you gonna come and save them, Zack?

M: I hate this fake 'EVP analysis' so much. "It SOUNDS like..." yeah, it can sound like anything if you tell people it does.

B: "What's wrong with this boy" is that you TOLD HIM that ghosts could latch onto him! Maybe he's SCARED because YOU SCARED HIM on purpose.

M: Then we get some black-and-white footage of Zak Bagans being a dick, and that's...proof of demons.

B: You pushed this guy a little bit. Honestly, it didn't look like you were pushing him that hard. It's also convenient that you weren't recording at the time but immediately started recording again as soon as you stepped out of the house, because this is all real, and definitely exactly how it happened.

B: These guys have to explain to Zak what he did, so that the audience can also get explained to what happened in the footage they just saw. I don't know anyone could have construed that as anything other than a genuine demonic possession.

M: He's not even a credible actor, like there's nothing believable about these performances. It's such shit. Zak Bagend must leave (for no reason) but then someone tries to break into what he repeatedly calls " My House" as if he lives there. Why would anyone want to break into his jank ass haunted house? This seems really unlikely. Zachhh says the cops won't go in the house. Too scared. Zak says it's " a different kind of haunting." Wtf does that even mean?

M: Zak is now interviewing the CPS worker from the case that this was supposed to be about.

B: Yeah you remember that?

M: No, not anymore. She seems credible, Zak Bagnnnns does not. I really don't believe he believes in any of this.

B: Yeah ask the woman about her emotional trauma, Zak. Ask a CPS worker about her trauma. Be like oh so this was a traumatic experience for you? You should talk about it with me for this shitty documentary!

M: She says her therapist told her to seek help. That's...pretty bad right? When your therapist says to seek help? Now some informative badly edited cards about things that allegedly happened in this house. Why didn't we hear anything from the home inspector who was choked in his sleep and got cancer??? That's some real shit!

                 Pictured: The one guy we really wanted to hear from 

B: This DEFINITELY had everything to do with demons. Demons are the #1 cause of cancer in the United States. They don't want you to know that.

M: Oh the fucking bike ride. On his way to do a second exorcism on Latoya ( why did she need a second exorcism?) this priest fell off his bike. Because demons.

B: Well you know it's not an exact science. I'd go so far as to say it's not science! It's not even science adjacent. Zak Bagel doesn't even know wtf science is.

M: I am literally laughing out loud. This priest says the demon was trying to figure out what would stop him from going forward with this second exorcism and the best thing this fucking demon, this 8 out 10 DEMON ON THE DEMON SCALE DEMON can come up with is knocking a dude off his bike?? Just get back on your bike, man.

B: This is my major problem with this movie, especially this second half. Zak Brainend presenting all this random shit that happened and blaming it on demons. This is the 21st century, we don't blame all our problems on demons. We don't live in the middle ages. This priest falling off his bike wasn't because of demons. 

M Correllation is not causation. This detective fucking slid on ice two days after being in the house and ended up in the ER. That is not because of demons.  Wait...is he interviewing him in the fucking ghost house?

B: And then he brings up him being shot during a home invasion and blames that on demons.

M: So he gets a call from Mika who was part of the backup family to tell him her daughter is in distressl WHY would you call Zak Braggans?

    Pictured: A girl with her face blurred out because I’m not Zak Bagans

B: This pisses me off. If this girl is actually suicidal and actually tried to kill herself, you don't put that in your shitty demon movie. If she's actually depressed and hurting herself you don't put that in there. It's not cool. It's very exploitative. You don't know anything about ths girl's mental illness or anything that's going on in her life. If this is all indeed real and not scripted, you're just a piece of shit!

M: But demons! 

B: Stay out of it Zak, this doesn't involve you. You're not a psychologist or a therapist, it's not your business. 

B: One of his crew members quits. Because of the demons.

M: And not because he thought maybe Zak exploiting a suicidal girl was bad. Where did they find this priest anyway, he seems so sketchy. 

B: I'm also pissed that they brought this suicidal girl in to have an EXORCISM. She needs mental help and therapy and a licensed person to help her. You don't give her an exorcism and go oh you're fine. When the exorcism doesn't work she's going to feel extra shitty. But whatever Zak, it's your fucking movie. You do whatever you want for your movie. Who am I to tell you what you can and can't do with a suicidal teenage girl. 

M: This confirms to me that this priest is sketchy as fuck. If he was reliable he would have said Zak no, this girl needs actual help. Zak is still blaming demons. I hate him so much. I hate his stupid douchebag face. 

B: And he sits here and puts this girl on camera and asks her questions about it. NO NO fuck you, genuinely fuck you Zak. Again, this is exploitative as shit. Trying to make cutting her wrists into being some kind of stigmata. Fuck you. This doesn't have anything with demons.

    Pictured: A religious phenomena usually experienced by the very devout 

M: Why would demons invoke stigmata anyway, that's....not how that works. 

B: It's just feels like Zak Blehgins is exploiting this family and trying to convince them that everything is demons from this house they spent 10 minutes in. Again, it's like he has no idea what he shouldn't do. Nobody thought to ask her about her feelings. If this is real she needs help and not Zak Blahggg asking her questions with a camera in her face. 

M: This poor teenage girl does not want to be in this. Her head drops and they're like OKAY EXORCISM OVER SHE'S FINE. Then Zak's psychic friendo Debbie tries to make contact with the demon remotely. Why? Why would she invite that? Does she wanna hang out?

B: Is she gonna like text the demon? Facebook messenger? How many psychic friends does he have? 

M: Oh she succeeded I guess and it said WHARBLGARBL. And then Debbie was killed in a double murder suicide.

                                           Pictured: Wharblgarble

B: Her husband murdered her and her roommate and if you really cared you would not put this in your goddamn demon documentary. Can you just leave shit like this out of it? Tie your friend's murder into your damn demons. This is why I hate Zak Biguns. He's a fucking manipulative asshole who tries to spin murder and suicide and cancer into his conspiracy theory movie about demons. ANOTHER point, the common thread among all of these stories is YOU, Zak, you could make exactly the same point about you. He also found a Hell is Real sign. Also trying to claim that demonic activity is higher in areas with high crime rates, poverty and murders. 

M: And now some facts about Gary, Indiana. 

B: And also exploiting this poverty stricken predominately black community. A segment where we explore actual problems that this place has. Zak you fucking absolute....

M: Zak is now telling us that like 5 people died there but he can't discount that someone close to the Ammonses might have cursed the house and invited the demons. Like...5 people dying there wasn't enough for you Zak? Zak's gonna go kick Latoya's boyfriend's ass because he thinks he tried to curse them with panties. That's a real thing that's happening. Zak can now tell whether people are into the occult by looking at them. 

B: Another previously unknown superpower. Maybe he has a white savior complex.

M: MAYBE? The boyfriend doesn't wanna talk. Big shock. 

B: What did you think was gonna happen.

M: This guy is a piece of work. Dr. Barry Taff, who holds a doctorate in psychophysiology. ( the study of the relationship between physiological and psychological phenomena, I had to look it up so you get to learn too, bitches ) He's gonna come and see if electromagnetic stuff is causing the demons. But everything is normal so...therefore demons. But there's a spike in the basement. That doesn't mean it's demons though. In fact, it would seem to indicate the opposite.

B: This happens on a lot of ghost hunting shows. I'm not sure what your weird electromagnetic shit has to do with ghosts but..?

                     Pictured: Zak Bagans realizing he’s a huge idiot

M: Now Zak has to go walk off again. He's being really affected by these demons. Weren't there supposed to be like 200 demons here or something? Doesn't this really do more to explain that demons aren't real? 

Z: Zak Braggins is a superconductor. He also seems genuinely surprised by what this guy is telling him.

M: That's because he doesn't understand science. Something causes him to lunge at the doctor, which is totally believable.

B: He just got mad the guy wasn't telling him it was demons. Fuck you and your science! The doctor hears a dog. Everyone knows demons bark like dogs. You said it was  goat man, why does it bark like a dog? 

M: So much footage of dudes just walking around supposedly being affected. Might be the carbon monoxide they actually detected earlier? Or the black mold?

   B: I love this part! This is fucking great. Footage of this guy walking around and then the cameraman's finger gets in the shot. It totally doesn't look exactly like what happens when you put your finger in front of the lens. Totally.

M: It's demons, obviously. The black anomaly. It's a fucking finger. They're just filming this dude walking around who seems to be ill and claiming he's touching the anomaly and shit. Take this dude to the fucking doctor. 

B: They take it to some NASA dude who enhances it and says there's no way it's the cameraman's finger. I still don't believe it's not the cameraman's finger. Oh shit, I just realized...I have fingers!

M: It might be a dick. 

B: If this cameraman and the doctor both feel faint, maybe you should just get out of the house!

M: This literally sounds like carbon monoxide poisoning which can cause nauseau, headaches, confusion, memory loss and literally every other thing except bad acting. Adam the cameraman wanders off and they find him in the basement. He later apparently starts VOMITING BLOOD??? Take this boy to the hospital! He starts screaming Zak in a weird voice so they decide to film it, natch.

                                  Pictured: Criminal negligence

B: Zak....zaaaaaaaaak i need to go to the hospital....this seems like negligence. M: Now they've lost him. Lots of footage of Adam being really aggressive for no reason. Nobody is concerned any longer about his vomiting blood. Something is wrong with this dude and you assholes are filming him. Adam wants to go to the house because of reasons that I'm sure are 100 percent legit. Maybe he's just tired of being in this shit ass movie with these shit ass friends. Zak says this is the scariest thing he's ever seen in his life. 

B: This movie is the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life.

M: I honestly love the Adam bit. It's so fake. This dude is just being a dick on camera and Zak is like IT'S OBVIOUSLY DEMONS. Dr. Taff has a loud noise in his ear later on that wakes him up.

B: He's literally explaining exploding head syndrome. I have this, I know what it is. Characterized by loud noise you suddenly imagine just before you fall asleep, and can also occur as you wake up in the night. Google it. Also not caused by demons!

M: He wakes up with blood in his ears. Go to the hospital! 

B: Or he had a stroke, or an aneurysm. 

M: Meanwhile...Adam is getting interviewed instead of going to the hospital for barfing up blood. Adam doesn't wanna be on tape but they tape him secretly because they're fucking assholes. Adam says you know what I said bruh and Zak is like omfg the goatman. 

Pictured: It’s hard to find good images because this movie is also badly badly filmed and it’s just shitty creepy shots and then Zak talking.

B: It wants you, Zak, you're the leader of the bunch. 

M: Adam has a fucking aura of freezing air and EMF around him but we don't get to see any of the instruments they're using to record that.

B: These are obviously some very trustworthy guys. 

M: They are filming him without his consent.

B: Seems to be a recurring theme. 

M: Dr. Taff finally gets to a fucking hospital where his organs are shutting down. Like every single one of them. He mentions infection in his prostate.

B: I don't think his organ failure is best explained by demons. He has a severe medical problem. 

M: All these people he's saying got sick and NOBODY fucking went to a hospital? 

B: No..my dude...you are sick. You have a medical problem, not demons. M: Oh and now Adam has been removed from the crew because he's being weird and violent. They try to get him help but Adam refuses. I think Adam just got sick of their shit. 

B: They had to make something up. 

M: You have anything you wanna say here before Zak boards himself up in the house...alone...overnight?

B: Have fun, big guy.

M: Zakkkk " I know this sound stupid..."

B: It IS stupid. You set yourself up for that one. We're gonna have a sleepover with the demons! Pictured...the tiny penis in it's natual habitat.

M: This part is so fucking dumb. It's just....deeply deeply dumb.

B: They also moved in furniture so Zak can be comfy with the demon. And then... nothing happened. Lots of shots of absolutely nothing happening. I feel like I'm watching Paranormal Activity

M: Except stuff happened in that. Now in fast forward. Zak takes off his coat. 

                Pictured: the horror of seeing Zak Bagans undress

OOH SPOOKY. Nothing is happening. At all. He sits down and checks his phone so we can learn he doesn't wanna do lights out. Why? Nothing is happening.  He just keeps opening doors. What is Sebastian? I'm arranging matches. He makes sures the door is locked. 

B: Make sure the audience knows he's boarded up in there. You so brave. So big dick macho brave. You did this, Zak. Zak is scared of the dark. It's okay. It's natural.

M: I don't know why he's bitching. He orchestrated this. OOH LIGHTS OUT. NIGHT VISION ON. NOTHING IS HAPPENING. 

B: This part also feels like the intro to some weird night vision demon porno, he's just walking around with a camera.

M: That would at least be interesting. Nothing is happening at all. We just keep getting time cuts to more nothing happening. Finally they will decide this is too much nothing happening and make up some shit.

B: It's almost like shit's really boring when Zak doesn't have people around to help him make up shit. Hey did you guys hear a sound? No. 

                                                Pictured: Lies

M: 4:51 am. When will this end? How much more nothing happening does the audicence need. And not to put too fine a point on it...but this house is the DEMON HOUSE. Supposedly haunted by over 200 demons and a goat-man and also an 8 out of 10 on the demon scale, and NOTHING IS HAPPENING. 

M: Zak is getting a headache. Probably because of carbon monoxide. There's an obviously faked goat-ish noise. Zak tells it to get away because that's gonna work. Shoo, demon. 

          Pictured: A man gets mouthy while backed against a wall in fear

B: He sounds very sincere. Back the fuck up, man. Why do these dudes always try to get all up in the demon's face? Fuck you, demon. Maybe the demon just thinks you're rude. He was just trying to say hi.

M: A title card pops up to say that Zak Bagans witnessed a dark mass come out of the wall. There's cameras literally fucking everywhere but we don't get to see that.

B: Water water everywhere but not a drop to drink.

M: Now his eyes hurt. Which makes him yell and knock shit over

. B: Can you imagine how we feel in quarantine? He develops diplopia. Double vision. 

M: It's not that serious, Zak. Doctors can't figure out what caused it. This does not mean it was caused by fucking demons. We get updates on Kevin who apparently caught a demon from Zak. Adam went goth. 

B: Adam got tattoos and we looked him up and he makes horror movies and shit now. He just looks like a metalhead. I wanna say something here again about Dr. Taff and his diplopia. He's acting like doctors not knowing the cause of something is rare. It is not. Anyone with chronic health issues can tell you that. Tests and doctors are not infallible and it's often hard to diagnose things even if they're severe. 

M: Speaking as someone with chronic health issues, this is the case more often than not. The house has not taken a toll on you people you fucking walnut. 

B: We get a long list of correlation is not causation. 

M: So Zak decides to bulldoze the house, thus freeing the demons loose in the world to do their dark dark bidding. 

B: Or something. My theory is that he bulldozed the house so nobody could go back there and his investigation would be the FINAL word on the matter, like so he could be the ultimate authority on this case and nobody could come back and try to contest him...or try to profit off of these events after him.

M: Closing thoughts?

B: Zak Briggins seems like a complete douche. When you start the movie he's just some guy who hunts ghosts and thinks he knows things. But as it goes on, you see he's also very exploitative and manipulative and not a good guy! He takes advantage of people's deaths and mental issues and health problems to further his demon agenda. In conclusion, fuck you Zak Bagans. 

M: Zak claims that even tho the house is gone, the cops keep calling to tell him to tell him people are doing satanic rituals at the site on the regular. Why would the cops even call him for that? There's no house there. I call bullshit. On ALL of this. This story IS cursed, man. Don't expose yourself or your loved ones to the horrors of Demon House. 

B: I call bullshit on there being producers on this movie.

M: That's fair. I miss Ghost Hunters.

[buzzdixonwriter]

A Long But Not Pointless Ramble In Which We Discuss Sci-Fi Flicks

We’re gonna ramble around a bunch of connected topics, so pour yourself a cuppa and enjoy the ride.

. . .

I’m a big fan of 1950s sci-fi B-movies.

Years ago, when I was chatting with the late film historian Bill Warren on this, he made a pertinent observation:  1950s sci-fi B-movies tend to be more fondly remembered than most better mounted and more professionally executed sci-fi films that came afterwards.

There’s a couple of three reasons for this:

The shock of the new -- most of those films pioneered a brand new genre and style, looking far different from previous genre offerings such as Flash Gordon or Things To Come.  As such, they score branding points by being first, even if later examples are better made.

They possess a certain naïve charm -- by and large they’re not sophisticated nor exceptionally well thought out (though when they do demonstrate flashes of intellect, it’s always a delight).  One feels these films are being made up on the fly (and in a certain sense, they were; see (1) above) and in an odd manner they prove more innocent and thus more fun than those that came later.

Most of them were cheap -- this combines with points (1) & (2) to force most 1950s sci-fi B-movies to focus tightly on one idea / one image to sell the film.  As a result there’s a startling clarity of vision in even the most flimsy of productions that’s lacking in later, more elaborate movies.  The weaker examples of this genre are those films trying to cover more ground than their cheaper cousins.

. . .

Two cases in point:  Jack Arnold’s Tarantula for Universal is a technically better made movie than Bert I. Gordon’s The Spider for AIP, but Tarantula loses focus, dawdling about on character development and sub-plots instead of concentrating on the big ass spider.

The Spider is far weaker in the script / performances / production value departments, but who gives a %#@& ? -- it’s got a big ass spider tearing up the countryside for most of the picture.

Not to put down Arnold and his effects crew’s efforts; they ingeniously figured out a way to not only get their tarantula to realistically crawl over uneven landscapes but actually cast a shadow as it did so, heightening the realism.

Gordon, conversely, simple shot his spider in front of still photos; the shots look as crude as they sound.

But The Spider delivers what Tarantula only teases:  An attack by said big ass spider on a population center. ��Tarantula famously ends with an uncredited Clint Eastwood napalming the monster in the desert on the outskirts of town; The Spider actually goes rampaging through its town, and features one of the most iconic shots of any sci-fi movie:  As the big ass spider bears down on her, a terrified woman slams her car door shut on her skirt and in her panic tries to tug it loose instead of simply opening the door again.

George Lucas crowds the screen with thousands of furiously dogfighting CGI starships and that lacks the gut punching impact of that one simple terrifying shot. 

. . .

An even more pertinent example can be found in the oeuvre of Irving Block and Jack Rabin (I know, you’re going “Who?”  Patience, young jedi; all will be explained below).

Block and Rabin (along with Louis DeWitt, their silent 3rd partner) ran a small special effects house in Hollywood in the late 1940s-50s with an interesting strategy for drumming up business.

They’d devise an interesting yet inexpensive (i.e., clever but cheap) special effects technique, build a story around it, then pitch that story to low budget movie producers with the proviso their firm would be hired to do the special effects for the final film.

This resulted in a number of low budget sci-fi films built around the kernel of an interesting visual, and while they night not have been great examples of the cinematic art, hey certainly created a number of memorable scenes and images from little more than scotch tape and rubber bands.

Unknown World was their take on Jules Verne’s Journey To The Center Of The Earth (no dinosaurs but then again, no Pat Boone, so they came out ahead on that one); Atomic Submarine pitted the US Navy against a UFO; Kronos featured a wholly unique alien invader; and War Of The Satellites staged an epic space opera on a bargain basement budget.

All noteworthy 1950s sci-fi B-movies, but ironically it was the film where their strategy failed -- or rather, only proved 50% successful -- that stands out.

Figuring out how to make footprints appear as if by magic, Block and Rabin devised a story about a spaceship landing on a planet of invisible monsters (as they pointed out, the great thing about invisible monsters is that even the cheapest production can afford millions of ‘em).

Their agent sent the pitch around to all the usual suspects at that time in the low budget indie film universe but, learning another studio not know for low budget sci-fi wanted to hop on the band wagon, sent it there as well.

That studio bought the idea, thanked Block and Rabin for their input, but said they’d let their own B-movie unit team handle the special effects,

And that’s how MGM made Forbidden Planet.

. . .

Today Forbidden Planet is a much beloved classic of the genre, but when released it proved a bit of a disappointment.

Oh, it made money (then and now, studios refuse to fund a production unless they already know in advance they will recoup their expenses and make a profit in advance of actual production) but it didn’t do anywhere near the business they hoped.

Part of this was timing -- it came out after dozens of lesser / cheaper films crowded the market -- but part of it is paradox:  It’s just too damn good.

No bones about it, Forbidden Planet was a B-movie for MGM.

In terms of overall quality, however, any MGM B-movie is bound to look like an A-picture from any other studio, and that’s exactly what happened here:  A literate, dynamite script; solid performances; top notch production values; bursting at the seams with ideas and incidents and details.

Sci-fi fans loved it, mainstream audiences not so much.

What sci-fi fans perceived as a groundbreaking classic, mainstream audiences viewed as:  Flying saucer something something something robot blah blah blah invisible monster.

What audiences today remember when they think of Forbidden Planet is the single most iconic element of the film.

Robby the robot.

He’s what sticks.  Robby made a big enough impression to star in his own follow up feature a few years later (The Invisible Boy) as well as guest star appearances on The Twilight Zone, Lost In Space, Columbo, and scores of other movies / TV shows / personal appearances.

Pick an iconic element. Stick with it.

. . .

The trick to doing memorable sci-fi movies is keeping the key visual elements down to as few sharply defined items as possible.

Star Wars (i.e., the unnumbered original release) is even more crowded in detail than Forbidden Planet but it holds its iconic visual elements down to a crucial handful:  Masked villain in black.  Laurel & Hardy robots.  Friendly yeti.  Glow swords.  Big bad artificial planet.

Every other visual element serves those, and while they provide detail and texture, they aren’t distractions.

Seriously, jettison the plot of the original Star Wars and reconfigure it from the ground up with those elements and it still winds up pretty much the same film, just set on different worlds.

This is why later films in the series, despite bigger and bigger revenues, lack the memorable freshness and emotional clarity of the original (getting cluttered up with superfluous characters and vehicles inserted just to sell toys doesn’t help, and I post this as one of the original writers for the G.I. Joe and Transformers series).

To reiterate: If you want to make an impression, less is more.

. . .

We’re going to amble on over to a parallel path and talk about ultra-low budget / no budget / homemade / hand-crafted / DIY film making, particularly in the sci-fi arena.

I watch a fair amount of lo-to-no budget sci-fi on Amazon Prime and YouTube.  Many of these are done for pure love of the genre and the film making process, and from that POV of producers and participants just wanting to have fun, they’re modestly enjoyable.

From the POV of actual good film making and sci-fi…not so much.  (There are exceptions and we’ll get to one of those; patience, young jedi…)

The overwhelming bulk of these films -- features and shorts -- are pretty derivative.

I don’t mean “unoriginal” the way 80-90% of professionally produced media is unoriginal, I mean “derivative” as in trying specifically to re-create something someone else did first…

...and better.

And this is in addition to the plethora of Star Trek / Star Wars / Dr. Who / superhero fan films out there; those are a separate though related phenomenon.

Rather, it’s the unmpeenth Alien ripoff / the 400th E.T. variant / the latest Mad Max clone / the most current example of last decade’s biggest hits.

They’re generally not that good taken on their own, no matter how much fun the makers are having.

For me the nadir of such films are those done by film makers imitating bad movies by deliberately making a bad movie.

Don’t do that, folks. 

Please. 

Don’t squander time and talent doing substandard work.

I’m not saying don’t make the kind of film (or draw the kind of art, or write the kind of story) you want to make; I’m just saying don’t deliberately make a piss-poor job of it.

Block and Rabin may never have made a truly good movie but not because they weren’t trying!

Cheap films?  Yes. Exploitable films?  Yes.

But films meant to be as good as they could make them.

There’s an MST3K notorious bad 1950s sci-fi movie called Teenagers From Outer Space.  Tom Graef, its writer / producer / director / editor / co-star was a former film student wanting to break into the big time so he made this cheesy movie to the utmost of his ability.

And lordie, it ain’t good…

…but by gawd, he was trying.

The folks who make deliberately bad pastiches of substandard B-movies were always a sore point for Bill Warren.

“The original film makers weren’t trying to make a bad movie!” he’d rave.

So please, don’t do deliberately shoddy work and try to explain it away by calling it a “parody”.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a parody, and everybody in it is aiming for the centerfield fence, turning in A-level performances.

I know it’s fun making models and cobbling together costumes and props and sets from junk, and recruiting friends and family to have fun making a movie, and if your audience is just going to be those friends and family, fine.

But if you want to be seen and appreciated by a wider audience, have some respect for them…and your own abilities as a film maker.

. . .

All of which brings us in a roundabout fashion to The Vast Of Night, a recent ultra-low budget sci-fi film that asks the non-musical question “What would a Twilight Zone mash-up of X-Files and Close Encounters Of The Third Kind look like?”

“Pretty impressive,” is the answer.

Let’s start with the Achilles’ heel of most lo-to-no budget DIY productions:  The cast.

The Vast Of Night enjoys impeccable casting, a;; the way down to the most minor roles.

I can’t stress enough how important this is for small productions.

Actors give you more bounce for your buck than anything else on your budget.  Good actors can make mediocre material bearable, they can bring good material to full blown life.

In The Vast Of Night’s case, the two leads -- Jake Horowitz as Everett, an all night DJ in a tiny late 1950s New Mexico town, and Sierra McCormick as Fay Crocker, the local substitute late night phone operator -- play off each other with delightful on screen chemistry.

No kidding, I’d watch these two characters go grocery shopping for an hour and a half, that’s how well Horowitz and McCormick play off each other.

Next, the story.  Obviously story and screenplay come before casting, but in the final analysis an okay story is far better served by a good cast than a good story by an okay cast.

Screenwriters James Montague and Craig W. Sanger do a good job with their script for The Vast Of Night.  As noted, it’s far from original but is fleshed out with enough distinctive elements to let the cast find plenty to work with.

For aspiring film makers, the script is typically the least expensive part of the process, and if you don’t like your draft you can always chuck it out and start afresh,

Finally, it’s okay to look inexpensive but don’t look cheap.

You can get away with a stark cinema verité style if that’s what the material calls for but you need to keep a consistent style and tone throughout.

A lot of DIY films do themselves a grave disservice by spending a lot of time / energy / money on a prop / costume / special effect that calls undo attention to itself by being so much better than everything surrounding it.

Director Andrew Patterson keeps things stylish while clamping a lid on its budget; this good pre-production planning pays off with a consistency of style and tone that helps keep the audience engaged, their disbelief suspended.

The Vast Of Night is what I refer to as a “minimum basic movie” i.e., the lowest bar you should shoot for with your own film making.

It’s far from a deathless classic, but it’s a fun ride.

And speaking of fun rides…this ramble is o-v-e-r.

  © Buzz Dixon

[sonipanda]

And hello Golden Lady! This is the 1st time I am trying out this brand which I saw all over Amazon, so I am super excited as to how these wear throughout the day! This is another pair which was kindly gifted as a little birthday treat from one of my superb followers.

Now as this is a new brand to the blog, I would like to add a little bit about the background of them before I start my review:

About Golden Lady

“GOLDEN LADY UK Golden Lady UK is a subsidiary company of the Golden Lady Company http://www.goldenlady.com based in Northern Italy. We import quality hosiery and socks from our parent company in Italy for distribution to the UK market. Established 1989, our Head Office and distribution centre is based in Nottingham, where we run our sales and admin operation. Using the finest yarns and Italian flair for design, quality and innovation are our passion and we bring this to the UK market for the most important customer – YOU!

GOLDEN LADY COMPANY Goldenlady is one of the brands of Golden Lady Company, an international industrial group, worldwide leader and key player in design, manufacture and retail of hosiery and underwear. Founded in 1967 in Castiglione delle Stiviere (Italy, Mantua), the Group’s strategy combines a defined Italian style and continuous product diversification, with the opening of new markets through the acquisition of the best national and international brands of hosiery including Philippe Matignon, Filodoro, SiSi and Omsa, as well as the American brands No-Nonsense and Hue. Golden Lady boasts 12 production sites located in Italy, United States and Serbia, with an overall production of 400 million tights per year, distributed in 70 countries worldwide. Golden Lady Company is the market leader in Italian hosiery with a share of 35% and a key player in all major European markets including France, Germany, Spain and England, through its subsidiaries and sales agencies. In the US market, the Golden Lady Company has been able to achieve a dominant role with the brands Hue and No-Nonsense. Golden Lady employs 7,000 workers, of which 2,900 are in Italy. Nerino Grassi is the Chairman of the Group and the headquartered are located in Italy, Castiglione delle Stiviere (Mantova).

DYNAMIC, SENSUAL, PASSIONATE. Women are by nature one step ahead. And as always, at every step they take they can count on a special ally: Golden Lady, the female fashion brand which is, and always was, a point of reference for women all over the world. Golden Lady is always there to enhance women’s sensuality and femininity, without ever forgetting quality. We believe in research and we are constantly looking for new yarns and new technologies, shaping style in new, trendy ways. This innovative spirit, constantly monitoring the evolution of the market and of consumers’ tastes, has helped us become the undisputed leaders of the hosiery market. A constant growth, with higher and higher targets. Yet there’s one thing that never changes in Golden Lady: we are always close to women, by providing innovative, trendy – but at the same time affordable – products. Golden Lady wants to continue expressing a unique style by presenting a strongly personal, recognizable image, immediately noticeable and increasingly able to convey the modern, feminine spirit which has always been Golden Lady’s trademark.”

– taken from their website

The Spec

Colour: Black

Size: 2 – Small

Denier: 40 

Materials: 50% Cotton, 50% Viscose

Price: £5.50

Website: Amazon – Goldenlady Women’s Hold-Up Stockings, 40 DEN

My Outfit

I decided to dress these up a bit, and I felt like doing monochrome (nothing new there) paired with my Timberland heeled boots and oversized jackets. I wanted to be slightly dressy but still keeping it casual.

My Deets

Cami Top: New Look

Skirt: H&M

Oversized Jacket: Zara

Tights: Golden Lady

Choker: Independent Brand

Boots: Timberland

  The Review

From The Website: The tights you will forget you are wearing thanks to the body without central seam. Semi-sheer tights, with the innovative comfortable seamless body, they stay in place, enhance your shape, perfect fit and comfort.

Adjustable waist and comfortable band Leg massaging effect 50% Cotton, 50% Viscose Machine washable – low temperature (30 ° max) Hold-Up Stockings 24MMM

  The Packaging: now this was interesting when I got it out the plastic packaging it came in. My first though:-

“There is so much information on the front and even more on the back about the tights”

Don’t get me wrong, this is certainly not a bad thing as clearly they have so many unique selling points to them that they wish to expand on, and to be honest that made me want to get into them even more. There is so much about them that seem amazing, I literally had to rush through my pictures so I could get these on the legs to try out.

If you check out the bottom 2 images in this section, you will see how short the waist is on this. I swear I am even more intrigued to see what they’re gonna be like on now!

  Getting Them On: I took my time getting these on the legs as I wanted to see how well they roll up. And I gotta say they glided so nicely up without no issues. I thought I would have to push and pull them in places to make sure I get an even finish with no lighter or darker patches on the legs, but I didn’t have to faff around like that.

I am loving these already!

  On The Legs: I have no words…

Okay well I need words to write this review, so let me start off with the denier. Now I do like a good 40 denier when it starts becoming cooler, and I have to say these did my legs some justice. They look so smooth and so gorgeous and they actually help to slim them down slightly too.

The quality of these are spot on. I thought I would end up snagging them at some point, but I can honestly say that I had no issues whatsoever. If anything they were kept looking flawless all day long!

The fit of these are true to size and they were perfect. I had enough stretch for my legs to get good even coverage, but I would recommend going a size up if you’re unsure just so you don’t end up with patches of sheer and opaque on the legs.

The feel of them are so soft. They’re not a horrible rough feel that you can get with some pairs which aren’t nice. These are super soft and really are great. They treated so well all day and I cannot thank them enough to be honest.

One of the best 40 denier pairs I have come across in a long time!

  The Toes & Ankle: the toes have some reinforcement to them, as you can see in some of the images below. It becomes slightly darker around the toes, which isn’t a bad thing as it’s not too noticeable until you look up close.

The toes have plenty of wiggle room to them and can breathe without feeling pressure added on during the day too.  As you can see, it does shade slightly darker around the feet as when you start moving, the tights end up setting themselves into position and this can mean a little more material is covering the feet than the rest of the legs.

Around the ankles, these are a lovely fitted finish with no wrinkles.

  The Waistband & Gusset: I gotta say this waistband is so damn good! This sits a lot lower than tights I have worn before, and it is so comfortable. They are seamless so you won’t get any bumpy lines found anywhere when wear bodycon clothing. The band is nice and thick, and moves with you without you realising you’re wearing one. I gotta say I can rave on and on about these – they are one of the best seamless bands I have come across!

The gusset as you can see is stitched in and is a darker patch of material – once again they made it seamless so it sits all nice and flush against the skin without any raised parts.

    My Thoughts?

Seriously I cannot recommend these enough. I am so glad I got my hands on a pair and had the chance to review them. I will certainly be buying this brand in future and trying out some of their other styles if their 40 denier is this good!

Goldenlady 40D Hold-Up Stocking Tights And hello Golden Lady! This is the 1st time I am trying out this brand which I saw all over Amazon, so I am super excited as to how these wear throughout the day!

[incorrectheartbreakers]

20 things I learned before I turned 69.

By IHB Tom Petty

Tom: According to my birth certificate I'm turning 69 today, which is odd because part of me still feels like 30 while the other part of me feels 149 but my current age (until the clock strikes 12) is actually 68 and it's 2019, people have said that sharing is caring so here's 20 lessons that I've learned.

One: I learned to read contracts carefully.

It was one of life's hardest lessons about being a musician that I have come to learn is reading a contract carefully and understand what everything means. Understand what publishing is, know how much you should be paid to make your record and when in doubt, file for bankruptcy, write a song about it, go on tour to pay for legal fees, don't give into the big business guys, if you're recording a record during this whole ordeal and the court they start to imply that they have the right to come and seize anything you're working on, get someone to switch the names on the master tapes and have them hide it where no one can find them after you get done recording. So if you're asked in court where the tapes are..you don't know. And be sure to have drills to see how fast you can get them out of the studio.

Two: Being a snakecharmer to dogs comes in handy. From carrying treats on you to learn how to read the body language of a dog. Being a dog charmer is quite the catch.

Three: Playing pranks on your kids is the best form of entertainment. When one of your daughter's ex boyfriend's accidentally leaves a pair of his underwear at your house, It's a free for all. Put them on her car, put them in a box, wrap it up and leave it under the Christmas tree for them to open on Christmas morning. It'll be talked about for years and years to come. Trust me.

Four: Payback from your kids is the worst. Sometimes the result of pranking your kids is the worst you could experience. Okay that's a little far fetched but it definitely isn't pleasant. I couldn't tell you how many times AnnaKim bugged me about buttless chaps...all chaps are buttless AnnaKim.

Five: Know the difference between fin and not fun. Being on a tour bus and mooning people while they drive by with your drummer as the rest of the band looks on in shock? Fun. Getting chased by your bassist's cat while your trying to eat because they want your dinner and everyone else is laughing? Not fun. Buying a bunch of hash in a country where it's legal? Fun. Getting pulled out of line while you're trying to get to your flight on time because they found some residue on the pipe your drummer has in his suitcase and then missing rehearsals for a TV  show you're supposed to be on? Not fun. Seeing your bassist eating a whole chunk of hash while customs is questioning said drummer? To be honest I'm not even sure where to put that one. For me? Not fun. For him? Fun. Lighting fireworks on the fourth? Fun. Putting a bunch of bottle rockets next to each other in a straight line and then lighting them all off? Not fun. We almost burned down our old house.

Six: If you're moving, get a U-haul. We would have had way less trips to make between our current house and our old house if we just rented a U-haul.

Seven: Recently, I discovered command tape and Blu-tack, and I would definitely have less holes in my walls if Howie mentioned it sooner. Thank you Howie, thank you command tape. And no this isn't paid advertisement, they're just great products.

Eight: There are times where tough love doesn't work, and you lose the people you care most about because of it and there are times where it does work but that's not always the case.

Nine: Don't get too close to the front of the stage. After getting ripped down the first time I've learned the hard way not to get too close.

Ten: Climbing on top of the roof isn't a good idea either, after we got done doing that episode of incorrect heartbreakers it took almost four hours just to get me down from the roof. We had to call the local fire department.

Eleven: Some modeling clay can be put in the oven while others are not made to be baked all together. Earlier this month Howie wanted to test some random modeling clay he ordered off of Amazon, so he handed me a piece and had me put it in the oven to see if it would bake. Needless to say when I checked on it not even five minutes later it turned into a puddle.

Twelve: Take your driving lessons seriously, back when I took my first driving lesson I didn't take some things the instructor was saying into account. I didn't pass the first five tests. I'm still not good at driving after all of these years either.

Thirteen: Just because you don't think it's a good idea to put a new song on a greatest hits album doesn't mean it won't do well. When the greatest hits album was due I really didn't like the idea of doing it let alone putting new songs on it. But the album sold 12,000,000, was certified 12x platinum in the US and the only single released from it went number 1 on the US Billboard album rock tracks, so what do I know?

Fourteen: Breaking your hand is not a way to resolve things you're struggling with. During the recording process of Southern Accents, I broke my hand out of frustration due to my own fault. I wasn't in the right mind and if I was I probably could have avoided the whole thing.

Fifteen: Fashion is all about playful experimentation. If you don’t look back at pictures of some of your old looks and cringe, you’re doing it wrong. See: Marcus Amphitheater, 2001 and Bridge school benefit, 2002.

Sixteen: Everyone deserves to be treated equally. From a very young age I was always enraged with injustice. As the years went on and I learned more and more I took every chance I got to stand up, voice my opinion and I think every person should.

Seventeen: A very more recent one, always have band-aids on you, in every room possible, in every suitcase and in your pockets in general.

Eighteen: Never judge someone until you talk to them one on one. I took this one from a friend after having a two hour conversation over the phone. You never judge someone until you talk to them one on one.

Nineteen: Love isn't forever, I've had my fair share of breakups and heartaches. But the one thing that I have learned from it all is that love doesn't last forever. People grow apart, feelings change and so do people. And sometimes it's for the better.

Twenty: if you see it bubbling after you get done heating something up, don't touch it. Another recent one as I just made myself my own birthday cake, I decided to put caramel on it and I touched it, thus burning my fingers. At least it tastes good.

Bonus: if the instructions say 3 tablespoons add more, if it looks well still like nothing but powder keep adding what the recipe calls for until it looks right. And if you add too much. Pour some out, it'll be fine. Or add in more flour or mix.

[itsadirtybusiness]

Everyone Just Swipe Left...

Life is a dirty business, death, divorce, diapers, dementia, dysfunction, and dating. Being able to laugh at our existence and all that goes along with it, I believe, is crucial to survival. In my dating world, there is a touch of dishonesty, in that, I don’t know what I’m doing, what I want, or if I want anything. Knowing what I don’t want is much easier to define, it’s easy to find flaws in people, especially if you’re looking for them.

My dating career was interrupted for about thirty years by a couple of marriages. After this hiatus I decided to try out Match.com. Things had changed a lot since I was in college, but I believed that the internet, my maturity level, and my life experiences prepared me for the journey on which I was about to embark, my first of many mistakes. I also believed that I was a strong woman and that I knew what I wanted. I established high level criteria: athletic, intelligent, educated, well-travelled, financially stable and no young children. I submitted my profile and certain that Mr. Right was just a click away, I went to bed hoping for the best.

I’m not a morning person, so waking up to sixteen messages saying, “Good morning beautiful” accompanied by an emoji, anything from a rose to a devil, became the kiss of death for my would-be solicitors. Instead of Cristal in a Waterford flute, my inbox was like a Solo cup filled with Boone’s Farm. My gut reaction was indignance, “LIARS! How dare you call me beautiful! You don’t know me.” I have strong opinions on beauty and number one is that it isn’t determined by flattering images on some app. It’s understanding who I am as a person and how I became the woman I am today. It’s depth of character and a strong understanding of self, and it implies a certain level of intimacy because I’ve opened myself to you, only then will I accept being beautiful as a compliment. Something that you, lame suitor, will now never experience.

A week in and I was already frustrated. I hadn’t even been on a date. “Stick with it.” My friends said. “It just takes time and patience” they said. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so picky” they said. “You have to kiss a lot of frogs” they said. I think they just wanted to hear my stories and validate their own relationships, sighing just a little as they thought, “Thank God it’s you out there and not me.” I bucked up and kept trying until I got a date.

My first and only match ended up being with a guy who didn’t tell me how beautiful I was before we met, but our date was still a disaster. I’ll spare the details of our meeting but as a result one of my friends suggested that dating sites should have some way to “Rate Your Date” like a Yelp review or rating your Uber driver. This could save us serial daters a lot of time and imagine how much better people would act if they knew they going to be reviewed? I think it’s a brilliant idea. The rating would be with hearts rather than stars and of course, plenty of space for comments. I would give a five-heart rating to a man that took me out to dinner, was a great conversationalist, kissed me goodnight and didn’t push the hookup; a man more interested in his phone or getting me into bed, than conversation would earn one heart. Deflated, I realized, if this was what dating had come to, I’d much rather be single. Peace out guys, I deleted my account.

Like Netflix and popcorn seasoned with crack, I couldn’t stay away. Shortly after my vow to remain single, I discovered Bumble, where the woman makes the first move. I set up my profile and a whole new world unfolded before me. I didn’t have to worry about unwelcomed solicitations, and I could pick and choose the guys that were appealing to me. I set the low end of my age range at 40, young, but old enough to have some life experiences under their belts and I topped them out at 65, putting myself squarely in the middle.

My Bumble profile reads:

I love to travel, read, run and play tennis. I am athletic, educated, financially stable and well-travelled. My children are grown with families of their own. I’m looking for someone similar. I love a good IPA and small batch gin. INFJ Vegan. No hook ups please. Trump supporters swipe left. 

Every connection I make gives me fodder for my ever-growing list of flaws. Unfortunately, there is a character limit, or my profile would now include the following:

If you have a girlfriend or you’re married, swipe left. You must be willing to meet, in person, if you just want to sext, have phone or FaceTime sex, swipe left. If you have the inclination to take a picture of your erect penis and send it my way, swipe left. If you think it’s appropriate to call me baby, honey, sweetie, sweetheart or any other cutesy name after one date, swipe left. If you don’t love animals or at least dogs, swipe left. If you think Democrats are trying to take your guns away or that the women of the #metoo movement were simply looking for their fifteen minutes of fame, swipe left. If you’re homophobic, swipe left. If you don’t believe in tipping at least 20% or you treat service staff poorly, swipe left. If you are needy and can’t give me my cherished space and solitude, swipe left. Not a football fan? Swipe left. Ohio State fan? Swipe left. If you don’t know the basics of ordering a cocktail or appetizer at a restaurant, swipe left. If you don’t return your grocery cart to its proper place, swipe left. If you don’t have Amazon Prime, swipe left. If you don’t know what an IPA is, swipe left. If you don’t know what vegan means, Google it or swipe left. If you can’t be bothered to read my profile, swipe left.

This paltry and arrogant attitude of mine led me to believe that men my age were a bit boring. I started matching with younger guys, much younger, like twenty years younger… The young thirty somethings were bold. They weren’t afraid to kiss me without asking first. They made me feel good about myself, but like any drug, the high was fleeting and superficial and I was constantly chasing it. What I crave is depth and meaning. I want to know how you recovered from the loss of your marriage. How you healed, if you even have? How did you tell your children and what did you do to help them cope? What music did you listen to? Did you start any new hobbies or activities? I want to know what makes you vulnerable. But the guys I’m talking to haven’t been married, they don’t have children. So, instead I say, “Oh! You like dogs and IPAs and put mustard on your fries? We have so much in common!” I guess that’s what happens when you date in your children’s age group. But, having a deep conversation with someone my own age is just asking for emotional exposure, I’d have to answer the same questions. I’m not willing to give depth and meaning so why should I expect it? Ghosting is so much easier. I tell myself I’m not being unreasonable; I just want to find a like minded man to hang out with. What I’ve managed to do is alienate most of the male population and probably earn myself a one heart rating. Especially from guys my age.

Finding the humor in all of this makes my failures more bearable. It relieves the pressure and absolves me of responsibility. Every now and then I ask myself what I’m doing with a guy younger than my daughter. I have yet to come up with a right answer. If I’m being honest, I think it’s a bit of a mid-life crisis mixed in with a tad of narcissism and a dash of not wanting to grow up. I also think it keeps me in control. I know that there is no chance of getting seriously involved with a thirty something. They’re safe, even if they are more prone to send a dicpic or request a naked picture than their older counterparts, I can pretend I’m closer in age to a college grad than a retiree. Finding the right guy is going to take a lot of effort. I’ve set near impossible expectations for anyone to meet and I insist on keeping myself impervious. I can talk about how boring men in my own age group are, but the reality is, I shun them out of fear, fear of growing old. They are a reminder of my age, a reminder that I’m on the downside of life, a reminder of my mortality. I’m not ready for that, if you are, swipe left.

[keelywolfe]

Drabble: An Egg-ceptional Day (baon)

Summary:   There was a reason Stretch slept in on Saturdays. The Universe was out to get him. A little nugget of luck doesn’t hurt.

Based off a tumblr post @kiwaid reblogged. It was adorable and I could not resist. ^_^

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Domestic, Fluff, Chickens!!

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it Here!

~~*~~

Usually, the curtains in their bedroom were pulled tightly closed at night. Specifically chosen to be room darkening, because Edge had a thing about making sure Stretch got enough sleep.

Yeah, Stretch had it good and he knew it.

But somehow, last night a quarter inch of fabric didn’t get quite pulled into place (and yeah, Stretch was the one who closed them, no way Edge would’ve missed it), and a sliver of sunshine was creeping through it. That it landed directly on Stretch’s face was the Universe’s way of being funny and Stretch could only grudgingly appreciate its rude sense of humor.

It was way earlier than he normally got up on a Saturday, but he was awake now, may as well give sleep up for a loss. With great reluctance and a groan, Stretch hauled himself out of bed, scratching at his pelvis as he scrounged for something to wear. A pair of shorts and a bathrobe later and he shambled downstairs, thinking wistfully fond thoughts of coffee.

There was a full pot on the burner and a couple of bowls with rising bread dough in them, but no sign of Edge. That wasn’t too worrying, he was probably up to his elbows in some weekend project. Stretch would stumble over him eventually; hell, once he’d done it literally and that’d teach him to scrub the floor behind a door without a warning.

One cup of glorious coffee later, Stretch went outside to check on the girls with a bran muffin in hand. As per protocol, he would pick at it disinterestedly before giving most of it to the chickens. So far, he hadn’t been caught out and he was hoping his luck would hold. Whoever decided to make bran the main ingredient of the deliciousness that should be a muffin had a cruel soul.

Probably the Universe again. It always thought it was funny.

The chickens were clucking loudly the moment he opened the sliding glass door, only getting louder as he approached.

“all right, i’m coming,” Stretch shook his head. “what’s up with you two, anyway, i—“ he trailed off. Two. Two chickens, Noodle and Dumpling were at the gate, clamoring for attention. Nugget was nowhere to be seen.

With trembling hands, Stretch opened the gate, swallowing back panic and gently nudging the other two aside with his slippers as he stepped inside. There was a little food in their trough, which made him frown; Edge didn’t usually feed them, even though he got up earlier. A peek in the coop didn’t reveal a little black chicken, but her leash and harness were also missing from the hook inside the door.

Welp, he was no Sherlock Holmes or even a Scooby Doo, but Stretch figured he had enough clues to solve the mystery of where. Why was still up for grabs, though, so onward he went.

As quests went, this one was pretty short, not lasting past going through the gate to the front yard. Edge was kneeling on the ground, weeding through his garden plots and honestly, anyone who thought Edge was at all scary really needed to see him in his gardening hat.

Next to him, happily pecking at the grass, was Nugget in her harness. Her leash was fastening to the handle of a trowel that was sticking out of the ground, not that she was likely to run away, not from Edge.

Why was it he never had his damn phone in these moments?

Stretch walked up to him, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down the slight protuberance of his nasal cavity at Edge. “you know, you make fun of me when i take her for walks.”

“She’s not being used as model to cadge Instagram upvotes with me,” Edge told him loftily. He tossed a handful of weeds into a basket with a pile of others. “She’s helping me.”

“helping you?” Stretch repeated slowly, tasting the words. “yeah, okay, she’s a highly skilled gardener, i’m sure. a regular johnny appleseed, bet we could find her a set of tools on amazon.”

“It isn’t her garden skills I needed.” Another handful of weeds and Edge wasn’t quite looking at him now. “Many insects are useful in a garden, so long as they don’t consume the plants, but while I was out back weeding the plot there, a multi-legged monstrosity of some sort attacked me. Nugget swooped in and consumed it. Now she’s protecting me from further incidents.”

Okay.

Yeah.

Well, that was only the funniest fucking thing he’d ever heard and Edge was so matter-of-fact about it, Stretch wasn’t entirely sure if he was even serious. That story, told in that completely flat tone? Edge was a surprisingly skilled bullshit artist when it came to the ridiculous; it was the serious shit he had trouble lying about.

But, oh, he could picture it. His big, tough Underfell hubby, shrieking and scrambling away from certain insect destruction, only to be rescued by a little chicken who gulped down the offender with a crow of delight. It was like Godzilla getting rescued by Raymond Burr.

He didn’t know if the universe was cruel to let him know what he missed, or kind enough to wake him to discover that it happened at all, because if he hadn’t caught Nugget on duty, the chances of Edge bringing that up over sandwiches at lunch ranked right up there with Edge signing them up for line dancing classes.

Cruel or kind, hm. Both. It was probably both.

While he was wrapping his mind around that, Edge paused in his weeding to give Nugget a scritch. She crooned in ecstasy as her favorite person gave her her due, leaning into his hand and Stretch couldn’t even be jealous.

Okay, maybe a little.

If they were in a cartoon, the lightbulb going on over his head would have glowed even in the bright sunshine, “oh! hang on, stay here!”

Stretch dashed into the house, bathrobe flapping, down to the basement where he kept his box of little outfits he’d made for the ladies over the last year. It took him a moment of digging through the disorganized clutter but soon he held up the little apron he found triumphantly.

One sharpie later, and he was back outside, carefully tying on the apron over the harness. Nugget only stood there, patiently allowing it; she’d always been the best at indulging his whims. In no time she stood before them with her new uniform declaring, ‘Guard Chicken On Duty.’

Edge shook his head, “It’s my fault, I suppose, for allowing you to think you’re funny all this time.”

“i’ll have you know i am hilarious,” Stretch told him haughtily. “thousands of twitter users can’t be wrong.”

“Remind me never to tell you about the Humans who think the earth is flat,” Edge said dryly, but he was trying not to smile and on him that was as a good as a belly laugh.

Stretch pulled out his phone, quickly grabbed because like hell was he missing another photo opportunity. “c’mon, get your feet in the picture!”

His sigh was long-suffering, but seriously, this wasn’t even on the top ten list of worst things he’d done for Stretch. The pic of his grubby gardening shoes with a chicken attacking the toes was on Instagram and Twitter in no time and the likes were pouring in immediately.

“Can I finish now?” Edge asked, in that sweety-sweety polite voice he got when he was being an ass. It was in the top three tones that Stretch loved on him, handily beaten out by ‘hoarse sultry’ and ‘captain command’. Top three wasn’t bad to start the day on.

“yep,” Stretch told him absently, fingers tapping furiously over his phone.

“And don’t start feeding her that bran muffin you have in your pocket yet, I need her hungry.”

“sure, babe…ah,” Stretch cringed guiltily. “um…sorry?”

Edge only hummed and his eye lights were amused. “If you’d prefer another flavor, you can ask, love.”

“please,” Stretch said immediately, because the Universe smiled upon him this day. “anything but bran. kale muffins would be better.”

“I don’t believe I’ll put that to the test, but there are blueberry ones in the pant—“ The words were smothered beneath Stretch’s quick, sloppy kiss and then he was gone, headed back into the house for his sweet, sweet breakfast.

Okay, so maybe the universe was giving him a little bit of a pass today. Missed the exceptional funny but gained the blueberry muffins.

Fair trade.

-finis-

[theonyxpath]

LESS THAN THREE DAYS LEFT FOR THE V5 CULTS OF THE BLOOD GODS KICKSTARTER!

It is, in fact, doing fantastic, with over 2200 backers so far. The comments section, knock wood, has been overwhelmingly positive and energized – which really encourages our team to pop in and answer questions and chat a bit.

So, come over and check it out and as a backer you can check out the text that we’ve released to backers so far. Which is most of it. If you disagree with those 2200 other backers and dislike it, you can bail out before the KS is over. No harm, no foul.

We want our backers to be into the project, and totally understand when some folks don’t dig it. Not every project appeals to every potential backer. It’s why we set up our KSs this way, now. https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/200664283/cults-of-the-blood-gods-for-vampire-the-masquerade-5th-ed

Most of last week was spent at Mid Winter Convention in a gathering of almost the entire Monday Meeting crew plus dozens of freelancers. And a wonderful group of friends and fans, too. We started with:

THE SUMMIT

This was a day long – well half a day, it took us 12 hours – meeting where we took a look back at 2019, and then mostly looked at our plans for ongoing projects and how we could evolve our processes.

Then we spent the second half of the day looking at how we wanted Onyx Path to grow throughout 2020. What works for us and so should be nurtured and fed with love and effort and money.

If we felt something was no longer working, we didn’t just trash it, we looked at ways to change it or replace it so that our original goal for it was more likely to be met.

It was loud and long and lively, and ultimately we filled three walls with Post-Its filled with our ideas. We’re already working on some of the changes, with more to come of our efforts all through 2020 (and beyond).

Then it was time for dinner, and normally in Milwaukee we’d go to the traditional German restaurant Maders (a tradition going all the way back to when White Wolf ate there during Gen-Con), but then this happened:

I cry at the door to Maders: temporarily closed for renovation.

So we all ate at a different restaurant, which was perfectly nice, but not steeped in tradition. Sob! Later that night, I joined with our amazing Onyx Pathcast hosts (Dixie, Matthew, and Eddy) for a very silly Pathcast recording that went live last Friday. You can find that on Podbean, or on your favorite podcast venue.

Matthew, Eddy, and Dixie “enjoying” their favorite Mario pastime!

From there on in, we were attending the convention. So:

THE MID WINTER CONVENTION

Here is a run-down with a whole lot of pics taken throughout, as were the earlier ones, by the multi-talented Meredith Gerber.

Eddy’s Developer Bootcamp.

Thursday was set-up for the booth and some professional seminars and panels designed to help freelancers and aspiring creators with tips on such things as running a Kickstarter (Mighty Matt McElroy, Meredith, and I were that panel), to networking, to Eddy’s Developer Bootcamp where he divides attendees into teams, has them come up with a game concept, and walks them through each stage of creation.

My favorite idea was a game where a cyber-pug is created in parts, with each cyber-part containing one bit of what I believe was an exploded pug’s body. I heard about it second-hand, so I might not be grasping the full nuanced concept.

Friday, for us, was important. This was the day of our Onyx Path Q&A Social, which is a small gathering in a boardroom at the hotel, with snacks and drinks. We’ve found that this works better for us than the traditional panel at this convention.

Onyx Path Q&A Social 2020

I explain some minor, inconsequential, point while the gang wait to announce new releases.

Matt reminds us to announce Trinity Continuum: Adventure!, TC: Assassins, They Came From Beyond the Grave!, and The Hedge for CtL2e.

Naeall Raemonn Pricae makes a point – potentially about Scion, Exalted Essence, or Trinity Continuum: Assassins. Or something that applies to all three at once.

Eddy also makes a point – in an elegant and thought-provoking manner.

That was our big group event, but individually everybody still had events they were a part of. In fact, right after the Q&A, Matthew demo’d They Came From Beneath the Sea!. Which I didn’t know about until I heard gales of laughter from the demo area and popped my head in to see what the jocularity was all about.

It turns out the group was menaced by Commie Seaweed!

But with a clever use of improvised Quip and Cinematics cards…

…the day is saved by, well, getting the sinister seaweed stoned!

Besides They Came From Beneath the Sea!, we had other games of ours being demoed throughout the convention, including Eddy playing Pugmire (big surprise, I know), and at least one more panel – which was for V5 Chicago By Night.

Incidentally, mentioning V5 reminds me that not only do we have the Cults KS finishing up, but our friends over at Modiphius still have the pre-order open for Fall of London for Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition! You can do that whole pre-order thing for the physical book over there on their website, and get a link for the PDF right away!

But, besides helping out our fellow V5 content creators with a plug, here are some pics of Eddy playing Pugmire, and then the V5 Chicago By Night creators at their panel:

Eddy demos Pugmire, the very best doggy game in the world!

The V5 Chicago By Night creators no doubt revealing some scary and mysterious bit of lore from the book!

The Chicago panelists and creators: Crystal Mazur, Matthew “The Gentleman Tongue” Dawkins, Mike Tomasek, and Eddy Webb.

And so, to end our little visual tour of our adventures at Mid Winter in Milwaukee, here is a gorgeous picture taken once again by Meredith Gerber, of Matthew and I in a moment of downtime in our habitual haunt, the Monarch Lounge in the hotel:

Lords of the Night, indeed!

Check us out next week, after we’ve fully recovered – we hope! We’ll have lots more talk about our:

Many Worlds, One Path!

BLURBS!

Kickstarter!

V5 Cults of the Blood Gods is in its last few days! Thanks to all of you, the kickstarter has passed $131,000 and 2240 backers, and has trumpeted forward passing through Stretch Goal after Stretch Goal right into the new year!

Next on Kickstarter, we are looking at Hunter: The Vigil 2nd Edition for Chronicles of Darkness!

Onyx Path Media!

This Friday’s Onyx Pathcast is an in-depth roundtable on the Trinity Continuum with Danielle Lauzon and Ian Watson from the MidWinter Convention in Milwaukee! Check it out direct on Podbean, or your favorite podcast venue! https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/

An abbreviated profile of media this week, as Matthew has only just got back from the States and is a little tired.

We’ve a busy week ahead of us on Twitch with Vampire: The Masquerade, Chronicles of Darkness, Pugmire, Aberrant, Changeling: The Lost, Hunter: The Vigil, Changeling: The Dreaming, Scarred Lands and Blood City’s Chicago by Night!

As ever, tune in to twitch.tv/theonyxpath to watch these shows live and subscribe to the channel!

Our YouTube channel will start boosting its content again this week, with more Scion, Pugmire, Scarred Lands, Aberrant, Vampire and more!

Find our YouTube channel on youtube.com/user/theonyxpath and as with Twitch, click subscribe! An Onyx Path News is coming this week!

Here’s Occultists Anonymous‘ latest fantastic Mage: The Awakening shows:

Episode 72: From The Ashes Before heading to the Yucatan, Atratus visits the soul fragment of a mage in an Atlantean soul stone. The cabal then heads down to Mexico and begins to investigate the ancient pyramid.https://youtu.be/NylE4FsuYfs

Episode 73: This Isn’t Kansas The cabal investigates the portal atop the Pyramid of the Magician, for beyond it lies another world, and perhaps a clue to the grimoire they are searching for. Wyrd has spotted what seems to be a living Mayan civilization beyond the portal, but what really is out there?https://youtu.be/CETbEGEbrUU

The Story Told Podcast have recently interviewed Onyx Path mainstay Vera Vartanian on the subject of Exalted right here: http://thestorytold.libsyn.com/episode-44-exalted-dragon-blooded-great-houses-part-1-with-vera-vartanian

Red Moon Roleplaying have posted the final episode of The Sacrifice for V5 Chicago by Night, run by the excellent Klara Herbol, but as well, they’re still posting episodes of V5 Cults of the Blood Gods and Changeling: The Lost! Find their content on YouTube, Spotify, or redmoonroleplaying.com

Drop Matthew a message via the contact button on matthewdawkins.com if you have actual plays, reviews, or game overviews you want us to profile on the blog!

Please check any of these out and let us know if you find or produce any actual plays of our games!

Electronic Gaming!

As we find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is awesome! (Seriously, you need to roll 100 dice for Exalted? This app has you covered.)

On Amazon and Barnes & Noble!

You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).

If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue from which you bought it. Reviews really, really help us get folks interested in our amazing fiction!

Our selection includes these latest fiction books:

Our Sales Partners!

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire and Monarchies of Mau out into stores, as well as to individuals through their online store. You can pick up the traditionally printed main book, the screen, and the official Pugmire dice through our friends there! https://studio2publishing.com/search?q=pugmire

We’ve added Prince’s Gambit to our Studio2 catalog: https://studio2publishing.com/products/prince-s-gambit-card-game

Now, we’ve added Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition products to Studio2‘s store! See them here: https://studio2publishing.com/collections/all-products/changeling-the-lost

Scarred Lands (Pathfinder) books are also on sale at Studio2, and they have the 5e version, supplements, and dice as well!: https://studio2publishing.com/collections/scarred-lands

Scion 2e books and other products are available now at Studio2: https://studio2publishing.com/blogs/new-releases/scion-second-edition-book-one-origin-now-available-at-your-local-retailer-or-online

Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Try this link! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Onyx-Path-Publishing/

And you can order Pugmire, Monarchies of Mau, Cavaliers of Mars, and Changeling: The Lost 2e at the same link! And NOW Scion Origin and Scion Hero are available to order!

One more week: DTRPG and its affiliated Community Content sites are running the New Year, New Game sale! A huge number of our PDFs are on sale from all of our game worlds, as well as a Big Scion 2e Bundle with 4 PDFs being offered for $13! https://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/299474/NYNG-Scion-2E-BUNDLE

As always, you can find Onyx Path’s titles at DriveThruRPG.com!

On Sale This Week!

This Wednesday, we will be releasing the PDF and physical book PoD versions of M20 Book of the Fallen on DTRPG!

This book deals with extremely disturbing and mature topics as it examines evil within the World of Darkness, and in Mage: The Ascension, in particular. Please be aware of this before making your order.

Conventions!

More conventions will be listed for 2020 in the weeks to come-

And now, the new project status updates!

DEVELOPMENT STATUS FROM EDDY WEBB (projects in bold have changed status since last week):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep)

Exalted Essay Collection (Exalted)

N!ternational Wrestling Entertainment (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Contagion Chronicle Ready-Made Characters (Chronicles of Darkness)

Trinity Continuum: Adventure! core (Trinity Continuum: Adventure!)

Duke Rollo fiction (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

TC: Aberrant Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

RUST (Working Title) (Scarred Lands)

Under Alien Suns (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Mission Statements (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Redlines

Kith and Kin (Changeling: The Lost 2e)

Dragon-Blooded Novella #2 (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Many-Faced Strangers – Lunars Companion (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Second Draft

M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Exigents (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Crucible of Legends (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Development

Heirs to the Shogunate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

TC: Aberrant Reference Screen (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Monsters of the Deep (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Scion: Demigod (Scion 2nd Edition)

Tales of Aquatic Terror (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Across the Eight Directions (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Contagion Chronicle: Global Outbreaks (Chronicles of Darkness)

Contagion Chronicle Jumpstart (Chronicles of Darkness)

Manuscript Approval

Scion: Dragon (Scion 2nd Edition)

Masks of the Mythos (Scion 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum Core)

Player’s Guide to the Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)

Post-Approval Development

Scion LARP Rules (Scion)

Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition core rulebook (Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition)

Titanomachy (Scion 2nd Edition)

One Foot in the Grave Jumpstart (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2e)

Editing

Lunars: Fangs at the Gate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Geist 2e Fiction Anthology (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition)

Dragon-Blooded Novella #1 (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Legendlore core book (Legendlore)

WoD Ghost Hunters (World of Darkness)

Mythical Denizens (Creatures of the World Bestiary) (Scion 2nd Edition)

Pirates of Pugmire KS-Added Adventure (Realms of Pugmire)

Yugman’s Guide to Ghelspad (Scarred Lands)

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant core (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Terra Firma (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

Lunars Novella (Rosenberg) (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Buried Bones: Creating in the Realms of Pugmire (Realms of Pugmire)

Post-Editing Development

TC: Aeon Ready-Made Characters (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Night Horrors: Nameless and Accursed (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

City of the Towered Tombs (Cavaliers of Mars)

W20 Shattered Dreams Gift Cards (Werewolf: The Apocalypse 20th)

TC: Aeon Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Vigil Watch (Scarred Lands)

Scion Companion: Mysteries of the World (Scion 2nd Edition)

Cults of the Blood Gods (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Wraith20 Fiction Anthology (Wraith: The Oblivion 20th Anniversary Edition)

Hunter: The Vigil 2e core (Hunter: The Vigil 2nd Edition)

Let the Streets Run Red (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

M20 The Technocracy Reloaded (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Indexing

ART DIRECTION FROM MIKE CHANEY!

In Art Direction

Contagion Chronicle – Last of finals coming in.

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant

Hunter: The Vigil 2e

Ex3 Lunars – Art is in.

TCfBtS!: Heroic Land Dwellers – LeBlanc working on finals.

Night Horrors: Nameless and Accursed – Finals starting to come in this week.

Cults of the Blood God (KS)

Mummy 2

City of the Towered Tombs

Let the Streets Run Red – Art notes and contracts finishing going out this week.

CtL Oak Ash and Thorn – Figuring out art notes.

Scion Mythical Denizens – Need sketches for fulls.

Deviant

Yugman’s Guide to Ghelspad – Finals all coming in.

Vigil Watch – Need one more artist.

Legendlore (KS) – Starting to gather art needs for KS.

Technocracy Reloaded (KS) – Artwork for KS in progress.

Scion Companion – Working on art notes for that.

TC: Aeon Terra Firma

In Layout

Trinity Continuum Aeon: Distant Worlds

Pirates of Pugmire – With Aileen.

Wraith20 Anthology – First Proof.

Proofing

Dark Eras 2 – Backer PDF going out to backers this week.

Trinity Continuum Aeon Jumpstart

They Came from Beneath the Sea! – Backer PDF almost ready to send to backers.

VtR Spilled Blood – 2nd proof with dev.

Chicago Folio – First proof.

At Press

V5: Chicago – Shipping labels for backers being created, should start shipping rewards soon.

Geist 2e (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition) – Shipping to fulfillment shippers.

Geist 2e Screen – Being printed.

DR:E – Shipping to fulfillment shippers.

DRE Screen – Being printed.

DR:E Threat Guide – Helnau’s Guide to Wasteland Beasties

Memento Mori – Awaiting errata for input.

M20 Book of the Fallen – PDF and PoD version go live on Wednesday on DTRPG!

Today’s Reason to Celebrate!

Almost our entire Monday Meeting crew made it to Milwaukee and back safely, and had a great and productive time at our Summit and the convention. I got stuck for a while in Milwaukee’s airport with a delayed plane, and Ian had a bunch of flights cancelled out from under him, but we’re all home now. Which is, for us, a pretty great trip!

[just-a-catcher-in-the-rye]

Primeiro dias em Brasil

A lot has happened so I’m just going to tell you about the highlights. I left home on 18 July and when to Chicago to see my family of the United States and take a plane to Sao Paulo. Everything was fine except that my flight kept getting delayed until I finally had to rebook a flight from Sao Paulo to Chapeco. The thing that was nerve wrecking was that I had to get my boarding pass printed in Sao Paulo. I thought this would be no big deal because I was told that airport workers in Brazil would speak English. I think I found a total of four people who spoke English, and I talked to a lot of people. I was not prepared for the small differences in the Brazilian airport, so I walked around confused for a bit, but I figured it out with some basic Portuguese and strategic pointing.

I got to Chapeco and my family was waiting for me with a sign with my face on it. We went home (was a two-and-a-half-hour drive), and I was shown my room. They had a mat with my face printed out on it, a towel with my name in between an American and Brazilian flag. They had also gotten me a bunch of Brazilian sanitary stuff (toothpaste, lotion, deodorant, etc.). I took a shower and used my personalized towel. When I got out dinner was ready. My mamai had cooked an Italian dish (my family is Italian, so we eat more Italian food than Brazilian food) called sopa de leite. After that we watched tv and I went to bed.

The next day I woke up and organized my room. Then my papai picked us up and took my sister and I to his restaurant/café. I made my first two friends there (they are really my cousins, but I count it). I ate so many new foods for lunch! I tried Brazilian coffee and it was good but very strong. Their coffee is so strong that they drink it in tiny cups (picture to come) and it has as much kick in that little cup as a grande frappe at Starbucks. One of my cousins invited me to a birthday/housewarming party for her friend. Me, my sister, and cousins went shopping for a gift, and then went to the party. I met so many new friends at the party and the birthday girls house had a great view of the city skyline. Everyone was super interested in talking to me at the party. It was weird to be the center of attention, and I didn’t even mind it. I thought that I would be super nervous in Brazil, but I’m actually calmer here than was in the US. I ate so much good food at the party. I can’t remember the names of the food but I ate something shaped like a teardrop with chicken inside, a strawberry covered in some cream and chocolate, a soft fudge ball thing that’s traditional to Brazil, a sweet milk ball that I think was called dolce de leite (sweet milk), and an amazing “soda” made out of a fruit found only in the Amazon. I also learned a Brazilian tradition. When there is a party thrown for someone and they receive presents they have to guess what’s inside the packages, and if they get it wrong the sender of the present gets to paint on the receiver’s face (picture with birthday girl to come). They birthday girl told me to come by anytime and we could hang out and exchange language knowledge. After the party my sister and I went home and then went to a church dinner thing. The food was great!

The next day (Sunday), my family and I went on a six kilometer (about 3.7 miles) walk in the morning, and they showed me the two cities that I will live in. Then we walked to the supermarket and went shopping while papai got the car. We even got abacaxi (pineapple). Then we went to Grandma’s house where she, my uncle, and two cousins live. I tried a drink with herbs and hot water while I waited. The drink is special to southern Brazil and is always drank in a special cup. When the food was done cooking we all sat down and ate. They drink straight lemon juice in Brazil! We had that to drink with lunch, and they put packets of sugar by my drink, but I wanted to be like everyone else, so I didn’t use the sugar. There was so much food and I tried everything and liked it, but everybody kept offering me more food! Later we went to a farm where the friends of my mamai and papai live and ate snacks. When we got home my mamai cooked more food. After dinner I helped my mamai with English and she helped me with Portuguese.

Monday morning my mamai, sister, and I went to the gym of the lady who lives on the farm. In this gym each person had their own personal trainer. Luckily, my sister and I were able to stay together. Our trainer went on his own exchange in high school to the US. Everyone at the gym wanted to talk to me, and I was just trying to breath haha. Another weird thing about that gym was that you don’t stretch on your own. Your personal trainer stretches you. Super weird! Of course, they are Brazilian, so the same boundaries don’t apply (i.e. inner thighs, hips, butt, etc.). I was pretty calm about the whole thing. Then he has me get off the ground and sit on a cube chair and massages my back, neck, arms, and shoulders. This is the point in the conversation where he chooses to ask me if I’m comfortable with the whole Brazilian touchy thing. At this point I’m just relieved that I’m not having my legs stretched apart by a total stranger while he asks me about Illinois is what I was thinking. That’s not what I said though. I just said that I’m getting used to it. After the gym we go home, and I eat breakfast and shower and then our papai picks my sister and I up to go to his restaurant/café. We wait there for Amanda’s friends to show up and then we all go get acai. I tried to order my own, but I was too confused, so my sister ordered one for me. After we finished, we went to the park and walked around for a while, and then we parted ways. When we got home my mamai cooked seeds from a tree that she said was extinct. Her English isn’t good, so I don’t know if that is what she actually meant, but my sister speaks really good English and didn’t correct her. In the evening I went to the supermarket with my mamai, sister, and grandma. I like my grandma, but I don’t understand anything she says, so I just smile and nod.

*Side notes*

·         My family is Italian, so they are stricter about being on time than other people in Brazil

·         We eat mostly Italian food

·         My district is super strict about not going to parties (bummer)

·         School starts on the 29th

·         It is considered unclean to not wear shoes in the house

·         I’m going to my first Rotary meeting today

·         I only have to go to that weird gym one more time and then we’re switching gyms (don’t know why)

·         I don’t know what is happening or where I’m going 98% of the time. I just follow my sister

·         I feel like I get looked at/leered at a lot more here

·         I’ve learned some more Portuguese

·         Since I came to Brazil super early I get to meet my second host sister who will be in Belgium when I live at her house

·         My mamai is a dentist and I want her to like me, so I’ve started flossing

·         A guy that goes to the church of my family and the weird gym tried to talk to me Monday at the gym but he speaks absolutely no English, and I speak barely any Portuguese so we had no idea what the other was saying so we gave up, but for today he learned how to say “hi”, “you look beautiful today”, and “good job” in English haha

·         Fruit is super big here

·         Lastly, I am never eating another avocado without honey! Seriously guys, try it!

toothpaste my mamai got for me. It’s yellow and tastes like tuttie-fruttie gum

Sao Paulo

Sao Paulo

Joacaba (view from apartment roof)

Seeds from a possibly extinct tree

The sign they were holding at the airport

A mat they had printed out in my room

Chicken hearts. I’ve eaten them every day for lunch. I just found out what they are today

At the farm

Those are mountains in the back!

Herb drink in southern Brazil

My family and I at Chapeco 

Me trying to explain to another outbound to Brazil what it’s like to be here. She leaves 4 August!

[qqueenofhades]

hello! i have a half formed idea for a book (based off of a really shitty fic i wrote oops gonna delete that and scrap the good parts into something new) but i was wondering if you had any advice for actually writing a book? i know you've written a couple books, and your fics tend to be multiple chapters, and i can't seem to stay inspired beyond a couple chapters! thank you so much :D

Oh dear. I have done various writing advice asks in the past, but who knows what they were tagged. I suppose you could search in the stygian depths of my blog if you really wanted, and see if anything you found there was useful?

As far as advice, I feel like I’m a shitty person to ask in this department because my own process is so unhelpful. I have idea, I start writing idea, I think about idea obsessively, realise I have a problem, work problem out, eventually book is done, ta-da. I then edit and tinker with things, but the first draft is still pretty close in shape/structure to the final version. Some people write different scenes and then place them in the correct order, but I can’t think of a time I’ve really written anything out of order/non-sequentially. I feel like I can’t write a scene without having already written what comes before, and while I can change details and edit sentences and so forth, I don’t normally change major plot beats/emotional reactions/twists/etc. I also don’t outline things or make any exterior diagrams or so forth, although some people find this helpful. If you’re the kind of person who likes to map your story out on paper beforehand (or think that it might help you to stay motivated if you can see it/have a checklist), then give this a try.

Once again, I feel like I’m being stupendously unhelpful, but my advice when anyone asks how to write a book is “well, write a book then.” I tend to think in long-form projects (as evidenced by my many fics) and the nice thing about fic is that you have as much space/word count as you need to tell the story in as much detail as you want. If you’re thinking about this actually being a book, you may have to be more ruthless, but you can also use e-publishing platforms like Amazon or Smashwords and so forth, and still have it as long as you like.

On that note, you’ll have to find someone to read over your work/edit it, especially if it’s something you’re not confident in doing yourself. I proofread and edit all my own stuff, but then, I’ve been doing this for many years and am an academic and used to catching small and fussy details. Even then, it can look different when I see it on a page/read it in hard copy with a pen in hand, and I see things that I don’t see on the screen because it has gotten so very familiar to me. Asking a friend to edit your stuff can be dicey, and I don’t recommend it unless you know this is someone who can definitely make your work better and knows what to look for and will be kind about feeding it back to you. 

As someone who has sat through many ego-shredding rounds of more or less constructive criticism on many things, I can sympathise about it not being fun at all (but at least I know how to take it). You can share your stuff with someone beforehand if you want, but you don’t have to. Once you have something that is some kind of coherent draft, however, it does benefit to have a second pair of eyes on it somehow. Even if it’s a “can you read this and tell me what you think” kind of way, and again with someone who fairly represents a general reader and can give you their take on what they got out of the story, if the plot was satisfying, if the character arcs resolved, etc. I know the most terrifying thought about writing is always the thought of being Known/showing it to someone else, but really, there is no way around it in the professional creative process. Write something that you yourself want to read, but that does imply readers.

If you’re writing about sensitive subjects or things that could upset people, by all means, do your homework . Google is free and easily available, there are plenty of resources to be sure that you’re doing a good job. Obviously you do have some degree of artistic license, but that involves you doing your due diligence and understanding that people will react to it in a certain way if it hasn’t been. I am (big surprise, as an academic) a fan of research in general. I think it helps to set the scene and to evoke details and to immerse the audience in what they are supposed to be tasting/seeing/smelling/feeling/etc. The fun of well-written fiction, in my mind, is to escape to somewhere comprehensively and to know what the characters are experiencing and to be able to picture it vividly. 

That is why I tend to be a ho for detail and description in my own stuff, because I am always extremely curious about it. I always do a lot of world-building just because I like to do it, and because if you have plot points/developments/etc that might seem a little far-fetched, it’s easier for your audience to buy it if you look like you know what you’re doing and have thought of loopholes/objections/etc, and that this is taking place in a fully realised and objectively consistent universe that exists outside the basic demands of plot (and don’t change the rules to get your characters out of trouble). If you have to change the characters’ personalities/artificially put things off/your whole plot could be solved in five minutes if they talked to each other, you probably need to do a little more work. Audiences will be patient, but they will also figure things out, and if there is an obvious solution that you’re just not addressing, they’ll get frustrated. But yes.

Also: humor. I can’t read books or stories that take themselves TOO seriously. Especially if you have a lot of angst or drama or plot (as I tend to do), you need to throw in some comic relief and/or wit or other things to leaven the brew. If you can tell that the author is willing to poke fun at themselves and their own characters (we’ve all encountered that piece of media where the lead character Cannot Be Criticized By Anyone even while they’re being an idiot and is clearly a projection of the author’s egoism/how great they think they are), that is usually a hallmark of a good story and someone that knows what they’re doing, and I really do stand by that. If it’s pretentious and trying to make a Point, it’s just not that enjoyable. This is a hellworld. We need some escapism and ridiculousness with our adventures and our drama. So yes.

Good endings, basically. Don’t put your characters/readers through so much and then nope out of a satisfying resolution because Gritty Realism (think why everyone hated the final season/ending of Game of Thrones). You can, but.... again, it’s not something I personally like, and people seem tired of it in general. An ending does not have to be a Disney happy ever after, but it shouldn’t make a reader feel like a sucker for emotionally engaging with your story, and should have some kind of payoff for having done so.

(Also. Whenever possible, make it more gay. I mean, who said that.)

Anyway. Last but not least, have fun. If you’re writing something you enjoy and take pride in, that will transfer, and I always think that is worth the most.