#VERY GRATEFUL for scripts and voicemails

[strifetime]

Only the Weather and Climate livestream would make me join a Tumblr community 😂

[adultswim2021]

Space Ghost Week

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #61: “Cahill” | August 28, 1998 | S05E04

Thank god for my Space Ghost Coast to Coast Volume 4 DVD. I bought you for a song back in 2007, and you’re not just a potential source for 200 dollars on eBay for me. You are also slightly more convenient to throw on than torrenting the episode and putting it on my Plex server is. 

Yet another episode with a “Waiting” title card and a cold open in the commissary. Shaking my damn-ass head. I really dislike this cold open. Space Ghost utters the line “Storm’s a ‘comin’” which is a perfectly fine way to set up this episode where a storm does indeed a come. But the rest of it is wacky non-sequiturs, like Moltar talking about eating Jello, and a cut away from the theme song to Space Ghost saying “I got a monkey”. Honestly, “I got a monkey” is a strong contender for least-favorite moment in the entire series. It’s especially childish and grating to me.

Speaking of writing, this one has three writers credited: Mike Lazzo, Ben Karlin (who wrote a small handful of previous episodes), and Brian Posehn from Mr. Show. I misremembered this being solely credited to Posehn. Brian is a lovely guy, so I’m glad that we can all pretend he didn’t write the stuff I didn’t like.

I do like this episode, I promise, but it’s far from a favorite. It’s a fairly normal episode, except there’s a running joke that Space Ghost is extremely afraid of lightning while an intimidating and gloomy storm breaks out. That whole element makes the episode a nice mood piece, and adds legitimate production value and humor to the show. It’s one of those things that makes Space Ghost be Space Ghost.

Space Ghost attempts to interview absolute legend Garret Morris, who is fucking hilarious in this. He might be the only original SNL cast member that got funnier with age. Dying of drugs, dying of cancer, sexually assaulting a young woman on a movie set while ironically observing Covid-19 protocols, selling vodka in a glass skull, screaming at Dan Harmon via voicemail, primarily doing voice work, and Kate & Allie are all funny in their own ways, I suppose. But Morris is one charming mother fucker and he out-charms all those bozos. Even George Coe. Even Don Novello!

Meanwhile, Moltar has meteorologist NOT AL ROKER, I’M NOT RACIST AND KNEW RIGHT AWAY THAT IT WASN’T HIM, I mean, Mark McEwen in his control room. Space Ghost is too scared of the lightening and forgets about him, basically, but Moltar has a great time with him. They have an awkward chemistry. Moltar seems like he has a bit of a man-crush on him. It’s cute stuff. Sample dialogue: 

Moltar: I would never blame you. Mark McEwen (doing an Elvis impression): Thank you very much big guy. Moltar: I’m totally serious. (awkward silence)

Speaking of Moltar being cute: there is a line in this where Moltar is reading meteorology jargon from a book and sorta fumbling over the words “Microinductor dyloptiloid” it and then sardonically adds “not a word I use everyday”. I’m genuinely not sure if that’s a written joke or if they are honoring their tradition of including improv and outtakes as if it’s written dialogue. In a script it would stick out, but it does feel like one of those moments even if it’s not. Another moment, where Space Ghost says “Is there anything more funny than somebody just drastically white trying to speak colloquial hood?” also feels blurry to me. It seems like some stock thing George Lowe would say as an actual conversation starter that was captured while he was going off-book.

One of the lesser episodes of the season, but goddamn there’s some good stuff in it.

MAIL BAG

hey kimosabe. the lewis lectures still rock my world. Any chance of bringing those dogs out of the kennel now that lazzo is gone?

Um... (theatrically) don’t look at me!

from prince-moth-mothy-moth-moth:

just found out about your page as i'm rewatching sgc2c, literally in the middle of season 5 right now, ha! looking forward to seeing your thoughts on Cahill, feels like one they had a lot of fun making

Garret Morris’ interview must’ve been so great to conduct. They must’ve been aware that they were capturing lightning that day. I hope my relatively lukewarm review didn’t disappoint too bad.

also from: prince-moth-mothy-moth-moth 

also im guessing you'll probably cover Dinner With Steven at the end of the 98 episodes?

Wasn’t planning on that in particular! Seemed like a thing to watch in preperation for covering “Snatch” next season. But I might change my mind. Generally I don’t sweat covering the Space Ghost ephemera too much because when I do Space Ghost Week it’s on an accelerated schedule. But more and more I’ve been thinking how there should be a concentrated effort to preserve all that stuff in some kind of shareable archive. At the very least I should start a spreadsheet.

[oliviastan17]

Just a dream (4/7)

Warnings: 18+, fluff, shit ton of angst (it’s no fun when everything goes smoothly), smut, language, 

Length: 3.4k

A/N: This starts off when you get back from being in New York with Seb in Part 3. Two dreams combined into one story because I’m not mean and didn’t want to leave you with a cliff hanger. You’re welcome. DO NOT POST ON ANY OTHER WEBSITE! Feel free to reblog.

“Hey!” Chris said as you walked into the office building of the company producing his next project.

“Woah, what happened to you?” he asked after taking in your appearance. You were wearing black leggings with a baggy sweatshirt and running shoes. Your hair was up in a pony tail on top of your head and there were bags under your eyes.

“Long night. Can we make this quick?” you asked as you rubbed your temple with your hand.

He nodded looking concerned. He walked you down the hall and into a room with large rectangle table and 15 or so people looking through piles of paper.

Production meetings are the worst. This was the one thing you hated about your job. Why can’t you just be given a script so you can start ordering and searching for props? If you have questions, you’ll call and ask. Instead you are going to be stuck in this room with these people for hours going on almost no sleep.

You start mindlessly reading through the script as you drown out the voices in the room. After making small notations in the script whenever you did hear anything of value, which was few and far between, you checked the time and quietly cursed to yourself. It’s only been 30 minutes. Shit.

“Y/n?” Chris’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, I…uh…I should have everything ready in about 2 weeks,” you offered. You had no idea what the question was but everyone seemed pleased with your answer so that was lucky.

Two hours later and you were finally free. You snuck out while Chris was busy talking with the director. All you wanted to do was just go home.

When you walked into your house you dropped your bag and binder with the script down on the floor, kicked your shoes off and shuffled into your bedroom. You crawled into bed so grateful you were able to finally close your eyes.

Your doorbell rings 10 minutes later. Who the fuck is at my door? I’m not answering. Whatever it is it can wait.

A minute goes by and the bell rings again. Nope. I’m not home.

Then you heard the loud knocking that didn’t seem like it would go away on its own so you begrudgingly got up to answer it.

Before you even got to the door you heard Chris say “Come on Y/n. I know you’re in there.”

“Why are you always trying to ruin my life?” were the first words he heard when you opened the door. You tilted your head back and turned around walking over to your couch.

“Um…hi?” Chris responded as he closed your front door. “What did I do now?”

“I came home 2 weeks ago from New York so I could come here and work on your movie and then you kept pushing the meeting back a couple of days. And then another couple of days. And then another couple of days!”

“It wasn’t my fault Y/n! I tried…”

“Oh I’m not done!” you interrupted him. ��Then you post some pictures of when we went out to dinner with Morgan and now Seb is acting like a complete moron. Has been for 2 days.”

“What’s his problem?”

“Our problem…” you corrected, “is this long distance thing. It’s been 2 weeks and we’re falling apart.” You collapsed on your couch and leaned your head back.

“I’m gonna need the whole story,” he said as he sat down with you resting his arm on the back of the couch and facing you. So you told him. You had talked to Sebastian 3 nights ago telling him that you just got back from dinner with Chris, Morgan and a few other friends. The next day he had happened upon Chris’s pictures. One where your friend Morgan had his arm around you. Sebastian somehow thought since you didn’t mention that Morgan was a man that you were being a little shady.

“Oh I see where this is going.”

“Yeah, so when he asked how I knew Morgan I said we dated for in high school but that we stayed in touch and he helped get me my first job because his dad is a set designer. Blah, blah, blah. God, should I have left out the dating part? It’s been 10 fucking years! I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Don’t tell him I said this but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I don’t know. I thought he was overreacting so I said if I was going to cheat I would be smart enough to make damn sure you didn’t take any pictures. He didn’t appreciate that answer. And he wasn’t listening to anything I said so I hung up on him. It’s just been angry texts and one long ass phone call all last night.”

“Man Y/n. I’m sorry. How did you leave things?”

“I said I had to go to work and I would call him later.”

“So what are you going to say?”

“I’m honestly too tired to even think about it right now.”

“You really do look like shit.”

 “Thanks so much. I’ve been awake for over 24 hours. What’s your excuse?”

“Alright, I’m going. I just wanted to check on you. Let me know if you need anything.”

______

 After he left you finally collapse in your bed and get some much needed sleep. You wake up at 6pm, take a shower and make some dinner. You call Sebastian but it goes straight to voicemail. That’s not reassuring. You turn the tv on for some background noise and start to go through the script making a list of items you need to order, find, or somehow build.  An hour and a half goes by and then there’s a knock at your door. You look through the peephole to see Sebastian is at your door.

“Hey,” you said when you opened the door. He pulls you in for a hug. “I called you.”

“I was on the plane.” You pulled away and he kisses you. “I needed to see you. We need to talk.”

You gestured for him to come in and you both sat on the couch.

“Listen, I overreacted and I know that. I’m sorry. I went a little crazy at the thought of being without you. It’s just…I let my mind wander and all these negative thoughts came in and I couldn’t stop them fast enough. Then you hung up and I…I just…I love you and I had temporary insanity or something. I’m so sorry. But I need to know if you meant what you said.”

“Meant what?”

“That you couldn’t handle doing long distance for a while.”

“Oh…I mean I guess it kind of depends on your definition of a while.”

He was picking at his fingernails and looked down when he replied, “3 months?”

“You got the part.”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath before meeting your eyes.

You scooted over to be sitting closer to him and grabbed his face as you said, “I’m really happy for you.” 

You leaned in to kiss his lips so he’d know you meant it. He had been talking about this story he fell in love with since you first got together. But you also knew the filming was in Paris. It would be an intense shoot. He could probably only make it back to you 2-3 times a month if that. One day off wasn’t enough time to fly here and back.

He didn’t say anything. He just searched your eyes looking for your answer.

“Well, we didn’t handle being apart for 2 weeks very well, did we?”

He dropped his head and nodded slowly.

“So maybe we can learn from our mistakes,” you offered. “I’m sorry too. I could have handled things better.”

He felt relief at your answer.

“When do you have to be there?”

“My flight back to New York leaves in 2 days. I have a day to pack and then I leave for Paris.”

“Okay, we have 2 days to figure our shit out,” you said as you stood up, grabbed his hand and led him into your bedroom where you spent hours trying to make up for the time you were about to spend apart.

 ______

That time had come. You were taking him to the airport. You weren’t sure when you would see him again.  He would let you know the schedule when he figured out what it was. So this was goodbye for right now.

Standing on the curb you had your arms over his shoulders and around his neck while you stood on your tip toes. You were trying to commit to memory how it felt to have his stubble against your cheek. As you loosened your grip you let out an unsteady breath. He took your face in his hands and kissed you as you brought your hands up around his wrists to keep them there.

“Love you,” you said barely breaking the kiss.

“I love you. We can do this,” he said doing the same.

When the kiss ended for real you looked up into his furiously gorgeous eyes and nodded. “We can do this,” you agreed.

Several kisses later he finally had to force himself to step away.

“Call me when you land.”

“I will,” he said as he kissed your cheek, turned and walked into the airport. You watched him walk away until you couldn’t see him anymore and then you turned around, got in your car and let the tears fall.

 ______

Things were good for the first 2 visits. He flew home once for a grand total of 18 hours. You flew out there once for 36 hours. It was better than nothing right?

Then there was the 6 hour time difference. Calls went missed due to work or need to sleep.

Then the assistant you hired to help with Chris’s movie stopped showing up. You hired another one but truth be told she wasn’t all that bright. You were single handedly doing the work of 2 people. You were doing your best to not let Chris down. He had vouched for you so you felt like you owed him something. You saw that you could have 3 days off (thanks to finally hiring an assistant you trusted to fill in for you for one day) and so you booked the first flight out.

Then the jet lag hit. And it hit hard.

You weren’t getting a lot of sleep at home because you were so busy. Flying out there meant losing 6 hours and you underestimated how exhausted you actually were. Jet lag always made Sebastian loopy, almost drunk. It made you mean.

“It’s like you’re not even trying!” His voice was raised in frustration.

“What do you mean I’m not trying? I’m here aren’t I?”

“And you started picking fights as soon as you got here!”

“That’s not true. You’re just mad because I don’t want to go out with your friends.”

“No, I said it was an option. God forbid they want to meet the ‘wonderful woman’ I’ve been talking about. Do you know when she’s going to make an appearance?”

Twenty four hours later you both reached your limit.

“We said we would do this until it stopped working. It’s not working anymore Seb.”

He didn’t say anything. He just stared at you for a minute. He didn’t agree, but he didn’t ask you to stay either. So you left.

That was 2 months ago. Chris had told you that Sebastian was back in New York as of a week ago. He gently suggested you call him to which you replied, “Stay the fuck out of it Chris.” You were serious and he could tell by the look of your face.

You had finished working with Chris and the wrap party was the next day. You were obviously going to go but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him if he invited Sebastian or not. You’d be a nervous wreck if you knew he was coming and disappointed if you found out he wasn’t. It might as well be a surprise.

You were meeting your Mom for dinner and she could tell something was bothering you.

“There may be a possibility that I might see Seb tomorrow night,” you awkwardly said.

“You might?”

“Chris might have invited him to the wrap party. I feel like it’s best if I don’t know until I get there.”

“Honey you never told me exactly what happened with you two.”

“I don’t know…we…we lived in 2 different states. The distance thing wasn’t working.”

“So he couldn’t live here because…”

“Most of his work, auditions, interviews or whatever were in New York. That’s where he has the best opportunity to work. I wasn’t going to ask him to give that up.”

“And you couldn’t move to New York because…”

“Because your dumbass son can’t take care of his kids without me!”

“What?”

“He calls me at least 3 times a week asking for help. The kids stay with me at least once a week. He’s been completely lost since Jen left.”

She had a shocked look on her face.

“I had no idea he was that bad. Why doesn’t he call me?”

“He always makes some excuse that you live too far away.”

“Oh please! Fourty five minutes is not that far! Was that the only thing keeping you from moving?”

“Basically yes. It is the main reason. I know I could find work in New York so yeah.”

“Honey, when are you going to realize that you deserve to be happy? You need to start living your life for you, not for what other people want you for.”

You took a minute to think about what she just said.

“Holy shit,” you exclaimed. “Why the hell couldn’t you tell me that months ago?”

“Well I didn’t think it was something you needed to be told! Looks like I may have 2 dumbass kids!”

“Oh my god.”

“You let me deal with your brother. Just figure out what you want.”

 ___________

The next day you did your best to keep busy. You even cleaned your house which is way out of character because someone comes once a week to do that for you. You only clean when something is wrong.

You got ready for the party and tried to take deep breaths to calm your anxiety on the drive there. You spent two hours at the party not because it was fun but because you were hoping Sebastian would come. Your anxiety started getting the best of you though so you decided you just needed to leave. He probably wasn’t coming anyway.

Once you got home you searched for your vaping pen for 30 minutes. You had gotten a medical marijuana card a while ago to see if it helped with migraines. It didn’t but you thought maybe it would help your anxiety. You couldn’t find it so you settled for a cigarette and sat outside on a bench near your front door lost in your thoughts. You watched as a car pulled up in your driveway and then Sebastian stepped out. You were relieved and terrified at the same time.

 “That’s a bad habit,” he said walking up your walkway.

“I’m aware,” you said as you offered it to him. He sat down next to you and took a drag.

“I saw your car leaving as I was walking in.”

“Oh. You didn’t stay long.”

He shook his head and shrugged.

“Uh…how was Paris?” you asked awkwardly.

“Uh, it was good. Glad to be home though, you know?”

“You want to come in?”

He nodded and you walked in your house. You grabbed a couple of waters out of your fridge and brought one to him.

“Seb, I’m…”

“I shouldn’t have let you leave Y/n.”

His words shocked you. You had shown him and side of yourself that was normally hidden and not attractive. You wouldn’t have blamed him for wanting you to leave.

“No, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have been such a bitch. I’m so sorry I fucked everything up.”

“Not you. We fucked everything up,” he said looking at the ground.

“I guess it’s too late for me to decide I want to move to New York isn’t it.”

His head shot up. He didn’t expect those words to ever come out of your mouth. He knew how much you helped with your niece and nephew. Without thinking he closed the distance between you in two steps, brought his hand up to the back of your neck and kissed you. It wasn’t a soft kiss. It was kiss he had been wanting for 2 months. He was hungry for it and so were you.

As he came up for air he asked, “What changed?”

“My mom helped me realize some things. I’m so sorry it took me so long.”

“Remind me to buy her a car or something.”

It was so good to feel his beard on your skin again. It was a little longer than what he normally wears but you didn’t mind. You both stumbled your way into your bedroom. Between him taking your shirt off as he was kicking off his shoes while your hands were undoing his belt you almost fell. He caught you and walked you forward until your back was against the wall. As he buried his face in your neck he smelt your perfume. He had missed it so much. He could smell it on his sheets for a week after you left.

His hands trailed down the sides of your body until he had picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. With his lips never leaving yours he shuffled over to the bed and fell on top of you. He stepped out of his jeans as he was undoing yours and slid yours off.  It felt so amazing to have you lying naked under him again. He missed your hands on his body but he missed touching you even more.

You knew he liked to be in control and would rather give pleasure than receive so you let him. He brought his hand between your legs checking to see how ready you were. You were more than ready and he decided not to tease you so he slipped two fingers inside you and started making a ‘come here’ motion. You broke the kiss to take in a deep breath as your neck arched your head back. He brought his lips to your ear and told you he loved you.

“Oh shit,” you moaned as you took his face in your hands and brought his lips to yours. He massaged your tongue with his in a deep kiss while his hand continued to do magical things to your body. Without removing his fingers he kissed his way down your body until he was gently sucking on your clit.

“Oh god, Seb” you cried as your back arched and you came. He was used to hearing you pant and moan to let him know you liked what he was doing but tonight was just a series of expletives you cried out when he did something you liked. Hearing you made him need to be in you right now.

He started to slowly move in and out of you knowing you were probably still sensitive from his previous act. Your bodies were made for each other. You fit together so perfectly. You held on to him so tightly because you needed to make sure this was real. You needed to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

You were both breathing hard as he was thrusting himself deep in you. He grabbed your leg and brought it up so that the back of your knee was over his shoulder which put him at the perfect angle to hit every spot he needed to. As he sped up he felt you tighten around him as your back arched again and the sound you made had him coming right after you.

He brought his face to yours and kissed you so sweetly you wished it would never end. When it did and he slid out of you he collapsed on the bed next to you. You rolled on your side to face him as he turned his head to smile at you.

“I can’t lose you again,” he spoke softly.

“I’m afraid I’m going to wake up any time now,” you said as your hand graced his beard.

“I’m here. And I’m not leaving. I love you.”

“Love you back,” you smiled.

Next Chapter

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[pickyperkypenguin]

Recently I remembered that Mabel podcast exists. As I had an upcoming journey, it seemed like a perfect occasion to renew my interest in it, and to get to know how the story of Anna Limon and Mabel unfolds.

(Disclaimer: I am writing all this after listening to twenty five episodes. I don’t exclude the possibility that I’d change my mind, had I listened to more, but for now this is what I think. Also, I had no idea I’ve had so much to say about Mabel podcast, so the length of this text is a surprise both for you and for me. tl;dr: I love the idea of this story, execution could be better.)

What I realised after listening to a couple of episodes after a long break (and the natural break in the narrative, at which point I initially finished), was that it’s, like, Really Bad. But, you know, sort of in a good way.

The general premise is something that a person ( I, the person. When I say we or a person I mean I, but it’s too late to care about my phrasing now) wishes badly to exist. Who doesn’t want a queered fairy tale, dramatic and tragic lesbian romance, the kind that somehow feels like in every single scene the heroes (heroines, in this case) are standing over the edge of a cliff, their ripped white shirts barely covering their chests, their bodies shivering from the wind, and somebody is about to kill or kiss the other person. You know, the romantic as in the historical period kind. Everything over the top, but better, because it’s not subtextually, but screamingly textually queer.

And it works at certain points, really – the queerness of the heroines queers the structure of the story, it plays on the archetypes and sort of fulfils the desire to appropriate them for the queer self for once. It’s a pleasant feeling.

The descriptions are flowy and opulent, the romance goes how certain type of straight romances would go – assuming that the listener will assume the same stuff about a queer couple, as about heterosexual one. And it provides the portrait of an unhinged, feral, burning and at times tender  love I see so rarely in queer narratives, because it often would be considered “problematic” (again, it would not, was it a straight romance, but we do tend to have higher expectations for queer romances) or simply botched (it often is in straight romances). It’s the love that’s not really supposed to be nice, and that’s based on imagining and idealisation of the other person more than the reality of the connection (and it goes both ways, as we see after finally getting Mabel’s POV). It is indeed for the most of time disconnected, here by literally a wall between the worlds, but not as the finishing scene, but by the duration. The sun and moon type of romance (and the podcast seems self-aware of all that, I think the creators are delighting in the fact that they can construct it like this).

And I think that till a certain point it all sort of works out more or less, minus the details I’ll be complaining about. When it comes to the luscious descriptions creating the atmosphere of a fairy tale in vivid detail, they are really over the top, bordering on purple prose (or sometimes just plunging right into it). The repetitions and flowery adjectives have their own charm and work in small amounts. I thought – maybe it was not made for binge listening? But no, on the other hand the structure of plot is slow to unfold and convoluted enough, that were I listening to it week-by-week, I’d get nothing from it, really, and would probably be discouraged by the fact that it’s not as much that I don’t understand anything, but I can’t see the larger plot that’s supposed to be unfolding. It’s a mystery-based podcast at first, and I would probably forget what would be considered as base-level unusual in-world, and it would not make an effective impression on me with the increase of oddity.

Another explanation of the purple language – maybe it’s Anna Limon’s character? Maybe she is that kind of girl – after all, for what we know she might as well be going crazy in an old lady’s house, fixating on mysteries and family history that’s not hers for the lack of anything to do? The voicemail “letters” (for a lack of better word, but it has that feel of XIXth century love letters, you know) charm at first. Well, at least me. (Same went with Alice Isn’t Dead, with the main character constantly addressing her wife that she misses – that was I think the first time I encountered a wlw affection showed like this, and I liked the idea very much).

Unfortunately, the formula starts breaking when the first arc of the story ends, and we get to know Mabel’s point of view and Mabel’s character. Here the similarities of that language start grating: Mabel is a not-really-a-girl-what-does-human-mean-at-this-point who has been isolated for a long time in the Kingdom Under the Hill, where concepts work in a slightly different way than in the real world, and she could be this over the top just from the isolation and existing for a long time among this non-euclidean post-death plant-gymnastics.

Both Anna and Mabel could have their own reasons to be speaking like this (speaking! That also changes the feeling of it, it read distinctively different in text form). But when those reasons are so different from one another, and yet the language stays about the same, it’s just obvious that it’s the writing of the show, and unfortunately, as I said, in larger quantities, in it not being a distinctive characteristic but how the script is written, and also because it’s all spoken, it starts charming and ends up jarring. It’s becomes too over the top, if I can say it like that, and it doesn’t work as it should, also because – and here we come with another thing – it takes itself so. damn. seriously.

The Mabel podcast does not joke, but it contains a lot of unhinged, wild and hysterical laughing, giggling and sobbing. Maybe it’s the fault of the voice acting (and sorry if it’s rude, but I’m afraid I think the voice acting is really not good overall), but at a point it just started getting on my nerves. The show never stops to give itself a breather, but rides the high C all the time, and there is no rest. That cheapens, I’m afraid, the moments that are supposed to be impactful and end up less so, because they have no chance of shining brighter than the others, as everything tries to shine at once.

I also think that the voice acting itself is annoying me more than it should. I don’t really find the cadence of the voices pleasant – especially Mabel, who is unfinishing her sentences a lot but in a way that sounds artificial. It’s like amateur actors who know they are supposed to not finish a sentence, because it has been written in the script that another character will interrupt them. So, they go off from their way to facilitate that, and there is the minuscule but noticeable pause that just sounds stupid for the spectator. It’s even worse when there is no other character to interrupt, just one person abandoning a sentence – but they have long ago known they will abandon it in the first place, oh my god, it doesn’t make sense. Sorry, I think I really didn’t like Mabel’s way of talking.

I mean, at first it was sort of incredible – I remember the impact it made on me when I finally heard Mabel’s voice! And she was so angry! She was angry at Anna for switching places without asking her if she even wants that, and she didn’t fit in the real world acutely, and she has had a lot of pretensions and grievances. She was yelling a lot and hitting things. It was awesome. And then, sadly, it all lost the impact, because I then started noticing everything that I listed above and all this became just a baseline communication for her, and nothing had the time to reverberate. Her appearance was the best and the worst that could happen, because it could be executed so well, but instead has basically destroyed the formula of the show that seduced me in the first place.

And the formula was this – one sided relation from events we don’t know if they are actually happening, or if it’s a portrait of a person losing herself and going insane. The distortions instead of voices when the worlds were colliding and the other world and its inhabitants were communicating was absolutely selling that ambiguity. It was providing a certain foundation to Anna’s self-doubt if she isn’t going insane, and at the same time giving us the structure of the narrative that we’re familiar with, because we’ve been (I was, in Central Eastern Europe) raised on it. It was (and is, I stand by it) an amazing choice for showing an encounter with the Other, with strangeness that the modern world (and its recording devices) is not equipped to handle, and the heroes are barely able to as well. I do believe the only way to scare us at all in the XXI century and the time of incredibly realistic special effects is to leave us guessing, because only then we’ll be able to scare ourselves. The theatricality will work out where the gore fails, and here it worked spectacularly. I still don’t know who exactly was speaking in which moments, if the house was speaking at all, if it was maybe Luna Thorn or the King. Who the fuck knows, and what a delight it is.

But the story started to fall apart, as I said, when we finally had both girls actually talking to each other, and then them speaking of the other as if she was not theoretically right next to her. In the exact manner as when they were apart, divided by the veil between the real world and the fairy kingdom. The distance disappeared, we got both points of view, and that should be the moment of losing the gravity, and I think it would kind of saved the show. Unfortunately, I say as a mantra here, even though the attempts were made – bravo for Anna, expressing her desire for Mabel to just fucking talk to her like a normal person and to co-exist, be in the same spacetime. To which we got a counterargument that oh, of bloody course Anna wants normalcy because that’s her fetish, and Mabel is not normal because she’s barely human and did even Anna love her all this time, can she love her after confronting that otherness of Mabel? Aaand there it went. I mean, it does make narrative sense a lot, but it also prevents from riding out the narrative high C, and so we are still listening to an equivalent of ten hour version of the last phrase from the Phantom of the Opera theme song.

The romance starts showing its imperfections, and normally it would be good, because it would lead us to the protagonists deepening the connection, going from the abstract, ideative one, to one forged in the fire of just being in near proximity, and in situations where they are supposed to work out compromises to rely on each other, instead of making decisions for the other and expecting gratitude. At the point which I listened to last, they confronted that issue, but didn’t seem like it was going anywhere (yet?). Which leads me to a point, that I will probably listen to at least a couple more episodes, both because I sort of want to give it a chance and to know how it will unfold, and also because I have another upcoming journey and what you expect me to be doing on a train?

Yeah, that’s about that. Gods, what the hell, I had no idea I would write this much. There might be several grammatical mistakes in this meta, because I am not a native speaker and there is no way I am going to go over 2k of words that nobody may even read, and I should seriously be going back to what I should be doing instead of this. Though I admit, right now I will try to go to the gym, because I am highly caffeinated (have you noticed???) and I, like, cannot really do caffeine. At all. Why did I do that? Oh yeah, I had to because I was working on some stuff before. Oh gods, how will I even fall asleep today.

[ohfreckle]

fic: make no bones (Malec; explicit)

Written for the @malec-springtime-exchange,  posting it here for completeness’ sake. My giftee was @icymalec.

After a long and trying day, all Magnus wants is a shower and a cocktail or three. There's only one problem: his shower is broken and the caretaker in his building is a terrible slacker.

Read on AO3

Magnus steps out of the elevator, chin up and eyes straight ahead, keeping his strides brisk and purposeful. Poise and excellent style is pretty much everything he’s got left today.

He lost his faith in his abilities around noon, right after his meeting, and what little dignity he still had left at three in the afternoon when a car next to him sped through the only puddle within eyesight. The new plum shirt he bought only yesterday as a little confidence boost is ruined, and so is Magnus' mood.

There’s just no good left in the world. Lies, lies everywhere.

All those years Magnus thought finding a publisher for his book would solve all his problems and save him from working another mind-numbingly tedious job to make ends meet. He’s not waiting tables anymore, that much is true. But nobody told him that the roaring success of his debut novel would be the beginning of more problems than even a crime novel writer can handle.

Expectations have skyrocketed since his sophomore novel surpassed the success of his first book, and in direct proportion to it has Magnus' anxiety. Because he has nothing. Nothing worthwhile at least, according to his editor. In all fairness, this is the reason Magnus has dreaded today’s meeting for days. Aline didn’t tell him anything he didn’t know already, but after slogging through the first draft for months, Magnus had hoped that it wasn’t all bad.

“Brilliant writing, but this plot twist at the end is garbage. It ruins all your hard work in the first half of the script.” Magnus takes everything back he ever said about appreciating Aline’s honesty.

So, yes, poise and a fast-approaching deadline are all he’s got today. But salvation lies right ahead behind the door of his apartment. Just a few more steps and Magnus can get out of these soaked clothes, have a hot shower and relax with a cocktail or three.

There’s only one problem: he can’t.

The tool belt in front of apartment PH3 is an unpleasant reminder that he hasn’t taken a hot shower in two days. Magnus isn’t opposed to cold showers per se, but there are a time and place for everything, and he hasn’t needed or wanted one in as long as he can remember. He’d rather have, or even better, share a hot shower.

Said tool belt is attached to a ridiculously tall man poking at the door lock under the watchful eyes of Magnus’ neighbor Isabelle. Maybe luck didn’t wholly desert Magnus after all and the rest of this awful day is salvageable.

“Hi, Isabelle,” Magnus greets, mustering a smile for her. She moved in a couple of weeks ago, so he doesn’t know her well, but judging by their brief talks in the hallway she seems to be a lovely woman. There’s no need to forget his manners just because he’s having an awful day.

The caretaker though is a different matter. “You,” Magnus says, and a little louder when that fails to provoke a response, “Mister…I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Huh?”

“Your name?” Magnus repeats, enunciating carefully and slow, and okay, maybe also a little catty, but he really wants that hot shower.

At least Mister Tall and Grumpy has the decency to turn and look at Magnus while he’s addressing him. “It’s Alec.”

“Okay, Alec with no last name, I’m Magnus Bane. If you can make the time to do your job, the hot water knob in my shower is still broken. Which you would know if you listened to your voicemail because I left already four messages.”

“What?”

Lord, give him strength. Where does this guy take the nerve to frown at Magnus as if he’s the one who’s slacking on his job? It’s quite the handsome frown, but most of all it’s incredibly rude, and Magnus doesn’t have time for this.

“Look, I’m wet and cold, and if you don’t want me to report you the owner of the building, you’ll fix that knob in the next hour.”

“I’m not—“ Alec with no last name starts, but one glare from Isabelle is enough for him to snap his mouth shut. If this is the way to have things fixed around here, maybe Magnus should take lessons from her. That glare is vicious.

“Don’t worry, Magnus, he will fix it,” Izzy says with a wide smile that makes Magnus absurdly grateful it isn’t directed at him, so he can’t exactly begrudge Alec the incredulous look that flickers over his face. “I’ll send him over as soon as he’s done here.” Izzy’s features soften as soon she isn’t addressing their tardy caretaker. “You should get out of these wet clothes.”

Back in his own apartment, Magnus does just that, peeling the wet shirt that clings uncomfortably to his skin over his head as soon as he closes the door behind him. He should just throw it into the trash, but it is a nice shirt, so in the dry cleaning basket it goes.

By the time Magnus has changed into worn jeans and a silky shirt he doesn’t bother to button he’s beginning to feel human again. He should go and sort through the notes from his meeting, get a head start on rewriting, but there’s no use immersing himself into work when he knows he’ll get interrupted right in the middle of it. Assumed that the caretaker finally shows up, but after that intense glare from Isabelle, that’s a given.

Just as Magnus debates whether it’s too early to start on those cocktails, the doorbell rings, right on cue. Definitely time for a cocktail, then. He’s waited three days, Alec with no last name can wait for two minutes.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d actually find your way here,” Magnus greets when he opens the door, but the snark dies on his tongue, and his mouth goes dry despite the drink in his hand.

He’d been preoccupied earlier, but how on earth did he miss how attractive Alec is? He’s even taller than Magnus, his broad shoulders and chest tapering into leans hips and endless legs. Magnus loves a strong man; how is he supposed to resist one as gorgeous as Alec? Damn, Magnus is a writer, gorgeous doesn’t do those hazel eyes and those generous lips justice, but right now he can’t even remember his own name.

“Seen enough to let me fix that knob for you?” Alec smirks, wide and lazy as if he can read what’s going on in Magnus’ head. Considering that Magnus is all but drooling over him, he probably can.

Devastating, that’s the word Magnus is searching for. Devastatingly handsome.

“Of course,” he answers, stepping aside and motioning for Alec to come in. “My knob is all yours.”

There’s a reason Aline slashes most of his puns with a red marker. Lucky for Magnus Alec doesn’t seem to mind and lifts merely a brow, silently asking really before he follows Magnus to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier,” Magnus sighs and finds that it’s mostly true. “I had a long and trying day, but that’s no excuse to snap at you like that. I wouldn’t actually report you to your employer, even if your work ethic leaves much to be desired.”

“Thanks, Mr. Bane, that guy really is a stick in the mud.” Alec sounds relieved and flashes Magnus a quick smile. “He’s so hung up on rules, he drives everyone mad.”

“Please, just Magnus. You know what they say about punctuality being a virtue? Maybe you should try it some time.”

“Oh, don’t worry; usually I always come on time,” Alec says, winking when he catches Magnus lingering on his low-slung tool belt for a second too long.

Devastatingly handsome and a tease. Magnus is so, so fucked.

“Well, here’s the culprit. Worked perfectly well one day, and then it didn’t.” Magnus changes the topic with as much dignity as he can, clearing his throat to hide how affected he is. He’s been around the block more than he cares to admit, but he’s never felt such an instant, gut-wrenching attraction.

“This is an old building, things get stuck all the time, especially with these old faucets. Nothing a little lube can’t fix.” Alec tries to turn the knob, his biceps bulging with the effort, but it doesn’t budge. He nods, apparently satisfied with his diagnosis. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Magnus watches him leave and leans back against the wall, sorely tempted to slide down onto the floor and just breathe for a minute.

Who is this man and who plucked him right out of Magnus’ dirtiest fantasies?

He barely has time to finish that thought when Alec reappears with an old oil can dangling between his fingers. “Where did you get that so quickly?” Magnus asks.

“From Izzy. I needed it for the lock and left it there.”

Is it common practice for the caretaker to be on a first name basis with all the tenants? Or just the pretty, special ones? Every plumber cliche known to man crosses Magnus' mind, leaving him more than a little flustered. Well, he can’t exactly blame Izzy if she has her eyes set on Alec, because Magnus wants to climb that like a tree himself. But then, Magnus himself had insisted on being called by his first name. Time to get his mind out of the gutter.

However well that resolution is intended, it lasts for all but ten seconds.

The soft simmer of arousal in Magnus’ gut flares into the familiar hot squeeze of anticipation the moment Alec goes to work. Magnus can’t help but stare, drinks in the bulging muscles in Alec’s arms and thighs as he throws his weight against the stubborn fitting, his gaze following Alec’s hand as he reaches down and plucks another wrench from his tool belt, adjusting the low-slung strap over a very impressive bulge.

If there was any doubt whether the attraction was mutual, there’s his answer.

Has it been there all this time while Magnus was busy fantasizing about those legs, how badly he wants to feel them wrapped around his hips? He’s not an expert on home improvement, or he would have fixed the problem days ago, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t take this much force to make a stuck knob operating smoothly. Not that Magnus is complaining, not when Alec’s shirt rides up and exposes a pair of dimples on his lower back that Magnus can’t wait to taste.

Because after this particular brand of foreplay there’s no chance in hell he won’t.

“Magnus?”

“Yes, Alexander?” Magnus blinks at Alec whose smirk is way too smug, one thumb hooked into his thrice-damned belt. It’s apparently not the first time he tried to get Magnus’ attention.

“It’s fixed,” Alec says, tilting his head towards the shower fitting. “And it’s Alec, nobody calls me Alexander.”

“Which is a crying shame. I like how it sounds. Alexander,” Magnus drawls, savoring the name on his tongue like sweet, forbidden fruit. Judging by the way Alec’s eyes darken, Magnus isn’t the only one who enjoys it.

“Something else you need me to fix? Just, you know, since I’m already here.”

Alec’s eyes are firmly fixed on Magnus’ lips. Magnus is sure they aren’t talking about sanitary facilities anymore, but just to see who breaks first he chokes out the first answer that comes to mind. “In the kitchen, right this way.”

“Like I said, it’s an old building,” Alec says, trailing after Magnus and rapping a knuckle against the wall behind the kitchen counter. “Teaches a guy pretty fast how to lay pipe.”

“Did you just—“

That’s it. Nobody is allowed to berate Magnus for his puns ever again.

“There’s nothing wrong with the kitchen, is it?” Alec asks, low and rough, his eyes crinkling at corner.

“God, no!”

Magnus crushes their mouths together, groaning when Alec immediately opens up for him. The kiss is hard and messy, no finesse, just pure heat and urgent need. Alec sucks on Magnus’ tongue and slides a hand into Magnus’ hair, keeping him firmly in place where he wants him while Magnus pushes into his space even harder, hauling Alec closer with an arm around his shoulder and all the considerable strength he can muster.

Alec parts his legs for Magnus’ thigh without hesitation, fingers tightening in Magnus’ hair. His hunger for Magnus is brazen, utterly intoxicating.

Palming Alec’s cheek, Magnus tilts his head so he can lick even deeper into Alec’s mouth, wanting, wanting, god, so much.

It’s Alec who breaks the kiss, gasping Magnus’ name while he sucks in a lungful of air and kisses a line from Magnus’ jaw to his neck, quick, biting kisses that threaten to make Magnus’ knees buckle.

Magnus thanks every deity known to man for the genius idea to leave his shirt unbuttoned when Alec’s warm hands slide around his naked waist and up his spine, pressing their fronts against each other, sparks of pleasure flaring along the line of his touch. A hot flush slips over Magnus’ face when he rocks his hips and Alec makes a soft, pained noise in the back of his throat. “Can I—“ Magnus rasps, his stomach clenching with how badly he needs to touch.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Alec pants, dragging his lips over Magnus’ throat.

Magnus already feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin, scrabbling at Alec’s fly before he even stops speaking. Getting Alec’s dick out would be a lot easier if his hands weren’t shaking so much, and Magnus needs all his remaining coherent thought to fumble open the tool belt, but some things are worth waiting for.

Like Alec’s cock. Fuck.

The first touch drags a hiss from Alec’s throat that quickly turns into a groan when Magnus feels out the shape of his cock. It’s a solid weight in his hand, not overly long but thick, the head smearing wetly against his palm. Images of dropping to his knees and sliding his lips down until they touch the neat thatch of hair at the base are flashing through Magnus’ mind, of his body struggling to accommodate that hefty girth.

“Fuck me!” It slips out utterly unbidden before can even think about it. Magnus isn’t sure what happened to wanting to feel Alec’s legs around his hips, but it’ll have to wait (hopefully) for another hour.

“Are you sure?” Alec’s eyes are almost entirely black, his lips slick and swollen from their kisses.

“Positive, now take that off,” Magnus pants, nodding towards Alec’s shirt. It takes all his willpower to let Alec’s cock slip from his palm, but now that he’s made up his mind, he can’t get out of his jeans soon enough.

Alec’s hand curls around his elbow, steadying Magnus as he wobbles in his haste to step out of his pants and boxers. Not bothering to undress himself Alec merely lifts his shirt over his head and hooks it behind his neck, and then his palms are warm against the back of Magnus’ thighs, lifting him off his feet and dropping him unceremoniously on the kitchen counter.

It’s not often that somebody manhandles Magnus like that, and it’s a good thing he’s already sitting, or his knees might buckle at that display of strength. He’s almost as tall as Alec and even broader, but with a chest like the one Alec just revealed it isn’t surprising that he can lift Magnus with barely any effort at all.

Something hot and brilliant courses through Magnus and he blindly leans forward, want kicking him low in the gut as scratches his fingers through the soft, dark hair on Alec’s chest, flicking a nipple and trailing them lower until he can feel the muscles in Alec’s stomach jump under his touch. “Bathroom, second door on the left,” he rasps, forcing the words out past the anticipation that makes it almost impossible to breathe.

In an effort to calm himself Magnus closes his eyes and leans back, swearing when he almost hits his head on the overhead cabinet. They should move this to the bedroom, that would be the sensible thing to do, but sensible flies out of the window the second Alec comes back with a bottle of lube and a handful of condoms, dropping them on the counter as he steps between the cradle of Magnus’ hips.

Catching Alec by the nape Magnus pulls him down into another kiss that shakes him to the core, lifting and spreading his legs until his feet are planted firmly on the counter. Alec pushes even closer, licks him open with slow strokes, his mouth hot and wet, distracting Magnus from how cold the lube is between his cheeks and the burn of Alec’s finger breaching him.

Magnus arches up into it, lifts his hips into Alec’s touch and keeps kissing him, his body thrumming with excitement and elation.

By the time Alec brushes three fingers over his hole before he pushes inside Magnus is a hot, writhing mess, crying out when Alec’s hand curls around his cock, warm, a little rough, palm twisting over the wet head on the upstroke.

Magnus has never really thought of himself as a spiritual person, but the way Alec’s fucking him open and working his cock, so good he wants to never close his eyes, wants the image of Alec between his thighs seared forever in his brain, well, that’s a revelation. He loves the sensation of strong fingers working him loose, stroking him from the inside in devastating circles, making his hips stutter with every mind-shattering touch.

“Magnus, are you—“ Alec’s voice is rough, barely more than a scrape, pushed past his gritted teeth.

“I’m ready, do it,” Magnus pants around another wave of heat that furls hot in his belly. Balancing precariously on the edge of the counter he can only watch as Alec opens the condom, rolls it down the hard length of his cock and slicks himself quickly, and then there’s the sharp burn of Alec’s cock pressing in, stretching him wide open. “Fuck, Alec,” Magnus gasps, blind and mindless with pleasure the moment Alec starts to move.

Alec fucks him just like he’s done everything else today, powerful and with single-minded intensity. Short, hard thrusts that have Magnus almost leap out of his skin and crying out with every wave of trembling arousal that roars through him, setting his whole body on fire.

The heat of Alec so deep inside pushes the breath out of Magnus every time Alec swivels his hips and hits him right where he needs it. A sharp ache is building in his balls, a tightly coiled pressure that’s rapidly unraveling with the feel of Alec moving within him. Magnus chokes out a thin, ragged noise, his whole body seizing up when he comes, a suspended moment of trembling anticipation before the burning ball of sensation in his gut finally explodes. He screws his eyes screw shut and comes with a pulsating rush all over his stomach, clenching down hard around Alec’s cock.

Later, much later, after they’ve made it to the bed, Magnus rolls onto his back with a tired sigh. Feeling Alec’s thighs around his hips was definitely worth the wait and all the aches he’ll feel tomorrow.

Any time now things should begin to feel awkward, he supposes. Magnus has had his fair share of one-night stands, but he’s always made sure not to bring them home.

But things are different with Alec. Nothing about lying next to him and listening to his breath evening out slowly feels awkward; it feels so right it’s almost frightening, like standing on the edge of a precipice and looking down, even more so when Alec closes the gap between them and laces their hands together.

Magnus heart stutters, a frisson of something warm and electric shivering down his spine. Squeezing Alec’s fingers, he rolls over to face Alec, struck once again by the visceral tug of attraction he hasn’t been able to shake off since Alec stepped through the door.

Fate must really love Magnus to send Alec his way, but it seems to be less kind to Alec. How does someone as attractive as Alec end up repairing doors and showers when he could be making a fortune with his face and body?

On second thought, the answer to that is easy. Magnus knows first-hand that sometimes life just sucks with no reason at all, and Alec doesn’t strike him as the type who’s vain enough or has the patience to dip his toes into the entertainment industry.

“I can hear you thinking over there. Come here,” Alec says, stretching like a giant cat before he rolls over, brushing a kiss against Magnus’ lips. “This should be weird, but somehow it isn’t.”

“But that’s a good thing, right?” Things are a little blurry around the edges with their faces so close, but not so much that Magnus misses Alec’s lips curling into a small smile. “Stay for dinner?” he blurts out, suddenly feeling bold, his mouth miles ahead of his brain.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Let me just—“ Alec frowns and sits up, struggling to free himself from the tangled sheets. “I need to call Izzy and cancel dinner with her. Not a hardship, I can tell you.”

“Izzy as in Isabelle?” My neighbor Isabelle?”

“Yeah, we have a standing dinner date on Wednesdays. Today is Izzy’s turn to cook, which is—“ Alec shudders and makes a face, scrunching his nose up in a way Magnus refuses to call adorable. “Let’s just say it’ll probably cost me at least two years of my life.”

“So, do you have dinner with all the residents here or just with the cute ones?” Even Magnus can hear he’s missing the nonchalance he’s aiming for by far. “Is that why only your grouchy old colleague comes over whenever I call?”

“Yeah, about that—“ Alec turns to face Magnus and bites his lip, his face flushing a delicate pink that even reaches the tips of his ears. Someone just got caught.

“What, you don’t think I’m cute enough for dinner dates?” Magnus quips, but it sounds lame even to his own ears. Something just shifted between them, but he doesn’t know Alec well enough to read him.

“No, no!” Alec says, his face falling when he sees the confusion Magnus can’t keep from flashing over his face. “It’s not—Izzy is my sister,” he confesses on a rush of breath, his eyes wide and uneasy.

“Okay, this is awkward, but it makes inviting you for dinner less awkward,” Magnus jokes half-heartedly. Neither of them is making sense. If Isabelle is Alec’s sister, why does Alec look as if he’s ready to jump out of his skin? And why can Isabelle afford the obscene rent for this place while her brother works as the caretaker in her building?

Except…

“Let me guess, you’re not the caretaker.” Now it’s Magnus’ turn to flush a bright red, his stomach churning with a dizzying rush of mortification. Watching people is part of his job; he should have known the moment he ogled Alec’s ass in those designer jeans.

“Yeah, no, I mean I’m not the caretaker.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how much of an ass was I?” Dragging the sheets over his face and never coming out again suddenly seems like a wise choice, but so far Alec isn’t running screaming, so Magnus just closes his eyes while he awaits the verdict.

“Off the charts.” The mattress dips and Alec presses warm lips against his cheeks, dragging them down Magnus’ jaw. “You’re lucky you’re so hot, or I would have thrown you out the second you started to give me grief.”

“Thrown me out! Who are you, the owner of this building? A bouncer? Isabelle’s hired muscle?” Magnus lifts his chin and angles his head for more soft kisses. Those siblings sure look badass, but somehow he doesn’t take them for the violent type, so he guesses he’s safe for now. Physically, he isn’t so sure about his heart.

“Owner,” Alec breathes into Magnus’ neck, nipping at the skin there when Magnus slides a hand into his hair to keep him there. “I should probably inspect this place properly, make sure everything’s in working order.”

“Gladly,” Magnus hums, too content to be surprised by this new twist in a long, strange day. “Can it wait until after dinner? I’ll even show you my fixed shower. The caretaker here does excellent work.”

[lonelier-version-of-you]

Now watching Always Forever, which is the ep where Morven leaves with Cameron and it’s supposed to be her happy ending. Lmaooo.

Edit: SCREAM at the very start of the episode having a scene that cuts directly from Cameron to Gaskell. In hindsight that’s so funny.

Edit 2: Sacha to Jac, about John: “He saved your life, and for that I am eternally grateful. Because I don’t know what I would’ve done if we’d lost you as well.” :((

Also, no one would ever have thought when this ep first aired that Ken the drunk elf would be in the very last episode of the show. Wild.

Edit 3: Okay, turns out Cameron was always not only bland (which I remembered), but also always entitled and annoying. But at least he was an entitled, bland, annoying side character instead of the main villain of the show for 2 years.

Edit 4: The scene with Jac and Essie talking about Raf is beautiful.

Also, lol @ this from Essie: “You had a lot of people worried about you - Hanssen, Gaskell, Sacha...” One of these things is not like the others!

Edit 5: Immortal words from Morven: “Get over yourself, Cam.”

Also I miss Holby going batshit insane at Christmas actually, shame they didn’t do it in the last series.

Edit 6: OH FUCK JASON THE CARICATURE IS HERE. So glad we never have to see him again.

Edit 7:

Me: *calls Jason a caricature*

My mom (also autistic, for context), 5 seconds later, after Jason broke Essie’s phone and they were talking about not being able to get Raf’s voicemail: *starts going on about how that’s not how it works*

Jason: Voicemails are saved on the server! You’ll be able to get it back!

My mom: Exactly!!

Me: ...Maybe he’s not as much of a caricature as I thought.

Edit 8:

GhostArthur is here!!

Also, eternally obsessed with this:

Ken: What’s it like, taking a bullet?

Jac: Fetch me a gun and I’ll show you.

Edit 9:

GhostArthur on Cameron: “So that’s my replacement? He’s handsome in an obvious kind of way.”

Edit 10:

SCREAM @ Sacha asking Cameron of all people to watch over Morven and make sure she’s fit to treat patients.

Edit 11: Jac doing the Henrik style fidgeting with her hands!

Interesting little piece of dialogue from Cam on Bernie: “My mother could never lay down roots for long.”

Edit 12: There’s a few pretty decent Jac and Fletch scenes here. If they hadn’t over-pushed the romance angle and hadn’t had him be such a dick to her so often, they could’ve had a cute little friendship.

Edit 13: Interesting dialogue from John, considering his backstory (which hadn’t been revealed when I last watched this episode - yes, I haven’t seen it since it aired!). “Pain is a useful tool in our arsenal. It’s corrective. An important survival trait.”

Edit 14:

Morven to Jac: “You’ve been here forever. Made your career here.” :(

Edit 15: “Auntie Serena said I don’t have a neurotypical response to grief!” Well, you probably don’t, Jason. However, “Auntie Serena” was still talking out her ass by thinking she could tell you about YOUR experience with the disorder you have and she doesn’t.

I do love Jason being a Doctor Who fan though (his social script of offering Essie a jellybaby obviously being taken from the Fourth Doctor). Now THAT’S an accurate autism thing (unironically. I don’t know why so many autistic people are into Doctor Who but we just are.). I wonder if he and Henrik have ever chatted about it. Possibly even if he got Henrik into it. Look, I just find the idea of Henrik discovering the 1990s Doctor Who movie and realising he really fancies the Eighth Doctor but having no idea why to be hilarious.

Edit 16: HENRIK AND MORVEN SCENE HERE WE GO

Edit 17: “You’d think I’d be used to it by now, wouldn’t you? All this death.” :( Henrik definitely felt that.

Also, Henrik’s whole “bird in a cage so expansive it’s under the illusion it is free” metaphor comes across more like it’s about his own feelings on the CEO job and how he tried to convince himself it was right for him than about Morven’s feelings about her job at Holby.

Also also, the little moment where Morven tells Henrik Arthur was lucky to have him in his life and Henrik’s EXPRESSION I just. Aaaaah.

Edit 18: This little Morven and Nicky scene is lovely.

Edit 19: Henrik clicking a pen over and over. Can’t tell if it’s stimming or a compulsion.

Edit 20: The Jeremy Warren plotline was sooo pointless. His little scene in this ep only happened to give the episode a cliffhanger.

Edit 21: Seeing Nicky talk about Cameron’s thing for Morven is SO WEIRD.

Edit 22: Jac getting Ken to dress up as Santa for Emma. And her reading The Night Before Christmas. Awww. :’))

Anyway, can you IMAGINE society if this had been the last time we ever saw Cameron??

[fablesradio]

Fables Radio: Meet the Cast (pt 3)

(written by showrunner Angela McCain, aka @darling-gypsum)

Hello, listeners! In anticipation of the release of Chapter 6, over the last few months, I’ve been highlighting the amazing voice actors who so generously offer their time and energy for this fan production. Just a small (and insufficient) thank you for their continued hard work and talent. And hopefully, some of our listeners will learn something new about our talented cast and continue to follow their careers!

Finally, in alphabetical order:

Griffin Puatu (Bluebeard)

Smooth and sophisticated and scary as all hell, Bluebeard has one of the coolest voices in the show. And that is all thanks to the absolutely fabulous Griffin Puatu. I felt so lucky to find such a talented actor for our ostensible series villain. He’s such an impressive range beyond the menacing lord Bluebeard, ex-legendary serial killer and patron of Fabletown. Please take a listen to his demo reel and feel in awe of this guy’s talent. He’s got a number of video game and media credits for you to take a look at! Thank you, Griffin, for joining us through this production journey, and for being a vital linchpin in our cast.

You can find more from Griffin Puatu at: http://griffvoices.com

 Nicholas Shapiro (Lord Beast (Beast), Taxi Driver)

Nick had a really tough job from the outset of this project: play the role of Lord Beast in mid-transformation. He needed to be just coherent enough for an entirely audio-based performance, but also sound like he had teeth that were too big for his mouth. And boy, he really knocked it out of the park! Nick was kind enough to lend his voice for a second minor but fun role last minute, which Iam very grateful for. His stint as the disgruntled sarcastic taxi driver still makes me chuckle when I hear it on re-listens. Thank you, Nick, for giving life and relatability to Lord Beast and being a really great scene partner.

You can find more from Nicholas Shapiro at: http://www.behindthevoiceactors.com/members/Applehound/casting-call/auditions

 Olivia Steele (Briar Rose)

Oh, this lady’s voice! Olivia did a fabulous job portraying the equally fabulous Briar Rose, aka Sleeping Beauty. I envisioned this high society New York fashionista character, and Olivia really brought that to life. I am also not ashamed to admit that Olivia and Eric’s performances as Briar and Flycatcher fueled the flames of my love of that little ‘ship. They had wonderful ‘on screen’ chemistry, and sold the heck out of their characters enough that I was compelled to write more scenes for them! Olivia, you’re a gem. Thank you so much for being a part of our series and bringing power and candor to the role of Briar Rose.

You can find more from Olivia Steele at: http://oliviasteelevo.weebly.com

 Melissa Sternenberg (Cindy)

I seriously just wanna be besties with Cindy. Her portrayal is playful, sharp tongued, and confident, and brings so much life to our cast. Of our trio of Prince Charming’s ex-wives, Cindy had some dramatic deviations from the text of the original comic. New scenes, shifted storylines, and pushing up the narrative a bit (for those familiar with the comics). And Melissa has been more than up to the task, with a great sense of comedic timing and grasp of her character. Melissa’s also got a number of professional video games and media credits to check out, which I highly recommend. Like so many of the cast, Melissa’s been really down for whatever my scripts threw at her. Whether it was sword fighting or witty banter, she brought such joy to one of my favorite characters in the show. Thank you for all your work, Melissa! The character of Cinderella, and our show as a whole, has been richer with you as a part of it.

You can find more from Melissa Sternenberg at:

IMDB: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm4408448

Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/melissa-sternenberg/melissa-sternenberg-character-demo-reel-2016

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mippavoices

 Cliff Thompson (Bigby Wolf)

The frickin’ holy grail. Very professional and kind, with a keen intuition for acting and delivery choices, enthusiasm for whatever the script is asking of him, and one of those voices that just settles into your brain as canon. Like, just listen to this guy! Cliff, you legit are the voice of Bigby Wolf forever in my brain. Thank you for taking on so much responsibility and a heck of a vocal workload on this fan project. You were instrumental in bringing this show to life and I will be forever grateful. It’s been a great pleasure working with you on Fables Radio, Sherriff.

You can find more from Cliff Thompson at: http://www.behindthevoiceactors.com/members/Cliff/casting-call/auditions

IMDB: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm4309529

 Angela McCain (Lady Beauty, Mary, & Narrator, Etc)

Well, that’s a wrap on my cast profile pieces! Though I guess I should plug myself a little, since I’m in the cast as well.

By sheer virtue of being the showrunner, I often found the need to fill in for a number of characters who I either didn’t find the right VA fit for, or that I just plum forgot existed (see diner waitress, cell phone voicemail robot, etc). I’m peppered all over the series in little roles, as well as Beauty and Mary, in addition to being the narrator on the front and tail end of each episode. What started as a production necessity turned into a hobby, and I’ve really caught the VO and audiodrama bugs. Thank you to all our listeners and followers for your kind words and encouragement. Not sure if I’ll attempt anything more than amateur work, but I feel so fortunate to have had the experience I’ve had with Fables Radio. This was my very first audio and collaborative project on this scale, and to not only complete it, but to feel so proud and excited by it after over a full year seems to be a rarity in the amateur industry. I threw this little pet project into the ether, and discovered some amazing, generous, and talented people who I am humbled to call my cast and my peers. I am so excited to continue following their careers, and hopefully work with them on other projects in the future!

You can find more from Angela McCain at: http://www.behindthevoiceactors.com/members/singoutlouise/casting-call/auditions

http://soundcloud.com/darling-gypsum

https://www.youtube.com/c/darlinggypsum

https://www.patreon.com/darling_gypsum

Thank you so much for reading these, and checking out our cast. Our audience has been modest, but very fervent, and we appreciate you all.

You can find all our fabulous actors in our fanmade audio drama series, Fables Radio!

http://fablesradio.wordpress.com

https://soundcloud.com/fablesradio

 Episode 6 of Fables Radio is in production, and will be released soon. Stay tuned!

Ang M

[mint-kook]

Mistakes || Jeon Jungkook (PT. 2)

Word Count: 1.8k

Genre: Fluff

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since you and Jungkook had started the break. You didn’t want to admit it but you had spent all of the time up until now laying in bed, and trying to disappear within the covers. You didn’t want to see the outside world if it meant you would have to remember his absence.

As much as you wanted to call Jungkook and tell him to come home, you were too stubborn. There was a small part of you that wouldn’t let your fingers punch in the familiar number. He wasn’t as strong though. He had called you everyday and left you with countless voicemails, all of them telling you how much he loved you and that he was truly sorry.

He hadn’t missed a single day.

Of course he was still doing promotions and working with the guys, but he was messaging you and calling you whenever he got the chance, and it made your heart hurt. You wanted to answer every time the phone rang, but you didn’t. It wasn’t until a different ringtone started playing that you actually grabbed the device and pressed answer.

“Hello.” You answered quietly.

“Hi.” His voice sent shivers down your spine and you were so dumb as to not expect him to try something like this. He had before, and yet you had fallen for it again.

“You have to stop calling me from Jimin’s phone or else soon I’m not going to pick up and he’s going to be pissed at me.” You replied, sitting up slightly in bed and resting your back against the pillows. You didn’t want to admit it but it felt good to hear his laugh come over the line.

“I’m sorry, I had to hear your voice. I thought I was going to go insane.” He replied. Your fingers played with the edge of your blanket so as to try and distract you from the fluttering in your chest. It didn’t matter what he said, he could be reading the script of the bee movie and you would still find yourself distracted by his voice.

“You’re a twit, you know that right?” You questioned, trying to goof around a little bit. Jungkook chuckled slightly and you could tell that he wasn’t completely there. “How are thing’s going with the guys? They’re being nice right?”

“The hyung’s are good, a little bit of teasing but they’ve been mostly supportive.” Jungkook answered. This was one of the longest conversations you had had with Jungkook in a while and it felt good. It wasn’t like the other ones, where you had yelled over the phone and he had begged you to let him come home.

Something must have changed during the week that made both of you calmer, and you were almost appreciative of this break. Despite missing him next to you, you thought that not seeing each other and taking the time to think things over was doing both of you some good.

“Is that Y/N!” You recognized Taehyung’s voice shout in the background. You couldn’t help but laugh as you heard footsteps running and then your boyfriend yell in shock.

“Hi Y/N!” Jimin yelled into the receiver. You rolled your eyes slightly, realizing that the two had been listening into your conversation with your boyfriend.

“Hi Jimin.” You replied, a smile coming over your features.

“Y/N you need to let Kookie come home. It’s so depressing with him here and nobody can get a moment’s rest without him bugging someone to share a bed.” Taehyung said. You could hear the pout in his voice and you tried your hardest to not roll your eyes.

“It’s not that simple Taetae, there’s still a lot Jungkook and I need to talk about.” You explained. And there was. There hadn’t been much talking done that night, and there wasn’t much talking in the last two weeks. You wanted to have a proper discussion with him before you decided anything finally.

“Then meet up with him tomorrow and have your discussion. Noon at the park outside of your apartment.” Jimin said, the bubbly tone he always had gone. He was being serious now and you knew it. They were worried about Jungkook and you knew that.

“Okay. Tomorrow at noon, at the park.” You responded. They both cheered loudly before saying goodbye to you. You could just make out the faint sound of Jungkook saying thanks hyungs before the phone call was ended. The clock beside you blinked late numbers and you knew you should go to sleep now if you were going to get up and meet Jungkook the next day.

The wind was cold as it wrapped around you, as if it was engulfing you into a big hug and never letting you go. You shivered but tried to ignore the feeling, instead, focusing on the figure dressed in black walking in your direction. You knew who he was before you could see him clearly, and it wasn’t even shocking to you.

As he approached closer you could see the faint smile on his face. He couldn’t help but smile more as he noticed your rosy red cheeks and your pink tipped nose. It meant you had been waiting here, earlier than was meant, and it made his heart thump faster in his chest.

He stopped a few feet in front of you and you couldn’t help yourself as you closed the distance and wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. His own arms wrapped around your middle and you hid your face in his jacket, trying to warm up yourself in the process.

You had missed his hugs, and the late night cuddles, and the soft kisses. You sniffled and hid your face more into his jacket as a few tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Jungkook could hear the small sniffles and started to rub your back gently.

“How about we go back home, and I can make you something warm to drink. That way we’re not standing out here in the cold.” Jungkook suggested, still holding you tightly. You pulled away slightly and went to wipe away your tears, only for Jungkook’s thumb to brush them away gently.

“But the talk.” You protested.

“We can have the talk at home. And if you decide you don’t want me there then I’ll go back and stay with the hyung’s.” He said quietly. You nodded and didn’t say anything more as Jungkook took your hand in his own and led you in the direction of the apartment. It was you who interlocked your fingers with his and caught up beside him.

He didn’t say anything, the smile on his face clear enough about what he was thinking. Jungkook was just happy enough to see you and be able to talk to you in person. The warmth rush around you and hit you in the face as Jungkook opened the door and you both walked up to the apartment.

When you got inside he took your jacket from you and hung it on the back of the chair in the hall like you always did. He hadn’t forgotten a single thing about your habits, and it made you smile. You led him to the kitchen quietly, hopping up onto the counter while he started preparing cups for hot chocolate.

“I didn’t cheat on you.” Jungkook said suddenly, jumping straight into the conversation. You almost choked on your spit at his sudden abruptness but managed to breathe just in time. “I admit, I did pull the girl into my lap and I did have thoughts, but it wasn’t thoughts about her, it was about you.”

Unlike the last time you had this conversation, you weren’t completely upset. You could hear the truth behind Jungkook’s words and you knew that he was being honest. There was still a part of you that didn’t want to hear it and just wanted to tell him to shut up, but you didn’t.

“I hope you know that wasn’t what I was mad about. It was the fact you lied to me and tried to pretend it didn’t happen. If you had told me from the beginning we could have just talked about it and sorted it out at the time. I wouldn’t have kicked you out.”

“Come on Y/N, we both know that’s a lie. You would have kicked me out regardless.” Jungkook said with a small laugh. It wasn’t completely heartfelt but you didn’t expect it to be. This wasn’t something that people would find funny, but you knew Jungkook was trying to make you feel better.

“You didn’t do anything with her did you?” You asked. The insecurities from that night were slowly coming back to you and your voice came out shaky and lost. Jungkook noticed this right away and his eyes softened as he looked up at you.

Without a second thought he set the kettle of hot water he was holding down and found himself standing between your legs, placing both of his hands on your cheeks so that you would focus on him. You own hands came up to hold his gently, not trying to remove them, but holding them for comfort.

“God no, Y/N. I am so, incredibly, in love with you. I would never have done something like that and I never will.” Jungkook rested his forehead against yours as the next words came out of his mouth. “I’m so sorry for what I did and making you feel the way you did.”

Tears ran down your cheeks but you didn’t wipe them away, instead tilting your head forward and catching Jungkook’s lips with your own. He pressed back gently and kissed you as carefully as possible, trying to put every little bit of love he had into it.

As he pulled away he took a deep breath and pecked your lips gently once more. His hands dropped from your cheeks and wrapped around you as he hugged you tightly.

“I love you so much.” He whispered. You could hear how shaky his voice was and you knew he had started crying too. You stroked the back of his head gently to try and calm him down, remembering how you had done it in the past. It only made him cry harder and you tried to shush him quietly.

“Please come home, Jungkook. I miss you so much and I don’t think I can go another night without you.” You replied. Jungkook nodded his head and pulled away, giving you another kiss before laughing slightly at his actions. You wiped away his tears just as he had with yours and you couldn’t help but smile at him.

You were very grateful that Jimin and Taehyung had been listening in now.

AN: Why am I actually in love with this imagine now. I’m probably the only one though. Hopefully you guys enjoyed! 

[pinknerdpanda]

All That You Are

Inspired by/featuring the pre-chorus of Tenerife Sea by Ed Sheeran (lyrics bolded) Listen here.

Characters: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean

Word Count: 1915ish

Warnings: A.N.G.S.T. with a side of angst. With like…a drizzle of fluff maybe. Also, drinking, depression,  allusions to sex.

A/N: This is my second fanfiction. Seriously…this wouldn’t be happening without @wheresthekillswitch who edited and beta’d it. It has been a labor of love. :) Thanks sweetness!! Also, the Gif (x) is not mine.

Feedback is so appreciated! Hope you enjoy! :)

The day had started out perfectly normal. A cup of coffee, a hot shower, a bowl of Lucky Charms, and you were ready to face the day. You hadn’t even batted an eyelash when you heard your ringtone sound, until you pulled your phone from the back pocket of your favorite jeans to check the caller ID. Sam. As those three tiny letters flash on your screen, your world comes to a screeching halt.

The memory of your brief time together comes crashing into you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. Not knowing if any portion of your feelings had been reciprocated, or if you had just been a temporary fix for a broken man has haunted you. You’d known within the first week that you would love him forever, a truth that still burns to the very depths of your soul.

The sound of the phone ringing in your hand grows distant as your mind wanders back to all the times you’ve sat alone, thumb poised, ready to tap his entry in your contacts list. It happens more than you like to admit, each time it does you chicken out at the last moment and spend days cursing yourself for your cowardice.

Other days, you stare at the blank screen, willing it to ring, desperately yearning to see his number on the display. Those days are your hardest, the void in your chest threatens to envelop your entire existence with each passing second of silence, usually they end in a deluge of tears, rum and self-loathing.

Before you knew it, the days of silence had stretched into weeks; the weeks into months; the months into years…until today. You have your reasons for the silence, and you know Sam has his own. Why now?

The sudden absence of sound brings you out of your thoughts. It must have gone to voicemail. Shit.

Before you can contemplate your next move, your phone starts ringing again.

It takes three gulped mouthfuls of air before you’re able to answer his call “Sam?” You silently scold yourself for how pathetic your voice sounds in your own ears.

There’s a brief hesitation before the rich timbre of his voice fills the receiver. “I…I wasn’t even sure you would answer…” Sam trails off and the silence quickly becomes deafening.

“How…” you both begin at the same time. An uncomfortable chuckle escapes your throat.

“You first,” you offer, hoping to gain some extra time to steel your nerves.

His hesitation is palpable. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” you lie.

“Me too.” His tone tells you he’s lying just as much as you are.  

“Y/n,” Sam breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need to see you. Today.”

Your brow furrows in confusion as your thoughts flip between anger and bitterness before settling firmly on anger, your cheeks fill with heat and you snap. “Are you serious? You are un-fucking-believable, Sam Winchester.” Your tone is harsh, but you’re past caring. “It’s been two years, Sam. Two. Years. And now what? You think you can pull my chain and I will come running?” Up until now you’d been too furious to cry, but now when you hear the choked breath on the other end of the line, you aren’t able to push the tears back.

“I know.” His voice is thick with raw emotion. “I have no right, I know that. But please,” he hesitates. “I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice.”

“What?” You shake yourself, trying to wrap your brain around his sudden desperation. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry.” Sam takes a deep breath. “I am so sorry. I can’t explain right now, but I will. I promise. Please, y/n, it has to be today.”

———–

It’s 1:00. That’s what he’d said - 1:00. Sharp. And yet he’s nowhere to be found. You can’t recall him ever being late. Instantly your thoughts are plagued with a multitude of catastrophes that might be responsible for holding him up. You pinch the bridge of your nose and clamp your eyes shut, in an attempt to physically push away the onslaught of anxiety.  Come on Sam.

Closing your eyes only makes you picture his face. He was fucking gorgeous, but you’d been drawn to more than his looks that first night. He had been a shell of a man; his brother had just died and he was a wreck. Your desire to relieve his pain mixed with the alcohol you’d consumed made the answer to his question a no-brainer - of course you wanted to go home with him.

It had been a passionate dalliance. Not only was Sam incredibly kind and loving and intelligent. He was somewhat mysterious, but you never pushed him. Never pressured him into sharing the secrets you knew he was holding back.

But then, just two months later, just as abruptly as Sam Winchester had walked into your life, he’d walked right back out. A hastily scrawled note and an empty dresser had been the closest thing to closure you’d had in two years.

You tap your right leg impatiently as you scan the cramped diner for the thousandth time, but come up empty again. Nervously, you check your phone. No missed calls, no texts. 1:08.

You drum your fingers against the table in time with the racing of her heart. Why did I even agree to meet him at all? Your mind whirls in a myriad of thoughts, none of which are helping to ease the lump in the pit of your gut. Fuck it.

Your hands fly to your phone, fingers fumbling to pull up his number just as the bell over the front door chimes. You snap your head toward the noise and freeze. Sam. His hulking frame overwhelms the small entryway, his eyes quickly scan the room before meeting yours. His hair is longer and his neck is thicker, more muscular. Otherwise he looks exactly the same to you, down to the plaid button-up, jeans and boots.

Sam’s long strides close the distance between you before you’ve fully risen to your feet. Without hesitation, Sam’s massive arms wrap stiffly around you, engulfing you in his embrace. Tentatively, your arms encircle his waist and relief washes over you. You feel the tension in his body slowly melt away.

You want to pull back and look up into his face, hoping to find the answers to two years worth of questions somewhere in those brilliant hazel eyes. Instead, you just stand there, hanging onto him as if you’re a drowning woman and he’s your lifeboat. After what feels like an eternity, you start to release your grip only to realize that he’s holding on just as desperately.

This man had broken - no, decimated your heart. You’d practiced everything you wanted to say to him in the hours following his call this morning. However, every tortuous word you’d scripted falls from your memory when you feel the silent shudder that courses through his body. You feel people staring, but you don’t care.

Sam takes a ragged deep breath before he lets go. He smiles sadly as he rubs the palm of one hand over his tear-streaked cheeks. You both sit and you stare at him, speechless. He meets your gaze and you see a weight you’d never noticed before. You examine him carefully and realize that this is nowhere near the same man you’ve mourned the last two years.

The man in front of you now wears a different kind of pain. There’s a sag in his shoulders and his eyes hold a determined resignation that you can’t quite place. Whatever this is about, you have a feeling it’s not going to be pretty.

“Sorry I was late,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

“I started to worry,” you say hollowly. “I got here 10 minutes early expecting you’d be here already. I’m glad you’re ok.”  He nearly smiles at that.

“Y/n…look…there aren’t words to express how wrong I was.” His sudden candor makes you blink. “I just need you to know that I have loved you more deeply these last two years than I can even comprehend.” He pauses, and you open your mouth to speak, but finding no response there, quickly shut it. “I could sit here and give you the lists of things I wanted - needed to do since the day I left, and every truly valid excuse for having not done them, but that wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t even begin to ease the agony I have caused you, and for that, I could not be more ashamed.”  

“Sam, I…” He holds up his hand, and you fall silent.

“I am so sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. Please let me get through this…I don’t have much time.” He checks his watch and grimaces before continuing. “There are so many things about me that you don’t know. And in a way I am grateful for that. But I need you to know that when I was at my lowest, you picked me up and put me back together,” he pauses lost in thought while tears burn at the backs of your eyes. You listen in disbelief as he angrily shakes his head and continues. “And how did I repay you? By fucking up your life…twice. The first time by leaving and the second time now by coming back.” He sighs. “I was trying to protect you. I stayed away to keep you safe. I will never forgive myself, but I know I did the right thing. You’re safe and after tomorrow, I can guarantee you won’t have anything to fear again.”

“What the fuck are are even saying? Keep me safe? What is happening tomorrow? Why are you telling me thi…” Your words are cut off by the firm press of his lips against your own. Your tongues dance hungrily over each other, as all the unspoken words, feelings and pain of the last two years seem to vanish. He pulls back breathless, his large hands still gently hold the sides of your head, your lips just a fraction of space apart.

“Y/n.” He breathes your name, and it’s a whisper against your lips. “If this should be the last thing I see, I want you to know it’s enough for me. All that you are is all that I’ll ever need.” Sam’s hazel eyes drill into your own with absolute sincerity.

“Sam,” a deep but gentle voice startles you both. You look up to see a tall man, his emerald eyes are filled with regret. “I’m sorry, we need to go. Detroit is still two hours away.” Sam nods slowly.

“Ok, Dean. I’ll be right out.” Sam exhales. As you watch the man exit the diner and climb into the driver’s side of a shiny black Impala, a troubling thought fills your head.

“Wait…your brother, Dean?”

Unexpectedly, Sam’s lips are on yours again, his mouth a hard press of urgency and need. His hands fist in the back of your hair as his tongue grazes your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, drawing a moan from deep within you. He breaks the kiss and stands. “I love you, y/n. Thank you.”

Without another word, he walks out the door, climbing into the passenger’s side seat of the Impala. Gravel dances through the air as they back out of the parking lot and they head toward Detroit.

You’ve just heard the exact words from him that you’ve been longing for, but never expected to hear. Yet here you sit alone, watching the taillights fade into the distance. He loves me?

Requested Tags:

@arryn-nyxx​

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[thesummerstorms]

I had forgotten I wrote this snippet. I always meant to come back and finish it eventually, but for context: Dar and Etain don’t purposefully get pregnant with Koa. It was more a slip up as a result of a vacation (here, to Taris, though mostly these days I imagine it as a beach vacation to Gatalenta) and a few too many drinks at the hotel while Scout and Mereel kept an eye on Kad elsewhere.

The first thing Etain did, once she felt capable of doing anything at all, was call Mereel.

He didn’t answer his comm right away, and she would have been grateful for that, if she had had the room left to feel grateful. As things stood, she waited, drumming her fingers impatiently against her arm, and when the flashing green script finally blinked red rather than blossoming into the blue of a holoimage, she let her smile drop and declined to redial.

“Hey, Mer’ika,” she said. It was easier, really, to speak to the cold and empty air of her brother’s voicemail. Another thing she should be grateful for and wasn’t. “Hey. Sorry, I just- We were wondering if we could ask a favor, if you could possibly manage it. Do you think you could extend your trip just a little? Discretely, I mean. Maybe swing by one of the outer stations for a few days or something. I just- we- ”

She broke off. If the goal was to sound pleading but cheerful- well, she was half succeeding. And in this case half a success was still a failure, because Mereel couldn’t fail to know something was wrong- that something was up- if she kept up like this. And maybe that didn’t matter, or maybe he could tell anyway, but she found herself crossing her arms tighter, gritting her teeth.

Breathe.

She tried again.

“It would mean a lot if you could. We… just need a little more time before the kids come home. You know.”

He didn’t, but let him make of that what he would.

Let Mereel be annoyed at her and Darman. Let him think them inconsiderate, even if over-worked, young parents. Just a couple pressing, however rudely, for more time to enjoy each other without their children underfoot. That didn’t matter, so long as he agreed.

Because there would be no hiding it from Scout and Kad otherwise, not when they were both Force-sensitive, when they were both old enough to connect the dots. It didn’t matter that she missed them, that she had spent the last day or so eager to see them again. Just now, that was more than she thought she could handle.

The little timer in the very corner of the comm display was still blinking, and with a start Etain realized she’d fallen silent too long again.  Osik.

She was on the verge of just ending the call and hoping that Mereel would assume that she had just been clumsy or had somehow been distracted when she meant to hang up, when something still untangling itself in the back of her brain compelled her to add, “We might need… want to stay on Taris a little while before we fly back ourselves.”

A few days, a week, maybe? Longer? Etain wasn’t sure. She had no idea how long they might have to wait, given how early this all still was, but it would be better to use a medical facility here than one on Nar Shaddaa if they decided-

Etain slammed the door on that thought, but her voice still quavered. “I don’t know how long, exactly, but it would mean a lot.  Thanks, vod’ika. I appreciate it.”

This time, she really did hang up, scooping the comlink up from the table next to her. For a few moments afterward she sat, fingers curling and uncurling around the device. Then she threw it to some back corner of the bed and strode out onto the balcony.

Outside, the air was still crisp enough to raise bumps across Etain’s arms. The slowly climbing sun splashed gold through the low clouds and across the smooth domed buildings of the Upper City, filling the sky with a warm, muted shine. The tea cup Darman had brought her earlier perched on the railing, untouched.

Frowning, Etain took the cup. The porcelain was cool to the touch. She raised it to her lips anyway, sipping at the tepid shig and staring at some unfixed point in that gorgeous autumn sky. With her comm call finished and the issue of time as handled as she could make it right now, there was nothing to stop her mind spinning back up into chaos.

What am I going to do?

[firstdraftpod]

Ambition and Acceptance with D.C. Pierson

First Draft Episode #202: D.C. Pierson

D.C. Pierson, comedian, writer, filmmaker and author of The Boy Who Couldn’t Sleep and Never Had To and Crap Kingdom, and co-writer and star of indie comedy movie Mystery Team, talks about getting more vulnerable with age, using his fiction to explore the gap between what we expect of the world and what turns out to be true, and being sick of not finishing things.

Links and Topics Mentioned In This Episode

Dan Eckman and Meggie McFadden are two comedians D.C. has worked with for years, in part on an adaptation of D.C.’s first book, The Boy Who Couldn’t Sleep and Never Had To

D.C. loved the cover of his dad’s copy of Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton

Rubber Soul was the one Beatles album D.C.’s family had on cassette or CD

In conjunction with the documentary The Beatles Anthology, detailed compilations of Beatles ephemera were released in three double-CD sets: Anthology 1, Anthology 2, and Anthology 3. D.C. listened to these more than the regular Beatles albums, which means he listened to a lot of alternate versions of songs and random studio chatter. He credits that with jumpstarting much of his curiosity as a storyteller.

While D.C. attended the Rita and Burton Goldberg School of Dramatic Writing at NYU’s Tisch Institute of Performing Arts, one of his teachers was Charlie Rubin, who wrote for Seinfeld and In Living Color, and was a showrunner for Law & Order: Criminal Intent

Derick was D.C.’s improv group which formed at NYU, made up of D.C. Pierson, Dominic Dierkes, Donald Glover, Dan Eckman, and Maggie McFadden

Mystery Team was a fully independently-made movie that the Derick Comedy group made, which had a screening at Sundance, and led the group to move to Los Angeles

Upright Citizens Brigade improv theater is where D.C. honed his comedy and performing chops during and after college

The concept for Mystery Team is basically: what if characters from Encyclopedia Brown never really grew out of their idealized, 1950s childhood, and kept trying to solve crimes?

Donald shared what he learned writing for 30 Rock (with Tina Fey, Robert Carlock, Matt Hubbard, Kay Cannon) with his Derick Comedy friends to help them write a tight script for Mystery Team

Nathan Rabin, who wrote for The A.V. Club at the time, wrote a glowing review there for Mystery Team that D.C. credits with helping the movie gain momentum

A passing encouraging comment from comedian, actor, writer, and musician Eliza Skinner gave D.C. the boost he needed to start writing a book

Dianne McGunigle, manager and a producer of Atlanta, was D.C. agent at the time that he wrote a first draft of The Boy Who Couldn’t Sleep… and she read it quickly, a favor for which D.C. is forever grateful

Gerry Howard, who edited David Foster Wallace’s The Broom of the System and Girl with Curious Hair, as well as Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life, was the editor D.C. worked with for The Boy Who Couldn’t Sleep… D.C. was starstruck to be going to the offices where Sloane Crosley—essayist and writer known for I Was Told There’d Be Cake, How Did You Get This Number and her newest, Look Alive Out There—also worked.

The Los Angeles Times gave The Boy Who Couldn’t Sleep… a lovely review

D.C. was inspired by psychologist Carol Dweck’s book, Mindset: The New Psychology of Success

One of D.C.’s favorite English teachers sent him Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham provided a quote that summed up what he likes to explore in all his writing

To me, Crap Kingdom is asking, “What if Lord of the Rings was deeply uncool?”

Stephen King’s On Writing is one of the writing books that has inspired D.C. in his fiction process

One of D.C.’s earliest imrpov teachers, Owen Burke, referred to the following passage from Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, on the endurance of human thought and creation: “We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it. The missing plays of Sophocles will turn up piece by piece, or be written again in another language. Ancient cures for diseases will reveal themselves once more. Mathematical discoveries glimpsed and lost to view will have their time again. You do not suppose, my lady, that if all of Archimedes had been hiding in the great library of Alexandria, we would be at a loss for a corkscrew?”

D.C. sometimes teaches at Writing Pad, a writing program offered online and in L.A./S.F.

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[celtfather]

Giving Thanks! #335

We're giving thanks to you and all of our listeners for this Thanksgiving show with Celtic music from Sarah Marie Mullen, Beth Patterson, Margaret Davis, Patrick D'Arcy, Hearthfire, Adam Beattie, William Coulter & Friends, Nick Hennessey, String Thaw, Celeste Howard, Vicki Swan & Jonny Dyer, Mark Davies, Calasaig, Maidens IV. http://celticmusicpodcast.com/

Listen and share this podcast. Download 34 Celtic MP3s for Free at http://bestcelticmusic.net. Subscribe to the Celtic Music Magazine. This is our free newsletter and your guide to the latest Celtic music and podcast news. Remember to support the artists who support this podcast: buy their CDs, download their MP3s, see their shows, and drop them an email to let them know you heard them on the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast.

TODAY'S SHOW IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY... THE CELTIC INVASION OF THE ISLE OF SKYE I'm going to Scotland in 2018, and I want you to join me. We will experience the Isle of Skye, where the Bonnie Prince Charlie fled with the aid of Flora MacDonald after the defeat of the Jacobite Rising of 1745. The Isle of Skye is the largest and northernmost of the major islands in the Inner Hebrides. Some call it one of the most-beautiful islands in the world. You can join our small group of invaders as we get to Know the region through its culture, history, and legends. Subscribe to the mailing list to join the invasion at http://celticinvasion.com/

NOTES

* Helping you celebrate Celtic culture through music. My name is Marc Gunn. I am a Celtic and Geek musician and podcaster. This podcast is dedicated to the indie Celtic musicians. I want to ask you to support these artists. Share the show with your friends. And find more episodes at celticmusicpodcast.com. You can also support this podcast on Patreon.

CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

VOTE IN THE CELTIC TOP 20. It's easier than ever to do. Just list the show number, and the name of one or two bands. That's it. You can vote once for each episode help me create next year's Best Celtic music of 2017 episode.

If you enjoy this show and want to support indie Celtic music, become a Patron of the Podcast. Or you can also visit the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast store.

A new episode of the Celtic Christmas Podcast comes out next week. That'll make 48 episodes of glorious Celtic Christmas music. If that's not enough, then check out Celtic Christmas compilation CD. You can get for 50% off on iTunes right now. I also have Spotify playlists, videos and a lot more listed on the website.

THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

0:05 "Give Me Your Hand" by Sarah Marie Mullen from We Brought The Summer With Us

4:22 "Jigs: Mary Patterson's/All In The Family/The Rathfarnham Lilters" by Beth Patterson from Hybrid Vigor

9:17 "Princess of Flowers" by Margaret Davis from Princess of Flowers

15:58 "Reels: Garrett Barry’s / Corney Is Coming / The Kilfrush" by Patrick D'Arcy from Wallop the Spot

21:39 "Dear Friends" by Hearthfire from Finding Our Way

25:33 CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

26:29 "The Family Tree" by Adam Beattie from The Road Not Taken

30:22 "Corn Rigs Are Bonny" by William Coulter & Friends from Celtic Sessions

33:12 "The Generous Lover" by Nick Hennessey from Of Fire, Wind, and Silver Stream

37:22 "Maggie in the wood/Jack's Maggot/Portsmouth/Hop pickers feast" by String Thaw from Smooth Sailing

40:24 CELTIC FEEDBACK

42:37 "Blessing for a Journey Home" by Celeste Howard from Celtic Blessings

46:37 "We Were Friends" by Vicki Swan & Jonny Dyer from Paper of Pins

51:22 "The Seventh Ribbon" by Mark Davies from The Celtic Harp

55:53 "In Friendship's Name" by Calasaig from Near & Far

1:01:18 "Irish Blessing" by Maidens IV from Celtic Fire

I WANT YOUR FEEDBACK: What are you doing today while listening to the podcast? You can send a written comment along with a picture of what you're doing while listening. Email a voicemail message to celticpodcast@gmail.com

Jared M. Gordon emailed: "Hi Marc, Thanks for the magnificent podcast. I listen to it on long car rides and the music is terrific. I especially love the Celtic Star Wars tunes. I hope to catch you at a forthcoming Ren Faire.

I'm a college professor and screenwriter and have recently completed a feature female-driven adventure screenplay that incorporates aspects of Scottish folklore. It's called The Storm King and is about Skye Blackwood, the 18-year-old reluctant successor to a remote village’s leader. She's forced to take up the mantle when the adults of her community, including her older brother, abruptly vanish, pushing her to set out with a ramshackle team to find them and become the leader she never wanted to be. The script recently made the top 10% of the Academy Nicholl Screenwriting Fellowships, which is a top screenwriting competition. I'm excited!

I listened to a good number of your podcasts while writing it and the music was inspiring. I realize this is a total shot in the dark, but if you know of any managers, producers, or reps who'd be interested in reading such a thing, I'd be very grateful for the referral (and I'd absolutely become a patron). Either way, keep up the great work and I look forward to more excellent, inspiring music."

Thanks Jared. I'll be honest. Networking is not my strong suit. That's one of the reasons I podcast. It's easier than trying to go out and meet people. Yes, believe it or not, but I am a major introvert.

That said, if anyone out there knows managers, producers or reps, contact Jared. Or me. I could use help too.

Carol Baril commented on Patreon: "I listen to these podcasts while working at my computer software developement job. I can listen to the music while testing my programs since I have an office not a cube! I'm fairly new to Celtic music and find this music is fun and exciting to listen to...thanks Marc for great podcast!"

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn, The Celtfather. To subscribe, go to iTunes or to our website where you can become a Patron of the Podcast for as little as $1 per episode. Promote Celtic culture through music at http://celticmusicpodcast.com/.

Check out this episode!

[therainbowjen]

vow

his casket was the first casket that I spoke to in earnest.

I have been to a lot of funerals. Funerals had been peppered throughout my life: mostly anticipated, mostly older folks. grandparents, great aunts, great uncles: those funerals were tear inducing but platitudes of “they had a long life” , “they’re not suffering anymore”, and “They’re with God, now” usually seemed to be enough. Watching death, to me, was always worse than the actual dying bit for folks, as I watched my grandmother deteriorate on my couch over a summer. Sitting mutely alongside a woman who would openly curse God on her deathbed after watching her experience a full, rich, relatively blessed life was far more painful than stepping up to her casket for the last time. Even my cousin who died in his late 20s, although unexpected and far too early, felt predicted through the rationalization that due to his habits, past drug abuse, and crimes, he would die much earlier than we would hope for him. It was painful, traumatic to be sure, but rationalized. I had never been to a funeral in which I felt the seismic shift that would never be undone, and a weight in responsibility that I knew was officially mine. Not mine alone, but mine, regardless. 

This was the first death in which I felt a before and an after.

I got the phone call at work. My phone buzzed in my scrub pocket, and I casually flipped it to see the name. My ex-boyfriend. I internally rolled my eyes at him calling me during work hours (professionals do not roll their eyes, after all), sent him to voicemail and used Apple’s “Can’t talk right now!”. I sent a quick text. “What do you need? I’m at work. Can’t talk. Call again if it’s an emergency.” I put my phone back into my pocket and apologized to my patient, a Cornell man who always made sure I knew that he was better than me, but he liked me well enough due to my massage skills. I couldn’t have been any less concerned. 

My phone buzzed again. He was calling.

I apologized to my seated patient and stepped behind the door as my boss continued the treatment plan. Picking up the phone, slightly irritated, I asked sharply, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Papa D just died.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I need Kayla’s number, I have Jeff, we are at the hospital but we didn’t make it in time, what is...”. I can’t begin to describe how derailed he was, even if I had every word in the world. He wasn’t just panicked. He was rabid. He was a mess.

His chatter faded in my mind. I answered everything he asked in an even voice. I calmed him down, I spoke with reason, he asked me what to do and I gave out orders. It only worked that way because I was on autopilot in that conversation, too occupied with the real script running in my head. My base instincts screamed. How is Chris? How is he? Does he know? He has to. He is alone in California. He is in California. I am in Chicago. He is without me. I am not there. How do I get there? How fast can I get there? I am not in the right place right now I need to GO, I need to go NOW, I needed to be gone a minute ago, I ranted internally. The words running through my head were spinning like a windmill after rain - absolutely nothing could stop my thoughts now.

I stepped back into the therapy room, absolutely shocked. Most of my co-workers were deeply alarmed. “Is everything okay?”. I spoke with a tiny, steady voice I didn’t recognize.

“My best friend’s Dad just died.”

Wednesday, June 14th, 2017. texts outgoing.

3:07 CST:  I am here

3:07 CST: you do not need to pick up but I am calling you in 5 mins and leaving a message okay so you can hear my voice. I know you are overwhelmed and shocked and everything I can’t even imagine and getting a thousand calls ok. So you do exactly what you need right now and you call me day night anything doesn’t matter. You tell me exactly what you need and I will do it whenever you figure out what that is. take your time I love you

I went to work on Thursday. The funeral and calling hours weren’t until Friday and Saturday, and so I knew I couldn’t miss work without reason. Thankfully, my boss and team were incredibly understanding. I left right after my last patient, flying along 80 through Indiana. I called my other best friend. He filled me in. He told me everything he knew. We tried to process. We discussed what would be best for our friend. How could we be the most help? Then I asked the question that I was dreading to ask, because I feared the answer.

“What’s she doing?”

“I haven’t seen her. Maybe she’s been there when I wasn’t, but I haven’t seen her yet.”

Typical, I thought. Of course. I prayed that he had just missed her when he was over. I prayed he just didn’t know how much she had been doing. But I knew the truth. I knew she wasn’t doing enough. My heart simmered in rage. I prayed my rage was misplaced.

It wasn’t. But she deserves no more space in my memoirs. As far as I saw, she let down my best friend in the lowest point in his life thus far.  It wasn’t good enough. And I will never, ever forget that as long as I live.

I came to the calling hours with my ex and my best friend. When we got there, there was already a swirling line nearly out the door of the funeral home. To say that Papa D was loved was an understatement, as they received guests for hours upon hours. We waited in line with some other friends and chatted about trivial things as we waited. We looked through the memorial photos and my heart cracked.

Every photo only spoke of love. He loved his wife more than anything, he loved his children more than life, and he loved everything around him with an unique perspective dipped in humor that his children acquired in their own ways. He went car part hunting. He worked harder than anyone. He was irreverent in the most wonderful way, honest, intelligent, humble, and very kind. He was truly a good man. And his wake was a testament to it. 

A lot of things broke me that weekend. But the first one was looking at photos of them all together. Younger versions of a family that I adopted as my own through love. Camping photos where it was evident that the glitter in Papa’s eyes was from holding his (oldest) son in his lap, and the returned love and joy in his eyes through just being with his Dad. All 5 of them with the dogs - Papa with cars - Papa with his sons, building their cars - love, love, love, and more love. Happy. And it was over for him. And for them, it would never be the same.

Even today, I think of my best friend a lot and how he is doing, but more than anyone, I think of Mama. I think the words “58 is too young to be widowed” at minimum once a week. I think the words “How does the rest of her life feel to her? What does she see?”. I think of how I checked her facebook page to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating the space in between her first name as I addressed a card, and I think of how in her most recent photos, her eyes never matched her smiles and how absolutely exhausted she looks. I bawled alone in my kitchen in New York. I want to carry her every single day. But I can’t.

We finally got to them. First it was Papa’s sisters. I re-introduced myself to them; one of my best friend’s aunts exclaimed to me that she “knew me through facebook” and knew me well, even though I’m pretty confident we had only met once before. It felt so Papa that my heart swelled a bit. And then it broke when I got to Kayla and Charlie.

Charlie was devastated, keeping it together but devastated. It was obvious that his answer to me was part of the script he had rehearsed to say to everyone through the line. I wasn’t even slightly offended. I just wanted him to take care of himself, to breathe, to autopilot through this and survive, just for today, and if that meant I got a canned response that 450 other people got, then prattle away. Besides, it was his fiance that killed me, anyways.

“It’s my fault.” Kayla said to me, immediately after “hello”. “I should have made him go to the doctor. He had chest pain but ignored it. He might still be here if I took it seriously and made him go.”

I immediately spoke with a tone so firm and mixed with pure love that I felt like it didn’t even come out of my mouth. I never realized I could mix those two feelings, but I suppose my next words only could be spoken in that tone. “It is not your fault. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare make yourself to blame for something that you couldn’t have known about. He wouldn’t want you to, anyways.”

I look over and that’s when I see Mama. She is sitting on a high chair in a dress with no sleeves, telling her current person-in-line that it was too cold in the room. In a breath, it was as if the funeral director materialized out of air to hear her request to raise the temperature. I knew it didn’t matter what the room temperature was, because she would be frozen, numb, and in shock regardless, but I felt so grateful in that moment that they catered to her immediately. This was the minimum they deserved in my mind, blind devotion and maybe miracles.

I believe I had thought of a really great thing to say to her. I went up to her, to try to be myself, to try to lighten things up as I always did, but it never happened. Instead she looked at me and I broke. I croaked ,“Mom”, and hugged her hard. I didn’t even call her Mama, like I normally do, as I try to reserve the term Mom for my actual mother. It didn’t matter. She was Mom. She is Mom. And looking at her like that, that’s all I could get out.

Jeff was next to her in line. A pure mess, but somehow not bawling his eyes out. I hugged him and made some sort of bizarro, dumb joke that simply filled the air as a I patted his head. I immediately moved to Chris. Finally.

I have no idea what I said to him. I’ve been trying to reach through the dark to remember the words I spoke, but I haven’t the faintest recollection. I just know I hugged him for as long as I could. And it felt like my every part of my insides were pulling at the seams as I had to leave him in that receiving line. All I wanted to do was stand next to him. I wouldn’t of spoken for hours, I wouldn’t of minded, I would have been good. But I knew I couldn’t, I knew it wasn’t proper, and I didn’t want to be selfish. So I let my body scream as I walked away, every inch building on the magnetic pull I felt to go. back. and. never. leave. him. ever. again.

Instead I willed my body towards the casket. Usually, my spirituality stops me from speaking to dead bodies, whether they are in caskets or graves, as I don’t believe they’re in there, anyways. I know it makes people feel better, and I don’t judge by any means, but to me the shell is the least important part of that person. You can speak to a spirit anywhere, and you don’t need to physically be next to their bodies to whisper to the wind. But this time, I didn’t do that. 

I knelt in front of the casket and spoke to him softly. “Hi, Papa”. I then thought, “I can’t believe I saw you last week and said we’d catch up next time. There was no next time, huh? I guess this was it.”

My thoughts paused for a millisecond. And then I spoke in a voice that was otherworldly. I didn’t recognize my voice at all as I spoke in the softest tone I had ever used in my life that was brimming with absolute devotion and conviction:

“Don’t worry, Papa, I’ll take care of them. And I’ll never stop.”