#and the station is v 80s

[united-under-skyfall]

.

[byberbunk2069]

regretably my radioext station has become a Song/V playlist but not enough to still be seperate imo

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 2

summary: nearly a month has passed since you agreed to go to california with joel, and you think you might love him. you trust him, and he makes you feel cared for and safe, but he hasn't been telling you the whole truth. eventually, you make a shocking discovery that makes him feel like a stranger to you all over again.

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, DDDNE (graphic descriptions of blood, murder, and of captive/dead girls, non-con p-in-v sex (i'll say rape just in case but reader does not explicitly express non-consent), being held captive, degrading language toward victims/victim blaming, joel is implied to fantasize that you're dead while fucking you, kind of stockholm syndrome), non-con breathplay/choking, mommy & daddy issues, lying, gaslighting, coercion, manipulation, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, babydoll, etc), no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 8.1k

a/n: this is the second part. if the tags deter you from reading that's okay, just pretend joel and reader made it to california and they lived happily ever after. i understand i've written something dark and heavy and it isn't for everyone, you are welcome on my blog whether it's for you or not as long as everyone is respectful of each other <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 3 (coming soon)

As the breeze begins to carry a chill that bites without the protection of a jacket or one of Joel’s flannels, the two of you have been spending the last month or so trying to outrun Autumn altogether as you make your way to California. You’ve crossed more state lines now than you ever could’ve imagined you would, and you and Joel have even made a game out of trying to spot the license plate of the farthest state away from wherever you are. He was impressed when you had recently managed to spot an Alaska plate in fucking Kansas, of all places. 

You spend your days visiting cheesy tourist traps and collecting cheap souvenirs from their gift shops, and your nights in motels or in his truck or in goddamn gas station bathrooms tangled up in each other’s bodies, unable to keep your hands off each other. The seal had finally broken just a few days after you had agreed to go to California with him, when he had laid his hand on your knee while he was driving, and you didn’t stop him from sliding it higher and higher, his fingers eventually making their way between your thighs and gently rubbing your clit through your shorts. Joel would’ve been content to play with your pussy just like that, pinching at your little nub and dipping his fingers into your drooling hole as he drove, but the noises you were making were driving him fucking insane. He had pulled off into a wooded area and instructed you to climb into the backseat, where he had shoved himself inside of you for the first time and fucked you until you saw stars. You never made it to wherever it was you were headed to that afternoon, deciding instead to just call it a day and spend the rest of it covered in each other’s sweat and come and breathing heavily into each other’s necks. 

You’ve seen new parts of Joel in other ways, too, in the time that you’ve been traveling with him. He’s been opening up to you, slowly but surely, as the weeks go on. You did eventually remember to ask him about that song you couldn’t quite make out at Moody’s, humming the bit of the chorus you could remember for him in hopes that he’d recognize it.

“I think I know the one, darlin’. Should have it on cassette somewhere here, ‘s called Alone and Forsaken, think it’s by Hank Williams. Hadn’t heard that one in a while, ‘s a winner, though,” he’d said.

You’d rifled through the contents of the glove box and pulled it out, excitedly swapping the tape with the one in the player and pressing the button on the dash to start the song. Joel’s fingers had begun to tap against the wheel immediately, and he seemed to relax at the sound of the guitar’s steady strumming. You had just watched him as the song played, admiring the subtle movements of the muscles in his face as he’d hummed along.

But he’d noticed your staring, after a while, and teased, “Y’know, really shouldn’t look at a man like that, babydoll. Might give ‘im some ideas.”

Babydoll. That was new, too. It had become his new favorite pet name for you, bestowed upon you when he had offered you another dress to wear from the stash of clothing belonging to Tommy’s daughter that he keeps under his backseat. Joel had told you eventually that he’d fibbed about his relationship with Tommy, just a little bit, and that he hasn’t actually seen him or his kid in quite some time. “Just kinda grew apart after a while, stopped keepin’ up with each other,” Joel had explained. “Jus’ never quite got around to gettin’ rid of all that stuff, I guess.”

You certainly didn’t mind having something new to wear, especially something as pretty as the little pink dress that got you your new name. Joel had looked at you hungrily when you’d first tried it on, raking his eyes up and down your form as you twirled for him.

“So pretty, sweetheart. Look just like a lil’ babydoll in that, don’t you?” Joel had complimented.

You’d giggled at the nickname, becoming shy as he’d stalked towards you and used a hooked finger to lift up your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his own. “Like that one, do ya? Like bein’ my babydoll, all mine?”

You’d sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, your brows peaked with need as your eyes had begun to glaze over from his gentle dominance. It had never taken much from him to make you start feeling a little floaty, even early on, ready to fall into his arms so he could make you gush onto his fingers or his cock or his tongue.

You’d nodded your head all syrupy and slow, making a little whimpering sound in affirmation.

“Say it,” he’d whispered, the hand propping up your chin slowly finding its way down to your neck, where it always seemed to land in your moments of intimacy. Joel had never really asked you if you liked it there or not, if you liked it when he squeezed your throat just right until your vision became spotty and your breath came out pinched and raspy, but you had learned to like it, to crave that guidance and control from him. He’d never taken it too far, just brought you teetering over the edge of unconsciousness, then allowed you to fill your lungs with air again. 

“I like it, Joel, like being yours…”

“Yeah… ‘n you’re gonna be mine forever, huh? Never gonna leave my side, always gonna belong to me, ain’t that right?” His grip on your windpipe had begun to tighten as he questioned you.

“Forever… ‘m yours, Joel…” you’d promised through a hoarse whisper.

A growl had rumbled from deep in Joel’s chest at your choked words, and he’d quickly let go of your throat to spin you around and shove you face-first into the creaking motel mattress, flipping up the skirt of your little babydoll dress and showing you just how pretty he thought you looked in it. “Mine, mine, mine,” he’d chanted as he caged you in with his heavy form, slamming inside of your aching cunt until you cried out, shuddering around him as he spilled inside of you. 

He calls you babydoll almost exclusively now, like it’s your actual name. Your everyday clothing consists almost entirely of frilly dresses and tiny tops and tight shorts from the supply in Joel’s truck, with maybe a few items he picks out for you at the occasional Goodwill mixed in. He’s made it so that you never have to think for yourself ever again, taking care of everything for you from picking out your outfits to ordering for you at the diners. All you have to worry about is being good, being his, his perfect little doll, and he says that you deserve a life as easy as this, that it’s the least he can do for you in exchange for your company, for being so good for him.

Joel does allow you to use your brain for some things, still, like bombarding him with the questions you’d begun stashing away in your mind all those weeks ago. Some of them he still answers vaguely, like where the scar on his nose came from, or if he’d been married before, or what his life was like before he met you. But sometimes you can get a story out of him, and it always feels like you’ve won the lottery when you’re able to get him talking. After the Hank Williams cassette had finished playing that day, you’d decided to ask him what he’d wanted to be when he grew up. 

He’d thought about it for a second, and then laughed at himself. “‘F I tell you, I don’t wanna hear any gigglin’ outta you over there, ‘s that clear?”

“I can’t promise you that if I don’t know what you’re gonna tell me. If you say, like, a rodeo clown or something, I’m gonna laugh.”

Joel had just glared at you, and you’d rolled your eyes.

“Fine, I won’t laugh, I promise. Just tell me.”

“Alright…” Joel had sighed. “I wanted to be a singer, actually. Believe it or not.”

You had almost started crying right then, the visual of a little Joel all those years ago wanting to grow up and become a singer being almost too much to bear. 

“Awe, Joel… You can sing? Can you—”

“No, I ain’t gonna sing for you. Don’t even ask, babydoll.”

Joel had seemed adamant about that at the time, but just a few days later when a violent thunderstorm was blowing through the town you’d stopped in for the night, you’d woken him up when you couldn’t fall asleep, and asked him in a trembling voice if he would sing for you. He’d just grunted and rolled back over at first, but you’d kept quietly begging him, and he eventually gave in to your little frightened sounding pleas. You’d rested your head against his chest as he stroked your hair and sang Alone and Forsaken for you a few times over, until the soothing sound of his voice and the quiet thumping of his heartbeat had lulled you back to sleep. The thunder had eventually retreated when it realized you weren’t scared of it anymore, now feeling safe and protected in Joel’s arms. 

He could only take so much more questioning from you after a while, though, until he decided it was about time for you to reveal more of yourself to him, and you’d thought that was fair. You’d spent a whole afternoon in the truck one day telling him about how your dad had passed away when you were still in high school, and how you’d always wished he could’ve seen you walk across the stage at graduation and go off to college. How he was the one who’d even encouraged you to go in the first place, when you hadn’t felt smart enough or good enough at anything to ever find the pursuit worthwhile. But he’d always been supportive of your artistic endeavors, the ones your mom had always called ‘useless’ and ‘a waste of time’ and ‘nothing that could ever amount to a real job’. Your dad had tried his best to make you believe otherwise, always proudly displaying your work around the house when your mother would allow it, and even framing some of it for his office. It was devastating when he had passed, but at least you felt you could make him proud in some way, by deciding to pursue a degree in art at the nearby state school. But then your mother had ruined your chances of ever finishing the program, and, well… here you are now. 

After you’d finished your story, Joel had comforted you just like he always did, promising to find you a sketchbook and some pencils at the next town you came across so you could keep nurturing your talents. He’d made good on his word, and now your time on the road is often spent sketching Joel, his cassettes, the mountains, anything you see that sparks inspiration and demands to be committed to paper.

Today, the two of you are on your way to see the world’s largest something or other in New Mexico, and you’ve become determined to etch a drawing onto every page of your book by the time you reach California. You’ve sketched just about everything in the truck at this point, and different tries at capturing Joel’s handsome side profile already take up more than half of the pages that you’ve filled out so far. You begin scouring the cabin of the truck, searching for something new you can draw. You eventually try bending forward to look under the bench seat, just in case you can find a crumpled up candy wrapper or something, but an even more interesting object catches your eye, tucked just behind Joel’s legs. It looks like an old shoebox, maybe containing some more tapes or things belonging to Tommy’s kid. You try to reach over to Joel’s side of the bench seat to grab it, and he almost swerves the truck off the road when he notices what you’re doing.

“What’re you…? Don’t touch that, babydoll, jus’ leave it alone,” he scolds.

You sit up straight again, taken aback by his tone. “Why? I was just looking for something new to draw, thought there might be something in there.”

“It’s just junk in there, baby, nothin’ you’d much be interested in,” Joel says, his grip on the steering wheel becoming more white-knuckled.

“So? I can’t draw some old junk?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Joel sighs in frustration. “‘Cause I said so, babydoll, Christ. Just leave it be, I’ll throw it out next time we stop. Find somethin’ else to draw.”

“Okay… ‘M sorry,” you respond timidly.

“‘S alright, sweet girl. ‘M sorry too, shouldn’ta yelled at you like that. Just… tryin’ to drive here, don’t want you reachin’ behind my legs and shit, ain’t safe.”

You just nod, popping open the glove compartment for the hundredth time in hopes that there could be something in there that you’d missed before. There isn’t, so you decide to pluck out that Hank Williams tape and sketch it again, humming the song to yourself in an attempt at self-soothing as you begin to outline the shape of it. It seems like a bad time to ask Joel to sing it for you again, but if you’re good for the rest of the day and make up for your earlier mistake, maybe you could hear it again tonight.

—

You’re just finishing up your sketch a half hour or so later, when Joel decides it’s time to stop for gas. You glance over at the fuel gauge on the dash, and it looks like the truck still has half a tank left, but you decide not to say anything about it. Just like he’d said when you had first reached for the shoebox, Joel swipes it from underneath the seat as he exits the truck, tossing it haphazardly into the trash can by the gas pump. 

“Dammit,” you hear him curse to himself, and you look out the window to see him staring angrily at the empty pocket inside of his wallet where cash should be. Joel opens up the passenger side door to explain, “Forgot I used up the last o’ my cash on dinner last night. Just… stay here, babydoll, gotta head inside ‘n use the ATM quick, alright?”

You nod obediently, and watch him take long strides toward the convenience store before disappearing inside. 

He’ll only be gone for a few minutes at the most, so you know that you have to make your move now. You’ve never had Joel bark at you before like he’d done when you had reached for that beat up cardboard box, and you still feel a little rattled by it. What could possibly have been in there that he didn’t want you to see? For the first time, you feel like you might not be able to trust him, and it makes you feel a little sick. You’ve started to feel like you might love Joel, and you think he probably feels the same way, even if you haven’t said those exact three words to each other yet. Someone who loves you wouldn’t hide things from you, would they? Especially not after you’ve already bared so much of your souls to each other, after you’ve decided that you belong to each other.

There’s only one way to find out, you decide.

You exit the truck quietly, swiftly closing the short distance between you and the trash can and peering into the black plastic bag that lines it. You fish out the shoebox from where it lays on top of other garbage, and crouch down in front of the gas pump to hide yourself from view. Taking a steadying breath, you carefully remove the weathered lid from the box and begin to examine its contents. At first glance, it seems to just be full of washed-out polaroids and a few random objects—a tarnished charm bracelet, a fraying ribbon, and a cracked pair of glasses among them. What is all this stuff? You think to yourself, Keepsakes from his former life, more of Tommy’s daughter’s things that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of yet?

You pick up a photo laying face down on top of the pile and turn it over, almost immediately dropping it back into the box in favor of clapping your hand over your open mouth. You shut your eyes tightly as they begin to water, hoping that when you open them again, you’ll find that you were wrong about what you had just seen. That it was just a trick of the light, that it wasn’t what it seemed, that you had just imagined it.

But you aren’t so fortunate.

Your heart plummets into your stomach as you peer inside the box again, a sickly feeling of dread beginning to claw its way up the back of your neck. You examine the photo more closely, and it appears to be of a girl who looks about your age, bound at the hands, gagged, and naked. She’s kneeling on the damp forest floor, staring up at the photographer with a defeated, glazed-over expression. She’s bruised, bleeding from her nose, and filthy, with her hair tangled in knots and mascara-stained tears running down her cheeks. The photo looks to have captured her last moments alive. 

One by one, you quickly examine a dozen or so more photos as your pulse hammers hard in your throat. Each of them are nearly identical, all depicting a pretty early twenty-something, either restrained and begging for her life or already dead. They all have dates scribbled on the front that are spaced out a mere couple of weeks from each other, with the names of the girls written on the backs of them. To your horror, you notice that some of the polaroids even have bloody fingerprints staining their white frames. It seems impossible that Joel could be the one who took these photos, that he could be the one to reduce these young girls to nothing more than weak puddles of tears and blood. You begin desperately trying to convince yourself that this is all part of a fucked-up nightmare you’re moments away from waking up from, until a photo containing a bright flash of white catches your eye. You can’t help how your face contorts into a grimace when you examine the photo closer, your stomach lurching at the sight of the amount of blood spilling from the back of the girl’s head as she lays lifeless on a wooden floor. All that she’s wearing are her underwear and a white tank top, the ditsy floral pattern of which you could swear you’ve seen before.

You don’t understand why it looks so familiar to you until you spread around more of the polaroids in the box, and spot one capturing a girl tied up and gagged on a motel bed, wearing a baby pink dress that grotesquely juxtaposes the depravity of her situation. She has wide, pleading doe eyes and ribbons finishing the ends of each of her braids that kind of make her look like… a doll.

The realization hits you all at once, that nearly all of the clothes Joel has given you since the day you met him had never belonged to Tommy’s daughter at all, if he even has one, if Tommy even really exists. You’d been wearing Anna’s white tank top with the delicate floral print. Elizabeth’s pink babydoll dress. Even the clothes you have on now probably belonged to some of Joel’s victims, but you don’t think you can stand to find out which ones. 

Your thoughts begin to spiral out of control, an irrational part of your brain working overtime to come up with a million reasons why this can’t be true, that there has to be some other explanation for what you’re seeing, until you pick up a final photo, where the sleeve of Joel’s drab olive flannel is clearly visible in the corner. The shirt is tattered at the cuffs in the exact way that Joel’s is, and it has the same terracotta striping woven through the plaid pattern. Emerging from the bottom of the sleeve is a tanned, thick hand, wrapped tightly around a pale, fragile neck, with some of the girl’s blonde ringlet curls poking through the gaps between his fingers. When you flip over the photo, your blood runs cold when you read the name inscribed on the back—Ruby.

Your tears begin to fall then. How strange, how cruel, that fate has led you here, lured you straight to him. Someone that you thought you knew, trusted, loved, who’s suddenly a stranger to you all over again. You’ve just been doomed from the start, haven’t you? All along, it was Joel who had been responsible for building the trap you’ve found yourself ensnared in now. Ruby hadn’t run away at all that summer, hadn’t found a place she belonged, a place to start a real life for herself, a place to see her unlimited potential finally fulfilled. She’d met Joel, and he’d restricted her existence to nothing more than a polaroid that he keeps in a fucking shoebox under the seat of his truck. All along, this is where she’d been. 

You feel like throwing up. You’re reeling, completely horrified and sick to your stomach, your life as you had just come to know it having come crashing down around you in an instant. You quickly replace the lid on the box and throw it back into the trash can, hopefully never to be seen again. You scramble back inside the truck just in time for the convenience store door to swing open again, the little bell accompanying the movement sounding sharp and sinister as it announces Joel’s imminent arrival. Your pulse pounds erratically against your ribcage as you try to act as naturally as possible, forcing your shaking hands to look like they’re busy adding the finishing touches to your latest sketch. 

You don’t look at Joel as he approaches the truck, and he doesn’t seem to pay you much attention, either. He leans against the hood casually once he feeds the bills into the pump, letting the tank fill the rest of the way up with gas. You have to come up with an escape plan now, before your poorly disguised agitation gives you away and he figures out what you’ve seen. 

When his task is finished, Joel climbs back into the driver’s seat exhales a deep breath, like he feels relieved to have finally discarded the evidence so you’d never find out the truth about him. You’re determined to keep him clueless for as long as you can.

“Ready to keep goin’, babydoll? Should only be another hour or so ‘fore we get to the next stop,” he asks, reaching over to you to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. You flinch away from his touch instinctually, then silently curse yourself for already doing such a shitty job at keeping up your facade.

“A-actually, um…” You swallow hard. “I’m kinda g-getting a headache, it really hurts. And I feel really s-sick. Is it okay if we just… go straight to a motel? I just wanna… lay down,” you lie, screwing up your face into a pained wince and wrapping your arms around your stomach in an effort to make it all more convincing.

“Oh, you poor thing…” Joel coos, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. “Y’ do feel kinda hot… Sure, darlin’. Think there’s a place not too much further down the road here, jus’ hang tight.”

“T-thank you,” you reply weakly. Your voice is coming out a little uneven, but you hope it just adds to the believability of your act instead of raising suspicion. You try to cover it up with a cough and a little pained groan, just for good measure.

Joel doesn’t waste any more time getting back on the road, and you stay quiet for the short ride to the nearest motel, doing your best to hold back your tears and even out your breathing. You’ll need to be calm and clear-headed in order to have any chance at escape, lest you want to meet the same fate as the dozens of other girls who were probably also blinded by Joel’s southern charm and good looks, who were manipulated by his lies and tricked into believing that he could give them a happy ending. Was he ever going to let you see California? Or had he been leading you to your death all along?

You’re going to be the one who lives. For Ruby, you have to be. For all of them.

—

Just like the first night you’d spent with him, Joel has you wait in the truck while he checks in at the counter and retrieves the keys to your room before coming back to get you. You fake a stumble when you step down from the truck, and Joel mumbles a ‘Jesus, babydoll’ before hoisting you into his arms and carrying you across the room’s threshold, setting you down softly onto the bed.

“Whaddya need, sweet girl? Water? Some crackers, or somethin’? Bet I could ask the front desk if they got some medicine or anythin’ like that,” Joel asks, sitting on the edge of the bed while you curl up and turn away from him. You do your best not to flinch this time when he decides to comfortingly massage the back of your neck.

“Can you ask, please? It hurts so bad,” you whine, unable to tamp down your shuddering sobs any longer.

“Sure I will, my poor lil’ girl… I’ll be right back, alright?”

Joel pets your hair for a moment, and the gesture would normally flood your belly with lovesick butterflies, but it only feels predatorial now, like a lion trying to convince its prey that it only wants to play, that it won’t be torn to pieces and eaten alive. 

Your body finally relaxes when Joel leaves the room, and you count out thirty seconds to hopefully allow him to reach the front office before you make your break. When you whisper the final ‘thirty’ to yourself, you spring out of bed and sprint out the door, almost tripping over your own feet in your race to reach the payphone you’d spotted earlier in the parking lot. You figured that trying to call for help would be a smarter move than running, and you’d never make it far on foot, anyway, not in the flimsy little dress and cheap canvas sneakers you’re wearing. You’d stolen a few quarters out of the truck’s center console while Joel was letting the gas pump, and you shakily deposit them into the slot, nearly dropping them. You punch the numbers 9-1-1 into the keypad, nearly ripping the phone clean off the hook as you bring it up to your ear.

“Come on, come on, come on…” You mutter to yourself, drumming your bitten fingernails against the hard plastic handset as the mocking dial tone trills in your ear.

“911, what is your emergency?” comes a voice on the other line, female. 

“Please, I need hel–” but before you can even finish the word, he’s on you, one large hand clapped over your mouth while the other rips the phone out of your hand and slams it back into the receiver. You kick and bite and thrash, but your pitiful attempts at escape do nothing to deter him. After all, his pickup is the only car in the lot, and your room is the only one with a light on. The clerk who checked him in could have never existed at all, for all you know. There’s not a soul around to hear you cry or beg or scream, except for him. You should have known that he would see straight through you, that he would’ve anticipated you getting curious and made sure he was always one step ahead of you. Joel drags you back to the room with a two-handed grasp on your upper arm, gripped onto you hard enough you’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

“No, no, no, please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Joel!” You plead, using his first name in a pathetic effort to try to appeal to whatever morality he might have left.

“You stupid fuckin’ bitch…” he spits.

Joel kicks open the door to your room and flings it shut behind him so hard you’re surprised the wood doesn’t shatter, splintering into a million sharp little pieces. He throws you down onto the stained double bed you’ll be sharing tonight, if he doesn’t decide to use the yellowed comforter to wrap your lifeless corpse in later instead. You push yourself up into a sitting position and brace yourself for whatever he’ll do to you for disobeying him, for trying to escape. You’ve never seen this side of him before, never even come close to upsetting him like this in the time that you’ve known him. 

“Don’t know who the fuck you were tryin’ to call, but you better get it through that dumb fuckin’ brain of yours that nobody gives a fuck about you anymore except for me, you got that? Cops ain’t gonna do nothin’ about some fuckin’ runaway slut, ‘specially not one who’s got nobody to miss her in the first place. ‘S why you ran away, ‘s why I picked you up… ‘Cause we both know ain’t nobody gonna come lookin’ for you. Wouldn’t be able to find your body even if they did,” he barks at you, a huge paw wrapped in the hair at the base of your skull to keep your gaze trained on him.

“Please, please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t ever do it again, I promise–”

“Y’ know… I saved you from that hell hole, I gave you everything, and this is the fuckin’ thanks I get?!” The low gravel of his voice seems to be coming from somewhere deep and cavernous inside of him. It fills the entire room with a black smoke that penetrates your eardrums and fills your mouth with something bitter.

“I know, I know, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you–”

“Yeah, I know you weren’t fuckin thinkin’. Dumb fuckin’ cunt.” Joel releases your hair and you collapse in on yourself, beginning to sob all over again. You know it probably makes you look weak in front of him, but you can’t help it as the dread washes over you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating, wondering if this will be the one mistake that seals your fate, if he’ll let you live long enough to see those aching little imprints on your arm from where he grabbed you bloom into purple-red blotches in the morning. With your eyes shut tight and hot tears streaming down your cheeks, you’re heaving, trying to catch your breath as you release broken little noises that sound like sorry, sorry, sorry. The repeated apology almost resembles some kind of prayer, as if that could save you now.

He lets you run the gamut of your terror for a minute before pinching the bridge of his nose, the calloused pads of his fingers squeezing that angry red scar that adorns it. He expels a heavy sigh and sits beside you on the bed, the springs of the old mattress screeching as they dip with his weight.

“C’mere, babydoll,” he says, quietly now, and you feel too weak to fight him as he pulls you into his lap and helps you to straddle your legs across his thick waist. You can feel his hardening bulge against your core through the thin material of your panties, exposed now by the skirt of your dress riding up and pooling at the creases of your thighs. 

“‘S okay, darlin’ I forgive you.” He lets you cry into his shoulder as he shushes you, rocking you side to side and petting the top of your head as if he were soothing a spooked little dog. When you’re able to take deep breaths again, your senses are flooded with his familiar comforting scent. The combination of his natural cologne and the softness of his voice reaches inside some deep corner of your brain that isn’t completely terrorized and disgusted by him, and it’s enough for you to lift your head up to face him again.

“Y-you do?” You squeak out as you sniffle, and Joel wipes away the last of your salty tears with one of his rough thumbs, sucking it into his mouth afterwards. He lets out a soft groan before gripping your jaw so that the fat of your cheeks makes your lips pucker.

“Yeah, babydoll… But why would you try to go off runnin’ like that, hm? Thought you were mine, my girl, thought we understood each other.”

His tone, the furrow in his brows and the slight pout of his lips make you feel guilty, somehow, upset with yourself for making him feel this way, for trying to run from his care and affection. “I-I thought so, too. But then… then I…” you stutter, finding it impossible to speak coherently anymore.

“Then what, babydoll?” Joel prompts calmly, stroking his thumb along your cheek as he squeezes it.

“T-the box… I saw—”

“Yeah… You saw my girls, didn’t you, baby? That’s why you tried to run, ain’t it? Look at me, babydoll.”

Joel jostles your face in his grip, and you obey his command, nodding slowly. When you look into his eyes, you finally notice how dark they’ve become, their usual warm amber color now appearing more red.

“You… you killed her. I-it was you.”

“Which one’re you talkin’ about, baby? Collected a lotta girls over the years, lose track of ‘em after a while.”

Your stomach churns at his callousness. “R-Ruby… I saw h-her. Y-you… you were…” You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence, your words interrupted by your hiccuping breaths.

“Oh, Ruby…” Joel shifts his hips into yours, a growl rumbling from deep in his chest as he closes his eyes for a moment, turning over her name on his tongue. “Yeah… She was a pretty thing, wasn’t she? Feisty one, though. ‘Bout broke my goddamn nose. Wasn’t gonna be so rough with her, but… she practically asked for it.” He brushes his finger across the scar on his face, and your eyes well up again when you make the connection. “What else did you see, hm? Talk t’ me about it, babydoll.” Even through his jeans, you can feel that he’s fully hard now, turned on at the prospect of reliving those gruesome scenes.

Nauseating visions of the polaroids flash across your memory—the girl bleeding from the back of her head, the one with the cut throat, the one with her neck bent at an unnatural angle. “No, please don’t make me…” you shake your head at him, your bottom lip trembling as you fight back more stinging tears. 

Joel releases his hold on your face in favor of giving your cheek a harsh smack. “Wasn’t a fuckin’ question, girl.”

You use his loosened grip as an opportunity to try to scramble out of his lap, hitting your hands against his chest as you try to push off the bed and get back onto your feet.

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. Quit fuckin’ strugglin’.” 

He’s got you flipped onto your back in a second, with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He stands between your parted thighs, and you look up at him through blurred vision, one of his strong hands now attempting to cut off the blood supply to your brain as he uses the other to free his thick cock from his jeans. His teeth are bared, and the look in his eyes is faraway, as if the Joel you thought you knew is somewhere else entirely, miles away from this dingy motel room off the side of the freeway. He’s long gone now, replaced by this monstrous version of him that you don’t recognize.

“Keep fightin’, see what fuckin’ happens… I’d take the prettiest photos of you, y’ know that? Add you to my lil’ collection, have no choice but to be mine forever… You’d fit right in, babydoll, this perfect fuckin’ body.”

He slides a hand up and down his leaking shaft as he rambles, and it’s impossible to deny how much it excites him, talking about his killing, his ritual. 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, promised myself I’d be done after the last one but—fuck—just can’t fuckin’ stop myself. ‘S just so goddamn easy,” Joel hisses through his teeth. His hand never leaves your neck as he flips up the skirt of your dress and yanks your ashamedly damp panties down your trembling legs. He flings them haphazardly onto a discolored patch of carpet in the corner of the room, and it makes you wince, imagining how he must’ve disposed of so many other girls before you in the same careless manner.  

As hopeless as it seems now, you won’t be one of them. You don’t have any other choice, you have to make it out of this alive, you have to do something.

“W-what… what is?” You manage to choke out.

Joel looks down at you, almost startled, as if you’re an inanimate object speaking to him, like he didn’t expect you to have a voice.

“Huh?”

“Y-you said… it’s so easy. What’s easy?”

He licks his lips as he thinks on his response, a sickly smile tugging at the corners. “Pickin’ up a pretty slut nobody’s gonna miss, takin’ her home with me and turnin’ her fuckin’ lights out. They practically do it to themselves with all their strugglin’ and bitin’ and scratchin’, just want ‘em to fuckin’—unh—behave.”

You whine as he pushes his tip inside your little hole, but try to maintain your composure. You think you understand now, why he’s acting this way. He wants you to want to be with him, and it triggers some kind of deepset anger inside of him when you fight, when you run, when you throw his affection back in his face. Killing the girls might not even be his end goal, at least not when he first takes them, more like an inevitable side effect of what happens when they try to escape his captivity and he feels rejected, hurt, tossed aside. And then he lashes out. And then they die. And then the cycle repeats. You’d lasted this long because you’d been the first to not reject his advances, because he’d seen himself in you.

If you don’t fight, if you can keep him talking, if you can convince him that this is what you want, you might have a chance at survival. It’s not much of a strategy, but it’s something, and it’s better than giving up.

“How… how do you d-do it?” you ask, a little less rasp in your voice as his grip on your throat begins to loosen, but his hand never leaves it entirely. He slides the rest of his cock inside you as you stutter out your question, and he laughs.

“You sure you wanna hear it, babydoll? Might be a bit much for you.” He’s fully seated inside you now, and the stretch of him burns. Even though the two of you have been fucking like bunnies practically every day since you’ve met, you can only fight against your body so much, and the fear you’re trying desperately not to clue him into is making every one of your muscles tighten around him.

“No! No, I-I wanna know. Tell me, please…” You bat your eyelashes up at him for good measure, and his canine grin widens some more.

“God, y’ really are just as fucked up as I am, huh? ‘S why I kept you around, ‘cause you’re like me…” He begins to piston his thick length in and out of you, affectionately tucking a lock of hair behind your ear with his free hand as he does. The other one constricts your airflow once again, and you stifle a whimper, suppressing the urge to argue and spit back that you’re not like him. “Usually strangle ‘em, little throats always fit so perfectly in my hands, jus’ like this…”

His voice trails off as he shoves into you harder, picking up his pace. Your breathing becomes broken and frantic as you claw through the black cloud closing in on your vision in your effort to keep him talking. “And then what?” you squeak out.

“Squeeze ‘em, real hard and slow,” Joel growls. “Try not to come in my jeans just from the pathetic lil’ sounds they make when they’re prayin’ to God to save ‘em. Ain’t so gentle with ‘em if they put up too much of a fight, though. Jus’ gotta cut the shit sometimes, slice ‘em open or split their fuckin’ skulls just to make ‘em stop. God, you’d never believe the amount of blood a lil’ girl like you’s got in ‘em.” He’s slamming his hips into your sore cunt now, both hands wrapped tightly around your neck as he uses it for leverage. You feel your muscles begin to slacken, either from the lack of oxygen or from his just-right strokes against that little spot deep inside, you can’t be sure. It was just a survival instinct, you’ll tell yourself in the morning.

“Yeah? It’s… it’s a lot?” you prompt, skin feeling tingly and voice coming out hoarse, sounding like it had come from somewhere else other than your own body. It could’ve just been the wind, a tractor-trailer whistling by outside.

“Yeah, ‘s a lot. Bleed so fuckin’ much, y’ think it might never stop. Just keeps—fuck—comin’...”

Joel’s voice breaks on the telltale word, his thrusts becoming frenzied and disjointed as he nears his release. A few high-pitched moans manage to squeeze past your compressed vocal chords, and they’re half-genuine, half-forced as a means to spur him on and speed up the process. The stretches of skin between his thumbs and forefingers are pressing down, down, down against your windpipe, and you plead with him as coherently as possible in your race against that darkness threatening to swallow you whole. 

“C-come, Joel, p-please, want you to—”

“Shut up, babydoll. Fuck… Eyes on me, c’mon,” he orders, shaking you by the neck to wake you up a bit, prevent your eyes from closing all the way. “Look at me. Just… lay fuckin’ still, don’t make a sound. Hold your goddamn breath, okay? Don’t even fuckin’ blink.”

He’s never demanded something like this before, but you aren’t exactly in a position to disobey. You do as he asks, and some of it comes involuntarily, anyway. With your hands laid at your sides, eyes looking into Joel’s own but somehow past them, unblinking, your mouth slack and lungs paralyzed, you almost feel like…

Like one of them. 

“Tha’s it, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants to himself, rutting into your limp body with abandon as he chases his high. You can’t help but let another tear slip past your lashes, and he doesn’t wipe it away this time. 

A few more bruising pulses of his cock later, and all the blood rushes back into your head at once as Joel lets go of his vice grip around your neck, collapsing on top of your still form and breathing heavily into the damp skin of your neck where your wet tears have collected. He stays like that for a while, still slotted inside you, and you let him come back into himself for as long as he needs, not daring to move a muscle until he permits you to do so. 

Joel slides himself out of your leaking hole when he’s finally caught his breath, grunting as he pushes himself up off the bed and runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. He studies your abused form, then tuts when he notices the marks he left around your throat.

“Better make sure you wear your hair down tomorrow, I reckon. Got a decent record of keepin’ the law off my ass, I’d rather keep it that way.” 

Tomorrow. He plans on letting you live. Until then, anyway. 

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

Joel doesn’t let you out of his sight again for the rest of the evening. He’d helped you up off the bed and into the shower, where he’d cleaned both of your bodies and scrubbed the dried tears and sweat from your skin. He’d sunk his claws into your scalp as he washed your hair under the scalding water, and you wondered if the suds could carry even the intangible filth down the drain with it—the guilt, the fear, the defeat, the violation. You almost wish you hadn’t looked in the box at all. What difference would it have made, if you’d stayed with him in ignorance? Those girls are still dead. It’s not like you can save them now. You couldn’t even save yourself.

Joel changes you into one of his large t-shirts for you to sleep in tonight, instead of a frilly nightgown or something else short and revealing that he’d usually pick out for you. You suppose that the choice of clothing acts as a more visible representation of his ownership over you. He’s marking his territory, scenting you like a dog. Like you’re his bitch.

Joel holds you suffocatingly close to him in bed that night, his arms wrapped around you so tightly that it’s difficult for your ribs to expand. He keeps one hand possessively wrapped around the column of your neck, not squeezing, just to remind you what he’s capable of. As if you could ever forget. 

“Y’know what, babydoll? I think we could be partners, you and I,” Joel says in a slow, gravelly voice, right next to your ear.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper back into the darkness.

“I just… I tried to quit, y’ know, but I don’t think I can. I don’t want to. Too damn old and slow to keep chasin’ after ‘em anymore, but… ‘f I keep you around, you’d just make the perfect bait, wouldn’t you? That pretty face, sweet lil’ smile, you could lure ‘em straight to me, they’d never see it comin’.”

“See… what coming?”

“My hands. The knife. A fuckin’ rock. Whatever, ‘s up to them.”

His words linger in the air, and you know you should say something, but how could you possibly respond to what he’s asking of you?

“You want me to… to kill—”

“No, no, ‘course not, babydoll. Wouldn’t even have to be in the room while it’s happenin’, would never ask my sweet girl to get her hands dirty like that. Jus’ gotta bring ‘em to me, tha’s all. Maybe go after ‘em if they try to run. I mean… you’d rather it be them than you, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” Joel’s hand closes in around your throat, and you understand now what he’s offering you—a deal. Your life in exchange for helping him grow his collection of victims, helping him satisfy his urges. He’s made you feel indebted to him, like you owe him something in exchange for letting you live tonight. He thinks he’s found something special in you, a victim who finally can’t run away from him, who won’t, now. There’s enough of a connection still here, although held together by fear, that he knows you won’t try escaping again. Because he saved you, the first time from starving on the side of the road, the second time from himself. And you owe him your life, now, in some form or another. 

You only nod against the pillow, but it seems to be enough for him.

Joel kisses the back of your head, breathing in the smell of your hair. “I love you, babydoll.”

His fingers press harder against your arteries, making it clear that you have no choice but to respond with what he wants to hear.

“I love you too, Joel.”

The words are still true, you think, somehow. But it just feels like you’re saying them to a stranger now.

You wish you would’ve listened to the one useful thing your mother had ever told you—not to talk to strangers, or you might fall in love.

tag list: tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @k1l4ni @joelsdagger @hjzghi-blog @natalieispunk (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[writingjourney]

Late Night Reading

Your Papa spends his evening reading about Roman cults – perhaps you can tempt him to offer you some of his attention instead.

pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x female!reader || rated: E

content: 3.6k words, (mostly soft) dom!copia, thigh riding, finger sucking, cockwarming, praise, p in v, riding, teasing, orgasm denial, unprotected, coming inside, suggestive use of a history book, 18+ only

Shoutout to @ghelullu for the historical expertise and to @foxybouquet for drawing reading glasses Copia for me that definitely helped inspire this fic!!

Masterlist – Ao3 link

The sheets feel soft against your skin as you stretch out on the bed like a lazy cat. You run your fingers over the fabric, a deep blue cotton that hugs your body as you roll from your belly onto your back. His side still carries his smell and the sigh that leaves you at this discovery is filled with a longing that has the sound vibrating in your throat.

Copia pays you no mind.

For an hour now he’s been sitting comfortably in an armchair, book in his lap and reading glasses perched on his strong nose. He is lost in the story, his eyes moving along the lines rapidly and with visible interest. The glass of red wine he’s been drinking tonight sits abandoned on a table by the side and the vinyl record hasn’t been flipped in quite some time; only the static noise of the record player fills the room.

You rise from the sheets and walk over to the music station on naked feet, slipping the record back into its sleeve to pick another. Copia has a vast collection and you take your time, glancing at him from the corner of your eye in hopes that your half-naked body, clad in just your sleeping shirt, will catch his attention. However, even as you place the needle on the record and soft 80s rock tunes fill the room his eyes stay on the pages of his book.

He looks handsome, you note. The glasses almost slip from his nose with how low he wears them, smudging the white paint where they sit tight by his nostrils. His hair is a bit messier now at the end of the day. A loose strand has fallen over his forehead and tickles his brow, the curve casting a small shadow on his skin under the light of his reading lamp. You fight the urge to brush it back and kiss the spot, lingering by the shelf to assess whether you can finally justify disturbing him.

Copia turns the page. You tiptoe over, hip pushing against the armrest by his side. He must notice you but he gives no indication of it as you trail your fingers over his shoulder, then down his arm. His black shirt stands open at the collar and you get a glimpse of his thick greying chest hair as well as the curve of his firm pectorals underneath the fabric. You want to kiss him there, too.

“Papa,” you try.

“Hm?”

He does not look up, even though the use of his title is enough information as to your intent. With your heart hammering you sink down and kneel beside him, resting your head on his thigh. The fabric of his pants feels rough against your soft cheek. Even so Copia continues to read, his eyes never straying from the page, ignoring your puppy-eyed face right next to the book. You can’t help but pout. Impatient fingers run down his calf, then up to his knee on the other side but your touch lures no reaction from him either.

You move to stand, let your fingers run down his forearm and grasp his wrist, lifting it out of the way so you can place yourself in his lap, once more the image of a needy cat vying for attention. Copia hardly reacts, only lifts the book out of the way while still fixated on the page. You shift until you’re sitting more comfortably, feeling his thighs flex underneath your weight until they press firmly against your ass. You feel his cock too, half-hard beneath the lacings of his pants.

“What are you reading?” you ask this time, nestling against him. Your head rests on his shoulder as you try to get a glimpse of his book.

“It is a book on the Mithraic Mysteries,” he explains, his voice steady and calm. “A very fascinating read. Not much of the Cult of Mithra survived, no written texts anyway.”

“Who is Mithra?” you inquire, only half-focussing on his words now that you finally feel him against you.

“An old Indo-European deity, worshipped by Roman soldiers. Some surviving depictions show him killing a bull, sacrificing the blood and seed to replenish the world and life itself.” His free hand moves to rest on your thigh, the black glove soft on your bare skin. “However, the cultists were persecuted by Christians and ultimately eliminated. Their places of worship, the mithraea, were destroyed.”

“That does sound interesting… and sad,” you conclude, taking in his scent with a deep inhale before you press a kiss to his neck. “Is it more interesting than me?”

“Oh, amore. Of course it is not.” His hand moves further up your leg until it rests on your ass, pushing your shirt up a little higher to squeeze the soft meat there. “Have I not given you enough attention, tonight, my baby?”

You shake your head, pressing your face against his neck as you hug him closer.

“Amore, if you want something you have to ask for it,” he says. “You know this.”

“I did not wish to disturb you. You were so engrossed in your read.”

“And yet here you are, no? Disturbing me.”

You break away to look at him, his face betraying nothing even though you swear you can see the hint of a teasing smile playing at his lips. Encouraged, you reach for his free hand and drag it into your lap, running your thumb over his wrist where his pulse starts to beat a little faster against your fingertip. You lift his hand to your lips, pressing kisses to the tender skin just where his glove ends.

Copia finally reacts, his fingers curling around your cheek and tilting your chin up. His eyebrows are pulled together, giving him a stern expression with the glasses still sitting so low on his nose. You giggle, the image of a teacher who glances at his students in irritation as they interrupt him popping into your head. Perhaps you will be rebuked now.

“Funny, hm?” he asks.

Before you can reply he pushes his index finger into your mouth, gently pressing down on your tongue until you obediently start to suck. The leather is smooth, making your mouth water, and you swirl your tongue around him languidly. Copia holds your gaze as he adds a second finger, his thumb resting on your chin where he wipes away the drool that dribbles from the corner of your mouth. After a moment of indulgence he withdraws them as well as his gaze and uses the wetted digits to turn the page without another word.

His attention is on the book again.

You release a sigh of discontent but he’s ignoring it just like he’s ignoring how you squirm in his lap. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs, your underwear soaked by now.

“Papa,” you whine. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“I need you.”

“You have me, demonietta, now that you wiggled your naughty little butt into my lap.” He glances at you from the corner of his eyes, no doubt taking in your desperate expression and unable to keep up his austerity for much longer. “Va bene. You have permission to use me as long as you do not disturb my reading. If you do, there will be consequences.”

“I won’t. I promise, Papa.”

He nods and his eyes land on the book again, his upper body angled in the direction of the lamp on his side table away from you. You reposition yourself until you can feel his thigh firm against your core, using his chest as leverage. Not a single one of his muscles moves to help you. Once you’re settled you have to readjust his free hand on your hip to make more room, smooth leather once more on your heated skin. As you slowly start to grind on his leg you feel his fingers tightening but he does not look, does not stir.

It feels incredible. The fabric of his jeans is rough against your inner thighs, the friction so needed that you can’t help but close your eyes and moan at the pressure against your clit. You repeat the same movement, slow drags of your hips to the rhythm of the music playing in the background. Hands planted firmly on his chest you feel his muscles against your palm and every time you push yourself back they flex underneath your fingertips.

You’re approaching your release fast after that – more confident movements, the perfect angle to ignite a fire deep inside your belly. The rolls of your hips become sloppy, your knee pushing forward into his crotch as you release a needy whimper, and then suddenly Copia’s fingers dig into your hips, effectively stopping you.

“Ah ah.” He tuts, his eyes snapping in your direction with a frown. “No, no, no, amore. Not like this. What did I fucking tell you, eh?”

A painful sob rips from your throat, your pussy throbbing desperately at the sudden lack of stimulation. “Papa?”

“Do you think I can read when you are dripping all over my leg? When you are moaning into my ear with the voice of a temptress?”

“I’m sorry, Papa. You just feel so good.”

His expression softens, his fingers unclenching. “Gentle now, hm? We are not in a hurry.”

You shake your head, your breathing still fast as you try to recover. “Will you help me, Papa?”

“Help? But you interrupted me,” he says with indignation. “What did I tell you happens when you interrupt me, amore?”

“There will be consequences.”

“Brava ragazza, listening so well to my words. If only you would heed them, hm?” He rubs his hand along your thigh, soothing, comforting. “Now unlace me, demonietta, so I can decide how to proceed with you.”

His cock strains against the fabric and you fiddle with the laces, your fingers still shaky from the almost-peak that he robbed you of. Once you finally loosen them, the pressure does the rest and you can free him easily even with your tremor. He’s achingly hard, dripping precome into your waiting hand. You want to lean down and taste him but you know he is in charge now and it thrills you to comply, to be good for him.

“Take off your underwear,” he orders. “Then you will keep me nice and warm for as long as it takes me to finish this chapter, hm? You want to please your Papa, do you not?”

 “Always,” you say as you slip from his lap, driven by the anticipation of finally feeling him inside of you.

The fabric is drenched as you remove it from your core and throw it aside. Copia’s arms remain open, hips slotted forward to allow you some more room, and you hover above him for a moment. You take his cock into your hand and slide it back and forth between your folds, wetting his tip with your arousal. Copia moans lowly at the contact, the pages of the book fluttering as his body trembles underneath yours with suppressed desire.

“So wet and needy,” he chides. “You want your Papa so bad it makes you forget that he is a very busy man, amore. I only have so much time to do my reading.”

“Perhaps you should read to me in the future, Papa,” you suggest, slowly sinking down on him. The stretch knocks the air right out of your lungs, his girth a welcome intrusion after so much time you spent waiting. A groan slips from his throat once he is fully sheathed, betraying the way he is affected as well.

“Hm, no, dolcezza, if anything you should read to me,” he says through gritted teeth. “So your Papa can rest his weary eyes. I am not so young anymore.”

“You are in your best years, my Papa,” you correct and begin to rock your hips.

Copia’s hand shoots out to grab you, digging roughly into the softness with the strength it takes him to stop you. “Ah ah ah,” he chides with a shake of his head, the glasses now crooked on his nose. “You stay still while I finish this chapter or I will remove you, amore. You know the rules, eh?”

You whimper, clenching around him not just in frustration but in arousal at his tone. With one hand you adjust his reading glasses, the other one rests on the soft curve of his belly underneath his shirt, trying to keep still. Every breath is laborious, every second too long.

“Very good, amore,” Copia praises and then his eyes are back on his book.

His cock pulses inside of you or maybe you are pulsing around him, the need to move so overwhelming you can’t stop the occasional whimper from slipping out, nor can you control the way your hips buck ever so slightly on their own accord. You’re not sure how he can focus, if he focuses at all or tortures you for his own enjoyment. His eyes do move along the lines and you spend a good amount of time studying them, green and white, slightly enlarged by his glasses. No matter how well he plays his part as the stern Papa, the mischievous, loving glint in them never leaves.

You can’t fight the urge to fix his hair, finally combing the loose strand back and massaging his temple. Copia lets out an appreciative hum, pressing his head into your hand. You take the hint and move your fingers along his scalp, gentle pressure to remove the tension of a long day. His hair is soft as you trace the silver streaks that become more and more prominent the longer you two are together.

His hand leaves your hip then to flip the page. You can’t help but squirm, the movement sending a wave of pleasure through your body that makes you keen and clench around him. It’s too much, you are too aware of his cock buried so deep inside of you to keep still. All you want to do is lose yourself in him, to have his undivided attention.

Copia inhales sharply at your fidgeting, in irritation or arousal you cannot tell. His hand reaches for your jaw, tilting it so that your eyes meet his. Instead of anger you find compassion in his gaze, even though there is a hint of complacency as well. “My poor amore,” he says, his tone only partly mocking. “I am not quite done yet. But I think you will have to read the next page for me. My eyes are so tired.”

“But–”

“You are so good for me, dolcezza,” he interrupts, leaning in to nuzzle your nose. “If you do well now your Papa will reward you for your patience.”

Before you can close the gap for a kiss he leans back again and hands you the book, pointing to a line at the top of the page. You try to catch your bearings, especially when you feel his cock twitching inside of you as he shifts to remove his reading glasses. A whimper turns into a croak, your throat suddenly tight and dry.

“In the– the–” You struggle as he once again stirs underneath you, settling comfortably in the armchair with both hands on the armrests. He is enjoying your struggle, a barely concealed grin on his lips. You clear your throat, take a deep breath and relax your muscles. “In the ancient world, the term mysteries was used to refer to secret cults throughout the period from the seventh century BC to the fourth century AD.”

“Very good, amore,” Copia says, voice smooth and sensual. “The next line now, hm? You are doing so well.”

“A-all shared two basic features: the injunction to silence, intended to… intended to prohibit ritual details reaching the outside world, and the…” Suddenly his hips buck, both of his hands settling on your sides to keep you steady as he pushes up into you with one hard thrust. Your eyes flutter closed, the book slipping from your fingers as you hold onto his shoulders.

“Go on,” he orders. “Finish the line. I know you can do it, amore.”

You open your eyes, trying to find the page again and holding the book open with one hand. It takes you a moment to find the right line. You’re trembling and dizzy. “The-the injunction to silence, intended to prohibit ritual details reaching the outside world, and the promise of… the promise of salvation...”

“Mhm, salvation,” he agrees, another thrust that finally has the book falling shut between your bodies and sliding into the gap between his thighs and the armrest. “Everyone wants salvation, ragazza mia, everyone wants release. Do you?”

“Yes, please, Papa.”

Copia grabs the book and sets it aside, feet braced against the floor and hips canted in a way that allows you to fully straddle him. You rest your hands on his chest and stare down at where your bodies join, the sliver of skin and dark body hair between his shirt and waistband glistening wetly with your arousal. Impatient now, you rip at the buttons of his shirt to tear it open, trying to find purchase on his bare skin, anything to feel more of him. His warmth radiates into your palms and then his hands curl around your buttocks as he lifts you just enough to shallowly fuck up into you. You moan, falling forward from the impact until your fronts are squished together.

“Papa,” you whine.

“Hmmmm, sei perfetta, amore mio,” he whispers, lips parted in concentration as he keeps up his pace. “I am proud of you, eh? So patient, waiting all night for your busy old Papa.”

You lean in, stealing his breath as you desperately press your mouth to his. The armchair creaks just as your lips connect and the wet sounds of your hips meeting over and over fill the room, drowning out the soft music. You follow his rhythm instead, pushing down and taking him ever deeper, controlling the angle with which he burrows into you.

“Fuck, Papa,” you whine, the orgasm you lost now building back up fast and violently.

One of Copia’s hands slides up to the back of your head, keeping it down for more wet kisses that smear his face paint all over your chin. His tongue enters your mouth, licking against yours desperately as though he suddenly can’t get enough of your taste. You comply eagerly, carding your hands through his chest hair, leaving trails of red as your nails scrape over his skin. Copia groans at the sensation, a deep sound that vibrates within you and has you clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, amore, ahhh–” He picks up his pace, chasing his own pleasure now just as much as yours. “So fucking good.”

“I’m s-so close,” you whisper.

“Let go for me,” he encourages, bringing his hands between your bodies in search of your clit. “Show your Papa how f-fucking good he makes you feel.”

He finds your sensitive spot, grazing the swollen nub with his gloved finger, and you fall apart in an instant. Your muscles tense, voice high-pitched as you moan and whimper at your release. When your mouth slips from his Copia grabs your chin and forces it back up, urging you to hold his gaze as he continues to fuck up into your clenched cunt. You struggle to hold yourself upright, your whole body turning into jelly as pleasure makes way for exhaustion. With one hand on his throat you trace the line of his Adam’s apple, feel him swallowing hard as he finally follows you and comes inside of you with a groan. His eyes turn glassy, losing their focus, and you finally allow yourself to sink against him, feeling his slightly sweaty chest.

For a long moment neither of you speaks, trying to breathe the air back into your lungs.

“It was okay, amore?” Copia finally asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not too much teasing?”

“It was amazing,” you say, your body still numb and tingly from the exertions. “Maybe we can wait a few minutes, though, before we get cleaned up.”

Copia hums and wraps his arms around you, keeping you pressed closely together. He begins to caress your back, fingers then sliding up to your neck where he massages the tight muscles for a moment but stops when it gets too exhausting to maintain. You sigh into his neck, face hidden underneath the curve of his jaw where you snugly fit against him. After a moment of reprieve you lean back up and look at him – ruined face, his paint smeared into grey streaks that run down his neck and reveal his skin. You press a kiss to the small scar on his jaw, then to the dip where it transitions into his plump lips, the corner of his mouth next.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your reading,” you mumble, breathing more kisses to his exposed face to give him the gentleness he always craves after being intimate like that. It’s a ritual by now, comfort and affection that make up for all the teasing.

“Ah, I was just waiting for you to come over,” he admits, returning the favour by pressing his lips to your cheek. “The book is interesting… but not that interesting, eh?”

“I will worship you, my Papa,” you whisper with a smile. “I call it the Cult of Copia.”

He chuckles, tightening his arms around you again to pull you flush against him. “Watch out, amore, I think I could get used to that.”

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡ The quotes I used in here are from this book, sorry for the blasphemous use of an actual academic book haha.

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

[accio-victuuri]

Somebody Else’s Arms : Timeline + Analysis ✍🏻 and a tiny bit of clowning…

as what the title of this post says, let’s talk about this song and everything that goes with it. i didn’t expect him to actually do something like this but i’m not mad about it. there were already some rumors about it before the release, which personally didn’t come by my weibo feed so as soon as the poster teaser was out, everyone had their own thoughts:

1. It might be related to intercross, because of the water imagery and angsty title.

2. It’s a song he bought and at the time people were pointing to an existing track by cool heads prevail. and others were saying it may just be the same name.

3. some cpfs getting nervous cause it seems to be a breakup song, as if you all didn’t know he and xz love bittersweet songs!

4. connected to #2 cause a cpf station sister commented on this song before we knew anything like she had an idea that this will be performed all along.

AND NOW THAT THE WE HAVE LISTENED TO IT, it is a completely different one from the track people were referring to. oh well. rumors are rumors.

yibo-official first released the teaser for it at 16:00 which to me relates to the “fact” that 16 is bobo’s favorite number. also the play on words and how they associate with each other is so interesting SEA = somebody else’s arms then using that as an overall theme like deep in the sea. not to be that person — but it’s so xiao zhan.

then the hair reminded people of his style @ tencent starlight in 2019 with xz. but i have to say, when the douyin video was released, it made more sense because of the 80s vibe he ( along with other yh family stars ) was going for. the clothes and the hair definitely complete the look. i mean come on, he already had the vincent vega hair.

the similarity in the caption, once again! xzs 🤝 ybo

Now let’s move on the song itself ⬇️⬇️⬇️

i can only find information on this songwriter, so i guess it’s true that he bought it. the lyrics is actually giving ghost by justin bieber which is a personal fave. it’s like acknowledging you love someone but they are gone now. also it’s interesting that he chose an english song! i’m gonna be a totally delusional fan here and think that this is because he is becoming more and more popular with the international stage so he chose this to connect more.

the choreography is also by his fave Franklin Yu who also did the dance for Rules of My World and Burn It All Down. backed up by Made in V which is a usual group that collaborates with him and XZ. 💚❤️

i think we are all surprised cause it’s in ENGLISH. like i understand if the chorus is, but as a whole. wow.

You're still in my heart

But you're in somebody else arms

You are still in my mind

But you are in somebody else's life

A part of you got left inside my chest

I try and I try to forget

You are still in my heart

But you are in somebody else arms

Memories that we said we made

Memories I can't never let go

How do they torture me the same

Memories that we won't even know

Let me out

Na na na oh My love my love

Na na na oh Let me out

Na na na oh My love my love

A part of you got left inside my chest

I try and I try to forget

You are still in my heart

But you are in somebody else arms somebody else arms

the lyrics are so heartbreaking 💔 and as i said, something we know will appeal to yibo. and as an artist, or any kind of creative i feel like this kind of emotion connects well to the audience. it’s the perfect choice! but that doesn’t mean it don’t hurt!

i know there might be some part of the fandom who will look at this and be like — oh they broke up! “see how sad his face was performing?!” and well.. dude, he is performing this song and singing those lyrics.. what should he do? smile? lol. his dance is an interpretation of it, did you see that bit where he was alone and everyone had partners? In the meantime he was all alone and cradling no one 😭😭😭

it’s a performance. no matter how much we think everything has a personal connection.

anyway, it’s beautiful. his voice is amazing. i’m just imagining xz totally lovin this song and putting this on repeat! 🎧

and oh, the style of his clothes look like there are XX on it. hahahaha! a CPN fave!

DISCLAIMER: this is all the information available at the time of writing. I will post separate ones if ever new information comes out related to this song. 🎶

[theswanqu33nsblog]

Let's get in the back of your cop car, officer!

Warnings: mention of p and v, kind of agressive, sex in public, very vulgar language.

Whatever and it didn't matter, you were in the back seat of the car of a police officer, or rather good-for-nothing Colin Zabel, a detective who hasn't had a case since...he was almost murdered in Easttown. And you knew that whenever he arrested you you would get out the next day, or that maybe it would be your last day enjoying your freedom.

It was late Friday night, Colin had arrested you because you accidentally (not actually) stole a perfume from a hidden store in the city, you thought there were no cameras but oh surprise! Detective Zabel always had the area monitored. So you were in the back seat, and a safety gate so you wouldn't try to attack Colin while he was driving, singing some stupid song from the 80s.

"ya' know, you should have known that I'm everywhere y/n" Colin said as the radio continued playing the music in the background, while one of his free hands was tapping his knee to the rhythm of the song. "I mean, I think I've counted the number of times I've arrested you this last month."

Colin laughed, thinking it was a great joke, perhaps to impress you or perhaps to make you understand that behind that tough detective facade (which he was not) existed a good and funny man... although it always went wrong.

"i could care less" You said rolling your eyes and looking in the rearview mirror where he saw you, he chuckled and raised his eyebrows.

"yeah, i already know that..." Colin said, taking even a slower route to the station, somehow he enjoyed talking to your snarky and sass attitude. "Hey you know, the other day..." he started to speak but you interrupted him again.

"i said, i literally don't care" You repeated, looking at him again, he raised his hands in surrender while his feet controlled the pedals of the car, and in his failed attempt at being a good person he almost ran over a cat, causing him to put his hands on the wheel and swerve the poor little animal.

"You should relax your temper a little, you know? I'm just trying to do my job," He said as he got back to driving well and then clenched his jaw a little. After a while, he felt a slight discomfort in his pelvis informing him that he couldn't hold back the urge to pee. So, parking the car on the side of the road and turning off the engine, he looked at you and then said "I'll get off for a few seconds...I have to make a call, don't get out of the car or you know what's happening to you."

He looked at you for a few seconds and when he saw that you nodded, confused that you had paid attention, he got out of the car, closing the door behind him, he left but then he came back looking at you through the window, which made you raise your eyebrow. "I'm sorry, making sure you listen to me."

He smiled and then went behind a tree, while you tried to see what he was doing there, because clearly, not a call, because the idiot left his phone in the car. Colin unbuckled his seatbelt a little quickly, not being able to resist the urge to pee, this would have been easier if he were going to a gas station but he couldn't risk you running away and getting a quick taxi, at least here in the middle of the nowhere. Everything would be difficult for you to escape. Then he unbuttoned his pants, lowering the zipper, and then lightly pulled down his boxers, taking out his member and taking it with both hands, looking for some direction to point to to pee, well, if he peed in the tree he would be like a dog and he doesn't want to mark territory...that would be strange. Meanwhile, you, amid all the movement he made in that tree, were able to see what he was doing, just his ass on full display and that was enough for you to smile and try to contain your laughter.

Finally determined, Colin began to pee in the grass, moving his hips and drawing a smile in the dirt with his urine, then he frowned when he realized what he was doing and looked away concentrating on peeing. You kept watching what he did, a slight movement and that was enough to steal a glimpse of his dick, to be honest you always wondered what he was hiding under those black pants every time he arrested you, So when he moved, you could see enough, a good sized dick and veins decorated it, Colin's hand squeezing it as he shook it after he finished peeing, how could such a stupid action turn you on in seconds? Maybe it was because you were ovulating and starved for sex and it didn't even matter if it was casual. Colin fastened his pants and belt, wiping his hands on his pants and running back to the car, sitting in the passenger seat and closing the door behind him, breaking you out of your thoughts.

"Damn it's...hot out there" he said letting out a sigh, the smell of his perfume again invading the police car.

"You were peeing right?" you asked even though it was already obvious, he was going to ask you how you knew but you interrupted him "you left your phone here."

"yea' right"

He let out a light laugh and then both stayed silent, he looked at you in the rearview mirror, although in fact he was looking at your breasts in that long-sleeved shirt you were wearing, weren't you wearing a bra? Damn, your nipples were noticeable, something that made his pants start to tighten. He cleared his throat, putting his fist to his mouth and then said. "I uh.."

"You have a big cock" you said, being completely honest, you loved intimidating people although you didn't know exactly when, he looked at you with a wtf face trying to process that.

"alright, thanks....???" He said, with a light blush on his cheeks, then he ran his veined hand over his forehead and hair, pulling it a little with his fingers and then he said. "Hey, I've never understood why girls don't wear bras under their shirts, is it fashion or...?"

When you heard that, you didn't hesitate to laugh, sure sure, he had seen your tits.

"it's comfy" you smirked, and then it occurred to you to shake your breasts, making his eyes open completely, and then he would turn around to see you in full display. He lightly licked his lips watching your breasts bounce when you finished doing that, then looked into your eyes swallowing quickly.

"why did you..." He trailed off

"because it's sexy, isn't it?" you said, speaking softly, and leaning into the protection that separated both from back seats to front seats, your face close to his between the holes.

He just didn't think, he just nodded, it had been a long time since a girl had acted that way around him, in fact, since his fiancée abandoned him at the last minute. "How can you know if I like that? or if someone is okay with doing that in front of an officer" he asked you, looking at you between the holes, speaking softly and with a thick voice.

"All men love that" You whispered with a slight smile, looking at his lap he noticed a tent forming in his pants, great. The only thing missing was being turned on by a girl that he had to take to lock up that night.

He just, got out of the driver's seat, took out his keys opening the door where you were, almost pushing you aside roughly so he could get in back there, then he closed the door and put the keys in his vest. He looked at you, and sighed saying. "It's sexier to do it when you're handcuffed."

You could only smile at that, feeling your belly tingle and your panties slowly getting wet at that, looking at him closer, you could notice his prominent jaw, those fucking brown eyes looking at you as if he wanted to take you as fast as possible. He quickly laid you down on the back seat, getting on top of you, and kissing you slowly on the neck, shit it felt so perfectly good that if you had your hands free you would undress yourself in front of him. His hands slowly caressing your hips, and slowly entering your shirt while you couldn't do anything but close your eyes and gasp wishing you could touch him again.

"shhh" you felt the soft tickle of his breath in your ear, making you bite your lip in anticipation, as then his perfect nose slid over your cheek to your lips, and then slowly kissing your bottom lip, his hands moving up inside your shirt. until he touched the curves of your breasts without a bra, squeezing them from below while he kissed you. Two fingers of his right hand, touching your nipples and squeezing and twisting them hard, pulling on them as you let out a small moan that made him smirk. "Are you wet already?" He looked into your eyes, while he squeezed your breasts, biting his lip, and with his knees, pushing your legs to the sides of him so that you were spread open, just as you could have wished before. Who wouldn't...

"Do you have condoms?" You asked, even though you knew the guy probably got no sex, you didn't want to risk any sexually transmitted diseases, he frowned, removing his hands from your breasts and said.

"Do I look like I'm carrying a whole package of condoms?" He asked and then let out a laugh. He looked at the car windows hoping that no one would pass by or a person would come out of nowhere. And it was almost time to open the gift, his fingers undoing his belt while you noticed the sexy veins in his hands and forearms, damn man how sexy he was. After that, he took your handcuffed wrists, and put them above your head so that you were not in the way, finally, lowering his pants a little followed by his boxers, which you could see were black Calvin Klein ones.

It was no surprise, this man gave off the aroma of Calvin Klein, he was just so perfect. His veined hand pulling out his good sized cock, with two veins adorning the length, he gave it a pair of pumps while with the other hand, he lifted your skirt a little, and pushed your lace panties aside. His thumb rubbing circles on your clit making you gasp with desire, he then said. "Shit...you're so wet" The sound of his voice was so sexy that you probably felt yourself slipping into the seat of his car, he continued to rub your clit making you wetter while with his other hand he continued jerking off his cock to make it harder, which was throbbing of need to be inside you, on the other hand, he remained strong enough not to sink into you so quickly.

His finger slid over your pussy slit, expanding your juices as your legs trembled looking at him, slowly grinding your hips, he brought his hand to his mouth, licking the tips of his three middle fingers, and spitting a little, then brought them back to your pussy and rub more.

"Holy fuck! You are torturing me Zabel, just fuck me" You let out a moan, he just let out a playful giggle, and leaned towards you, biting your earlobe, and finally, you felt the tip of his cock rubbing up and down your slit, and his hand that was now free, He took your leg, lifting it on his hip and pressing his fingers into it, slowly pushing his tip into you making you moan, and pulling it out again, finally, he pushed himself inside you all the way, touching the depths of you. He grunted leaned his forehead on your neck and whispered.

"fuckkk, you're so damn tight," he whispered, then his other hand took your other leg, placing it on his hip as well and squeezing your thighs with his fingers, slowly, moving his hips back and forth, while you moaned close to his ear.

"yes...ghhh...Zabel" You moaned slowly as your arms tried to go towards his neck to hug him, but releasing your thigh he aggressively pushed your cuffed arms back against the car door, and put his hand on your thigh again, fucking you a little faster than how it started.

"Don't touch me" he said, as he gasped, you felt his cock was completely hard inside you, his balls slapping against your ass as he ground himself a little and started to fuck you faster, you could hear the sounds of skin slapping or clapping. in the silence of the car, while your moans increased and his gasps the same.

"yes...yes...just like that, please zabel..."

Your moans ran through his ears, while he bit his lip and his cockhead brushed hard against your hilt, resting his forehead more on the small hollow of your neck, you moaned more and more. His hand, slowly spanking you, sliding up and down your thigh, as you tried to push yourself further into him.

"fuck i think im gonna...fucking cum" He whispered shakily, while his hips hit your pelvis hard making you moan even more than before, feeling a strange sensation of wanting to come without anticipation, you wanted to touch him but surely he would refuse so you preferred to hold on to the roof of the car, squeezing your legs. on the sides of him. His cock slid back and forth inside you, making you gasp and drip on the seat, the mixture of juices began to form when his cock was filled with your white liquid and with one last thrust, perhaps very strong, he came inside you. of you, pressing his pelvis hard against yours to make sure your pussy swallows every residue of his semen, your womb totally infested with him, damn, you even wanted to get pregnant by him so you could tie him to you and have him fuck you like this fucking time.

Gasping, he raised his head looking into your eyes, sliding out of you and shaking his cock to release the last liquid into your vagina, then he pulled up his boxers and buttoned his pants. "Now, let's go, you must be locked up tonight"

As if the little moment of sex you had was going to change the fact that you had to go to fucking jail that fucking night. "What if I give you a blowjob?"

He smiled as he adjusted your panties and skirt and lowering your cuffed wrists he said "Then make sure you keep that mouth shut for when you leave tomorrow, I need a good good morning blowjob."

He got out of the back seat, closing the door and returned to the driver's seat, while you took care of sitting down properly, although as if once again your pussy felt the need for him, with your forehead sweating and panting you said. "Oh shit, you're a son of a bitch," you muttered.

He looked at you in the rearview mirror as he took the car out from where he parked it and told you, "but you moaned so well for me, didn't ya, doll?"

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Very first time; Jack Kline x reader smut

*Author’s note*

Okay well this has been sitting in my inbox collecting dust for awhile but after a few weeks of work and planning (and some major procrastinating) I FINALLY came around and got to this request so @gabrielasilva1510​ this is for you and thank you for being soo patient with me.

Now this is a SMUT fic so there is some sexual content in here so any minors that follow me LOOK AWAY!!!! DO. NOT READ THIS STORY!!! it’s not hardcore smut but still a smut story nevertheless.

Warnings: sexual content, fluff, camping fun, P in V sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), references to other fandoms and movies. 

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queen-paladin​

@queensdivas​

@gay-and-ready-to-cry​

__________________________________________________________

I was putting the sleeping bags as well as the tent set into the jeep while Jack was coming in bringing the cooler with the drinks.

“You sure the drinks won’t get warm on the way up there?” he asked me.

“Babe that’s why we’re getting ice at the gas station. Besides this jeep needs gas too while we’re at it because somebody forgot to fill the tank!” I proclaimed while turning to Sam.

“Okay how long are you gonna hang this over my head?”

“As long as it takes. You know how many times Dean and I have told you about that? Whoever gets the gas tank under a 100 miles, fills the tank.”

“See even she can remember the rules.” Said Dean coming in eating a ham, turkey, pastrami and bacon sandwich he had made. Sam rolled his eyes and I said after closing the back door.

“Okay I think that’s everything.”

“So we can leave now?” asked Jack excitedly. I nodded.

“I still don’t feel comfortable with you two going on this camping trip by yourselves.” Dean said.

“Dean, just because many of our early cases took place during a camping trip doesn’t mean it’ll happen to us. Unlike those guys, we know the warning signs for Wendigo’s, werewolves, vamps and even faeries.” Dean glowered at me at mentioning the fairy thing to him.

“Did you at least pack the basic protection?” Sam asked.

“And not just against monsters.” Dean added. My face went red and Jack started to say.

“You mean protection as in con—”

“Do you really need to say that Dean? We’re not gonna do anything like that!”

“Can’t go wrong. Plus I don’t want you coming back and making us uncles just yet.”

“Jesus you are such a pervert.” I groaned.

“But seriously (Y/n), you do have some form of protection? In both matters.” Sam asked me.

“Yes Sam and please don’t agree with Dean about the latter suggestion.” He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay Jack get in the car, we’re outta here.” He did as I told him and I got into the driver seat and started the engine.  “See you bitches in a week. And do me a favor, don’t blow this place up while we’re gone or have another end of the world crisis on our hands.”

“We’re Winchesters, we make no such promises.” Dean said as he munched on his sandwich once again.

“Have a good time you two, be safe.” Sam told us.

“Yes Ranger Sam.” I teased before putting the jeep into drive and soon Jack and I left the bunker garage and drove down the road to the nearest gas station to get ice as well as fill up the car.

After doing all that and filling the cooler with ice for the drinks, I got back into the jeep and started up the engine.

“Okay Jack, since we’ve got full control over the radio, what genre of music shall it be today?”

“I did enjoy that 80’s playlist you made. Especially after you showed me that show Odd Things.”

“You mean Stranger things babe. Alright 80’s it is.” I went through my phone and opened up my music playlist and scrolled through until I found my 1980s Greatest songs playlist.  Sure Dean may say that everything after 1979 sucks, but he clearly hadn’t heard some of these artists like Kate Bush, Prince, Queen’s later music in the 80’s, Whitney Houston, A-Ha, and of course my man Phil Collins.

I first played the song ‘In the Air tonight’ to get us started on the open road.  Jack particularly began to realize why I loved Phil Collins so much.  Yeah he was cool in his Genesis days but when he branched out into his solo career, the dude truly shined.

After an almost 2 hour drive and almost reaching the end of our playlist with Cyndi Lauper we arrived at the camp grounds.  I parked the car and both Jack and I got out of the car and stretched ourselves out before entering the check-in lodge before we had to drive to our reserved camping spot.

“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” the woman behind the desk said.

“Hi we’re checking into lot A113, reservation is under Winchester.” She typed up my reservation on the laptop and said.

“(Y/n) Winchester?”

“That’s me.”

“Great, and you’re staying with us for a week. Here’s a map of all the areas you can hike, or visit the various lounges or restaurants we’ve got here. And for staying here a week with us that’ll be $210.25 will that be cash or credit?”

“Credit, please.” I said getting out my card and handing it to her.  A quick swipe and the payment was done.

“Okay you are all set. Hope you and your boyfriend have a good time.”

“Oh we will, especially after the few months we had. We deserve this.” I said putting my card away and gathering up the stuff she had handed me.  I saw Jack admiring some of the portrait paintings along the wall and took his hand. “C’mon babe, let’s get to our spot and set up camp.” He nodded and I guided him out the lodge and we went back into the car.

I turned the engine on and drove off towards our camping spot.  Good thing about this camp ground is that while we are out in the woods, there was still access to bathrooms, showers, and of course food joints and restaurants. Plus everyone has their own private little spot to make their camp so no one has to be cramped in a giant forest space.

Jack and I looked around until he spotted the signs that lead us to our section and as we drove down the trail I softly let out a yes as I fist bumped.

“Thank god the showers aren’t that far away.”

“That’s a good thing right?”

“I mean I don’t mind the walk but still, it’s better for night time shower people like me. I mean seriously I don’t get why people shower in the mornings, you’re just gonna get sticky and gross at the end of the day and I don’t wanna sleep like that.”

“That is strange. Glad you told me about it when I was first trying to understand the ways of humans.”

“There are certain things my brothers can teach you but everything else, just ask me. I got your back.”

“Just as I got yours.” He said as he placed his hand on top of mine.  I smiled and gave it a loving squeeze as he pointed out.  “Is that us?”

“Uhh yeah this is us.” I turned along the gravel road and pulled into our little hill mound parking spot and turned the engine off.  “We’re here at last. No more driving for the rest of the day please.”

“You know I could’ve drove us from the check-in lodge. Dean says I’ve been improving with Baby.”

“I know you have sweetie but driving Baby and driving this jeep are two totally different things. Plus you haven’t gotten enough experiences on dirt road like these. All the bumps, twists and turns and I’m not that good of a driving teacher. As I’m sure my brother told you, I was a wreck when learning to drive Baby. Can’t do a stick to save my ass.”

“It’s not that hard once you get used to it. Maybe I could teach you.”

“As sweet as that is, one Dean would never let you do that and two I don’t want to ever drive Baby again.” I pecked his cheek and continued, “C’mon, let’s unload the car.” We unbuckled ourselves and got out of the jeep as I opened the back door and first grabbed the cooler while Jack grabbed the tent.

After unloading the car and unfolding the tent from the bag, Jack got the bag that was filled with the tacks and poles that we needed to keep the tent in place and standing up.

“Okay so—I’ve never really put a tent up before but I have seen people do it in tv and movies. Is it really as hard as they show it?” asked Jack.

“Depends on the tent, luckily for us this tent it’s fairly easy to put up. Mind helping me spread out the tent first before we get the poles and tacks down?” he nodded and came over and went on the other side of the tent.  Together we grabbed each end of the tent and pulled it as far apart as we could.  “Okay now grab that bag with the poles and tacks.” He looked around until he saw just a few feet to his left was the bag.

He tossed it over to me and I opened it up and pulled out the poles first.

“Now what I want you to do is connect this set first and I can do the other set. Once they’re connected, I’ll show you how to put them through the tent.” He grabbed the first set of poles and began to connect them together while I did the second row.

“Like this?” he showed me after he had gotten one set together already.

“That’s it. Make sure they’re in as tight as you can get them. Can’t risk the tent caving in on itself.” I said as I twisted my set in before they finally connected with each other.

It took a few minutes but we finally got our poles connected and then I showed him where the poles would go through the tent. We did his connected set first and I guided it through the right side of the tent, going towards the top and then coming down the other side before sticking it down into the earth.  We did the same for the other side (that’s where the major work comes in cause you have to guide it over the previous pole set).

“You sure you weren’t lying when you’d say it’d be easy?” Jack said with a grunt as he tried to maneuver my pole set over his at the top each time I pulled the second pole down.

“This is always the tricky part no matter what. But trust me Jack, I’ve seen tents so complex to build up I’m surprised they’re not banned from camping gears. Don’t worry we got this, just a little more……” finally I managed to get the starting point out the end of the tent and stick it into the earth as well.  “There we go. Now for the tacks to make sure they stay down.”

I jogged back over to where I had the bag and pulled out the tacks as well as the mini-mallet that came with it.  After setting each tack down, I told Jack to get the rain roof to go on top of the tent just in case it rained (there was a chance in the next couple of days but it’s better to get it out now rather than later).

He went back to the tent back and pulled the tarp-like roof from the bag and together we worked to maneuver around the tent to place the rain-proof roof on top of the tent.  Once it was one, we stepped back and we wrapped an arm around each other and I said.

“We did it babe. Our home for the next week.”

“I can’t wait to sleep in it. I’ve always wondered what it’d be like sleeping in a tent after you showed me that camping episode from your favorite childhood show.”

“Well let’s get the sleeping bags and all the other stuff inside and you can see for yourself.” We walked over and grabbed the sleeping bags, pillows, blankets, and our backpacks.  I unzipped the circular door and once the flaps came down I bowed and said.  “Right this way good sir.”

“Thank you.” He said with a bow of his head before getting in with me following suit.

Some would call it overboard since this tent is said to fit five people but I wanted Jack to have the full experience of being in a tent.  And just seeing his face in full awe as he looked around.

“It’s almost like being in a cave. And not like those Wendigo ones either.” I nodded.

“It’s got where it counts. But if it’s too much I can send this back and just get a two person one.”

“No please don’t. I love it. Very spacious, plenty of space for all our stuff. But can also be intimate for snuggling together.” Jack said as he came up close to me, wrapping his arms around me.  I smiled as he buried his face into my neck.

“Okay sweetie, let’s find a spot in this cave of ours to put our sleeping bags at.” We crawled through the tent and decided that our bags could be spread out in the middle of the tent.  Our backpacks could go right up at the wall where our heads would be.  We set the backpacks down before unrolling our sleeping bags and placing down our pillows and blankets.

“So what shall we do first?” Jack asked me with a smile as he padded his pillow.

“Well there’s a few things I’d like to get at the lodge like firewood and see if there’s any icebags they sell. I know our cooler is basically a thermos but you can’t be too careful especially with as long as we’re staying.”

“Okay so firewood and ice. Then what do you want to do?”

“This camping trip isn’t just about me sweetie. This is your first camping trip, what do you want to do?” I took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“Can we go hiking?”

“Then hiking it is. Maybe we’ll even see some wild animals while we’re out and about.” He smiled and I could almost see my sweet baby boy bouncing on his knees.  “Now let me see, the lodge from our campsite is about how far?” I said as I took out the map from my pocket.  “Okay so we’re here,” I said pointing to our spot, “And the lodge is….” I trailed my finger upward until I saw the main lodge. “Oh sweet we don’t even have to walk very far. It’s just out of this reserved area and up a forest hill track and boom we’re there.”

“You seemed to have gotten us a lucky spot. You sure you didn’t check ahead of time?” Jack teased.

“Babe I swear, this was the only camping spot available at the time I was making the reservation.” Jack looked at me with a playful skeptical look but let it go.  “Okay go ahead doubt me, but they don’t call me (Y/n) ‘Lucky-shot’ Winchester for nothing.”

“Who calls you that?”

“Me. I do. And Charlie, and Jody, and the rest of the girls of the Wayward sisters. Dean calls it dumb luck but I have saved his ass more times than I can count. Plus some of my luck must’ve bounced off of them, with as many times as my brothers get knocked out. I’m surprised they still remember their own names.”

“They do get knocked out quite a bit.” Jack agreed.

“Right!?”

Once we got our backpacks packed with just enough stuff for the hike, Jack had decided to come up with me to get the firewood as well as see if there was an ice-dispenser up at the lodge.  After finding and purchasing a couple bags of firewood, we headed back to our campsite and Jack placed the two bags of firewood near the car while I opened up my bag and we began to place the wood into the firepit.

“When it gets dark, we can start the fire. They’ll be fine sitting in the firepit for a while. So shall we begin your first ever hike?”

“I hope I packed everything right. I triple-quadruple checked just like you told me.”

“Good boy. Oh before I forget, here.” I reached into my pack and pulled out a bag that contained some whistles and got two of them out.  “Put this around your neck.” I handed him the yellow whistle while I took the blue one.

“What do we need whistles for?”

“Well we can’t risk you using your powers in front of other people and freaking them out. So in the event if one of us gets lost, stay where you are, hug a tree and blow your whistle.”

“Okay I understand.” I patted his shoulder as he hung his whistle around his neck.  “Can we go now?” he said bouncing on his feet.

“Yes sweetie we can. Follow me first time camper.” I walked ahead with Jack walking close behind me and we proceeded towards the hiking trail.

Throughout our hike we would stop to take pictures of some beautiful landscapes, tightrope across logs, and even got to see a few animals. Like this one point in the hike we came across a cute rabbit.  Normally when a rabbit sees you, it wants to run but this rabbit as soon as it saw Jack, it got curious.

It hopped over to him and allowed Jack to reach out with his hand and gave him a sniff.  It even allowed Jack to stroke it’s back before taking off back into the woods.  Of course using my phone with it on silence, I snapped some good pictures of the encounter and promised to have those developed when we got home.

We even met up with some other hikers and found a special lodge where we could observe the local bears from a safe distance using binoculars.  And along the walls of the lodge were paintings as well as facts about bears that the kids could read.  And bless his heart, he shared with me all the facts he never knew about bears (even though I knew about most of them but I didn’t have the heart to stop him. He’s like a puppy).

For the rest of the day we hiked, had lunch, took photos and even talked with some other hikers until it started to get dark so Jack and I decided to head back to our camp for some supper as well as introduce him to the King of all camp snacks, S’mores.

We got back to camp and I started the fire while Jack got out the hotdogs, ramen, and smores stuff.  We ate our supper and just as it was starting to get darker, I thought it was now time for Jack to try his very first smore.

“Okay Jack, the perfect way to make a smore is this.” I said gathering the smore supplies.  “First you take the graham, and then you break apart a piece of chocolate. Then you stick the chocolate on the graham.” I said demonstrating the process, “then you roast the ‘mallow.” I said sticking my poker with the marshmallow into the firepit until it was burnt to a crisp. “Once it’s nice and crispy, you stick the mallow onto of the chocolate, then you take the other graham and smoosh it together. And last and certainly my favorite part.” I took a big bite before telling him with my cheeks stuffed with melted marshmallow, chocolate and graham crackers, “You stuff yourself!”

“I’ve always wanted to ask, why are they called that? Smores?”

“Because you always want some more.” He laughed at the corny joke.  “babe I swear, you’ll find out that it ain’t just a joke. Go on.” I handed him his poker as well as the marshmallow bag.

He did as I told him in the exact order it needed to be done but just before he took that first bite I told him to wait as I got my phone out and went to my camera and switched it to video.

“Trust me, I’m gonna wanna keep this. Okay take a bite now.” I said as I pressed the record button.  He lifted the smore to his mouth and took that first bite. Already his marshmallow oozing down his fingers as he tried to take in as much as he could without over stuffing his mouth.

I watched as his eyes widened and he let out a loud moan as he threw his head back.

“Didn’t I tell you? Makes you want to stuff like 10 of them after you eat your first smore.”

“This is…..” he chewed it up more before finally swallowing it and he continued, “This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

“Even better than nougat?” I asked exasperatedly.

“You know nothing will ever take the place of nougat in my heart.”

“Damn and I thought I could convert you.” I said stopping the recording.

“Sorry sweetheart. I wonder what a smore would taste like with nougat.”

“You keep that blasphemous excuse of chocolate away from the sacred smores! They are made with Hershey’s milk chocolate bars and they shall stay that way!” I said defending my precious smores honor.

“I still don’t see why you hate nougat so much?”

“I told you it’s a disgusting, excuse of a chocolate bar! They make it look like a chocolate bar but they got in stuff that shouldn’t go together BLECH!!” Jack rolled his eyes.

“One day I’ll convert you to appreciate my lovely nougats.”

“The day that happens is the day that Rowena allows Hell for freeze over.” We continued to snack on the smores until we were stuffed and we decided that now would be a good time to shut ourselves in the tent for the night.

We safely disposed of the trash and put the food in the spare cooler and I locked it up tight so that no bears would come by. Jack doused the fire and I turned on the lantern as we entered inside the tent.  I hung the lantern on the little hook just above our heads and we got our sleeping bags ready for the night.

“Hey (Y/n).”

“Yes Jack?” I asked as I was spreading out my two fleece blankets over my sleeping bag.

“Guess what this is.” I turned towards him and saw him making shadow puppets using the lantern above us.  It was a long serpent like creature but it wasn’t a snake.

“A Chinese water dragon?”

“Right! Now you do one.”

“Okay but be warned I’m nowhere as good as you.” I clasped my hands together and raised up my right index and tall finger and bent them a bit for the antlers.  With the rest of my fingers I molded the face and nose and asked him, “Any guesses?”

“Those things on top are they—horns?”

“Close.”

“Oh no wait they’re antlers. Is it a deer?”

“Sure is.”

“Okay, okay my turn again. Umm…..Oh I got it! You won’t be able to get this.” I saw the silhouette of what almost looked like a musk ox but I knew it wasn’t.

For one it was even bulkier than the ones I’ve seen online, and the horns on it were way too long and swirled inward too much. I knew there was no way this was a ram due to its large size.  Until it finally hit me.

“Oh I know exactly what this is!”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do. What you don’t think I know a Tusken raider’s mighty steed the Bantha?”

“You’re good.” I shrugged cockily.

“Gave you your Star Wars knowledge, remember you must my young padawan.” I said in my best worst Yoda impression.  He laughed as he brought me in close to him, our hands intertwining with each other’s while his free arm stroked patterns on my lower back and my free hand rested on his knee.

We looked into each other’s eyes and I could feel my heart racing faster the longer I looked into his innocent yet striking blueish-green eyes.  He raised our intertwined hands up and placed my palm against his cheek before covering it with his own.

“(Y/n) I—I love you.”

“I love you too Jack.”

“No I mean. I like, really, really love you. So much so that I think I…..” I noticed how his adam’s apple slightly bounced as he swallowed anxiously and his jaw went tense as he turned away from me. In fact I could just see the poor boy tensing up.

“Jack, Jack look at me.” He hesitated but he turned his head back to face me.  I moved my hand to his jawline and stroked it gingerly.  “You know you can tell me anything right?” he nodded.

“I just……don’t want to scare you away.”

“Why would I be scared? Jack remember what we promised each other when we first started dating?”

“No keeping secrets like my brothers.” Jack repeated.

“Exactly. So c’mon out with it babe. What’s on your mind?”

“I…..” he sighed deeply but took another deep breath before saying. “As I said before, I really, really love you. And I know we talked about how far we want this relationship to go and you told me how when the time is right, we could—take things to the next step and……I want to do that.”

Oh……wow that’s—that is definitely something that should not be kept inside.  I mean we have been dating for the past 3 years now after 6 years of knowing each other. And yeah he’s not the only pure-white virgin of the team (I still got the dragon scar to prove that).

“Wow. Okay that—”

“I probably made things awkward now, didn’t I?” he groaned as he scooted away from me pacing around the tent.  “I’m such an idiot! Why did I have to open my big mouth and say that?! I—” I stopped him by grabbing his biceps and interrupted his ranting.

“Hey! Hey Jack! Jack!” he stopped to look at me. “To say I’m surprised that that is what you had buzzing around your brain for is a lot to take in. But I’m glad you told me. And I think we should sit down and talk so you hear what I have to say now.” He nodded nervously as we came back to our sleeping bags, the two of us sitting across from one another.

I took his hands and gave them a soft squeeze before starting.

“Jack. These past several years of knowing you have been—the best in my life. I have never felt this type of love towards any other guy. Now you know that I’m a virgin too right?”

“Yes that was the first thing you told me because you were worried I’d break up with you because you didn’t have experience.” My face flushed as I cleared my throat.

“Yeah because most guys prefer experiences and one night stands rather than taking care of their girl afterwards. But anyways the point is, with you—I felt like I was getting the perfect guy. Cute, brave, loyal, kind, funny, protective but not possessive, well-mannered. Some days I couldn’t believe just shortly after we began dating that you were real.”

“I care about you (Y/n).”

“And I care about you Jack. Which is why I think—no I know that I’m ready too.” His eyes slowly went wide.

“You—you are?”

“Yeah. Going on this camping trip without my brothers constant helicoptering or even Cas suddenly popping up before us, the fun we both had together and showing you what it meant to go on a camping trip I—I feel like I’m ready to take the next step, so long as you were.”

“Because consent goes both ways.” Jack said.

“Exactly. But there is one thing I am concerned about.” He tilted his head like a puppy before asking me.

“What?”

“Well we’re in a public campground. And yes although we have our private section we’re not entirely alone. Plus the rangers do their nightly patrol to make sure no troublemakers are out and about. And from what I remembering hearing all those girls with Dean. Don’t ask! I uhh—”

“I can take care of that.” This time I tilted my head and looked at him questioningly.  Of course I knew nephilims are powerful beings but what can we do that’ll not get us kicked out or worse scarring an innocent child?

His eyes glowed their sunshine gold for a few seconds before they phased back to his normal eye color.

“No one should bother us now. Whatever we do in this tent won’t be heard on the outside.”

“You made this tent sound-proof?”

“Yeah. Watch.” He then let out his angelic-like scream which sounded like a boat horn times 20.  I covered my ears until he stopped and he gestured for me to look outside the tent.  I went over to the door, unzipped it and peeked out and saw that no one had woken up, or started asking just what that unholy scream was.  I zipped the door backup and said.

“Wow. You never cease to amaze me.” He cutely shrugged as I sat back down in front of him wrapping my arms around his neck. “So….shall we get busy?” I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I would—like that. What do we uhh do first?”

“Well typically it’s best to get warmed up first before we get to the final stretch.”

“Warmed up? What you mean like exercise?” I giggled as I shook my head.

“No babe. I mean like making out. Touching each other, that kinda stuff.”

“So like what we normally do when your brothers aren’t around?”

“Bingo.”

“I already know some of the things you like, will that help?”

“Yeah. So—you ready Jack?” he nodded as I slowly leaned in and captured his lips with mine.

I felt his hands come up to cup my jawline as our kissed slowly deepened.  Our tongues coming together for a slow, passionate dance as I felt myself slowly being lowered down onto our sleeping bags and blankets.  After the need for air became too much, we separated from each other but our noses softly grazed against the other’s as our breaths danced across the other’s face.

“Can I take your shirt off?” he asked me.

“So long as I get to take yours off.” He nodded and I was the first to remove his shirt before he lifted mine off.  As soon as my bare upperbody (minus the bra I had on) was exposed to him, Jack almost seemed entranced.  He stroked through all the scars I’ve gotten over the years from various cases and points in my life.

“Did they hurt?” he said stroking the dragon scar I got when I was 14 years old.

“That one did for a while, others it just depended on how deep or dangerous the creature was.”

“It’s like a painting. Like connect the dots but with scars.” He said as he slowly traced over each scar then began connecting them into various shapes and patterns.  “Like the constellations in the night sky.” I felt tears in my eyes and even felt one slid down my face.  Before I could catch it, Jack’s thumb gingerly wiped it away as he hovered over me.

He once again captured my lips as his hands slowly trailed down to my chest just short of my bra.  I separated from his lips and whispered to him.

“Put your hands on me Jack.” He kissed my lips again as his hands were now on top of my boobs.  Gently and affectionately groping them through the bra which sent shivers down my spine.  I let out a soft moan as his lips moved from my mouth to the side of my neck.

I closed my eyes as I wrapped my arms around his frame and felt his lips kiss, nip and lick at my neck.  I gasped as he got a favorite weak spot of mine. Arching my back I reached behind and unhooked my bra exposing my bare breasts to the cool air but they were soon encompassed by Jack’s hands.

“They’re soft.” I heard him whisper in my neck.

“Would you like to kiss them Jack?”

“Is that what you want?” I nodded.  He kissed my shoulder before moving across my collar bone.  Slowly with each kiss he went lower and lower until he came to my right breast and began kissing it.

My eyes rolled in the back of my head as I stretched my arms out and gripped my pillow so tightly I could feel my nails through the sheets.  Jesus no wonder why those girls were always moaning in Dean’s room if this is what it feels like.  His lips soon encompassed my right nipple and I felt him gently suck on it which caused me to wrap my hands over his head to keep him there.  Stroking and even slightly pulling on his golden locks which caused him to moan.

And hearing him moan while he sucked on my nipple sent a pleasurable feeling down to my lower region.  After a few seconds he released my nipple before looking back up at me.  I adjusted our position so that I was now on top of him and began kissing his neck.

He let out a few choked gasps as I kissed lower down towards his chest before coming back up again.  His arms wrapped around me tightly as I nipped at the junction on the left side of where his neck and shoulder met.  After leaving a fairly nice little hickey I knew would form there, Jack and I stared at each other’s eyes once again panting softly.

“So we uhh—” he asked.

“If you wish to continue. Yeah we-we can.” I said clearing my throat as I was still slightly dizzy from the pleasure that had made me blind for a moment back there.

“Do I or do you remove our umm…..”

“It doesn’t matter, I guess I could do it if you’re comfortable with it.”

“Yeah. I trust you (Y/n).” I softly smiled and gently pecked his lips before I placed my hands at the rim of his sleep pants and looked at him one last time.

“You ready?” I asked him.  He nodded giving me consent before I reached in to not only grab his sleep pants but also his boxers as I slowly scooted them off his surprisingly silky-smooth legs.  Once they were off, I then reached for my own pants and underwear and slowly removed them until we were as naked as told in the tale of Adam and Eve.

“So I—guess I just….put it inside you?” he asked me.  “How do I know if I—”

“I think we’ll cross that bridge once we get there. Just….be gentle, okay?” he stroked a strand of hair out of my face.

“Always.” He pecked my lips once more before having me return on the bottom while he resumed his position on top of me.  Our foreheads pressed together as he leaned down and kissed me and I felt him enter inside me.

I let out a hiss of pain and let out a painful groan, he stopped and looked down at me concerned.

“Should we stop? I’m hurting you aren’t I? I swear I’m not trying to it’s just….”

“I know Jack. Just…..let me get adjusted. Keep still for a moment.” I eased his anxiety by cupping his face into my hands. He nodded and kept still as I told him while I got used to feeling him inside of me.  I took a few deep breaths before telling him, “Okay I’m ready.”

“You sure?” I nodded.  He slowly pushed further inside of me kissing my neck any time I groaned or hissed in pain.  His hands gently massaged my back and hips as he applied the right pressure to get my muscles to relax with each push he did.

Once we got pass the painful stage of the first time, there suddenly came a wave of pleasure as Jack slowly began pumping himself in and out of me.  My mouth opened in an O shape as I gasped and grunted and Jack did the same as he kept thrusting in and out.

“Oh Jesus! Oh Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack! Holy shit that fee-Ahh!”

“I know. It……it’s good for…..me too.” He said through his grunts.  We wrapped our arms around the other as we feverishly and passionately kissed each other. Our tongues dancing a sloppy dance as Jack continued to hit all the right spots.

“I—I’m gonna…..please Jack. Let us cum together!”

“Is-is that what—what that feeling is? Cause I UGH! I want to cum too.”

“Let us go—toge—together.” He nodded as he picked up the pace and our grunts and howls mixed in together until finally we came together.  Jack collapsed on top of me, his head resting on my shoulder while I kept my arms wrapped around him stroking through his hair.

He looked into my eyes as I felt him trembling under my fingers.  The small bangs on his head clung onto his forehead as small beads of sweat sat upon his brow.

“You’re trembling.” I whispered.

“I’ll be fine. Are you okay?”

“That was…..the second best thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.”

“What was the first?”

“Getting you into Star Wars.” We softly chuckled as I placed my hand on the back of his head, leaned it down so that I could kiss his forehead and he rested his head on my bare chest.

“Is this what it feels like afterwards? I think Dean called it afterglow.” Jack asked me.

“More or less. But it’s even better than I could imagine.” I felt Jack cuddle into my sternum and even giving my collarbone a soft kiss.

“You—don’t think your brothers are gonna find out about this, do you?”

“If they do, I’ll handle it. I’m not a little girl anymore so I can do whatever I want.” I kissed the crown of his head. “Hey get this,” he looked up at me, “Tomorrow at the lodge they’re having fantasy movie night and can you guess what they’re showing?”

“Star Wars?” I nodded. “Can we go see it? Can we, please? Please? Please? Please? Please?”

“Now how can I say no to this adorable face.” I said as I cupped his cheek.  We got back on our clothes before cuddling into our sleeping bags and snuggled them close together.  “G’night Jack.”

“Goodnight (Y/n). I—I love you.”

“I love you too baby.” I let out a deep sigh before succumbing to sleep.

[ckret2]

bill doesnt really strike me as the type to be really into listening to music, but if he were, do you think there are any particular genres/artists he would enjoy/hate less?

You're in luck because I've put COPIOUS thought into this.

Here's all the canon and semi-canon info about Bill's musical tastes I can recall off the top of my head:

ONE. From the AMA, his favorite "song" is a rising Shepard tone.

*MY FAVORITE SONG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rzIiF7LpPU

TWO. He is interested in the "good stuff" out of human pop culture, which includes the song "96 Tears" by Question Mark & The Mysterians.

Are you at all interested in human pop culture?

JUST THE GOOD STUFF! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7uC5m-IRns

THREE. He knows the song "Stacy's Mom". This says nothing about whether he likes the song, but he's knowledgeable enough about recent human pop culture that he can casually drop a reference to it in a joke. It's probably safe to assume he's familiar with a broad variety of popular human music.

Hey Bill. What's up with Wendy's mom?

WENDY'S MOM HAS GOT IT GOING ON. SHE'S ALL I WANT AND I'VE WAITED FOR SO LONG.

FOUR. When he gives himself a super cool car its radio is playing a rap song. I wasn't able to find any identification for the song, but it sounds to me like it could potentially be by Lil Bigg Dawggg, the same in-universe artist behind "Straight Blanchin'"—so, extremely popular mainstream rap. (Song heard at 2:50).

FIVE. He's got some kind of generic-sounding electronic dance music playing during his Fearamid party.

SIX. The "We'll Meet Again" scene. He can play the piano. I suppose you could choose to believe that Mr. All-Seeing All-Knowing Eye can play any instrument and he just happens to pick the piano for effect—he might not even actually be playing, since the song keeps playing itself when he turns away—but I choose to believe he's playing it and at some point he actually made the choice to learn piano for fun just because he wanted to. As someone who took piano lessons for over a decade, assuming that is indeed his own playing, I'd rate him as competent and skilled (that's a pretty impressive run at the start), but no virtuoso. He'd be a hit at the family holiday party but not in a concert hall. The choice of "We'll Meet Again" might mean he's got a soft spot for WW2-era popular music but might just be a "he knows human popular music and will freely reference it for a joke" thing.

SEVEN. "No! Synthesized music! It hurts!" Considering the circumstances, this may or may not actually apply to his musical tastes. Maybe only this particular synthesized music hurt him because Mabel had specifically decided that Xyler and Craz's music would injure Bill, maybe only extremely 80s-sounding synthesizers hurt him, etc. Most damning to the theory that he's got some kind of synthesized music allergy is the fact that almost all the music he's shown to voluntarily listen to and presumably enjoy (rising Shepard tones, the rap song, the party music) makes use of synthesized sounds. Still, it's worth mentioning that this is something he said at one point. (At 2:06.)

If anyone else recalls anything I missed about Bill's musical listening habits, toss it at me.

So, that's what we've got canonically. On that basis, here's what I headcanon about his tastes:

ONE: favorite music

His absolute favorite "music" is stuff that doesn't sound like music to humans at all. So sounds that are created to follow certain patterns (not quite as random as, say, pure white noise); and on top of that, sounds that, subjectively, sound extra creepy to humans or make humans anxious (think how folks claim Shepard tones can drive people "insane"). So think nuclear alarm sirens, unnerving tornado sirens, War of the World tripod horns, Saturn, foghorns, The Backwards Music Station. If you want some actual music that sounds as close to these kinds of sounds as possible, thus far I've collected Curious Noises & Distant Voices, 20210310, Happy Happy Happy—and if you want to start drifting into more "musical" sounding genres, Tira Me a Las Aranas or Ledge.

I feel like noise as a genre ought to have a lot of music that fits the sound I'm looking for, but in practice a lot of what I've crossed paths with is really harsh/loud—sounds like breaking machines and blasting microphones—rather than the more swoopy tones I'm looking for. I think of all the noise subgenres I've sampled, death industrial noise is the closest subgenre to what I want, but it's not quite there either. I've had some success looking at hauntology artists, but that's a pretty big umbrella stylistically speaking. Does anybody know a genre that sits somewhere halfway between noise & ambient?

TWO: favorite human music

So that's that for Bill's alien musical tastes. As far as his human musical tastes, he cites Question Mark & The Mysterians specifically as "the good stuff"—so I imagine that's probably his idea of the best kind of music humanity's produced. So: extremely sixties. Hammond organs out the wazoo. Bands with occult-sounding names and lead singers who claim to be Martians that lived with dinosaurs and will be alive in the year 10,000. I tend to tilt him toward bands/songs that fall under the "psychedelic" umbrella, considering that the aesthetic tends to be kinda, well... just go google "psychedelic art."

Tell me this isn't what Earth would look like by Weirdmageddon day 30 when Bill starts to get bored. I mean come on. The only difference is Bill's version would have more fire and blood.

So start with some of your traditional psychedelic songs—Incense and Peppermints, White Rabbit, Breathe (In The Air), Time Of The Season, Purple Haze, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, etc.—and branch out from there. Slap on any decent psychedelic/hippie-themed playlist and you're good: try this hippie playlist, this psychedelic pop/rock playlist, or this dark psychedelic playlist.

Once you get past the more mainstream stuff, I go toward weird things that sound like they ought to be from a lost 1960s art house film that accidentally predicted the rise of UFO cults—things that vibe with Bill's occult + conspiracy theory + faux religious figure vibes. Think Bruce Haack, such as the album Electric Lucifer, particularly Electric to Me Turn, Cherubic Hymn, or War; Joe Meek's album I Hear a New World, particularly the title track or Orbit Around the Moon; or the particularly alien-sounding The Red Weed (Part 1) off Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds.

And after all that, I poke at modern psychedelic rock songs that lean more heavily into witchy & occult imagery—such as Astral Sabbat or Come a Little Closer—but by this point we're really on the fringe of the sound I'm looking for. There isn't nearly enough Hammond organ.

THREE: favorite human party music

Now, compared to the last couple of sections, this section is gonna be something of a cop-out, because I've done less musical digging; but when it comes to what he'll slap on for a party—which I imagine makes up probably a good 75% of his casual music consumption—he's just gonna slap on any popular current music he thinks is good for a party.

Currently? That probably means a lot of hip hop and EDM. Okay. In the 80s he probably woulda put on disco. In the 21st century he'd put on Get Low, First of the Year, Shots, DotA, Intergalactic, and Dragostea Din Tei (hardstyle remix), in a row, without a second thought, and with no heed to the humans going "what the FUCK is this party mix." These are not the best examples of what he'd play; just the first, most cringe, and most discordant examples I could think of. The more easily a potential party song can be described as stylistically or lyrically "obnoxious," the more likely it is to make his playlist. Does it sound like it should be played extremely loud? Would it offend the neighbors? Does it have a bass line that sounds like it could crack concrete and break ribs? Would humans recognize it as part of a widely-known meme, but not know whether Bill (an alien) is oblivious or if Bill (a troll) added it for that reason? It's going on, he's hitting shuffle, and it's not coming off the party playlist until he gets bored of it and finds something newer and even more obnoxious to replace it with.

If anyone has any good recommendations for specific genres that would yield a reasonable pool of Party Songs That Would Get Noise Complaints Filed (And Also Don't Go Together At All), I'm willing to take them. My gut says crunk and dubstep, but my hip hop knowledge is lacking and my EDM knowledge is extremely eclectic.

(Anyway if you made it this far I'm rewarding you with a link to my Bill Cipher spotify playlist I listen to when writing fic. It's 50% songs that I think actually match the "music he'd like" categories, 50% songs that are about him but that he wouldn't necessarily like, 50% songs about his relationship issues, 10% songs that are NONE OF THE ABOVE but that need to be in there because I need them for fic-writing vibes, and one single solitary song that is not actually about Bill at all, but rather about Pacifica, but that i put on the playlist anyway because it's a REALLY GOOD Pacifica song and I don't have any other Gravity Falls themed playlists so here it is. "That adds up to 160%—" and what of it. The percentages aren't even accurate.)

[keanuquotes]

The Enduring Appeal of Keanu Reeves He battles evildoers in 'John Wick 4,' manufactures two-wheel pieces of art, and is worshiped by the internet, but Keanu Reeves swears he's just a normal guy. And he’s got the scars to prove it. Ky HendersonMar 15, 2023 9:00 AM EDT It’s easy to look cool when you’re riding a motorcycle, but it’s hard to look cooler than Keanu Reeves on a brisk, sunny afternoon in Los Angeles. He rests his left hand on his thigh and steers with his right, which gooses the throttle as he weaves around slow drivers. He wears a form-fitting black canvas motorcycle jacket that accentuates how trim he is—even more fit than he appears on-screen—and a beat-up Shoei helmet. He leaves the visor up, choosing instead to shield his eyes with sunglasses the Terminator might wear to a Hamptons garden party. Reeves looks at home and at ease on a motorcycle. He looks cool.

At a gas station stop, he suggests switching bikes. We’re each riding cruisers made by Arch, the motorcycle company Reeves co-founded with designer Gard Hollinger in 2011. The company produces high-end, highly personalized production bikes; I’m on a 1s, the company’s new $100,000+ sport cruiser. Reeves is on an older model, KRGT-1, but it’s his personal Arch, a true one-of-a-kind. It's the only Arch ever painted YK Blue, a color Reeves and Hollinger commissioned based on the ultramarine pigment famously mixed by mid-century French artist Yves Klein. Reeves says all that’s left of the paint is in a tiny can stored somewhere at Arch in case the bike’s paint ever needs touch-ups.

Which it most certainly would if, let’s say, some idiot were to put the bike down in front of a horrified Reeves while riding down the Pacific Coast Highway. Thankfully, there’ll be no lowsides today. Although the bike is beefy, with a 2,032cc V-twin powerplant, it’s easy to maneuver and comfy as a BarcaLounger.

Keanu Reeves stands in motorcycle factory holding blue mug Brian Bowen Smith

Reeves eventually leads us back to Arch’s factory building, which is nondescript from the outside but artfully decorated inside using shipping containers to separate working areas. Metal fabrication is done behind one; customer bikes are lined up in another with technicians hard at work. After Reeves dips outside for a cigarette—the 58-year-old both looks like a much younger man and smokes with the frequent abandon of one—he leads us to a small conference room.

“I like meeting people, but I’m a little reserved,” he warns as he settles into an office chair, looking far less comfortable than he did on a motorcycle. “How much of my private life do I want to talk about? I don’t know. Otherwise, let’s hang out.”

When Reeves was growing up in the Yorkville neighborhood of Toronto, he was consumed with existential thoughts. He discussed death a lot more than the average 11-year-old, for instance—but not because he wanted to die. He just wanted answers to big questions. Perhaps not entirely unrelated to his interest in mortality, he was also obsessed with the biker gangs that periodically motored into the neighborhood. It wasn't pods of dentists letting loose on weekends. It was leathers, patches, menace—the whole deal. And Reeves loved it.

“They looked exotic,” Reeves says. "They looked to me like they were free. Plus the bikes were cool and sounded great.”

Despite his childhood fascination, Reeves was in his early 20s before he first rode a motorcycle. It happened at a movie studio in Berlin—where else?—when he saw a woman on an off-road enduro bike in a parking lot. He approached her and asked if she’d teach him to ride, which she agreed to on the spot. (If you’re wondering why a woman would do that for a total stranger, search “Keanu Reeves in the 80s” in Google Images.)

Not long after he got back to Los Angeles, he bought a 1973 Mk2a Norton Commando, having long admired the classic brand. That bike currently sits in the Arch shop, which is notable for two reasons: One, few longtime riders are lucky enough to be able to hold onto their first bike. Two, over the years Reeves has…suffered some mishaps.

“Yeah, I’ve fallen off a few times,” he admits of the accidents he’s had on a variety of bikes. He takes a swig of water, then corrects himself. “Not ‘fallen off.’ Crashed. I’ve got a couple of hit-by-cars. A couple of going-too-fast. I’ve laid a couple of bikes down but I was riding in the winter, so that’s not really ‘crashing.’ That’s about it. The usual stuff.”

He’s broken ribs, knocked out teeth, sliced his leg open so deep that bone was visible. His most spectacular accident occurred in 1988, only a couple years after that day in Berlin. Reeves was riding alone at night in Malibu’s Topanga Canyon when he took one of the twisties too fast. By the time he came to a stop, he was lying on the pavement wondering if he was about to die. As you know, he didn’t—but he did fuck himself up pretty bad.

“I ruptured my spleen,” he says matter-of-factly. The widely reported version of the story goes that he needed the organ removed, but Reeves says it’s still intact. “They sutured it up and put a Band-Aid on.” He has a gnarly scar running vertically from his sternum down to his belly button, but in the right light it just ends up accentuating his abs because, well, he’s Keanu.

Reeves first met Hollinger through a mutual acquaintance about two decades after that crash, when Reeves wanted a custom sissy bar—basically, a backrest for a passenger—added to his 2005 Harley Davidson Dyna. Hollinger, who at that point was a relatively well-known, well-respected customizer with his own small LA shop, wasn’t interested.

“I knew I could build him the world’s most expensive sissy bar,” Hollinger says, “but I also knew it wouldn’t be satisfying for either of us.”

Instead, Hollinger spent the next five years completely reimagining the bike. He’d work in spurts, changing or adding something, then handing the bike back over to Reeves for months. By the time the bike was finished, Hollinger says, about the only parts of the original Dyna still remaining were the engine and the serial number on the chassis. Today that bike—a chromed-out ride fit for Mad Max—is displayed in the shop, the inspiration for what eventually became Arch.

Keanu Reeves on motorcycle wearing black canvas jacket and sunglasses Brian Bowen Smith

Eventually being the key word. When, during the long process of modding the bike, Reeves first suggested to Hollinger that the two team up to start a motorcycle company, Hollinger didn’t have to think about his answer.

“I knew what a tough business it is, what a challenge it would be—and that it would not be a great investment,” Hollinger, now 63, says with a laugh. “It was a wonderful motorcycle I built and it was wonderful getting to know Keanu, but starting a motorcycle company sounded like a horrible idea.”

Reeves didn’t relent. As the pair became better friends—and as the motorcycle continued to take shape—they’d have long conversations about the realities of starting the company. Hollinger would show up to their discussions with pages of questions written on a legal pad, but what gradually eroded his hesitation was the thoughtfulness with which Reeves described the experience of riding a motorcycle.

Finally, nearly convinced, Hollinger asked Reeves to boil everything down to one reason why they should do something as seemingly crazy as starting a motorcycle company. The actor came up with it on the spot—a reason Hollinger immediately understood, which allowed him to envision the company and its worth as an opportunity to do something meaningful and long-lasting.

“Because,” Reeves told him, channeling the mortality-obsessed 11-year-old kid gawking at dudes on motorcycles, “we’re going to die.”

Related: 2023 Arch 1s Sport Cruiser Is the American (V-twin) Dream

There have been many jokes made over the years about Reeves being a dummy, but after spending about 8 seconds with the guy it’s obvious he’s keenly intelligent. I mention that I read lots of sci-fi and fantasy books as a kid, which prompts him to ask whether I have opinions on several titles, followed by recommendations to read several others.

Thing is, his idiosyncratic public persona—which is sort of like Ted (not Bill) if Ted were a little more shy and a much better dresser—isn’t an act. Reeves isn’t trying to fool his critics or fans. And he isn’t really putting on an act in an attempt to prevent people from knowing who he is. He’s just this very singular, introspective, likable person who happened to become a pop culture icon.

All of that said? He can be pretty goofy. His physical mannerisms are sometimes at odds with what he’s saying, like he’s being controlled by feuding puppeteers. He speaks haltingly, stopping and starting and stopping again, often all in the same sentence, as he considers what exactly he wants to say or, just as likely, what he doesn’t want to say. More than once over the course of an afternoon he giggles—yes, giggles—at something he says or thinks, placing his cupped hand over his mouth like a theatrical school child hiding laughter; the gesture is as strange as it is endearing. He's somehow both laconic and verbose, calm and keyed up.

Although Reeves has long been known as “The internet’s boyfriend,” he’s currently dating—sorry, internet—acclaimed visual artist Alexandra Grant. The pair first collaborated on the 2011 book Ode to Happiness after having known each other previously; in the following years they collaborated on other projects and co-founded the small book imprint X Artists’ Books. Their romantic relationship began about five years ago but only became public knowledge two years in, when they arrived at a red carpet event together.

When asked about Grant, Reeves leans back in his chair as though trying to put both metaphorical and literal distance between himself and the idea of discussing his personal life.

So, uh, maybe it’s best to make it about bikes: What’s Grant’s opinion of Reeves’ (occasionally injurious) motorcycle fixation?

“She used to have a motorcycle, so she’s fine with it,” Reeves says. Then he pauses, as he so often does, seemingly considering whether to say anything more. “She hasn’t ridden in a while.”

Despite his lifelong love of bikes, Reeves hasn’t ridden them much in his movies. There’s a brief scene in the landmark 1991 indie film My Own Private Idaho. There’s some riding in 1996’s Chain Reaction, including one scene in which he manages to outrun an exploding hydrogen reactor. He’s technically on a bike in John Wick 3 while battling bad guys, but that was all done while stationary in front of a green screen. He has no interest in shoehorning Arches into his movies, though a couple of Arches are featured in the futuristic 2020 video game Cyberpunk 2077, in which he also played a major role.

Reeves says there’s a brief motorcycle scene in the upcoming John Wick 4, a movie whose eventual existence might have been laughed at when the original film debuted. Despite the series’ current status as an unstoppable franchise juggernaut, it originally wasn’t even planned as a franchise—and it certainly didn’t appear destined to be one after John Wick received a somewhat tepid theatrical reception in 2014.

“It had some success in the theater, but it really became more popular in second viewings,” Reeves says. “So the studio asked if we wanted to do another one.”

Reeves does more than just kick unbelievable amounts of ass in the movies; he’s also had a hand in plotting out the sequels. The genesis of the third and fourth installments, he says, took place while he and director Chad Stahelski were on the road promoting the second and third movies, respectively.

“Generally, Chad and I cook ’em up while we’re doing press tours,” Reeves says. “We talk about what we’d do next if the current film does well. I’m like, ‘I want to ride a horse and do a horse chase!’ And Chad says, ‘Yeah, we can do it in Central Park!’”

Reeves says he doesn’t know what comes next for him, but John Wick 5 will almost certainly be an option—if he wants to do it. He’s currently developing a TV series, and maybe he’ll make the motorcycle road movie he’s long thought about making. He’ll also no doubt continue riding bikes and growing Arch because he loves doing both.

He says he may continue BRZRKR, the comic series he co-writes. He won’t stop helping others via his philanthropy (he declines to discuss other than to say it’s “in health and the arts”). And he’ll burnish his already-glowing reputation as, in his words, “a pretty respectful and considerate person,” because that’s how he likes to treat people.

“I’m just,” Reeves says as his mouth curls into a smirk and his arms shoot out in front of him as though he’s pleading to be believed, “a normal guy.”

via keanuworld

[aeolianblues]

Jarvis Cocker: At the end of 1996, I had “a nervous breakdown”

Kate Mossman of The New Statesman talks to Jarvis Cocker, September 2021

The singer on nostalgia, hating David Cameron, and how crashing a Michael Jackson performance had “a toxic effect” on him.

Jarvis Cocker leans on a table in the courtyard of the House of St Barnabas, a members’ club and homeless charity, and one of the only bits of London’s Soho that does not bear the marks of the interminable Crossrail project. Cocker says he’s not one for conspiracy theories, “but there’s a lot of dark mutterings about what has happened while everybody’s been locked away. You can see it in Soho, where loads of building work’s gone on. They took an opportunity. Cement’s gone up in price because there’s none left.”

He’s not as tall as he is in your mind’s eye – a solid 6ft 1 – but he cuts a stately figure in green cords and a high-quality lilac shirt. Here, in a moccasin-style shoe, is the foot that was broken, along with his pelvis and ankle, when he fell out of a window in Sheffield pretending to be Spiderman. (He spent months as a young man gigging from a wheelchair.) Here is the rear that was waved at Michael Jackson, in a life-changing moment it still upsets him to talk about. Here are the long legs that bent like those of a freshly born foal on stage, and here are the glasses that were held on his face with an elastic band so he could execute his moves. These long, smooth fingers would frame his face, or flick his “V” signs. As sombre as he is, seating himself on a bench alongside the New Statesman, he is the only pop star that most people under 80, regardless of their artistic ability, could have a crack at drawing.

You feel wary of going straight in on “the Nineties” – it must be such a bore – yet Cocker brings them up right away, talking about a song called “Cocaine Socialism” which he wrote for his band Pulp in 1996, at their commercial and critical height. It was all about New Labour’s courtship of pop stars. The title was ironic he explains, because “cocaine will make you not give a fuck about any other member of the human race”. Cocker shelved the song because he thought it might actually stop the people of Britain voting Labour – a sign, he says, of his overweening ego at the time.

When I was 14, a friend gave me a perfectly executed cartoon of Cocker, drawn on squared paper in a maths lesson and titled “My future husband”. It is often a source of frustration for musicians when their biggest audience proves to be teenage girls, but this is to overlook the power of teenage girls – and teenagers in general – to work up an intensity of feeling that all but creates a career. Cocker should know, because he conceived of his future – conceived of Pulp, “planned my whole life out” – at the age of 14 in an economics lesson, writing it all down in exercise books which he recently unearthed in an attic. 

He had a written manifesto, “very earnest, about how we’re going to get famous, have our own record label and radio station, and help other bands, and break the tyranny of the major labels”. And he’d drawn pictures, too, of an arm, with “major record company” tattooed on it and a meat cleaver saying “Pulp Incorporated”, ready to chop off the hand.

“It was supposed to be some socialist empowerment of the people. It wasn’t just: ‘I’m going to buy a big house in Barbados and have a jet ski’.”

Cocker’s proudest moment in a 30-year career was when Martin Amis agreed with something he’d said, when they appeared together on a TV talkshow approaching the millennium. Jarvis had stated that, in the 20th century, fame had replaced heaven as our ultimate goal, our way of cheating death. His own moment of fame, when it came, was sizeable, but it took him 15 years to get there: Pulp formed in 1981 – they should have been a post-punk band rather than a Britpop one.

In 1996 Melody Maker judged Cocker the fifth most famous man in Britain – after John Major, Frank Bruno, Will Carling and Michael Barrymore. Two years later, the novelist Nick Hornby reflected, “Jarvis Cocker is an acute and amusing chronicler of our life and times… but sometimes… you wish he’d communicate via chat show or letter rather than song.” This he has done, and often. Jarvis has been Jarvis for the last 25 years, in radio, TV, the written word – and perhaps less so in music, in the popular imagination. When you have lingered so long outside fame’s door, fully formed and ready to go, you must be loath to make an exit. Only in the garden of a private members’ club can he go about peacefully; he cycles in London, without a helmet, so you suspect he is recognised often, moving at speed.

Cocker shows me photos of his new bike on an old iPhone – a Moulton small-wheeled cycle, described by Norman Foster as the greatest work of 20th century British design. There are racks back and front, “to put yer bag on”. “I have spent a lot of time on quite random, trivial things,” he tells me. When his beloved 1970 Hillman Imp car finally gave up the ghost, he had it crushed into a cube and gave it away to a fan.

Cocker was in the Paramount Hotel on West 46th Street, New York, in December 1996 when a girl called Imogen called from the New Labour office and asked for his endorsement. 

“I’d been to some event down Whitehall,” he recalls. “A kind of wooing event, and I’d felt really weird about that. It’s hard to imagine now. I was 16-17 when Thatcher got in, and a Labour government seemed like a fantasy. I felt very conflicted, because I really wanted it to happen but something just seemed wrong. Even at that time – a quarter of a century ago – I thought, ‘You should be doing politics, not trying to get some endorsements from some people in bands’. There was a desire for it to happen, and then this disease. It felt like getting chatted up.”

Imogen had tracked Cocker down during what he calls, perhaps surprisingly, a “severely traumatic part of my life”. At the end of 1996 he was having what he refers to today as a nervous breakdown. When the telephone rang in his hotel room, he assumed the suite was bugged. He’d gone to New York around Christmas time and, alone and anxious, found himself unable to face the crowds. But he also struggled to stay indoors, tormented by the aesthetics of his hotel room – “super designed, with a giant picture of a Vermeer painting, a woman pouring some milk out of a blue jug. You walked in to an art installation, and I was in a fragile state of mind.” 

Cocker’s descent – which seems to merge with the ascent of New Labour in a lurid kind of fever dream – began with his trespassing the Brit Awards stage in February 1996 during Michael Jackson’s performance of “Earth Song”. “I don’t really like talking about that particular incident,” he says, looking down at his knees. “People said at the time that it was a publicity stunt but it wasn’t really like that. It had a toxic effect on my life.”

There is a considerable mismatch between the folk memory of the moment, and the memory held by the perpetrator himself. To most, Cocker’s actions look more heroic as the years go by: the last cry of a bloated Eighties megastar defeated by British indie, or something to that effect. Jackson’s pageantry seems worse now than it did at the time: the white messiah robes and outstretched arms; the children lining up to embrace him; the rabbi bowing his head for a kiss. The pipe cleaner figure of Cocker floats on stage looking puzzled, wafts an imaginary fart at the audience (with his bottom clothed) and briefly raises his T-shirt. Hardly something to be arrested for (as he was, before being released without charge) but the 1990s are a draconian place, when you travel back in time.

[see also: Bridget Jones and the Blair years]

Cocker was represented, in his assault charge, by the comedian Bob Mortimer, a former solicitor. David Bowie’s personal film crew were able to provide tapes shot from a certain angle to prove that he had not, in fact, knocked into any children when taking the stage. But there was condemnation from Damon Albarn (“he’s got some very odd ideas about reality”) and Jackson (“sickened, saddened, shocked, upset, cheated and angry”).

The tabloids subjected him to feverish attention. Cocker had always talked about drugs – the liner notes of Pulp’s single “Sorted For E’s & Wizz” showed you how to make a drugs wrap (“Ban This Sick Stunt” said the Daily Mirror). And he’d always talked about sex – he watched a lot of porn in hotel rooms on tour. Now, there were kiss and tells, and an attempt by the Sun to engineer a meeting between Cocker and his estranged father in Australia.

What thoughts were passing through his mind when he stood up and walked towards Jackson’s stage? He won’t say. “One thing I will say is that people are still convinced that I pulled my trousers down and showed my bottom. And it’s really not true. That’s when I realised what a c*** David Cameron was.”

In November 2011, he explains, the Observer put celebrities’ questions to the new prime minister of the coalition. Cocker asked Cameron whether he really understood the phrases “futures” and “derivatives”. Cameron gave a long answer to prove that he did and added: “I was there that night, at the Brit Awards. I saw him led away. I saw his bum.”

Cocker stirs his Americano.

“I just thought, ‘OK, you are a liar. You’ve just shown yourself to be a liar and a complete twat’.”

In the New Statesman that year, Cocker wrote a reflection on hangovers, inspired by the one he had the day after Tony Blair was elected. The hangover lingered, as he criticised New Labour’s treatment of single mothers, students and the disabled. It lasted 13 years, he said. It ended when Cameron got in – not because things were better, but because that’s when he started drinking again.

There is a photograph of Cocker as a long-legged child pictured with his mother, granny, sister and aunties outside their terraced house in Intake, a suburb of Sheffield. With her red pixie haircut and large specs, his mother, an art student, looks just like an indie girl from the 1990s – or a member of Pulp – in a strange cultural collision of the original hippies and the Sixties revival decades later.

Cocker lived on the dole in the Eighties trying to get his band off the ground. During the Britpop era, Labour’s Welfare To Work scheme made such a life much trickier, inspiring a campaign by Oasis’ manager Alan McGee. The dole must have had a huge impact on people’s ability to pursue creative work?

“Probably for six months, and then you get lazy,” Cocker says. “Not wanting to sound like Norman Tebbit, but you do, and that’s what drove me away from Sheffield – people were dropping like flies, having drug overdoses or losing it, and I thought, ‘It’s only a matter of time before I end up there’. So that’s when I started hatching my escape plan.”

His ticket out – a place to study film at Central Saint Martins in London – produced “Common People”, one of the most famous songs of the 20th century. Pulp were more refined, classy, slippery and sardonic than other Britpop bands. The image of working-class life as seen through the eyes of the song’s Greek art student gets to the heart of Cocker’s use of irony: he was interested in perceptions of class difference, perceptions of the north-south divide, as much as the real thing.

Having lived in the south for 35 years, he tells me the BBC’s insistence on using regional accents for announcers is a patronising attempt to keep people in their place. His mother became a Tory parish councillor for the village of Carlton in Lindrick, Nottinghamshire. In 1998 she told the Mirror, in an embarrassing interview, that she admired Thatcher – until the third term, when the prime minister became a megalomaniac. “I raised Jarvis on Tory values that if you’ve worked hard all your life, you want to keep what you’ve earned,” she said. Her son tells me he doesn’t agree with his mother’s support of Brexit – “but you won’t find many people who are going to say that everything’s going to plan. We’re on the downhill, and everybody’s got their own theories of why that is.”

Unlike his mother, Cocker has voted Labour since he was old enough to vote. “I can’t imagine voting for any other party,” he says, but that doesn’t mean he’s excited by the current one. “Corbyn I was excited about. But having spent a lot of time moving between France and here, his inability to come to any position on Brexit finished it for me.” Keir Starmer’s Labour, he says, “feels like the politics of opposition. It’s happening to the left all over the world, isn’t it? People have started wondering what level of dictatorship would be OK.”

A few years ago he visited the Magna Science Adventure Centre in Rotherham which recreates the world of the steel mills. Watching the installation of a “big melt” – when molten steel was poured into giant electric arc furnaces – made him strangely emotional. “It must be some kind of folk memory,” he says. “It was awful work, and loads of people got f***ed by the time they were 40. But there was some result and that’s what people miss – that there isn’t anything to glue people together in that way. Imagine working in a shipyard. After six months, suddenly there’s this big, massive f***-off ship and you’ve been part of that.

“There is a nostalgia, not for vibration white finger or lung disease, but for times when people worked together and there would be a result. I’m not an authority. It’s not for me to tell the Labour Party what to do, but I think – well, I thought I stumbled on something.”

He still praises the Sheffield city council, once nicknamed the “Socialist Republic of South Yorkshire”, which allowed children to travel for 2p on buses. He once said that when things took off for Britpop, he thought he was going to be part of something that changed society, like punk did, but it just turned out to be showbusiness.

Of all the extra-curricular jobs Cocker has done, the one the public took to most, which really seemed to fit him, was his gig as a DJ on BBC Radio 6 Music, running his Sunday Service show. His voice was as much a part of his sex appeal for teenage girls as his looks had been. The show explored a mundane but deeply nostalgic aspect of British culture: that time on a Sunday afternoon when everyone felt flat because it was nearly time for the week to start again, and you hadn’t done your homework. 

He’d resisted radio for a long time because of his father. Mac Cocker walked out in 1970, when Jarvis was seven, leaving Sheffield for Sydney, where he began a 33-year career with the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. His gentle Yorkshire accent was appreciated on the airwaves. He had a show called The Night Train on Saturdays (Jarvis has a Radio 4 show for insomniacs called Wireless Nights); and a show called The Globetrotter on Sunday afternoons, and another called Vinyl Museum. High of forehead with long hair and large National Health-style specs, Mac wore a tank top not unlike those his son wore in Pulp. He sang with a band called Life On Mars.

Traditionally, Cocker doesn’t talk much about his father. As we begin to do so, a very tiny and very hairy caterpillar makes its way along the edge of the table in front of him. It is barely a centimetre long, with legs so fine they move in little ripples of dark and light. Cocker does what all humans do when faced with a caterpillar and tries to persuade it to clamber aboard the nail on his index finger. After two or three refusals, it does so.

Mac Cocker left his son with small bits of information about himself, like a copy of Harold Pinter’s The Birthday Party on the shelf. When Jarvis was 12, he came to visit, bringing records with him.

“That’s when I found out he was a DJ. He’d obviously just gone into some record label and picked up some records and gave me them. I ascribed a real meaning to them, but it was just promos. They were wank. They were just these really shit records! Anyway…”

Cocker wonders if he was propelled into music because of his father, but explains that any biological imperative, if it comes from an absent parent, remains a mysterious thing. “I know it must come from him, because my mother is so tone-deaf. But if you don’t know him, it’s like it’s come from somewhere supernatural.”

His family would say, you’re just like your father – “but usually as a negative thing. It was strange to be brought up with this cloudy non-presence.” Cocker and his father struck up a form of relationship eventually, whenever Pulp toured in Australia.

“You’re telling yourself that you sprang from the loins of this person, but if you don’t know the person, that disconnect is really uncomfortable. What used to drive me mad was having really inconsequential conversations. When you tried and go on to the deeper stuff, it was just words… I could tell he was always very uncomfortable, and I’m not exactly the world’s best person for talking about emotions, so I was always terrified that an awkward silence was going to descend.”

Did they at least share music? What kind was Mac into? “Jazz,” he says, in disbelief. His father left a record behind in the Sheffield house – an EP by the Sixties French singer Gilbert Bécaud. “You know when singles have those big centres? He’d made a centre for it by cutting a bit out of a Player’s cigarette packet. That had always been in the house. I knew it was his, because his name was written on the back of it.”

When Mac was dying, Cocker visited him in Australia and took the Bécaud EP with him.

“I just Blu-Tacked it on his wall. It was the only thing I had of his. I just thought, because he went a bit away with the fairies before he died, I thought, that’s something from his past. I just stuck it on there.”

And left it?

“Yeah.”

In October this year, Cocker will release his own album of French music – songs originally sung by Françoise Hardy, Serge Gainsbourg, Jacques Dutronc – to accompany the forthcoming Wes Anderson film The French Dispatch, which is set in the 1960s. It features a fictional pop star called Tip Top who is modelled partly on Cocker. Anderson directed his intonation, his delivery, in the studio. Cocker’s French, he says, is “something I should be ashamed and embarrassed about”, despite the fact he got to A-level standard, was married for six years to the French stylist Camille Bidault-Waddington, lived in Paris, and has a French son. He regularly travels to France to visit Albert, now 18, and stays in an apartment backing on to the Hotel Amour. Albert looks just like him. During the pandemic he got around the social distancing rules by hugging him through a bed sheet.

In 1998 Cocker told the Sydney Morning Herald “I just want to find a way of being an adult without it being boring.” Does he feel he’s achieved this? “I know I’m still slightly immature,” he says. “I mistrusted adults as a child. But there’s something really grotesque about people who refuse to grow up. When I became a father, people were always saying [he whines] ‘You’re going to change’. But actually it doesn’t change you, it just opens up a new bit of you. It was a real revelation to me, to realise I had that instinct. I found it liberating. As you move through life, these little doors open. The other ones are still open as well.”

He thinks all human beings believe they just missed a golden age. For him it was the Sixties, the decade in which he was born, “when the Beatles were still a group. They came to an end as the Seventies came, and I was six or seven. That’s the same year that me dad left. It felt like, OK, you’ve had your fun.

“When you’re a kid and you’re looking at the adult world,” he ponders, “you’re only looking at what’s current at that time. Like me wanting to be a pop star. By the time it happened, pop stars were on their way out. By the time you’re old enough to be part of it, it’s gone. So in a funny way, kids live in the past.

“I think that’s the fatal flaw in the whole Britpop thing. I don’t like to say that word, because it was an invented label – but that was the fatal flaw, and it takes us back to the fatal flaw of electing a Labour government and believing it would be the same as it used to be. Let’s make the Beatles again… Oasis really tried to do that, but you can’t make a period in history happen again.”

As a songwriter, Cocker telescoped himself into the future with “Disco 2000” and “Help The Aged”. The former felt open-hearted but the latter, intended as a kiss-off to youth-obsessed politics, sounded sour at the time.

“It always used to drive me mad, people going on about, ‘Oh, you’re so ironic’,” he says. “It would be rubbish to devote your life to doing something that was insincere. I guess I’ll often undercut what I’m singing about as I’m doing it – and that’s just because of the way my mind works. As I think one thing, I’ll think the opposite as well. Later in life, you discover that you are allowed to have two thoughts: it’s a natural function of the way your mind works.”

Some would say that, as you progress through life, you get better at trusting your instincts?

“I think if you just follow your instincts your whole life, you’ll be a monster.”

Cocker brightens, perhaps because our interview is ending. When he talks about his hobbies, he gives a big leonine flash, raising his silvery eyebrows above the frames of his glasses.

I phoned him a few weeks later, after the summer, to see what he’d been up to. He was at a secret location in Spain, making a movie he wasn’t allowed to talk about. A pandemic spent going through his loft, and noticing priceless keepsakes among the rubbish, has inspired him to write a book about pop and nostalgia – Good Pop, Bad Pop – to be published next year.

He is dying to be back on stage after two years off it. “I’m touching a wooden table now. We’ve already had to postpone this tour twice.” And he talks about Labour again – he really seems to care! You think back to his manifesto, his teenage sketch of a meat cleaver chopping off a hand. Then you look at a life lived gently, moving between projects, ponderings and “random trivial things” – and you wonder what his revolution would look like.

Jarvis Cocker’s new album “Tip Top: Chansons d’Ennui” is released on 22 October.

[gin-juice-tonic]

well, since you don’t have favourite singer, what are your favourite music genres? maybe you have favourite songs?

I like disco and funk. And 70s and 80s rock music. And pop music from that time too... Basically if you turn on a 70s/80s hits radio station there's a good chance of me liking whatever song comes on.

Some of my favorite songs are

Shame - Evelyn Champagne King

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTpNN0zTmTs

Rosanna - Toto

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGtVZgCYVgk

Operator - Midnight Star

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jBhrTx-I1g

Stir It Up - Patti LaBelle

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ePwf8MuTtE

Doo Wa Ditty (Blow That Thing) - Zapp & Roger

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z1It4rNbOCM

Sorry that I put so many. I am indecisive even now.

[nosanime]

BIBLIOGRAPHY - “ANIME FOODIES: LAID-BACK CAMP THE MOVIE”

This is the bibliography for our entry in the Anime Foodies series of panels, “Anime Foodies: Laid-Back Camp The Movie”.  The sources include not only places from which we garnered background of the food we were cooking, but also sources that helped us determine how to craft our own version of the recipes we were creating.

This is the second Anime Foodies panel which has a formal bibliography of sources.  Those marked with double asterisks are regular sources we’ve used in all of the panels in the series and are a good starting point for anyone interested in Japanese food and its history.

Bibliography:

Afro. Laid-Back Camp. Vol. 6, Yen Press, 2019.

Afro. Laid-Back Camp. Vol. 7, Yen Press, 2019.

“Anethum graveolens L.” Royal Botanic Gardens Kew, https://powo.science.kew.org/taxon/urn:lsid:ipni.org:names:837530-1.

Baker, Liren. “Taco Rice: Okinawa Taco Rice” Kitchen Confidante, https://kitchenconfidante.com/taco-rice-okinawa-taco-rice.

“Braised Yuba (Tofu Skins) with Vegetables” Sunberry Jam, https://sunberryjam.com/braised-yuba-with-vegetables/.

“Buttered Beere 1588” Oakden, https://oakden.co.uk/buttered-beere-1588/.

“Dutch Oven Roast Chicken” Self-Proclaimed Foodie, https://selfproclaimedfoodie.com/dutch-oven-roasted-chicken/#wprm-recipe-container-33149.

“Dutch Oven Roasted Chicken with Vegetables” Camping Adventures, https://adventures.camp/dutch-oven-roasted-chicken-with-vegetables/.

“Finnish Salmon Soup (Lohikeitto)” Skinny Spatula, https://skinnyspatula.com/salmon-soup-lohikeitto/.

Friesen, Katy June. “Where Did the Taco Come From?” Smithsonian Magazine, https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/where-did-the-taco-come-from-81228162/.

Greg. “Hot Buttered Rum 2 Ways AND Fat Washing! | How to Drink.” YouTube, uploaded by How To Drink, 23 Nov. 2019, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cCbEwyntSCM.

“Hokkaido Salmon Hot Pot (Ishikari Nabe) 石狩鍋” Just One Cookbook, https://www.justonecookbook.com/salmon-hot-pot/.

“Hoto Noodle Soup from Yamanashi ほうとう” Just One Cookbook, https://www.justonecookbook.com/hoto-noodle-soup-yamanashi/#wprm-recipe-container-79243.

“Hōtō Noodle Soup (Hōtō Nabe)” RecipeTin Japan, https://japan.recipetineats.com/hoto-noodle-soup-hoto-nabe/.

“Houtou (ほうとう)” Food in Japan, https://www.foodinjapan.org/kanto/yamanashi/houtou/.

“How to make Houtou – Yamanashi local speciality noodle dish recipe” Japanese Cooking Class Tokyo, https://japanesecookingclasstokyo.wordpress.com/2014/01/03/how-to-make-houtou-yamanashi-local-speciality-noodle-dish-recipe/.

“How to Make the Best Tempura 天ぷら” Just One Cookbook, https://www.justonecookbook.com/tempura-recipe/.

Hua, Charlie. “Kiritanpo: Trying out one of Akita’s local specialties” Japan Travel, https://en.japantravel.com/akita/kiritanpo/55809.

“Hypomesus olidus” FishBase, https://fishbase.de/summary/Hypomesus-olidus.html.

“Hypomesus olidus” Integrated Taxonomic Information System – Report, https://www.itis.gov/servlet/SingleRpt/SingleRpt?search_topic=TSN&search_value=162031#null.

**Ishige, Naomichi. The History and Culture of Japanese Food. London, Kegan Paul Limited, 2001.**

“"Ishikari" Salmon Hot Pot (Ishikari nabe)” NHK World – Japan, https://web.archive.org/web/20201101192650/https://www.nhk.or.jp/dwc/food/recipe/kyou_12310.html.

“Ishikari Nabe Recipe (Salmon and Miso Hot Pot in Hokkaido)” Cooking With Dog, https://cookingwithdog.com/recipe/ishikari-nabe/.

“Japan-Mexico Relations (Basic Data)” Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan, https://www.mofa.go.jp/region/latin/mexico/data.html.

“Kiritampo Nabe (Rice Stick Hot Pot)” NHK World, https://web.archive.org/web/20180318093216/http://www.nhk.or.jp:80/dwc/recipes/detail/138.html.

“Kiritanpo (きりたんぽ)” Food in Japan, https://www.foodinjapan.org/tohoku/akita/kiritanpo/.

Laid-Back Camp. Directed by Yoshiaki Kyougoku. C-Station, 2018.

Laid-Back Camp Season 2. Directed by Yoshiaki Kyougoku. C-Station, 2021.

Laid-Back Camp The Movie. Directed by Yoshiaki Kyougoku. C-Station, 2022.

Miller, Max. “Making 400 Year Old Buttered Beere.” YouTube, uploaded by Tasting History with Max Miller, 10 Mar. 2020, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZlMhZvOX2ps.

“Motsunabe” Japanese food style, https://jpnfood.com/recipe/meat/motsunabe.

“Motsunabe: How to Eat and the Best Restaurants in Fukuoka” Savor Japan, https://savorjapan.com/contents/discover-oishii-japan/motsunabe-how-to-eat-and-the-best-restaurants-in-fukuoka/.

“Motsunabe recipe もつ鍋” The Japanese Food Lab, https://thejapanesefoodlab.com/motsunabe/.

“Motsunabe (もつ鍋)” Food in Japan, https://www.foodinjapan.org/kyushu/fukuoka/motsunabe/.

“Okinawa Taco Rice and Cheese (Cafe Style)” Sudachi Recipes, https://sudachirecipes.com/okinawa-taco-rice/.

“Okinawa Taco Rice (Video) タコライス” Just One Cookbook, https://www.justonecookbook.com/taco-rice/.

“Recipe of Speedy Lightly Flavored! Hakata-style Motsunabe (Offal Hot Pot) with Soy Sauce Based Soup” Ground-Skillet, https://ground-skillet.web.app/734-recipe-of-speedy-lightly-flavored-hakata-style-motsunabe-offal-hot-pot-with-soy-sauce-based-soup/.

“Salmon Hot Pot (Ishikari Nabe)” RecipeTin Japan, https://japan.recipetineats.com/salmon-hot-pot-ishikari-nabe/.

“Salmon Soup” Happy Foods Tube, https://www.happyfoodstube.com/salmon-soup/.

Sam. “Aburi Technique for Fish” Chef Epic, https://chefepic.com/aburi-technique-for-fish/.

“Seared Salmon Sushi (Aburi)” Cooking with Cocktail Rings, https://cookingwithcocktailrings.com/seared-salmon-sushi-aburi/.

**Singleton Hachisu, Nancy. Japanese Farm Food. Kansas City, Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2012.**

**Singleton Hachisu, Nancy. Preserving the Japanese Way. Kansas City, Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2015.**

“【Smelt Tempura】 How to make Smelt tempura With technical explanation to stand fins” YouTube, uploaded by 逢禅天ぷらチャンネル / AIZEN TEMPURA CHANNEL 1 Oct. 2020, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3KTXNGGAL4.

“Soy Milk Hot Pot 豆乳鍋” Just One Cookbook, https://www.justonecookbook.com/soy-milk-hot-pot-tonyu-nabe/.

“Taco Rice (タコライス)” No Recipes, https://norecipes.com/okinawa-taco-rice/.

“Tentsuyu” Oishi Washoku Recipes, https://www.oishi-washoku-recipes.com/tentsuyu.

“‘Tentsuyu’ (Tempura Dipping Sauce)” Hiroko’s Recipes, https://www.hirokoliston.com/tentsuyu-tempura-dipping-sauce/.

Turkell, Michael Harlan. “Foil Yaki Is the Best” Taste, https://tastecooking.com/foil-yaki-best/.

U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Wakasagi (Hypomesus nipponensis): Ecological Risk Screening Summary. 8 Nov. 2019, https://www.fws.gov/sites/default/files/documents/Ecological-Risk-Screening-Summary-Wakasagi.pdf.

“What is the “King Tacos” which is loved by Okinawan?” Okinawa Labo, https://okinawa-labo.com/en/okinawa-taco-rice-1966.

**Wondrich, David. Imbibe! From Absinthe Cocktail to Whiskey Smash, A Salute in Stories and Drinks to “Professor” Jerry Thomas, Pioneer of the American Bar. Updated and Revised Edition. New York City, TarcherPerigee, 2015.**

“〆まで美味しい ごま豆乳鍋つゆ ストレート” Mizkan, https://www.mizkan.co.jp/product/group/?gid=07101.

“簡単タコライス” Lettuce Club, https://www.lettuceclub.net/recipe/dish/22978/.

“王道タコライス” Delish Kitchen, https://delishkitchen.tv/recipes/196315721972580774. “簡単！すぐ出来！タコライス　レシピ・作り方” Kurashiru, https://www.kurashiru.com/recipes/80ca4e93-29d6-422a-8168-cf409ac46d23.

[izooks]

Scott Galloway - NO MERCY / NO MALICE

Florida is now one of the most restrictive states in the country for abortion rights: The state’s supreme court reversed its own precedents on April 1 and upheld a ban on abortions after six weeks. Women in Florida, as in many states after the reversal of Roe v. Wade, now face harsh limits on their fundamental rights.

The same day, the court also allowed a proposal enshrining abortion rights in Florida’s constitution to appear on the ballot this November. There is a good chance it will pass, but it will be close — 60% will have to approve the amendment, and last fall, a poll found 62% of voters planned to vote for it. Nationwide, between 60% and 80% of Americans support a woman’s right to choose, depending on how the question is asked. The rest of the world is expanding the right of women to decide when and how they get pregnant and give birth. Yet in many states, a minority of Americans continue to impose their views on the rest of us. I say “us” because while this right is unique to women, it affects all of us. The right to terminate an unwanted pregnancy changed the course of my life, and my mother’s, even though I didn’t understand it at the time.

“D and What?”

On a late summer afternoon, between my junior and senior years of high school, I was in the passenger seat of my mom’s lime-green Opel Manta on the way home from work. Mom had secured me a job in the mailroom of her employer, the Southwestern School of Law, where she managed the secretarial pool, and we carpooled back and forth. Headed west on I-10 (the Santa Monica Freeway), between the La Brea and Fairfax exits, she told me about her plans for later in the week.

“I’m having a procedure called a D&C on Wednesday and won’t be home that night. Are you fine to stay alone?”

I was 16, and only really heard the part of her question suggesting I wasn’t old enough to spend the night solo in our condo. “Yeah, sure.” I didn’t ask what a D&C was, but I had the sense it had something to do with the great unknown, women’s health, and didn’t ask for details. My mom likely wanted to have a meaningful conversation with me, but that didn’t happen. Meaningful dialogue with teenage boys happens … just not when you expect. The question must have found some purchase in my consciousness, as I remember exactly what I was wearing: brown Levi’s corduroys, a Bruce Springsteen concert T-shirt, and top-siders. Not Sperry top-siders, but knockoffs. A pair of real Sperrys cost $32.

I was 16, my mom 46. I loved her because she loved me, completely. But that’s not what this post is about. I also loved the U.S. because it, too, loved us — me and my mom — completely. My mother was a single immigrant raising her son on a secretary’s salary. But this isn’t a sob story. We had good lives. Sure, money was definitely a thing, but we lived in a nice place and took vacations to Niagara Falls and San Francisco, ate at Junior’s Deli every Sunday night, and went some weekends to the beach in Santa Monica, where parking was $2 for the whole day, just behind lifeguard station No. 9.

Our nation welcomed my mother with open arms. Despite her having no education or money, we helped her out in between jobs and loaned her money so she could go to night school and become a stenographer. The state of California loved her son: The vision and generosity of the regents of UCLA and California’s taxpayers gave her unremarkable son (this isn’t a humblebrag, I was seriously unimpressive) a remarkable opportunity. I received a world-class education at little cost: UCLA (my B.A.) and UC Berkeley (an MBA) for a total cost (tuition) of $7,000 for all seven years.

More than just affordable, it was accessible: UCLA had a 76% admissions rate when I applied, and Berkeley’s Haas School of Business accepted me with an undergraduate GPA of (no joke) 2.27. America is about the opportunities it provides the unremarkable, not the manufacture of a superclass of billionaires from the pool of preordained remarkables.

But the ultimate expression of our nation’s empathy and love for a single mother, in my view, was to grant, and protect, her domain over her reproductive system. In the U.S., 59% of women getting abortions are already moms. Twenty-four percent are Catholic, 17% mainline Protestant, 13% evangelical Protestant. Over a third of pregnancies in the U.S. are unintended.

Men and women create unwanted pregnancies. However, it’s often men’s lack of manhood that’s behind abortions. Half of women seeking an abortion cite the lack of a reliable partner as a reason for their choice. In many cases the partner is abusive. Among all abortion patients, 95% report that abortion was a good choice — they remain relieved several months after the procedure. Violence toward women declines precipitously after an abortion, because they can break ties with their abusers. The leading cause of death for women who are pregnant or have just given birth, by a factor of 2x, is homicide.

Alt Control

What is going on here? In my view, it has nothing to do with “life,” as the most staunch advocates of the “pro-life” movement are the first to advocate for cutting the child tax credit, executing criminals, or putting a pregnant woman in danger when a pregnancy becomes a health risk. Many argue that these folks are not obsessed with life, but birth. This also misses the mark — the same groups do not favor economic policies that would encourage people to have children. This is about control or, more specifically, retaking control and power back from women.

I write a lot about how far young men have fallen in America over the past several decades. Even more striking is the ascent of women, globally, over the same period. Women now outnumber men in tertiary education enrollment worldwide; and the number of women elected to parliamentary positions has doubled since 1990. Women’s wealth is growing faster than overall wealth. A static feature of a modern economy is women outpacing men in education and income growth.

However, this has stirred the ghoul that haunts the world … posing a greater threat to society than any autocrat or virus: extremism. The parabolic progress of women over the past several decades has inspired a gag reflex among the most conservative wings of many religions. The radical wings of Christian, Islamic, and Jewish sects have weaponized politics and blurred the lines between religion and legislation. In America, where there used to be a sharp distinction, as outlined in the Constitution, we’ve witnessed a first: the rollback of citizens’ rights with the overturn of Roe.

The backlash among Christian nationalists has been speedballed by the other great threat: loneliness. Two-thirds of women under the age of 30 have a romantic partner vs. just one-third of men the same age. Men have fewer friends than they once did. Unfortunately, men’s loneliness can turn toxic, as they have weaker social networks and consequent guardrails. Lonely young men are more prone to conspiracy theories, nationalism, and misogynistic content. In sum, they risk becoming shitty citizens. The most striking, and frightening, data re the abortion debate is the group that registers the least support for a women’s right to choose: Gen Z men (age 12 to 27). Do you think this reflects their love for the unborn, or resentment of the living (women) … who they feel shunned by? It’s simple: Radicalized and lonely American men want uppity women to sit down.

The weapon of choice among these groups is economic warfare. To deny someone bodily autonomy is analogous to defunding them; they lose power. The Turnaway Study followed 1,000 women who sought abortions (some successfully, some not), compiling over 8,000 interviews over five years. The women in the study who were denied an abortion on average had higher debt and a greater risk of bankruptcy, and they were more likely to be in poverty years after giving birth.

2nd Order

How did you get to where you are now? People tell themselves a story that credits their character and grit for success, while blaming outside forces for their failures. But small twists of fate, errant decisions, and sheer randomness put you in this place, at this moment. I’m in tech because I fell in love with a woman and followed her to the Haas School of Business — I’d initially enrolled at the University of Texas. It’s more likely, graduating in 1992 Austin, I would have ended up in the energy sector or back in banking vs. the clear and present choice of tech in (wait for it) Silicon Valley.

But going further back, if my mom, at 46, hadn’t had access to affordable family planning, our lives would have been changed dramatically. Not only did we lack the funds or connections to figure it out (a rich friend who knew a doctor or the resources to travel far and have the procedure), but we also didn’t have the confidence. Just as I didn’t apply to out-of-state colleges — only rich kids did that. A lower-middle-class household headed by a single parent, neither remarkable, puts both of you on your heels instead of your toes.

If Roe v. Wade hadn’t been the law of the land, things could have been much different for me and my mom. An unwanted child at 46 would have been financially ruinous for our household. There was no maternity leave for secretaries in the eighties. I likely would have done what my father and mother did when their families were in financial distress, and left school to help out. I wouldn’t have enrolled at UCLA. Instead, I would have stayed in the job my father had secured for me after high school, installing shelving at $18/hour — a lot of money for us at the time.

Without my mom having that choice, there would have been no UCLA, no Berkeley grad school, no tech startups, no tens of millions in taxes paid, and … fewer children. I have always been worried about money and did not especially want kids. There’s no way I’d have opted for kids, later in life, if financially strained. We see evidence of this today, as a younger generation is having fewer children because they can’t afford them. My mom’s right to choose not to have a child she couldn’t afford gave me the choice to have children I could. All unbeknownst to me, at 16 years of age.

America is a mix of opportunity and acceptance, each being a force multiplier for the other. The reversal of Roe is about extremists and people who feel shunned trying to recapture control from a group that’s increasingly less suppliant to religion or men. The result is a lack of prosperity and a dangerous regression in the U.S., which used to illuminate a path forward for other nations. The suppression of abortion rights is yet another transfer of wealth from the poor to the rich — no child of a private equity partner is going to lose her right to choose. The economic assault against women, specifically poor women and their families, cripples opportunity and acceptance. It is wrong and un-American.

Life is so rich,

Scott Galloway

[seoul-bros]

Music Master List

Does it make sense?

RIP Sergio Mendes (1941 - 2024)

Colde releases I Color You

Stray Kids at BST Hyde Park

Alec Benjamin at BST Hyde Park

Marina - Man's World

Little Simz killed it at Glastonbury

Did it ever occur to you to cherish me?

Cómo, Cuándo y Dónde

Kendrick created and Anthem

El Capitxn's New Adventure

No one I knew stood half as bright as you

Not like us - Kendrick Lamar

Everything I Own

Ken having his Like Crazy/Set Me Free Pt 2 moment at the Oscars

Nina Simone born on this day in 1933

Buriburi on the Tonight Show

Stay from Entity

Tracy Chapman at the Grammys

Balming Tiger - Up!

Hiss and Hennessy

Jam of the Week

Entity - Cha Eun Woo

Back to the grindstone - something to brighten the start of your week

The Brothers Sun OST

Heart Station - Groovy track from The Brothers Sun

Happy Sunday Everyone! (21/01/24)

Jazz Friday - A little positivity for your TL

Happy Sunday Everyone! (14/01/23)

Rainbow Connection

J Christ - Lil Nas X

Jazz Friday with Aja Monet's "Why my love"

Jazz Friday - Aja Monet

Libianca's EP Walk Away Out Today

Dave Brubeck Quartet - Take Five

Love Song

Get Back the Rooftop Concert

Sliding into the Weekend with this Friday Night Groove

Lazy Bird

Spotify Wrapped 2023

Nina Simone "Revolution" 1969

Happy 80th Birthday Joni Mitchell

Nobody Told Me

Now and Then: The Beatles

America has a Problem

David Bowie: King of Prose and Performance

Troye Sivan: Got Me Started

British Rock in the 1960s

On this day in 1957

Ice Slippin new release by Omar Apollo Part 2

Ice Slippin new release by Omar Apollo Part 1

The secret to a happy life: Learn how to ring your own bell

Love in the 90s

Tina Turner - Icon of the 80s & 90s

Colde "Love Part 2" EP

K-pop's darker side

Samara Joy

Did you check on me?

New Face: Joining the Dot's on Psy's Discography

Reveling in Korean Culture at the V&A - Part I:Music

Se ha ido pero nos deja su música inolvidable

Balming Tiger is Rethinking K-Pop

Musical Jo Kwon

Jo Kwon - Animal

[navcommrelay]

KINSHIP 4

Time: D-Day + 74 Hours Location: KINSHIP Forward Operating Base Forces On Station: CFRI, Silver Wing, Barghest Company Forces En Route: CFRI Delta Lances [Error: Redirected] Objective: Engage enemy Jericho-class superheavy drone on approach.

After-Action Report:

Barghest Company Godkiller Star Engaged Superheavy Jericho Drone in combat. Initial speculation that the drone would be unable to target captured Celestial series Omni-mechs was correct, allowing Lt. Colonel Anya Corwin, Major Victoria Everheart, Major Bill Weaver, Major Kei Franklin and Major Elenor Von Strauss to inflict noticeable damage onto the drone during the initial stages of the engagement, knocking out the weapons on two legs and damaging the armor and main gun housing. The drone’s inability to target Godkiller did not extend for the duration of the engagement, resulting in Godkiller Star taking heavy fire from the drone and being forced into cover, sustaining major damage to all ‘mechs before they could get into cover. All mechs mobile and operational, however Major Elenor’s ‘mech sustained noticeably more damage due to its light weight compared to the rest of the star. CFRI Recon Elements moved to assist and sustained heavy losses (See CFRI Report below). The drone’s preoccupation and engagement with 1-Beta and 2-Alpha, as well as the small gap in the fire arcs provided by the damage sustained to the two legs, allowed Major Elenor Von Strauss to close with her heavily damaged Preta, and despite her mech being largely torn apart by the remaining weapons, throw her ‘mech beneath the Drone’s main body. A Long Tom artillery strike was called in from SLDF Regimental Artillery Battalion - “Caber” outside of Coen City by Major Elenor, resulting in heavy damage to the Drone’s capital-class XL(SCL), disabling the weapon, and inflicting general damage to the armor of the machine. Major Elenor was unable to escape the area and has been confirmed KIA. During the bombardment, remaining elements of Godkiller were able to pull back to Kinship FOB for rearmament and repair. Jericho Drone estimated at 80 - 75% offensive effectiveness remaining, and estimated 75% defensive effectiveness.

Barghest Company Comms log:

Godkiller 4: SLDF RAB Caber, this is…Godkiller 4, requesting immediate…artillery strike, my location…*sounds of wet coughing*

SLDF RAB Caber: This is Caber, Godkiller 4, we read you, designate target. We’re getting ECM interference your position.

Godkiller 4: …Godkiller 4 to…Caber…sending now…lock onto reactor signature for GM 270 Light Fusion engine…*sounds of wet coughing*...recommend…full barrage.

SLDF RAB Caber: Roger that, Godkiller 4, dropping the hammer. Suggest immediate evac of area surrounding designated target.

Godkiller 4: …negative…*coughing continues* unable to evac…can’t move my legs…and will bleed out before I get picked up…

SLDF RAB Caber: …Roger Godkiller 4…godspeed.

Further examination of comms chatter within Godkiller revealed that Major Elenor had suffered terminal injuries from shrapnel within her mech’s cockpit, including a severed spine, punctured lung, and significant lacerations. Major Elenor Von Strauss has been recommended for posthumous award of SLDF Medal of Honor.

Barghest Company Kinship FOB forces move forward to engage the remaining 14 Word escort ‘mechs, supported by elements of SWMC repaired after engagement with lead Word elements. Barghest Company mechs formed a V formation, with assaults and superheavy T-Rex taking point, followed by heavies, forcing the Word elements to choose between facing the oncoming mechs or braving the mined streets and pathways. Medium and Light ‘mechs held in reserve for repair and serve as a possible QRF in the event of flanking maneuvers through minefield. Engagement soon becomes a point blank brawl. Barghest Company mechs disable or kill nine enemy mechs, including both Omegas. Major Roberta is credited with the destruction of one Omega, and an Archangel, sustaining armor damage and an expenditure of all RAC10 ammo. Commander Owen McEvedy is credited with three kills, a Deva, Grigori, and Archangel. No damage sustained. Two Seraphs and the remaining Omega were taken out via combined efforts of Lt. Ann, Lt. Smith, Lt. Delila, Lt. Pam, Lt. Clara and Captain Bastian, with Lt. Delila scoring a cockpit shot on the Omega. All mechs involved are damaged, but not severely. Colonel Bell and Major Bridget Hazen killed another Seraph through focused fire as directed by Colonel Bell. Minor damage sustained to both Shrike and Mad Cat Mk II. Remaining Preta that was not present during forward element engagement crippled by anti-mech mines as it attempted to flee, pilot captured by CFRI infantry.

Silver Wing Lances Alpha and Bravo departed Kinship following repair and rearm to assist Barghest Company forces that had also been stationed onsite. Both lances engaged additional elements of the drone escorts. In an extended firefight, four heavy enemy ‘mechs were outright destroyed, seemingly unwilling to retreat. Downed ‘mechs included a Mortis, a Crusader, a Falconer, and a White Flame. Two SWMC ‘mechs were downed during the fight. Bravo 2 suffered a loss of its gyro, causing the pilot to eject. Chute was spotted, but the pilot was not located. Alpha 1 received a blow to the head, causing the loss of contact with the pilot. The ‘mech then collapsed. No ejection spotted, pilot not recovered. Alpha 2 lost all weapons, but remains operational. Combat effective ‘mechs remained on station to further assist in the defense.

CFRI Recon Elements engaged the enemy superheavy in support of Barghest Company Godkiller Star once they began to take heavy fire from Jericho Drone. Due to the lack of targeting interference afforded to the repurposed Celestial-series BattleMechs fielded by the Godkiller Star, losses were immediate on contact. In order of occurrence: 1-Beta-1: (Thorn) On initial approach, the ‘Mech suffered catastrophic damage to its left side torso from pinpoint-accurate sustained Class-2 Ultra Autocannon fire at maximum engagement range, resulting in core destruction. Pilot ejected, but was killed mid-air by LRM fire. ‘Mech abandoned, classed non-repairable.

1-Beta-2, 1-Beta-3, 1-Beta-4: (Wasp, Stinger, Locust)1-Beta-4 was directly hit by the Jericho’s Naval-class primary weapon (XLSCL) and destroyed. The overwhelming and immediate energy input caused a catastrophic failure of the fusion bottle in the Locust’s extralight 160-rating engine, resulting in a chained fusion detonation. The explosion vaporized the ‘Mech and damaged the Stinger and Wasp beyond all hope of repair. Their pilots did not survive the radiation and heat of the explosion. 

2-Alpha-2: (Mongoose)

The second-wave approach by 2-Alpha was both slower and more cautious after the complete destruction of 1-Beta. As a result, 2-Alpha-2 was struck by enemy Class-10 cluster autocannon fire, disabling its left arm, but was already in partial cover and able to remain operationally effective. The destructive power and nature of the Jericho cannot be overstated, and sustained supporting fire by the surviving recon lance was able to account for, at absolute maximum estimate, minor armor damage. Advisory from 2-Alpha Lance Command urges extreme caution, noting the inhuman speed and reaction time of the drone, as well as its ability to focus clusters of weapons independently on separate targets, making fast-moving wolfpack tactics extremely risky, if not completely ineffective. Note for later record, award posthumous commendations.  @lt-chari @msn-04iinightingale @combined-arms-merc-groups @is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not

[forensicated]

03x03 - Brownie Points

TW: Discussion of child abuse and race in the terms of the mid-80s when this was written and filmed.

June and Taffy watch a prostitute, Shirley, attempt to pick up customers on a street corner. So far they've seen two slow down before driving off with her flicking them the V's. June goes to speak to her and warns her she risks arrest. "Home to bed for you." "What do you think I've been trying to do for the last 6 bleedin' hours?!" As June returns to the car, a man in a van slows down. "'Ello darlin' you looking for company?" June turns round and the man drives off at speed when he sees she's a police officer.

"I've just been accosted by a kerb crawler." she chuckles, getting back in the car. The official name for the operation is "Operation Tom."

Nick stops a posh gentleman in a red light district after spotting his car circling three times. He claims he's lost. "Would you like us to phone your wife and ask her to look up directions for you?" Nick asks with the man blustering and very quickly remembering he knows where he's going. Funny that.

Bob is stuck in CAD still and is not happy, twirling in his chair. "It's like being stuck in a wheelchair." Dinesh tries to send Nick to an all-night party that is still going on. He answers back smartly until Bob cuts in and tell him to just go. "Don't let them mess you about!"

Nick and Viv attend the all-night party and invite themselves in to talk to the residents who night shift already visited earlier. "All people do around here is complain. If we want a party we have a party." The female resident snaps, ordering her daughter back inside her bedroom. "All we're asking for is a bit of consideration for others." Nick says pointedly before they leave. Mrs. Baker, the neighbour who has been ringing the station comes out and explains she hasn't just been complaining about the music. Natalie, the daughter, has been screaming and crying at all hours of the day and night for months. Viv asks if she's heard what has been going on and Mrs Baker says that the mother is beating the girl. She hasn't seen her but hears it and the girl is covered in bruises. She feels guilty for not reporting it sooner. As Viv returns to the car, the music starts up again.

Brian Kite speaks to Brownlow, telling him he didn't have to come in early as he had everything in hand. Brownlow spots three issues and urges him to hurry up the operation to discourage the red light district near the market as the DAC is due to visit that afternoon. He literally tells him to shift them onto another Super's patch. 🤣 He doesn't want someone important nicked for kerb crawling as it would be very embarrassing. Kite reminds him they have a Brownie troop visiting at the same time. He didn't move or cancel them because the DAC is very keen on community involvement and Kite thought it would be a good idea for him to see them. He then tells Charles he's replaced his coffee cups as he leaves because the old ones were grubby. Proper little 'apple for school teacher!' suck up.

Taffy is studying for promotion and keeps asking other officers to test him. At the same time he moans about the new staff in the canteen as one keeps showing attitude and turning her back on officers. "Thanks love, sorry for the inconvenience." he drawls with the woman rolling her eyes at him. Tom tells Jim he's not in CID yet so can still sit with his mates. "No thanks, Sarge. My social worker always told me to keep away from policemen!"

Viv tells Yorkie that Natalie's face was bruised when she saw her and her eye was puffed up. Yorkie tells her it's not the first time and the school has also reported her bruises. Natalie is already known to the relevant agencies and Yorkie will follow it up again with the new information as the estate is on his ground.

Reg reports to Tom that he's been nominated as Federation Rep by a couple of officers on the night shift. He wanted Tom to be the first to know because he thinks he and Tom have a lot in common. "I wouldn't have said that, Hollis." " Course you wouldn't, Sarge. You're too modest." "...Bloody hell."

Charles keeps fussing around the station and checking noticeboards. He tells Tom that he's seen far too many police officers and wants them 'sending out' before the DAC arrives. "Especially the troublemakers!" Charles tells him that Reg was the only nomination for Fed Rep and if the rest of them are "too apathetic to apply for the job they must accept the consequences. That's democracy."

Nick can't believe that no one else has applied. Alec tells him nominations don't close till midday so he can still stand himself. "Me, Federation Rep? No thanks!" Taffy claims it'd interfere with his studies. Alec claims that they need someone who can stand up to the bosses and who has a bit of nouse so they can get what they need across. He adds that women always do well as Fed Rep and that June is the ideal person. Nick claims there's no such thing as female PC's, they're just men in drag.

Yorkie finds Youth And Community are aware there is a multi-agency conference about Natalie Winston happening that day but they're not attending as her Y&C caseworker is on holiday. Yorkie asks for permission to attend. Tom says no as it's Y&C's fault if they don't attend on behalf of the police and he's already light on officers due to Operation Tom. Brian gives permission as community liaison is part of their job and Yorkie has knowledge of the case. He tells Tom to make sure that Y&C know it's just a one off.

Reg tells Nick and Taffy, who are cleaning the yard before the DAC arrives that the request is a misuse of manpower and they shouldn't have been asked to do it. Reg is smug and is adamant he's already got the position as Fed Rep, purely because there's no competition. "I seem to have emerged." Nick tells him that June has also been nominated. "She's only a woman." Reg scoffs. In the ladies toilets, Viv tells June she would make a good Fed Rep because she has the right experience and it'd do her good and she's a shoo-in against Reg. "Besides, it'd give you an interest." "Just because I'm not husband hunting or shag happy does not mean I need an interest!" June snaps. "I'm a perfectly normal woman! I enjoy my job and then I go home and mind my bloody business!"

Alec is at his top wind-up best when Kite seems to ask if he's ready for the DAC to arrive. He suggests Alec brush up on how PACE is affecting his job as Custody Officer. Alec smiles that the DAC can have his opinion on PACE if he wants it. "PACE is a pain in the neck and the only thing I don't have to write down now is how often a prisoner farts." Kite is not amused claiming that Sun Hill must be seen as a "efficient, flexible and forward-looking. No room for Ned Ludd [who Luddites named their movement after] here."

Yorkie asks Robin to do a couple of checks for him on the background of Natalie's mum and her boyfriend who live on Lexford Square. He tells Bob that the CAD room looks great. "Yeah, till someone pulls the plug."

Tom tells Viv DAC Wainwright is worse than an auditor, he pounces on anything and everything to pull up as problems so wants her to go through the lost/found books and make sure everything is entered correctly. Ken, Taffy and Nick are directed to check the property store to ensure everything is in order and correctly labeled. Viv is told to make sure the commissioner's face isn't on the dartboard.

Roy returns after his 'bloody awful' leave.

Tom and Bob warn Roy of the DAC's impending visit and that a particular street has been under 'Operation Tom' all week so not to seek an escape there. Brian asks Roy how his leave has been and Roy poshes-up his accent a little. "Superb, thanks Brian." He tells Brian that he doesn't want a particular 'tom' arrested because she's a CID informant. "I didn't ask for a lecture, just a favour." When Brian launches into a long-winded explanation of why he can't help.

Ted is irritated they didn't get advance notice of Natalie's case and claims Youth and Community do not keep their end of the 'bargain'. Roy asks what the issue is as it's him who'll have to attend, not Ted. Ted claims it's the principle, and without notice they can't get cover. "Life was a damn sight easier when Social Services weren't able to bury their dead!" he snaps, every word overheard by Brownlow on a call to Roy to ask him to look after the DAC. "Acting DI Roach" is going to attend the conference with Yorkie. Ted has three cases that all want his undivided attention. "And now you've got a couple of hours listening to so-called experts talking a load of cobblers!" Roy warns him to keep his ears open and mouth schtum. Mike had sent Jim to get him a coffee and Ted steals it from Jim just as he's about to enter CID and takes it with him.😂

Jim is sent to the Red Light district where Operation Tom is happening to warn one of Roy's best snouts, Janice, to make herself scarse so she doesn't get arrested. Roy warns him to be careful near her! She's a handful!

Reg does his best to speak to all uniform, telling them he and Brownlow are on the same level and he has a special way with him. June on the other hand is depressed about how she comes across and why people make assumptions about her having the time to take on Fed Rep responsibilities. "June Ackland, aged 30. Married to the job, good old sexless dependable June." She sighs to Alec who wraps his arm around her. "Let Hollis do it, let us all have a laugh."

Ted moans about Social Services not doing their job and that they shouldn't be let loose as Social Workers unless they've got kids of their own as 'wet nose kids fresh from uni know nothing!' Yorkie claims the case workers have a load of about 80-90 kids each that they're concerned about. "Concern is no good unless they let us do something about it!" Ted growls.

The Brownie Pack arrives and Tom tries to offload them onto Inspector Kite who informs him that he is tasked to show the Brownies around. Brian is literally running his hand over everything including door frames to make sure they're spick and span. He tells Ken to keep a watch for the DAC on the back door, radio in when he spots him, and then not allow anyone into the station for an hour. Ken does exactly that, saluting the DAC's car as he drives into the yard.

Unfortunately, Natalie's mum and stepfather have no previous for which they've been caught so the police are on a backstep. The social worker doesn't think CID involvement is necessary. Ted disagrees 'in light of the injuries'. "Let's keep an open mind about that, shall we?" Natalie and her mum were moved onto the estate 12m previously as part of the council's attempt to create a better 'ethnic mix'. The council worker claims that the prejudice and hostility that Tara Wilson was subjected to created a lot of stress. Tara attended 1 psychiatric consultation 6 months ago and the psychiatrist claims she is a classic example of repeating what she learnt from her own childhood - no love of warmth shown to her so she is the same for Natalie.

In Brownlow's office, Brian and Charles try to charm the DAC, showing him the official figures - which impresses him.

Jim drives around and spots Roy's snout. He shouts she has a message from DI Galloway whilst showing her his warrant card. 🤦‍♀️ She gets into his car to discuss it and he tells her to keep out of sight - as Nick and Taffy stop them. "I'll have the kerbcrawler, Taff. You can have the Tom." Jim asks them not to spread it around because she is a snout. They promise they won't but continue to tease him. "You dirty little bleeder."

Yorkie notices Ted scribbling away so looks at his notepad...

He's drawing Ms Blake, a council official he has had previous with. The psychiatrist claims that the best way for Natalie's mother to learn to become a mother is through "a therapeutic relationship with her Social Worker within the family structure." Ted claims that Natalie's mother has the morals of a pole cat, the boyfriend won't stick around, and that Natalie was seen bruised and swollen just that morning by a police officer, "Here we go, typical intelligent response, nick 'em and bin 'em!" Ms Blake glares across at Ted. "Well, it's better than pontificating over a corpse." Ted responds.

The Brownies are excited after being in a cell and are shouting. Tom and Alec watch as the leader simply lifts her arm and the Brownies shut up immediately and do the same. "... I must try that at Parade!"

Alec riles them again by taking them off to get fingerprints done.

Ted asks if the meeting is about Natalie's best interests or not. The social worker agrees that it is, but they have to work out if the evidence is strong enough to warrant her removal from her mother's care. Ted points out they have the police evidence in their files and that the neighbour, who is the same race as Natalie and her mother - will testify. Ms Blake snaps sarcastically that the neighbour is 'what's known as a coconut, love. She's black on the outside and white in the middle.' The health visitor claims she is only there to see the baby who is healthy and well cared for and frankly she'd be unhappy if the case was allowed to undermine the work that the health service has done on the estate. Ted remarks that they'll likely have to carry Natalie out in a coffin to keep tarts and drug pushers happy. One of the women shouts at Ted for being ignorant and tells him that her case workers are assaulted, threatened and spat at every day as they work to keep families together and all 'these bastards [the police] want to do is take the easy way out.' She physically strikes Ted's shoulder in her frustration and throws his notepad at him as she tells him she's sick of him.

The DAC, Brownlow and Inspector Kite walk into custody as Alec and Tom are taking the girl's handprints. Tom sees his chance and holds his hand in the air which makes the girls shut up and do the same. Without realising they're there because Tom hasn't verbally warned or alerted him, Alec coats his hand in fingerprint ink too. The DAC shakes Alec's hand once he's been introduced, transferring the ink to his hand. The DAC is thankfully amused and speaks to the girls.

The education welfare officer claims that his department is receiving reports that teachers wouldn't even look twice at 15 years ago. He claims he can't be sure Natalie's injuries are not non-accidental. The headteacher snarkily claims 'he is the expert and she is just a humble headteacher', but she says the injuries are too frequent and too bad to be accidental. She can't understand why it's being allowed to continue. Ms Blake claims progress has been made and that the headteacher clearly doesn't understand the pressure of poverty on Natalie's mother. "She's inadequate. She's at risk and should be removed." "Here here!" adds Yorkie.

Shirley tells June she's a cow after she arrests her after she has ignored two warnings. "Only a cow, Shirley? You usually manage better than that." "If I had AIDS I'd spit in your face." Shirley adds.

The social worker claims that there has been some overreacting recently by Social Services where they have removed children into care that was found not to be strictly necessary and that in removing the child they destroyed families. He insists they need to establish that Natalie's injuries are serious enough to obtain a full care order which, in his opinion, they are not. He suggests Natalie be placed on the at-risk register. The other option is a place of safety order that would temporarily remove her whilst the case is looked into. Police and Education vote for a place of safety order. Everyone else votes for Natalie to be added to the at-risk register. The Social Worker ends the conference, saying Natalie is to be added to the at risk register. The headteacher tells Ted that Natalie is being systematically beaten and begs him to do something. Ted repeats that they can 'nick 'em and bin 'em' like Ms Blake said and he's on his way to do exactly that.

Two prostitutes (One played by Lorraine Ashbourne) are arrested after the police spot them speaking to lone men in cars. They claim they're not regulars and are on an away day from Doncaster to try and raise some money and won't be able to use their tickets the next day. They ask if they can at least contact their mum as she'll be worried when they don't return home. As they're loaded into the van they recognise Nick Shaw. "See you later maybe." One winks before Nick quickly explains they went to the same school.

DAC Wainwright is impressed that the station has had a new lick of paint and Kite claims it's to keep things fresh and boost officers' morale. He asks to meet the Fed Rep and Kite tries to tell him the truth but Charles speaks over him and tells him that it's PC Reg Hollis, newly elected that morning and unopposed. Reg tells the DAC that he's worried about stress and that the year before 200 officers left the MET because of the stress of the job and they're still in the dark ages because M&S staff get better care than they do - without having petrol bombs thrown at them.

Ken stops the van from Operation Tom from entering the station and recommends going for a drive around until the DAC leaves because 'he's had his orders'. They park up down a side street. "What are we supposed to do?" Nick asks. "Open a mobile brothel?" Taffy suggests.

Roy comes downstairs to see where the DAC is because he's been waiting upstairs for an hour. Brian tells him he's still in talking with Reg and they've had to cut 1-2 items because his time is limited. "You could have come up and told me that!" Ted interrupts and tells Roy he wants a Place Of Safety order for Natalie as Social Services are doing sod all and Natalie is being beaten to a pulp. Roy agrees to have a look at the case with him.

The DAC goes into CAD and asks Bob if he's had any problems. Bob claims it's been nothing they can't handle. The DAC says he admires men like Bob who have been in the service a long time but are still soaking up the new tech and objectives. They run into the Brownie Pack again. Charles leads towards the rec room at the suggestion of the DAC who goes off with Brian to continue the tour.

One of the girls from Doncaster who is stuck in the back of the van with June, Nick and the others, says she needs a wee. Shirley tells her to just pee on the seats - she's going to do it too in a minute. She then suggests a singsong and says Taffy should be good at singing because he's Welsh. Taffy says he only sings in the bath. "Well you better get your rubber duck out then!"

Roy and Ted approach the Winston's flat with a uniformed officer. Roy tries to speak to Natalie's mum and explain that they're there to talk about Natalie. Mrs Winston shouts that they're not and throws something through the glass of the door that makes it shatter over Roy (genuinely think some of the glass hits John tbf). Ted jumps at the chance and breaks the rest of the glass in the door, forcing it open. He charges inside to arrest Mrs Winston whilst she shouts and swears at them. Roy goes to comfort Natalie before lifting her up and carrying her out with the uniformed officer bringing the baby and Ted escorting a protesting Mrs Winston out.

The DAC finally leaves, telling Brian he runs a tight ship and that his efforts are fully noted. Brian looks smug. The DAC drives straight past the van full of officers and prostitutes singing 10 green bottles 🤣 Finally the van pulls into the yard with its occupants still singing, just as Natalie and her little brother are taken into the police station.

Reg tells June that someone told him she was standing for Fed Rep and asks if she changed her mind. Tired, she tells him she did. Reg shrugs smugly. "Oh well, woman's prerogative" Roy asks June to sit with Natalie until Social Services arrives.

Finally, with the DAC gone and the higher-up ranks back upstairs, the station can breathe again. Uniform mocks Jim about being 'caught with a prostitute'. Tom laughs and tries the trick he learned from the Brownie leader and sticks his hand in the air to stop them. It doesn't work!🤣 As the officers continue down a corridor still singing in the background, a bruised Natalie can be seen and heard asking June where her mummy is.