Tumgik
#but between them stewing in my brain since last year and now having the context of their origins at least
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I have a whole bunch of dao stuff in mind but no drive to actually draw them so,, have some random older 'renan doodles
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sykilik101 · 3 years
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Third Wheel
Ash was never one for expressing his emotions with any kind of subtlety. Courage, pride, anger; he only knew how to articulate his feelings at max power. As it turned out, that also applied to being love-struck. Between all the flushes of red on his cheeks and the ways he’d keep glancing in Misty’s direction, it wasn’t hard to figure out how he felt about her. That, and the picture of her I caught him staring at last week.
It had been an accident, naturally. He’d scrambled to hide the evidence, but at that point it was obvious to us both that I knew. Well, I’d known sooner, but he didn’t need to know that. Not right away, at least.
After taking a vow of silence for his sake, I’d expected Ash to never bring it up again. He hadn’t actually admitted to liking her, and I didn’t feel like coercing a confession out of him. I assumed he’d just deny anything if I asked, as he’d often done to everyone who ever teased him about liking her.
And yet...
“Brock, are you even listening?”
I nodded, swirling the wooden spoon through the stew. “Yeah, sure.”
“Really? Then what did I just say?”
“You think Misty is pretty.”
“...I already said that.”
“You’ve said it every night this past week, after all.”
“Well, that’s because it’s true!”
The night after my photographic discovery, Ash had approached me, his head down and his smile sheepish. Misty was bathing at the river, leaving the two of us alone. Ash coming to me during my preparation of dinner was common; the fluster written all over his face wasn’t.
Before I could say anything he’d simply blurted it out. “I like Misty.” No build up, no warning, as blunt as I’d come to expect from him. I’d nearly fumbled my knife from shock, which would have been terrible; that would mean leaving dinner to them two, and I actually felt like eating that night.
“You...really?”
He’d nodded, his smile losing its hesitancy and growing in joy. What followed was a spiel of Ash putting all of those amorous glances at her into words. Even as my focus had been on making sure our dinner was cooking properly, he went on and on about Misty’s traits that had apparently become flattering practically overnight. Every night since, whenever Misty was off bathing, Ash used that time to unload all his sappy thoughts onto me.
Well, I guess it’s not like I hadn’t seen it coming a mile away.
It was funny how Misty was quick to call Ash dense when she’d never caught on to all the ways Ash had started falling for her over the years. I’d certainly noticed, though, like how he always made sure to eat next to her or set his sleeping bag by her side, things like that. I don’t think Ash consciously knew how he felt right away, but he must have caught on at some point, and Misty was none the wiser to any of it.
Ash prodded at my arm with further annoyance. “You’re supposed to be listening here, Brock.”
I offered what I hoped was a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, just focusing on dinner. I’ll listen this time for sure, promise.”
He crossed his arms and huffed, though his face quickly shifted to a more morose expression. “Do you think...does she really only think of me as a friend?”
“Are you talking about earlier?”
For the millionth time over the span of our journey, someone had interpreted Ash and Misty’s antics as romantic, and in the usual fashion they both denied it vehemently. Her remarks revolved around Ash simply being a friend and traveling partner, one who still owed her a bike. It was a common dismissive comment for her, and I’d allowed myself a glance at the little twitch in Ash’s eye when she said it.
“She’s forgotten about it before, so I kinda assumed that she actually likes traveling with m- us.”
I grinned at his little attempt to keep me included and I shook my head. “If it makes you feel better, Ash, I’ve enjoyed traveling with you up until this point. If she’s the Misty that we both know, I think she feels the same way, too.”
“Well, why does she keep bringing it up? Can’t she just say we’re just friends? Not that that’s any better…”
The last sentence was more mumble than exasperation. I gave the pot an extra stir. “She’s probably just used to saying it by now. Y’know, a bad habit. I can’t think of many other reasons she’d stick to the bike excuse.” I actually could, but I didn’t want to assume anything.
He didn’t answer right away, opting to lean forward on the log and lace his fingers together. I could hear him inhale slowly, but sigh sharply. “What do you think she would do if I actually paid her back?”
“How are you planning on doing that?”
He shook his head. “I’m not saying I can right now. I’m just thinking, do you think she’d stay on this journey with us?”
Being so used to Ash’s musings being upbeat and, well, gushy, it was off-putting to hear his tone get so down with regards to Misty. I didn’t have a real answer, but I could at least encourage him. “Y’know, I’m pretty sure she would. Don’t forget, she wanted to go on a journey to become a water Pokémon Master, right? I’d say she’s doing that and being with us. And besides,” I allowed myself another grin, “I’m sure she’d find some excuse to stay by your side even if you got her another bike.”
His face began to brighten. “You really think so?”
“You bet. I could imagine her saying that you’d never win another badge without her help.”
His first laugh of the evening resonated through the campsite and I savored my own delight at having cheered my friend up. “I could win any badge I wanted to all on my own. But…I’m really glad to have her cheering for me.”
“You know, you don’t hear everything she says during your battles.”
“What do you mean?”
I almost felt guilty at how quickly his mood shifted just by giving different context to Misty and her different relations to him, but since I was using this power for good, I swept it under my mental rug. “Sometimes you’ll make a mistake and she’ll say ‘don’t do that, Ash’ or ‘get it together’, you know, stuff like that.”
In a flash his grin plastered itself back onto his face, though it had brought along a pair of rosy cheeks. “Does she really?”
“Mhm, all the time, especially when you’re losing.”
It was like a twinge of annoyance had momentarily tried, but failed, to break through his smirk. “Lucky for me I haven’t lost a match in a while, huh?”
I nodded, sensing that Ash’s ego was starting to flare up, which was a funny thing to happen when talking about a crush of all things. Then again, I’d never gotten the impression Ash would know what to do with romantic feelings if he ever developed them, so I couldn’t say I was surprised.
Actually, what was Ash planning on doing about his crush?
“Are you gonna tell her?”
“...tell her what?”
“That you like her?”
Ideation of his recent win streak was clearly still on his mind and his brain hadn’t processed the question yet. Seconds later his mouth twisted as he sputtered out what I assumed was an answer, but it sounded more like the cry of some Pokémon that hadn’t been discovered yet. I checked the taste of the stew to hide my smirk. “I’m gonna need you to repeat that, Ash.”
“I’m...I’m gonna tell her. Eventually.” I wasn’t really convinced, and judging by his new expression he could probably tell. “I’m just not really sure of the right time. I kinda wondered if it would be okay to tell her when I got her another bike.”
“Whenever that is.”
“I’m really gonna pay her back, okay?”
“Are you worried she’ll say no?”
“To me getting her a new bike?”
“Ash.”
His thumbs began rolling in slow circles, the rest of his body still aside from his breathing. He nibbled at his lip. “Even if Misty doesn’t like me back, I don’t think we’ll stop being friends because of it. It’s just...when I think of liking Misty, it makes sense to me, you know? It’s the same with me liking Pokémon. I can’t really explain it, but I know it. I guess I’m kinda scared that I’ll lose something that makes sense to me.”
I gave the stew one last good stir before setting the spoon across the top of the pot. The conversation had gotten to the point where Ash deserved my full attention. “What would be the best case scenario if you told her?”
“I guess...she’d say she likes me back.”
“And then?”
He leaned his head back, a thousand-mile stare matching his now reddened cheeks. It took him a few extra seconds to break away from his fantasy world. “I guess we’d do what people who like each other do. Y’know, holding hand and...all that stuff.” A sudden look of realization straightened his face out, blinking before turning to me. “Actually, Brock, you always seem able to hold a girl’s hand or talk about being in love with them so easily.”
I chuckled nervously, touching my fingers to the back of my neck. “W-well, my case is a little different from yours, that’s all.” I wouldn’t say jealous was the word, but while I was fascinated in finding an everlasting love somewhere out in the world, it was obvious to me that Ash had already found his. He just needed a bit more time and courage to get to her.
He didn’t look fully satisfied with my answer, but shrugged all the same. “I just wonder if it should even be this hard. I want her to like me back, but every time I think about telling her, I get all tense.” He smirked. “That’s kinda why I wanted to tell her when I got her another bike. It’d be like...I’m not just telling her, but showing her, you know?”
It was always my view that Ash was dense to romance, or at the least didn’t understand when it applied to him specifically. However, that little grin and the way his interlaced fingertips started bouncing back and forth said enough about how natural it was for him, at least with regards to Misty. Knowing him he probably didn’t even consider what he’d just said as an act of love, just a solution to his nervousness issue.
“If you think that’s the best move, then that’s what you should go for.”
What else was there to say? My gut told me he’d probably succeed no matter what he did, but if he wanted the bike to be his vehicle for delivering his confession, I didn’t have much room to say otherwise. Not after that kind of admission.
He nodded, but before he could say anything else the sound of footsteps cut him off. “I’m back.”
Our attention was pulled towards Misty re-entering the campsite, her hair down and still damp. Without missing a beat I glanced towards Ash, newly appreciating that giddy little smile he was clearly trying his best to hide. Twice now he’d gushed about how Misty looked with her hair down, but the look on his face said it all.
I still had no idea how Misty hadn’t figured it out yet.
“It’s your turn, Ash, and don’t just jump in and out. Actually clean yourself for once.”
“Misty, I always clean myself! At least I don’t spend forever taking a bath like some people!”
“For your information, I need to wash away all the dirt and sweat from walking all day! Didn’t your mom tell you to clean yourself properly?”
Their squabble was going to last another minute or two, and I used the chance to check the stew once more. Perfectly done, ready to eat.
With a huff, Ash meandered towards the river. I hadn’t noticed if he won the argument, but then it never really mattered between the two. If anything, as I watched Ash vanish around the corner, I could probably imagine the smirk he was wearing. I chuckled to myself; I’d probably have to deal with his nightly gushing for a long while.
“Hey, Brock?”
Misty took a seat next to me, returning her hair to its normal ponytail. Her hands fell to her lap, an uncommon awkwardness plastered on her face.
“What’s up, Misty?”
Her fingers tensed and relaxed over and over as her gaze glued itself to her knees. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. The sole of her foot bounced up and down, flatting the dirt below it.
“Can I talk to you...about Ash?”
She turned to me with the same reddened cheeks I’d just finished looking at not a minute ago. Same discomfort, same wavering eyes. I almost wanted to fall back in my seat in disbelief, but I settled for a small grin that elicited a curious look from her. Shaking my head I patted the log next to me, turning to face her.
“I’m all ears.”
I guess I wouldn’t just be dealing with Ash’s gushing for a while, either.
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I initially wrote this fic just because I wanted to write about the idea of gushing, but then I ended up using it to practice a slight deviation of my writing style. Hope you all enjoyed it!
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thekillerssluts · 3 years
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Will Butler: "I think of the record as a complex and satisfying stew"
"I'm at the crime scene," Will Butler conveys. "I don't know that I am – I didn't murder anyone," he elaborates, "but I am at a crime scene. I'm there, and the evidence is all around us. So what do I do?" This setting is the backdrop to Will Butler's new album, 'Generations'. It's a setting that seems to resonate through society as a whole. We're in the throes of a global pandemic. There's a worldwide cry of pain and of outrage in the wake of the murder of George Floyd that needs to be heard. Meanwhile, Trump is campaigning for a second term as US president. The evidence, as the musician describes, is all around us.
"The general shittiness and desperation of the last four years, three-and-a-half years, is the swamp from which a lot of these emotions took their shape," Will portrays of the record. "I was trying to show some dimensions of that." Drawing from his life, the New York neighbourhood he calls home, and their place in the world at large, these songs might not have been written in the current climate, but their dissatisfaction with the state of the world around them is an emotion that feels unshakably prevalent.
In the five years since the release of his debut album 'Policy', Will Butler has toured, released a live record, toured some more, released a record with Arcade Fire, toured again, and somehow found the time to earn a mid-career masters degree in public administration. It seems safe to say that a lot has changed since then. "The first [album] was kind of like trying to make a market fresh meal," he portrays. For this new record, he wanted to do things differently, diverting from the "fast and furious" pace of his debut to take the time to let the songs grow. "This was a bit more like, okay, what do we do if we're making a world class stew?" he poses, laughing.
Born out of a process he describes as "boiling the bones and the onions and the carrots and everything," with 'Generations' Will Butler explores the history – specifically his family history – that brought him to where he is today, and wrestles with a keenly-felt desperation for something better in the future. "There's a nostalgia, but for a different present," he portrays. "It's not 'I wish we were back here,' it's 'I wish now we had made another choice back then.' It's a nostalgia for an alternate future." It's an energy that prevails far beyond the context of this album. "Right now's like, 'I wish it was 2019, except 2019 was just utter shit, so I want it to be 2025, but only if in 2025 we've actually fixed a couple of things,'" he offers with a grim chuckle. "It's this whole mess of emotions."
This is the energy that flows through 'Generations', a record that balances between the realism of the moment and hopefulness for the future. "It's been a batshit crazy world the last four or five years," Will expresses. Speaking from his home in Brooklyn, New York, he might crack jokes about dreading a second Great Depression (if you can't laugh… etc.) but the musician is in high spirits. "There's something about hope, about being hopeful, about being oriented towards something – like being oriented towards a better future," he enthuses, "while keeping your eye out and seeing all the shit that's going to destroy you before you make it to your goal…"
"I think the head and the heart are in different places," he distils. "You've got to know those things, but you've got to point your soul in that direction." He pauses, thinking his words over. "You don't have to," he amends, "it's just hopeful to point your soul in that direction." That's exactly what 'Generations' strives to do, shining a light to illuminate the shitshow of a situation we find ourselves in while offering hope for whatever comes next. "It's a fine place to begin by acknowledging your power or lack of power and your position within the world," Will conveys, "and then move forward from there." As he sings on 'Bethlehem', "how does it feel to know the torch is in your hand?"
"Dark," he offers in response to his own question, referencing events like the Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville in 2017 as an explanation as to why. "It's embarrassing and shitty and terrifying, and you are probably doing something horrible." He pauses and clarifies, "the 'you' is me in this." The lyric – and song – in question is inspired by the (misquoted) poetry of William Butler Yeats. As he talks Will searches for one poem in particular – 'In Memory of Eva Gore-Booth and Con Markievicz' – and pauses to read the last stanza aloud: "The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time; Arise and bid me strike a match and strike another till time catch."
"There's something in that moment, this desire to burn it all down, and then this idea of striking the match and blowing it out," he expresses. "Are we going to burn this shit down? Are we going to blow out the torch?" he asks. "It's that moment now." There are no answers. No one knows what the future holds. Instead, with 'Generations' Will Butler explores where he's come from and where he hopes we'll go from here. "I keep saying, it's a weird moment we're living in right now," he conveys. "It's a powerful moment, but deeply bizarre."
When he isn't looking forwards on 'Generations' he's looking back, delving into the history that brought him to where he is today. "My great grandfather was the last son of a pioneer, a homesteader in Utah," he describes. "He made his children be in a band. They'd drive across the desert – before there were roads in the desert – and play music in churches. Those kids grew up to be musicians in a jazz vocal group. My mom grew up in that musical family, playing music and playing shows." Performing in Arcade Fire with his brother, Win, and now readying to release his second solo record, it seems that music is in Will Butler's blood.
This sense of tradition is most keenly felt on album closing track, 'Fine'. "In some ways, it's trying to be like a Kanye West folk song or something," he laughs, quickly explaining that it isn't hip-hop but rather "talking about important things in a crass way." "There's a genre of hip-hop where it's like 'I got rich selling drugs'," he describes. "I'm like, 'I got rich because my grandfather ran a small business'," he laughs. "I got rich because generations of American policy have been oriented towards providing white men with a high standard of living that would be better than the generation before them," he declares with a mock flourish. "How do you like me now?"
More than just reckoning with his family history, 'Generations' sees the musician trying to find his place in it in the now. "I'm kind of the oldest millennial," he states. "I'm born in 1982: I'm not 40, but I feel like an old man. People that are six years younger than me, I see them through a glass darkly," he laughs. "Something about being a millennial who remembers the Soviet Union," he chuckles. "It neither has the standing to be an 'OK, boomer' person, nor the standing to be like, 'I've got my shit together, I'm a youth'." Exploring the tension of bloodlines and identity – and where that goes from here – is the river that runs through 'Generations'.
"I think of [the record] as a complex and satisfying stew," Will describes, in another culinary-inspired metaphor that gets more difficult to follow the longer he continues, "based off of some old family recipe that you did every goddamn step to make it into this very nourishing, very layered, uh, goulash." He abandons that train of thought with a laugh. "My brain is so broken these days." As for where Will Butler will go from here, your guess is as good as his [we mentioned there are no answers, right? – ed].
"Even before the pandemic I was like, 'I'm putting out a record this fall, I'm going to play shows in America a month before the election, I'm going to go around the world, meet people and figure out what's going on and provide some release'," he enthuses, plans which are currently just not possible at the moment. He has hopes for being creative with ways of sharing the record ("I'm curious to see if I get better at it, living on the internet") and for making a new Arcade Fire record ("God willing, pandemic permitting"). The rest is open to possibility. "For people that care about music, music feels very important right now," he asserts. "Music is so nourishing and comforting by its nature that it feels good to be engaged in that, as weird as it is."
Taken from the October issue of Dork. Will Butler's album 'Generations' is out now.
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lady-divine-writes · 4 years
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Bentley to the Rescue (Rated T)
When Crowley flubs an opportunity to tell Aziraphale how he feels, his car takes over. But it also doesn’t know how to quit when it’s ahead … (2357 words)
Notes: Features Queen’s ‘You Take My Breath Away’ and at the very end, NIN ‘Closer’.
Lunch had been lovely.
Positively lovely.
Aziraphale in particular had been overjoyed with the meal he ate, the champagne they drank, the company he kept.
All very lovely.
And afterwards, he and Crowley walked and talked and laughed and reminisced, pushing away the recent unpleasantness by recounting better times, similar lunch dates, favorite symphonic performances, anything that sprang to mind. They also contemplated hopes for the future – movies Crowley looked forward to seeing, books Aziraphale looked forward to reading, the latest rendition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream coming to Piccadilly that they planned on attending together. They discussed each topic with the fervor of people who thought they may not live to see tomorrow.
And the economy of those who still may not.
But by the time they pull up in front of Aziraphale’s shop, both angel and demon have gone silent. It’s not the comfortable silence they’ve cultivated over centuries of familiarity with one another. It’s a tense silence, a pregnant silence. A silence that begs the question:
“So … what now?”
Aziraphale asks it, looking to Crowley with wide, blue eyes searching not just for this answer, but for all the answers.
And that weighs heavy on the demon’s shoulders.
Considering the events of the past few days - the past eleven years! - Crowley can honestly say he didn’t think they’d get this far. Every minute that went by, he expected things to end, even if just for them.
Just for him.
But here they are, together in Crowley’s car, looking forward to tomorrow. The world hasn’t burnt up. They haven’t been executed. They’re not even in custody.
They’re free.
For now.
So yes – what do they do?
Crowley chuckles lightly. “I really don’t know,” he admits.
“Seems strange, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale glances out the windshield at life continuing on in Soho, humans who have no clue how close they came to becoming a massive meat stew going about with their day to day – meeting for dinner, hugging on the sidewalk, driving their cars, peeking into his own shop window, shrugging and moving on. “Knowing we don’t have to answer to anyone but ourselves?”
Ourselves. That brings things back to the question at hand – a question that should be easy to answer seeing as everything that’s happened between them, the catalyst to why Crowley could stop time long enough for Adam to defeat Satan and save the world, hinged on Aziraphale finally acknowledging that single thing.
They were own their own side.
The two of them – together.
But now that they’re in no danger of discorporation … or elimination … Crowley doesn’t know how that fits in the context of their future.
“I suspect we go on, yes? Keep doing what we’ve been doing. With a little less supervision, of course.”
“And that is …?”
Aziraphale is fishing. Crowley knows that. He also doesn’t know what he’s within his power to offer. What Aziraphale wants. Aziraphale has already burned him once, so to speak.
What if Crowley isn’t what he wants? Not the way Crowley wants Aziraphale?
There’s an easy way to find out, of course.
Why is he too much of a flippin’ coward to ask?
“You’ll run your bookshop,” Crowley explains. “I’ll take care of my business. I’ll stop by from time to time or you can come visit. It’ll be good. Normal, even. When’s the last time we’ve had normal then, eh?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale says. “Normal. Sounds … sounds grand … actually.”
It didn’t sound grand. But the fact that Aziraphale’s tone has gone solemn doesn’t seem to tip Crowley off.
But it tips someone off. Someone who’s been watching these two fools play this game of romantic Pong since the entirety of their employ. Someone who’s been waiting for a moment much like this, who has witnessed several with high hopes to have them unravel at the last moment.
Someone who is equally tipped as ticked.
“So, I’ll see you around then?” Crowley asks.
Aziraphale nods. “I … I suppose so.” But when Aziraphale should be opening the door and sliding out, he turns to Crowley instead.
“Crowley? There’s something I need to tell you. Something … important.”
Crowley shifts in his seat to face Aziraphale. “Okay?”
“I … well, I …”
Crowley takes off his glasses and tosses them in the back seat. “Yes?”
“The truth is …” Aziraphale glances about nervously – not afraid someone will see Crowley’s eyes. No one could notice them from here. But afraid Crowley will see everything Aziraphale is about to say in his.
Afraid he’ll laugh at him. Reject him before the words come out.
“You see, I …”
“You what, Aziraphale? Spit it out.”
Crowley doesn’t sound impatient. He sounds anxious, assuming that what Aziraphale has on his mind is bad news. He did say it was important, after all. So Aziraphale can’t backpedal. He has to get this out, no matter the outcome.
Aziraphale takes a deep breath. He doesn’t particularly need it, but he takes it anyway. If there’s anything in the air that can give him a boost of courage, he hopes it comes to him. Shoot! He should have invited Crowley inside for drinks! Courage in an amber bottle would be quite welcome right now. There’s a bottle of wine in the back seat. They bought it at The Ritz. He could grab it, open it, and chug it down. Then he wouldn’t struggle to get the words out. They’d be falling over themselves to trip off his tongue and stumble drunkenly to Crowley’s ears!
But no. With supernatural beings, as with humans, drunken confessions of love are tactless and not at all binding in court of law.
“I love you,” he says, doing his best to look in Crowley’s blank eyes when he does, the heat rising to his cheeks fighting to bring his gaze down.
“You’re an angel,” Crowley points out after a brief silence. “You love everybody. It’s in the job description.”
“I’m in love with you,” Aziraphale clarifies. “I’ve been in love with you for the longest time. And before I leave this car and risk you going off to tend to business and not returning for a decade, or napping for who knows how long, I need you to know that.”
“Oh.” Crowley’s eyes pop with surprise while his brain whirls to come up with an appropriate response. There is one. It’s there on the tip of his tongue. It’s been waiting there for centuries to make its grand entrance. But since Crowley is a more eloquent demon in his head than he is in practice, his grand confession of love never sees the light of day. What he says instead is: “Okay. Thanks.”
Aziraphale nods. “Well. So long as you know … I guess.” He reaches for the door handle and pushes, but upsettingly, the door doesn’t open. He wiggles it, gives the door a shove. This time, not only does it not open, it resists.
“What’s wrong?” Crowley asks.
“The door …” Aziraphale wiggles the handle more vigorously, shoves a bit more violently. “It won’t open.”
“That one sticks sometimes. You may want to miracle out.”
“Okay.” Aziraphale snaps his fingers, but nothing happens. He snaps again, then again, looking to Crowley with concern. “I can’t.”
“Did Heaven take away your powers?”
“I don’t think so.” Aziraphale looks out the window in the direction of his shop. He waits for an inconspicuous moment, then snaps his fingers. The front doors fly open, to the delight of a few stragglers peeking in the windows, but slam shut before they can make it inside. “No. Still have them. How about you?”
“Let me check.” Crowley snaps his fingers. A man on the corner ahead of them, talking up a young lady who looks uncomfortable by his presence, loses his trousers. They rip off his body, tumble a short distance away, then burst into flames, attracting the attention of an officer nearby and giving the lady a chance to escape. “Nope. Still got mine. Wait a minute …” He tries to open his door. He puts all his weight against it and shoves, but it doesn’t budge. He snaps his fingers over and over, but the door doesn’t open. The radio clicks on. Aziraphale assumes Crowley did it, to test his powers, but the demon’s face twists and he smacks a hand to his forehead. “Shit!”
A slow, romantic melody begins to play:
Ooh Ooh, take it, take it all away
“What’s the matter?” Aziraphale asks.
“It’s the car!” Crowley growls. He switches the radio off, but it comes back on.
Ooh Ooh, take my breath away 
He keeps turning it off, but it keeps coming on again, playing a song that Crowley obviously doesn’t want to listen to.
“How can the car …?”
“It’s a demon owned car, isn’t it? It’s only natural that it picked up a few things along the way.”
Ooh Ooh, you-ou-ou-ou take my breath away
Crowley switches the radio off for the umpteenth time and puts both hands over the dial, but that doesn’t stop it from coming on. In desperation, he plants his hands over the speakers to dull the volume, but even Aziraphale knows that won’t work. Eventually, Crowley slumps in his seat, puts his hands over his face, and surrenders.
Look into my eyes and you’ll see I’m the only one You’ve captured my love, stolen my heart, changed my life Every time you make a move, you destroy my mind And the way you touch, I lose control and shiver deep inside
Sympathetic to Crowley’s dilemma, Aziraphale tries for himself to switch the radio off, but it doesn’t stay off. “Why is your car playing this song?”
“How the Devil should I know?” Crowley lies. “It’s a Queen song. It likes to play Queen songs. Every car does.”
You can reduce me to tears with a single sigh Every breath that you take, any sound that you make Is a whisper in my ear I could give up all my life for just one kiss I would surely die if you dismiss me from your love
Aziraphale starts focusing on the lyrics halfway through the second verse, his eyes fixed on the radio’s face to avoid looking at Crowley’s. But he can’t help himself. He peeks over, curious about Crowley’s reaction, which he can’t really see with Crowley’s hands covering his face. That aside, Crowley’s Bentley is his pride and joy. He loves it more than anything. It’s an extension of him, in a way.
So if the Bentley is playing this song and needs it to be heard, it’s more than simply the shenanigans of a demonic car.
And this is more than a pretty song.
So please don’t go Don’t leave me here all by myself I get ever so lonely from time to time I will find you anywhere you go I’ll be right behind you Right until the ends of the earth I’ll get no sleep till I find you And tell you that you just …
There’s something so poignant about the lyrics. So fitting. He might have chosen this song himself to express his feelings if he knew it existed, if he did that sort of thing. Aziraphale can’t discount the fact that Crowley asked him to run away with him, how passionately he’d argued that they were friends, had been friends for over 6000 years. How ever Aziraphale saw their relationship, in whatever terms he used, they were at least friends. That should be of some comfort.
And it is.
Some.
I will find you anywhere you go Right until the ends of the earth I’ll get no sleep till I find you To tell you when I’ve found you …
The radio clicks off. The music disappears. And behind his hands, Crowley snickers. They slide down his face and he glares at the dashboard. “Well? Drop the other shoe, will you?” He stares at the radio and waits. When nothing happens, he scoffs. “No. You expect me to say it then, hmm? Cheeky bastard.”
“Say what? What … what is it leaving out?” Aziraphale looks at Crowley, then at the radio, as if the car might outright say.
Crowley rolls his head Aziraphale’s way, gazing at him sadly, fondly. “I love you.”
Aziraphale’s brows lift. “Is that the end of the verse?”
“Yes.”
“But … do you?”
“Yes.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Since … since when?” Aziraphale asks, scooting excitedly closer. “Oh … you don’t need to answer that if you don’t want to.”
Crowley smiles. “Since you uttered the magical words I gave it away.”
“Really?”
“Yes, angel. Really.”
“Wow. That’s, uh … that’s a long time.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
Aziraphale finds himself at a loss as to how to proceed. This seems like a classic lean in for a kiss moment, but there’s too much tension hanging in the air. An impromptu kiss may or may not relieve that. He’s never kissed Crowley before. He doesn’t want it tainted by mixed signals and bad timing. He’s willing to let Crowley take the lead on that one. Who knows? Kissing may not even be something he enjoys. So instead, Aziraphale turns to the car’s dash and asks in a teasing tone, “Is that all you wanted to say, Bentley?”
The car stays silent, but for only a second. The dial on the radio turns left and right, tuning into different stations, pausing at one, and then moving on. It stops at last on a song Aziraphale has never heard before, but which Crowley seems to know after a single beat since he launches for the dial, wrestling harder this time to try and change the station before the lyrics start.
“No, no, no! That’s enough now! You’ve had your say!” Crowley argues. But the Bentley doesn’t feel the same. The dial pops off and the song remains, it’s steady, provocative beat thumping hard, shaking the seats, and all Crowley can do is drop his head back, put his hands back over his face, groan loudly, and suffer.
I wanna fuck you like an animal …
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La Pomme ~ Chapter Five
Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)
Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?
Word Count: 4,300
Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.
A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.
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Two weeks later-and still no closer to finding MichaelDean-Jack was searching the bunker for Sam or Cas. He was having a shit day and needed to talk to someone, but so far his search was turning up empty. In fact, it seemed like the whole bunker was empty. He had a bad feeling that they'd all taken off for hunts and left without telling him. Again.
He'd just turned down the hallway along the kitchen, heading back to his room to stew, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. His head jerked toward it and he saw someone, dressed in thick black leggings and a grey racerback tank top with a solid purple flannel button down on top, opening the door to the fridge. It was that strange blonde woman again, the one he'd seen in Sam's room weeks ago. Maybe she knew where he was?
Walking into the kitchen, he began, "Hello agai-"
"Ah!" The woman leapt about a foot in the air and whirled around to him, the fridge door slamming closed. When she saw it was just him, she placed a hand on her chest and sighed, "Damn, dude."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," He apologized. "George, right?" She nodded hesitantly and he asked, "Have you seen Sam or Castiel anywhere?"
George shrugged casually and said, "No, but I think I heard someone say Sam left last night on a rougarou run to Dunning?" More like, you know he's on a rougarou run in Dunning because you've refused to leave your room for the last few weeks if he's in the bunker. She'd successfully been able to avoid Sam since waking up in his bed. That had been dangerous territory, so she'd been taking extra precautions to avoid him, and most everyone else, since. Which made it somewhat difficult to try and track down Rowena, who, George noticed, had seemingly done nothing to try and track HER down so far. She was beyond ticked with her now.
"Oh," Jack looked crestfallen and slowly nodded his head, "Alright. Thanks."
When Jack turned to leavesee she couldn't help herself and called, "Hey, wait…" He turned back toward her reluctantly and she almost lost her nerve, you shouldn't be doing this, "Uhh… what can I do to help?" He frowned at her and she squirmed awkwardly, "Sorry, I realize you don't know me at all, but… you seem upset, so I had to ask."
He considered her for a minute and then sighed frustratedly, "Sam-and everyone else-just keeps… leaving without telling me and-"
"You keep getting left behind?" She asked sympathetically. When he gave her an annoyed look, she smiled a little, "Sorry. I was left out a lot growing up, so I know how frustrating it can feel."
Jack's shoulders slumped and he let out an annoyed huff, sitting down at the kitchen table. "Now that my powers are gone, they all treat me like a child. They don't think I can handle anything! I'm not useless, I can do things! I can hunt! Or, at least I can be taught how to hunt, but they're all too busy!"
George deep sighed empathetically and moved to sit across from him, "Jack, you're not useless... you are young, though. And that's not a bad thing! But it does mean that sometimes you aren't ready to do certain things, even when it feels like you are." The look on his face didn't change and she smirked, "I know that isn't what you want to hear. I'm sure you'll want to hear this even less, but I wish I'd had this advice when I was your age so here you go: take the opportunity to enjoy being young and carefree and protected, even when it feels frustrating. Because… trust me when I say that you're lucky to have it and it really won't last."
"How can I enjoy it when I'm so pissed all the time?" Jack whined defeatedly. He seemed amenable to her advice but didn't know where to start.
She chuckled and shrugged, "Well, when I was a lonely, angsty teen-no offense-I used music. And video games… and food," She finished with a jokingly regrettable tone. "I wouldn't take my advice on the food, though," with a small smile she patted her fluffy midsection and he smiled with her.
Jack was studying her for a minute before asking, "What kind of music?"
"Oh, only the most angsty teen pop music the early aughts could provide: Linkin Park, Good Charlotte, Evanescence, Avril Lavigne-not the singles, the albums."
"Dean discourages pop music."
"Shocking," George muttered with a chuckle.
"What?" He asked curiously.
She shook her head, "Nothing-er-OK, so maybe not music. Have you got any video games here?"
Jack shook his head, "No."
George smirked and asked, "Let me guess, Dean discourages those too?"
Jack nodded and said, "He says it's because they'll rot my brain, but I'm pretty sure he just doesn't know how to play them and feels intimidated."
George laughed, "Yea, I would say that was probably a guarantee. The last time in his life he'd have had the luxury to play them was probably Atari?" Jack gave her a funny look. How would she know? Noticing the look she said quickly, "I mean, I assume. He just has that super old guy vibe ya know?"
Jack accepted her explanation and asked, "What kind of video games did you play?"
"Lots of different kinds. My favorite is probably N64. Those games were the best. Resident Evil, Goldeneye, Donkey Kong, Banjo Kazooie! All were personal favorites."
"Are those games still around? Can you still play them?" Jack wondered.
"If you buy all the equipment, yea? You have to get them used, probably Ebay or Gamestop or whatever."
"Gamestop?" He asked excitedly. "I know that place! There's one in town not far from here! Would they have the video games you're talking about?"
George looked confused. Why did he sound so excited all of a sudden? "Er… maybe, but-"
"Let's go!"
"WHAT?! Absolutely not."
"Please! You said video games would be a good distraction!"
"Jack, are you kidding? If Sam and Dean found out I took you out of the bunker without your powers, they'd have to stand in line behind Castiel to strangle me!"
"Please!" He begged.
She tried to be logical, "I-I don't have any money."
"Dean gave me a credit card!"
Damn. Instead she reasoned, "How would we get there?"
"I know where they keep the keys to Baby?"
Her face fell instantly and she asked, "Do you genuinely want to see me dead, Jack? If so, there are far less painful ways to accomplish that."
"Can't you drive?"
"Yes, I can drive, but there is no way we are doing this-especially not in that car. I cannot stress enough how badly this would turn out. This is literally the start of every episode! And when the bad idea goes wrong? You end up kidnapped and I end up dead!... Or worse: Winchestered!" When he just looked at her, confused, she said simply, "Jack, I'm sorry, but it's really not a good idea for us to leave the bunker. I can't fight, like, at all. If we got into a hairy situation, I couldn't do anything to protect you!"
He ignored her and kept begging, "George, please! You said that I needed to appreciate the opportunity to be young and to enjoy my time stuck here, so! Help me! We can take someone else with us, someone who can protect us both?"
Frowning at the desperate expression on his young, naive, baby face, she started considering it. I mean, if we took someone with us who knew how to fight it couldn't be that bad of an idea right? We could be in and out! Suddenly, every episode of Supernatural flooded her brain at once and she winced, shaking her head, "I'm sorry, but no, Jack. There is no one here that I would trust to be able to protect you enough to agree to do this."
"What about me?" Both of their necks snapped toward the doorway and found Sam standing there with an amused smile on his gorgeous, bearded face.
Whoa. George's jaw dropped. If she'd known he'd been growing that, she wouldn't have been avoiding him so hard. She was definitely feeling some kinda way about that beard.
"Sam!" Jack said nervously. "We were ju-"
"Planning to sneak out the window past curfew and go buy video games?" Sam shook his head with a couple teasing tsks and George couldn't help but chuckle.
Jack frowned, looking over at her and then back to Sam, "No... there aren't any windows in the bunker? We were just going to take one of the cars from the garage and drive there."
"No. We weren't!" George stood up and pointed a finger at him adamantly, "We weren't going to do anything that involved leaving or driving Baby or risking your life in any way!"
"Well, whatever you were doing," Sam interjected calmly and firmly, taking a step into the room, "I actually don't think it's a bad idea."
Jack leapt up excitedly, "Really?!" George echoed his excited 'really' with a surprised one of her own.
"Yeah. I know these last few weeks have been hard on you and if it'll help relieve some of the frustration and boredom, then," Sam paused, mulling it over before nodding, "why not?"
"Thanks, Sam!" Jack looked at George with an excited expression and she couldn't help but smile nervously at him.
"You're welcome," Sam smiled kindly, then added, "But I need a shower first. Give me 30 minutes?"
Jack nodded happily and then scurried off to wait, Sam slapping a hand on his back gently as he exited. When Sam turned back to George, she looked nervous still.
With a gulp, she asked, "Thought you were in Dunning?" Damn if he didn't look hot with that beard.
"Another team got there first. Didn't need the help after all," He explained. "You been checking on me?" He asked curiously.
Her mouth dropped open and she sputtered out a quick and pointed, "No!" giving him an offended expression, though the blush was hard to miss. She found his face frustratingly unreadable. Worried that he might be annoyed about their scheming, she tried to relax a bit and cleared her throat, "Listen, I'm really sorry. I was just trying to cheer him up; I never expected him to get the idea to leave the bunker. And-and, I never would have-"
"It's OK, you don't have to explain," Sam assured her, "I heard you guys talking. I know it was him. He has a tendency to get an idea and run with it; it's exhausting sometimes," He chortled, rubbing a tired hand over his face and she smiled understandingly.
George had a realization and frowned, asking, "Er… exactly how long were you listening?"
"Hmm, I got here right around…" He closed one eye in mock contemplation and finished with a smirk, "Avril Lavigne?"
George rolled her eyes in embarrassment and said, "OK, hold on. Listen, I'm not saying the singles! The albums have good stuff, very different from what the record company tried to force her singles to be. You have to hear the album before you judge, Sam! And I was a teenager!"
He chuckled and held his hands up. Despite the grin on his face he managed a serious tone, "Hey, I'm no hater boi."
Pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes tightly, she muttered, "Ugh, Christ."
She heard him practically giggle and then say, "I'm sure it's complicated."
"Cool. Well, I'm just going to go ahead and leave now," George said pointedly, glaring at him playfully. He laughed, watching her head for the exit. She paused at the doorway to pat him on the shoulder roughly, "Let you get ready for your Father-Son bonding time."
"Hold up, you're coming with us, right?" Sam asked, suddenly looking concerned.
George, who was out in the hallway by now, turned back with a surprised expression and shrugged, "No?"
Sam gave her a look of impatience, "How will we know what to get?"
"Uh… I can make you a list?"
"What if we can't find something?"
"Congratulations, you just discovered what sales associates are for!" She cracked, smirking at his impish questioning. He knew darn well that they did not need her to go.
Sam narrowed his eyes at her stubbornness and finally pointed out, "I think Jack would like you to come."
Suddenly her expression was dubious and she said, "I doubt that. He barely knows me, we just met. Or-sort of," She blushed suddenly remembering the reason she'd been avoiding Sam in the first place. The memory of waking up in his bed conjured up in her mindseye in an instant. With a swallow, she insisted, "He just needed an adult to take him to the store and you're here now, so-"
Sam cut her off gently, "Listen, I heard most of that conversation. You were connecting with him, George. Making him feel better, which I can tell you from experience is not easy to do. I could be wrong here, but I think this is something he would like to share with you." There was a nervous, maybe even panicked expression on her face and she didn't respond.
Sam took a few steps into the hallway to stand in front of her and smiled charmingly, admitting, "And, I would like it if you came, too."
She furrowed her brow at him suspiciously, her heart beating faster all of a sudden, "You would?"
Sam nodded, "Yea. Do you know how long I've been checking my corners for beautiful women?" When her jaw dropped satisfyingly, he looked at his watch and said, "So, thirty minutes, right? More like twenty five now, I better hurry!" then walked briskly away with a wink.
Blinking rapidly, she stood there staring dumbfounded into the now empty hallway. Since when was Sam Mr. Smooth with the lines around here?!
After being frozen in place for too long, she looked up at the ceiling again and said, "OK, seriously, if anyone is recording this, I'll give you whatever you want for a copy of that, too!"
Then, shaking herself out of her stupor she panicked. She's supposed to be staying away from these people, not joining them on outings! What was she thinking? This was such a bad idea.
George sat in her tiny room of requirement, mulling over her options.
Option one, "Don't Fuck Up the Timeline," was to make an excuse and stay behind, avoiding people at all costs from now on. No more making friends with the sad little half-angels! And certainly no more thinking about Sam's beard.
Option two, "Sam's Beard (working title)," was taking advantage of a once in a lifetime opportunity by tagging along on this risky misadventure and enjoying herself.
On one hand she knew from watching shows exactly like this that screwing with a timeline could have disastrous results. But, on the other hand, it sounded like fun. And she'd been cooped up in this bunker for weeks! Plus, Sam said he wanted her to go. How could she say no to that bea-to him?
With a frustrated growl she launched herself up off the bed and stomped out of the room. She knew what she had to do.
George nervously walked up to Sam's bedroom door. You just have to tell him: you can't go. Period. Maybe Jack will be disappointed but… he'll get over it! You can't be messing around with the storylines; God knows what ramifications it could have! God knows what you've already fucked up by interacting with them! You have to stay away!
But… Did it kinda seem like Sam liked her…? Like, like-liked her. At the very least she was getting serious DTF vibes, and it was making her positively gooey. She definitely didn't remember him being so… forward on the show. Wasn't he the shy one? Either way, it was incredibly attractive. And with that damn beard? Her loins were on fire. She always knew he'd look amazing with some facial hair.
Ugh, stop it! You're being r.i.d.i.c.u.l.o.u.s. Sam Winchester. Does not. Like you! You have to keep your distance and wait for Rowena to send you back. You're risking messing with the entire fabric of the Supernatural universe and, in turn, your own! And you call yourself a fan, you should be ashamed. What is wrong with you?
Then again, you did wake up in his bed… The thought made her heart skip a beat and her head pound with frustration. As curious as she was, she knew it was dangerous territory to explore. With a deep, calming breath, she knocked herself on the forehead sharply a couple times before reaching up and knocking on his door next.
When it opened a few moments later, she was face to chest with the gorgeous giant, who was currently dressed in dark jeans and a grey, short-sleeved, v-neck undershirt. She guessed she'd interrupted him before he'd had a chance to throw on his trademark plaid on top. It was a disconcerting look, one she wasn't used to from him; almost like seeing him naked.
Oh, please don't go there.
Slowly, she looked up and her mouth went dry. His beautiful hair was still wet from the shower and slicked back out of his face. The scruffy beard was still there, too; praise Jesus.
When she met his eye, there was a happy, curious expression on his face. He reached a muscled arm up and looked at his watch, asking "Am I late? I'm almost rea-"
"Nono, no. You aren't late." Cutting him off gently, she shook her head, "I just came to give you this," she held out a piece of paper to him, which he took with a raised brow. "And to say that, as much as I'd like to, I can't go with you. It's just... safer that way," She finished vaguely.
"Safer?"
She nodded definitively, trying to sound firm without getting specific, "Yes, safer. Too many things could go wrong."
"At Gamestop?" He smirked suspiciously.
George narrowed her eyes and thought about it for a moment. Of course, she'd meant 'on Supernatural' but she obviously couldn't tell him that so she nodded slowly, "Right… at Gamestop. Sure… I mean, they'll let any riff raff in there."
Sam looked down at the list of video game supplies, amused yet confused. When he looked back at her face he said, half smiling, "OK… well, not to sound full-of-myself, but I think I can handle any potential 'riff raff'."
"I-I know, I know!" She placed a fingertip on either side of her forehead and squeezed. Good lord. OK, just stay focused. Do. Not. Go. "I have no doubt that you're very willing and able to handle things." She eyed his large arms appreciatively and then cleared her throat, "It's just… um, you just never know what could happen-especially here," his eyebrow furrowed curiously at the emphasis, "er-I mean, at Gamestop. And if-God forbid-anything did happen and my presence somehow… negatively affected things… like your ability to protect Jack-er, uh..." The curiously amused expression he was giving her was causing her to stumble. She took another deep breath and refocused: "This is supposed to be a fun experience for Jack, right? I just think it's important that that's the focus. That list is everything you'll need for him to get set up. If they don't have the games I listed," she pointed to the list in his hands and he looked down at it again, "there are plenty of others that I'm sure the workers can recommend."
Sam started to talk and she caved, cutting him off again, "And-and if this is really something he wanted me to be part of-which I'm still dubious about-then, I'll be here when you guys get back! I can help get him set up and show him a few of the games. I don't mind that, I... guess," She finished with a small gulp. She knew it was best to stay away completely but she had a feeling it was a little too late now. "I just don't think leaving the bunker is a good idea. For me. Please." She finally met his eye and pleaded a little, "Sam, if anything happened to him or to-to you, I could never forgive myself." And neither would hundreds of thousands of fans.
Sam's expression was half curious, half amused, and all charmed. He thought for a moment, looked back down at the list, and then nodded slowly. His smile was kind as he said, "OK. If you feel that strongly about it, then stay."
"Thank you." She let out a relieved sigh, then grimaced a bit.
"You OK?" Sam asked with a concerned half-smile.
"I just… I know staying back is the right thing, but I feel bad." She admitted with a small shrug. "Do you really think Jack is going to be disappointed?"
Sam's eyes softened and he shrugged softly before turning and walking back into his room. As he picked up a green and black checkered plaid shirt that was laying on his bed and put it on, he said, "I think so, a little bit, but I can handle it. Not to worry." As he buttoned the shirt, he slipped his feet into his giant shoes.
He'd been about to say something about his personal disappointment at her staying-something he'd hoped would make her jaw drop adorably once again. But her eyes were roving his room with a pensive expression and it caused him to pause. He raised an eyebrow, watching her. Something about her had seemed vaguely familiar since he first saw her in that hallway. Yet, he still couldn't place her, which bothered him; it was unusual for him not to remember a name with a face. He had a great memory.
Is she someone we helped on a hunt? Maybe she went to Stanford? Did we… have a fling at some point? Nothing was jogging his memory, but he felt strangely, intimately drawn to her.
"George, can I ask… Ha-have we met before?" Narrowing his eyes in thought he added, "Did you go to Stanford? Maybe we shared a class?"
George looked at him like he was crazy, "Uh… er… Uh, see, I'm not-" As she stuttered out a response, he kicked himself.
She's from Apocalypse World! Moron. Obviously, it wasn't possible that they'd met before.
"Oh, god, I'm sorry. What a stupid question." Sam shook his head, chuckling in embarrassment. "You just… you look familiar, so I was just trying to figure out the connection," He trailed off, staring at her curiously again.
"Oh?" Was all she could muster, squirming uncomfortably under his gaze. She was horribly embarrassed to admit even to herself that she felt a strong pull from him, too. Something about him put her at ease while simultaneously making her want to burst into a million happy pieces and cover the world in a confetti of her joy and love. Hell, something about being here at all eased all her normal feelings of depression and unrest so wonderfully, she'd hardly put that much effort into tracking Rowena down at all, not that she'd admit that to anyone. But, obviously, the only reason she felt like this was just the amazement, the adventure, the celebrity of it all, and especially him. She knew there was no way in this universe they'd ever met; the last thing she needed was him taking an interest either way.
Swallowing any further conversation she might have been tempted to engage in, she began to step back from his doorway slowly but said quickly, "Yea, ya know, people tell me I have one of those faces. Anyway, tell Jack I'm really sorry and to have fun. I can come find you in a bit to see what ya'll come back with?" Just before turning and fleeing she said, "Oh, and make sure to get a couple extra controllers. Those are always the first to break, especially when you're just starting."
Before he could stop her, she left down the hallway and turned a corner. He almost went after her but then couldn't think of a valid reason. She wasn't coming and Jack was waiting for him. So, he grabbed his gun, collected the keys, and hoped it wouldn't be another three weeks before he saw her again.
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samdukewieland · 4 years
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Stuck Inside Media Diary Week 8
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Something that’s been nice about going back through Mad Men has been re-reading/re-visiting old Sepinwall recaps on the episodes. I read him religiously throughout high school and college, amongst others, but have since drifted from the recap on shows, for no good reason. Probably because there’s generally a podcast I can just listen to rather than read something (jock at heart-sorry ¯\_(ツ)_/¯). This supposed to be a lesson in “go back and experience stuff from your high school years?” man, I don’t know; the venn diagram of things I did in high school and the things I do now is not small (or is it not big? What’s the best way to convey a lot of similarities with a venn diagram, size-wise). 
Sunday, May 10 (Mother’s Day)
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The Third Man, Reed 1949
I was not super digging this while I was watching, it was late when I started watching it and it’s not slow exactly, but I was real curious how egg-zacktly Orson Wells was going to fit into the picture. Mysteries! I tells ya. Anyway, I’ve been stewing in it and realized, “huh, I think I actually like this movie quite a bit.” I think the Britishness, while not in your face, was secretly chipping away at my brain, already war-torn by tiredhead and then having a second wave of dry, British storytelling. Pretty good li’l picture (you could say that about movies in the 40′s-this isn’t uncommon).
Top Chef, Season 17 episode 4
This was done in an attempt to help my mom catch back up with Top Chef, which somewhat moved the needle, but I don’t think an episode (on her end) has been watched since. Mother’s Day: ruined.
Mad Men, “Tea Leaves”
My mom also watched this one with me, only because she just happened to be in the room. Her biggest hurdle with this show and her refusal to watch it is based solely on the fact that phones are ringing “all the time” and that “no one ever answers them.” Hard to refute it. She seemed mildly entertained by this episode, considering she had close to zero context for what was going on, thought that it was Ginsburg’s debut episode played some part into that. Pretty disorienting episode to be thrown into, what with the whole....Fat Betty thing (I was going to say “elephant in the room of Betty” but that just seemed cruel and trying too hard to try and be clever. An interesting, though ultimately aimless direction to take Betty this season and everyone involved kind of knows it.
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The Last Dance, Parts 7 & 8
That this was the penultimate week of new Jordan doc created an unusual energy around the episodes, which were exciting in their own right as they went over his father’s murder, his baseball career and returning to basketball. But the thing that induced the most goosebumps was the “cliffhanger” (I am a moron) showdown between the Bulls and Pacers. 
Monday, May 11
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Icarus, Fogel 2017 [as of now this is available on Netflix]
Kinda nice going into a documentary knowing hints of what it’s about and trying to figure out when it transitions to being about “X” but then you slowly realize you misremembered that information your friend Tommy told you and are surprised that it becomes about the Russian state (very possible I am misusing that term; just trying to sound smarter than I actually am). I don’t watch or know enough about documentaries to confidently state what’s a good one and what’s a great one-I think this one received some kind of critical backlash after it won Best Documentary, which happens. There’s definitely an intellectual superiority to saying you think less of a documentary that either wins that award or a lot of people like (in this case, both!). It’s engaging and accessible (another thing snobs hate) and has a misdirect that doesn’t blind side you; I don’t even care about the Olympics, but I felt sucked in.
Monty Python: Almost The Truth (Lawyers Cut), “The Much Funnier Second Episode - The Parrot Sketch - Flying Circus Included”
This one had more focus on the influence Flying Circus had on writers/comedians who were watching it at the time as kids (primarily). Lotta dudes. I can not stress how there are few things less appealing than hearing Russell Brand describing why Monty Python was funny (this was very much made in 2009).
Mad Men, “Mystery Date”
Some more Sopranos karaoke, though constructed a little bit better this time. This is also the episode that decides to flesh out Dawn (Don’s secretary, a joke that is never not funny) a little bit more, however Mad Men only does this when there’s “something to be said” about being black, which didn’t look great in 2012 and *flips through pages of notes* nope, still doesn’t look good here either. I suppose an argument you could bring up that is awfully flimsy is that they didn’t want to paint themselves into a Nikki and Paulo situation, in terms of never actually caring about digging deeper into Dawn’s story. I dunno man, I’m not trying to cast stones here.
Tuesday, May 12
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The Taking Of Pelham One, Two, Three, Sargent 1974
What a white whale this movie’s been for me and brother, it feels good to have finally caught it. It’s insanely cool to go into a movie not knowing that it’s the 1974 version of Inside Man with a little bit of Dog Day Afternoon spliced in (pre-DDA mind you). This movie is packed with so many sarcastic assholes all working together in the same place, I loved it! I loved this movie! Cataloged in my brain as a Stop-Down-And-Watch if it’s on cable. However, my biggest gripe here is that Walter Matthau’s character is named “Zach,” a name that has never once been mistook for Walter Matthau’s; like there’s no way that they had Matthau casted before they came up with his name.
Mad Men, “Signal 30″
Beginning of the end of having any remote kind of sympathy for Pete Campbell. Hitting on high schoolers and shit. He wants so badly to be what he considers to be the best version of himself and will never be there.
Parks And Recreation, “The Set-Up”
Don’t know what it was about this particular viewing, but it landed better than it ever has this time around. Usually when I watch it, Arnett is so distracting and a much different energy than the show has created, but I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as hard watching this one as I did on this Tuesday morning. 
Wednesday, May 13
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California Split, Altman 1974 [as of now this is available on Prime]
Hell yeh. Another movie I’ve been trying to see for a couple of years now, but feels nearly impossible to come across or find (note: to be fair, I have never checked to rent digitally, because I just don’t do that really ever, feels weird I don’t know why) and I found out on Tuesday night that it was put on Amazon Prime almost unceremoniously. I am by no means a gambler, so I have no idea if this is a good gambling movie, but it’s an incredible relationship and addiction movie. My introduction to Elliott Gould was Ocean’s Eleven where he is the opposite and still the same as the characters he played in the 70′s. The man has a debilitating incapacity to be effortlessly cool, even in a movie that he co-stars in with George Segal. I loved this movie.
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Mad Men, “Far Away Places”, “At The Codfish Bowl”, “Lady Lazurus”
A great highlight of Don realizing he’s made a huge mistake marrying a 26-year-old. A great highlight of Roger Sterling is great with kids (and their grandmothers!). A great highlight of “Tomorrow Never Knows” fucking rules and uh, maybe wondering if Alexis Bledel is good? (certainly Rory Gilmore is good and it might’ve just been a “choice” to play this character so wooden, especially with what we know comes later on in the season)
Thursday, May 14
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Cape Fear, Scorsese 1991
Apparently Spielberg was supposed to do this originally, but thought it was too violent and threw it over to Marty to get Schindler’s back from him (imagine trading those properties amongst yer friends-incredible). What’s real strange here is that he did’t give this to De Palma (I guess because it would’ve been in the wake of Bonfire), but it doesn’t really matter because Marty just goes and makes his version of a De Palma movie. It’s weird! However, when I wasn’t thinking about all of those things and being amazed at how much overt gore there was (overt for a Scorsese movie), I was shocked at the music I associate most with Sidewhow Bob (hold for Gilbert & Sullivan) is actually Max Cady’s music; like I knew that it was just Cape Fear but I had no idea it was just Cape Fear. 
Mad Men, “Dark Shadows”
Can’t go a season without a Don is actually Dick Whitman story/episode. That’s about it.
Friday, May 15
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Becoming Mike Nichols, McGarth 2016 [as of now this is available on HBO]
This saved me a lot of time in the long run, should I ever read that new(ish) biography on Mike Nichols. It’s a pretty cut and dry interview focused purely on the prologue of Mike Nichols’s career, that’s a lot more interesting if you’re a theatre kid who doesn’t despise theatre kids (you know the type). Honestly, I was most engaged once Jack O’Brien pivoted towards his directing career outside of the theatre. Also gonna expose my ass here and say I didn’t realize Elaine May was that Elaine May-might’ve been a better interview if it was between two people who’re on equal level rather than a guy trying to kiss Mike Nichols’s and a bunch of theatre kids’ asses.
Mad Men, “Christmas Waltz”
This episode only exists to help punctuate how awful the next episode is, but damn if it’s not weirdly great. The Paul/Harry reunion was such a weird reunion, but only because it reminds you of how much time has passed since the beginning of this show (1960) to when it takes place now (1966); the total shift in aesthetic and thinking is massive, but it never feels shoehorned in.
Top Chef, Season 17 episode 9
Colicchio is pretty adamant about not having past challenges affect the decision of the current week’s choice in terms of sending someone home, but Melissa probably should’ve gone home this week if that were the case. They obviously weren’t going to after kicking Kevin off last week and Malarkey making the least offensive dish of the bottom 3. Melissa’s a front runner, same as Kevin was and you can’t have a competition where Malarkey is on but two frontrunners are kicked off back-to-back weeks (even if it was Kevin falling on his sword). Love Lee Anne, been with her since season 1 and hate to see her go, but she’s bigger than Top Chef-this is a loss that doesn’t make me think less of her.
Saturday, May 16
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Notes On An American Film Director At Work, Mekas 2008 [as of now this is available on Vimeo]
I don’t know what to call this, honestly. It’s a videos of Martin Scorsese directing The Departed and it’s kind of fascinating. There are no sit down interviews, but snippets of conversations that you’re just thrown into the middle of. It could be that I just love him so much, but it was reaffirming to see that he (appears to be) is like a genuinely nice person. I don’t read about behind the scenes/making of’s, but I don’t really think he’s got any kind of reputation for being some kind of tyrant on set and this proves it (if he needs that proof for any kind of reason). It is one of those things though where watching actors, uh, act feels kina silly-apologies to Leo DiCaprio.
Mad Men, “The Other Woman”, “Commissions And Fees”, “The Phantom” [season 5 finale], “The Doorway” [season 6 premier], “Collaborators”
An incredibly harrowing stretch of episodes for Mad Men, maybe the best set-up for a finale the show has. The awfulness of the position they thrust Joan into and that Don is the only clear objector to this, be it that he only cares enough about the company is heartbreaking. Christina Hendricks wears so much disappointment and contempt on her face so well and that what happens is sandwiched between those interactions with Don is incredible. And awful. As is Lane’s suicide in the office (I still remember watching this episode for the first time when it aired and it’s as depressing now all these years later as it was back then; Lane and Bodie are probably my top-2 most upsetting television deaths that come to mind). Though it all seems worth it, despite how depressing it might be, for that scene between Peggy and Don where she resigns, an incredible parallel to Megan’s. I’m glad it wasn’t, but if they wanted to series wrap on Peggy there, they could’ve and it would’ve felt so incredibly earned, which you can see through both of those characters trying their hardest to choke down tears through a conversation smothered in so much understood in the unsaid. Now welcome, Bob Benson! (for the life of me, I can’t figure out if they introduce Bob like this intentionally, because it’s so fucking funny in how out of synch it is with everything else going on in the show)
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Apocalypse Now, Coppola 1979 [as of now this is available on HBO]
It was either during my sophomore or junior year of high school when I became absolutely enamored with trying to watch this movie. I had built it up to such great heights in my head for whatever reason (I was very concerned with appearing knowledgeable about things like “important movies” and that this didn’t win best picture whatever year it was nominated fueled that fire even more ((I was also very concerned with being outraged over something like this)). I vaguely remember squeezing it in on a school night, but didn’t try and sneak it upstairs to my room to watch, like I tried to get this almost 3½ hour movie in under a reasonable bed time for a high schooler (I definitely didn’t have one, but I remember getting kind of dirty looks around the house if I was still hanging out past 10:30). So it was basically self-inflicted homework at that point, so I remember saying that I liked it, but I don’t know if I honestly believed it. And then that just gets all shaken up in your dumb high school brain that’s already trying it’s best to be super contrarian that you start believing that Apocalypse Now maybe sucks or at the very least isn’t as good as Hearts Of Darkness (a movie you won’t see for another 8 years). I had not watched this movie in its entirety since high school, and I knew all the big beats going into re-watching this, but it might as well have been that I had never seen it before. Man. I was a dumb as hell high schooler. This movie is electric and looks beautiful and I’m so glad that I never watched it all before this and decided to revisit it and I’m now furious at myself for letting the opportunity pass to not see it in theatres when it was remastered last year. 
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The Adventures Of Tintin, Spielberg 2011 [as of now this is available on Netflix]
I was reading the oral history of Fury Road earlier that day and it got me really jonsing to watch Fury Road. For my mental health’s sake, I decided to not double feature Apocalypse Now and Fury Road, but rather Apocalypse Now and The Adventures Of Tintin. People of a certain generation really hate this movie and I kind of get it, but this movie rules. There’s maybe two sequences in it that I’d feel unashamed for putting up in the Spielberg Hall Of Fame.
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I wanna be mad
I guess that’s what I can say. Even if it’s not true. I don’t wanna be mad. I don’t want to hate. I try to forgive. I try to forget. I try to move on. But I’m only human. And I’m a human controlled by the negative emotions. The ones nobody wants to feel. The ones I tend to feel too much. The curse of mental illness.
That all being said, in this case I’m having a very hard time not being mad. Not hating. Not forgiving, forgetting, and moving on. I keep trying. But the mountain of emotion, no matter how much I try, ceases to fall. Maybe it’s because I haven’t processed and addressed...the mountain in general. To which I say, I have talked about it before. With Patrick, with my mom, with my therapist, with my new therapist. And yet here I sit, still stewing in hatred and holding on to the past.
Thinking back to the past...the past past, like things that happened years ago. Not the stuff that’s going on now. I’ve moved past a few things. I’ve moved past all--literally all--the bullshit that I’ve gone through with Kendall and we’re all good now. I’ve moved past the messiness that was the ending of my relationship with Cal. I’ve accepted my father for the asshole that he is. I’ve accepted the shit that went down when I was younger and moved on with my life, knowing that I can’t change it.
So why is this different? Is it even different?
Maybe it’s different because I’m just over this bullshit and I was over it before it started. Maybe it’s because I’m 25 (was 23 when this fuckery started) and I went through this drama in high school. Maybe it’s because it has to do with my child. Maybe it’s because he is acting selfish, a trait that I cannot stand in people. Maybe it’s because he knew what was going on before and still didn’t care, making his selfishness in my eyes, even worse.
If you haven’t guessed, I’m talking about Nicholas [Last Name]. So much shit went down between learning I was pregnant and now that I just can’t let go and I don’t know why. Maybe because this is some serious shit to me. Maybe because it’s my child, the child I’ve been dreaming about and wanting and fearing I would never be able to have. Who knows really? Maybe I will by the time I’m finished typing.
It starts with him telling me that I should abort my child upon first learning that I was pregnant. Yes, that is right. When Nick learned I was pregnant, he told me to abort the thing. It was after he and Celia had “broken up for good” and Celia was going to move out. Patrick and I were set to move in with Nick and then the three of us were going to move to Wisconsin when the lease was up in March. But the problem with that was March was 8 months away and I wasn’t going to move to a new state while 8 months pregnant, away from my family and support. Nick’s opinion didn’t matter anymore. Everything was now my and Patrick’s choice to make and he just had to deal with it. But for him, he was inconvenienced and on his own to figure his shit out because we were too.
The next problem issue that I have was about a month later in October. I was already on my leave of absence because of the hyperemsis. Nick knew this. He also knew that Celia was having a panic attack or something at work and he wanted to be with her. But Julian was being a brat and he didn’t want to bring the demon child along. So he called me to watch Julian for a while so he could make sure Celia was okay. This one isn’t as bad as the others. But it still irks me. He called and asked if I could sit in the living room while Julian was in time out in his room. It was my decision to call Nick and see if the kid could come out and eat since he was calmer. It wasn’t that bad, I didn’t vomit while I was there and it wasn’t for that long. But it still happened and it still adds to the mountain.
Fast forward to around December if I’m not mistaken, as I was wearing the Christmas joggers that Patrick bought me, and I went to the ER for the second time because I couldn’t stop vomiting and was very dehydrated. I was dizzy and needed help standing. It late, I think Patrick may have come home early to take me to the ER. For whatever reason, Nick and Celia took Celia’s dying car to pick up Julian. They were somewhat close to the ER, picking up Julian when the car died. Nick’s first thought was to call Patrick. “brother, come jump my car.” Patrick at first time him no, that he was in the ER with me. Two more calls from Nick saying he had nothing else and trying to justify why it would be fine for Patrick to leave his pregnant girlfriend in the emergency room. I finally gave in just so Nick would stop fucking calling and told him to go. The third time he called, Patrick went. He was gone for over an hour because he tried to jump their car, then had to drive them all the way back out to Nick’s apartment to get his car keys, drive them to Walmart to pick up Nick’s truck, and stop somewhere else so Celia could pee, before coming back to me. The minute he left I got scared because suddenly I was alone. I wasn’t being well taken care of by the nurses, they were barely responding when I was paging so I could have help to go to the bathroom or so they could turn off my beeping IV stand or to bring me a blanket. They never did any of those things. The whole time he was gone, I kept texting Patrick asking when he would be back, where he was, begging him to come back, telling him what was going on with me, and eventually because I was crying and scared and he was taking so long, telling him that I hated him. Yes, he did came back and held me and told me he was sorry. Nick never apologized for taking Patrick from me or thanked me for letting him use me car. All he said was I didn’t need Patrick there and he had nobody else to help him.
Next, I’m halfway through the pregnancy and back to work. I was working with Nick in pharmacy and we were stocking the pain killers. For the life of me I can’t remember what we were talking about. I just know that there was context to his remark, but all I remember is the remark. “I kinda feel like it’s my kid too. I’m gonna be real protective of him.” First of all, no. Just no. That statement can imply so many things and to me it fucking does. It implies that him and I fucked. That there could be some possibility that the child is Nick’s. That Nick will try to raise this child. So many things that are by no means true at all. Never once did Nick cross my mind in the conception of my son. Never have I ever wanted to fuck Nick [Last Name]. In no way, shape, or form, is my son Nick’s and in no way will he partaking in raising him.
Up next is my labor and delivery, which I’ll never be over. It was my first child and it didn’t go the way I wanted because nobody listened to what I wanted. But that’s a different post entirely if it even becomes on.
Moving in with us when Grayson was only two months old. Not upholding his promises and responsibilities like he said he would while he lived with us. The stupidity and selfishness that was his taking more of his and Patrick’s security deposit because he felt more entitled to it because of a situation he and he alone caused when they both put of half of the money for the deposit. Still keeping his fucking shit stored here despite having a storage unit. Constantly telling us “it’s only gonna get worse” whenever Grayson is a handful because he feels like he knows what it’s like to raise a child because he spent a year with Julian, a toddler.
Julian was 2 when Nick met him. Grayson is a newborn and cannot be compared to Julian, who was basically passed around from family to family before ending up back with his birth mother who originally didn’t even want him and didn’t bother to really parent him. Grayson was wanted in every sense of the word and it will only get better from here because Patrick and I plan on raising our child with love and compassion and actually raising him, not just tolerating him.
The mountain is now huge and I don’t know what to do about it. Honestly, it goes back even further than just to when I learned I was pregnant. I’ve written about all of that though. Laundry, using us as his personal therapist, ignoring us when we gave him advice, come back crying later after it went wrong again after ignoring our advice, constantly dragging us into his shit with Celia even when I asked multiple times for him to kindly leave us out of it and keep it out of my home. The whole thing was a trigger for me. Shit, it still is.
I already knew what the problem was. Writing it out helped a little. At least it isn’t stewing in my brain. But do I like Nick again? No. Will I ever be able to like Nick again? I hope so. We shall see in the future.
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roguenewsdao · 6 years
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Are You Ready for an Upgrade?
"Even if we disregard the fate of slumdwellers, it is far from clear that we should be aiming at immortality, bliss and divinity. Adopting these particular projects might be a big mistake. History is full of big mistakes. Given our past record and our current values, we are likely to reach out for bliss, divinity, and immortality — even if it kills us."  -- Professor Yuval Noah Harari, author of "Homo Deus: A Brief History of Tomorrow"
It's hard to believe that more than 20 years have passed since that moment when the internet was fascinated for five minutes with the picture of the "EarMouse" that showed up in many of our email In-Boxes. It was not a photoshop creation; real cow genes were grafted onto a mouse as part of an experiment in biological upgrades. Professor Harari recalls the experiment near the beginning of his Youtube conversation linked below.
From the tone of the quotation presented at the top of this article, you might presume that Professor Harari is warning mankind of what's coming in Transhumanism. Actually, the professor is quite excited at the prospect. He is saying that it is inevitable that Man will reach out to evolve from the state of "Homo sapien" to the state of "Homo deus (Man god)," and he, for one, is looking forward to it.
In his homestyle lesson linked below, the professor laid out his thoughts on the three methods that Man will likely pursue to achieve his evolutionary upgrade: 1). organically (as exemplified by the EarMouse), 2). cyborg-style, or, partly organically and partly inorganically, and 3). inorganically, kind of like Sophia the Robot. Keep in mind that his video posted below was recorded a whopping five years ago in 2013. In Tech Life, five years is like - what shall we say? - fifty years in the regular world. In fact, Harari here predicted that "learning" software would be developed as a tool for the Inorganic life forms. Sure enough, that's how Sophia is, right now, "learning" how to be human-like.
Below this video, I will copy a few points that jumped out at me. One of Harari's declarations is quite eyebrow-raising, but I don't think we can really call it "surprising."
You might think that Harari's background is in the field of genetics or genome-mapping. However, his approach is actually through history. He first specialized in medieval and military history, believe it or not. This veered off into thinking about the effect of biology on human history and, naturally, on humankind's future. (For those of you familiar with Joseph Farrell's books, I going to make a sideways observation, for what it's worth: there is an odd similarity between Harari's life path and that of Otto Rahn. I'm just going to leave that there and let you stew on that.)
Remembering Other People's Memories
At the 31-minute marker of the above video, Harari speaks about the possibility of creating an "inter-brain net." If you thought internet privacy concerns are alarming now, wait till you hear this. Harari envisions a time when everybody's mind will be connected to the global internet and we will be able to share the contents of our minds on the Information Superhighway with everybody else.
The most revolutionary project is the attempt to create a 2-way brain computer interface that will allow computers to read the electrical signals of the human brain while simultaneously transmitting signals that the brain can read and interpret and understand. Now, just imagine, what if such direct interfaces are used to directly link a brain to the internet. So you can surf the internet just with your consciousness, not with fingers and eyes. 
Or to directly link several brains to the same computer and thereby linking all of them together and sort of creating a sort of "inter-brain net." What might happen in such a case to things like human memory, human consciousncess, human identity if the brain can have direct access to collective data banks and collective memories? 
In such a situation, one cyborg could, for example, retrieve the memories of somebody else, not to hear about them, not to read about them in a book, not to imagine how this person might have felt - but to directly remember the memories of somebody else as if they were his or her own.
What happens to concepts like "gender identity" when minds become collective and men can actually remember the memories of a woman? Nobody knows the answer. These are complicated questions.
A little further along in the video, Harari mentions the Swiss "Blue Brain Project" and the staggering investment of €1 Billion Euros (not dollars, but euros!) to stimulate the creation of an artificial human brain inside a computer. Again, remember that this was five years ago. Also remember that wherever Switzerland and Big Money are mentioned, the Rothschilds are sure to be involved.
Digital Reconstruction of the Brain
According to the Swiss website of the Blue Brain Project [linked here], the goal of this endeavor is:
... to create a digital reconstruction of the brain by reverse-engineering mammalian brain circuitry. The mission of the project, founded in May 2005 by the Brain and Mind Institute of the École Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne (EPFL) in Switzerland, is to use biologically-detailed digital reconstructions and simulations of the mammalian brain (brain simulation) to identify the fundamental principles of brain structure and function in health and disease.
One of the regular speakers on the project is Professor Henry Markram. Below is a 10-minute video snippet of his explanation of the Blue Brain:
"The goal is a digital reconstruction and simulation of the brain."
"It's not whether you can solve a problem, it's whether you can change the state of your brain to that point in the spectrum where you CAN solve a problem."
"What we've also discovered is how to change that state, which neurons to fire, which synapses to fire, how to change the chemical environment in order to change that state so that you can solve, in principal, any problem."
I found that last point very reveletory when we think about the apparently engineered alteration being done to our environment - whether that be in the sky with chemtrails or with food and GMO contamination. You don't suppose we are all being used as a planetary lab rat to see if our neurons and synapses can be directed at a mass population level? Hmmm.
Tapping into Ancient Memories?
Before closing, I wanted to muse aloud about a crazy idea I've had for some time. W. the Intelligence Insider and I have had this conversation for awhile. We know that the thoughts "inside our head" don't actually stay inside our skulls. Anything that "lives" along electromagnetic pathways cannot be contained in a 3-D space; it's an "open" system. That would be like trying to contain a WiFi signal inside a cardboard box. From time to time, we hear people mention the Noosphere in the context of the hyperdimensional realm where our thoughts are pulsing. In fact, I'm a bit surprised that I didn't run across that word in the above material by Professors Harari and Markram.  
Mr. W. and I have chatted off and on about how our DNA strands are twisted in a "Y" formation, like a tuning fork, and that it is through this "tuning fork" that our physical brains keep their connection with our own unique thoughts that are floating out there in the Noosphere.
We know that elite socieites, including the Nazi elites, were engaged in a global quest for all manner of sacred knowledge and global antiquities. Surely somewhere along the way these hunters must have asked themselves, "Wouldn't it be great if we could just tap into the memories of the people who lived in those prehistoric times?"
What if that is the ultimate goal of this research, to tap into the memories of people whose physical bodies have long since decayed but whose electromagnetic memories are still vibrating along some quantum sphere? We know there was an advanced high civilization thousands of years ago and we know that human hybridization was on their minds. If you watch the video I have presented above from Professor Harari, you will note that even he recognizes that last point.
If you had quantum computing capability, and could reverse engineer the DNA map of every living person in such a way that you could simulate the DNA of their ancestors - especially if you only focused on particular hereditary lines - could you then potentially "tune in" to all those memories that are just swimming around out there, begging to be plugged back in?
I shudder to think of the many ways THAT technology could get misused. Wouldn't you know it but there is a concept that touches on that very thing called COSMISM. We'll pursue that in future blogs, probably in my #Celestials series. Meanwhile, here's a blog that Joseph P. Farrell wrote on the subject last year when news was made of German researchers who had recovered Neanderthal DNA from dirt. Dr. Farrell said, "Let that sink in for a moment: human DNA - thousands of years old - is recoverable from dirt." And where there's DNA, somewhere out there, are knowledge and memories linked to it.
My Twitter contact information is found at my billboard page of SlayTheBankster.com. Listen to my radio show, Bee In Eden, on Youtube via my show blog at SedonaDeb.wordpress.com.
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