#if i have to dig out this ipod and figure out how to get its 20 year old files off of it and onto a computer and uploaded

[impishtubist]

davina porter's the charioteer

So I've actually been meaning to ask this for a while, but a discussion with @carrotcakecrumble has finally motivated me to do so.

Is anyone here around from the maryrenaultfics LiveJournal days, and do any of those people happen to have Davina Porter's The Charioteer audiobook lurking on a hard drive somewhere?

Because I downloaded mine from the LJ community back in the day and it's been sitting on a 20-year-old iPod ever since, and after some extensive Googling, it sounds like this might be a piece of lost media? Since the cassette version isn't available anywhere and WorldCat is LYING to me about the libraries it supposedly exists in. I am hoping someone else out there has this 1988 audiobook in digital format, because I don't trust this ancient iPod of mine 😬

Anyone?

[froggie-recs-fics]

Fic Roundup (up to 9/26/21)

I'm gonna start collecting fics I've read recently to recommend them, because making trope lists takes too long and many fics fall by the wayside. Let me know if you like this new format!

The fandoms in this list are as follows: Marvel (SamBucky, HTP, SpideyPool, WinterHawk, WinterIron, Stony, Stucky, SpiderShield), DCU (Bane/Blake), Inception (Arthur/Eames), Teen Wolf (Sterek).

A * signifies a particular favorite (though I love all these fics)

Marvel

Sam/Bucky

double back by flowermasters (E, 12K, Post-Endgame, Time Loop, Time Travel)

Sam gets stuck in a time loop. In 1943.

Things could be worse, but they could certainly be better.

Companion piece here: quick time

I'll explain everything to the geese by napricot (Post-Endgame, E, 50K, Sam can talk to birds)

Bucky is so competent that it hurts my feelings is not a rational complaint to have about a person, and yet, after a year of being Captain America and partnering up with Bucky for the new and improved, post-Blip Avengers, that’s kinda how Sam’s feeling.

It’s not great. It maybe leads to Sam making some rash, ill-advised decisions like claiming he has a previously undisclosed superpower, and then getting caught in a web of lies when he ends up actually developing that surprisingly inconvenient superpower. Talking to birds had seemed like a harmless superpower, but it turns out that birds have a lot of opinions, and they don’t hesitate to tell Sam about them, especially when it comes to his supposedly subpar courting skills. Which is ridiculous, because Sam isn’t courting Bucky. Right?

Rumlow/Bucky

**blueprints for a better world series by itallstartedwithdefenestration @astralhux (CATWS, Post-CATWS, Noncon, E, 115K, Dark Main Character)

When Pierce discovers the asset is no longer capable of getting himself hard during recreational use, he tells Rumlow to figure out what the problem is, and to fix it. The solution turns out to be more complicated than anyone expected.

I can't recommend this series enough

Peter/Wade

*Dead Men Walking series by doctorestranged @lazystrawberrymilkshakes (E, 235K, Identity Porn, Slow Burn)

When a series of murders take place, Peter Parker goes undercover in Sister Margaret’s to get intel on Tony Stark’s prime suspect: Deadpool. Peter goes in hoping to get enough information so that Spider-Man can save the day, but like everything in Peter’s life, it becomes a bit more complicated than that and it soon becomes apparent that he might not be the best fit for the job.

All About Chemistry by TwiceBakedPotato @sedatedkoala (No Powers AU, M, CNTW, 74K, Teacher-Student Relationship, Slow Build)

After serving his 20 years in the Marine Corps, Wade Wilson is cashing in his GI Bill and going back to college. He feels like the old man on campus, but that doesn't matter. He likes his classes. He likes learning. And he especially likes his Chemistry professor with the messy brown hair.

Clint/Bucky

Making Me A Habit by Kangofu_CB @kangofu-cb (No Powers AU, T, 20K, Pet Store, Slow Burn, Pining, Misunderstandings)

Bucky is a disabled vet struggling with reintegrating into civilian life. He has a routine and a rhythm, and he doesn't like to let anything - big or small - disrupt it. That all changes the day Bucky finds himself inside CATastrophe, the local pet rescue, recovering from a panic attack in the back room of the shop.

He’s used to walking by the place, not visiting, but the next thing Bucky knows, he’s hanging signs and being used as a climbing tree for a bunch of freshly-acquired kittens. And he just...keeps going back. First for the kittens, then for the disaster shop owner who rescues actual kittens from actual trees and teaches archery as a side-gig, and eventually because he’s hopelessly in love.

(Clint was in love before Bucky ever walked in the door.)

*Nameless by AvaKelly (Post-CATWS, M, 101K, Time Travel, Time Loop, Slow Burn)

A gun is pointed at him before he can even move from his position, the Soldier's metal arm steady in its aim. Clint sighs.

"Nemo," Clint says. "It's tattooed on your wrist, right here," he lifts his right hand and taps his left index finger where his palm ends.

The Soldier's eyes widen. "How do you know this?"

"I put it there."

Glitter, G-Strings and Other Mission Hazards by flawedamythyst @flawedamythyst (T, 16K, Undercover, Stripper Clint)

“Which is why you need me to shake my booty for cash,” said Clint.

“Precisely,” said Coulson. “You’re the only agent we have who wouldn’t need additional training in the skills of an exotic dancer to take on the mission, and we want to get someone in there as soon as possible.”

Clint nodded, shutting the file. “Okay, awesome. I’ll dig out my sequined g-string.”

“You’ll have full access to requisition any costumes you might need,” said Coulson.

A mission requires Bucky to be Clint's back-up as he goes undercover as a stripper, which gets more difficult with every new costume he comes out in.

Paternal Error by EVVS @skylarkevanson (Post-CATWS, T, 33K, Kid Fic, Established Relationship)

Bucky has never once thought of being a parent. Not since the Winter Solider happened.

Until he falls in love with Clint Barton. And that idiot just keeps collecting children for his flock.

Now Bucky has to pretend like he's good at parenting.

Bucky/Tony

Forms of Love by bear_bell (Post-CACW, E, 33K, Split Personalities)

Months after the Avengers' dispute in Germany, the team returns to the US and moves back into the tower. As always, everyone pretends that nothing happened. Tony is just fine with this. He's used to pretending, and he'll be damned if he lets any of them see him flinch.

Tony's the bad guy, after all. He's used to it. He's fine with it. He's good at it.

Only now, there's something far worse loitering around the tower - The Winter Soldier. No one notices the guy at first, but when they do, Tony figures that he should have the soldier's back.

Birds of a feather should flock together, and the bad guys should start a book club.

Steve/Tony

While You Were Sleeping by betheflame @betheflame (No Powers AU, M, 65K, While You Were Sleeping AU)

It's been years since Steve Grant Rogers Drysdale has spoken to his twin, Ransom. So it was quite a shock when he was summoned to a hospital and found out that Ransom was in a coma.

Even more shocking? That Ransom is engaged. To Tony Stark.

Steve/Bucky

The Road Goes Ever On And On by PipGraham (Omegaverse AU, M, Noncon, Graphic Violence, 20K, Road Trip, Pre-Serum Steve, Past Domestic Violence)

When Brock's continued domestic abuse puts not only Steve's life in danger, but also that of his unborn pup, he flees into the night with just a small backpack of clothes and almost no money to his name.

Steve quickly runs into trouble as he tries to embark on a 3-day cross-country bus journey back home to New York City.

He meets a kind veteran when he most needs a helping hand.

Just Words by LadyRazzle (crimegimp) @ladyrazzle (Pre-CATFA, Soulmate AU, T, 2K, Fluff)

Inspired by that now legendary post: "soulmate AU where you wake up on your 18th birthday with the first words your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your body so you’ll know them when you meet them." Well what if they appear the moment you turn 18, rather than just the day? And what if by the time you turn 18, you'd already fallen in love?

Bucky wasn’t eager to discover what the words said. He already knew what he wanted them to say. He always had.

Peter/Steve

Forgetting It's There by spinstitcher (stygian) (NR, 8K, Crack, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn)

“You’re Captain America,” he blurts out.

“What?” says Captain America, looking a little wide-eyed. He casts a nervous glance at the girl at the counter �� he has nothing to worry about there, she’s rocking out to her iPod and could care less what they’re talking about – and says, “No, uh, Steve, it’s just, I’m Steve.”

“Right,” says Peter, and then because his brain-to-mouth filter had apparently been completely destroyed in the fight on Oscorp Tower: “Hey, your butt really is as tight as it looks on TV.”

DCU

Bane/Blake

7 Deadly Ass(as)sins by teacuphuman @teacuphuman09 (AU, E, 23K, BDSM)

Bane and Barsad own a sex shop and John needs a job.

Straws by Menirva (Bane/Blake/Barsad, AU, E, 38K, BDSM)

John works in a smoothie shop.

He has a knack, a second sense if you will, for being able to look at a person and know what they're going to order. It's not the most spectacular gift in the world but he likes being able to figure people out and he's never wrong.

Except for this scruffy asshole who is clearly just ordering the wrong thing to fuck with him.

How is he even finishing an extra-large?

Inception

Aurthur/Eames

Rough Trade by Whisky (whiskyrunner) @whiskyrunner (AU, E, 23K, Internalized Homophobia)

Arthur is an investment banker. He is professional and efficient. He's a halfway decent cook. He's totally independent and has been since the age of eighteen. Maybe he's tired all the time because he works about ninety hours a week which is twice what normal people do, but he's rich and he's competent at his job. He's almost thirty, and already a success.

And there are some things Arthur is not. For instance: Arthur is not gay.

Lucky by earlgreytea68 @earlgreytea68 (M, 37K, Kid fic)

Arthur finds a baby.

Teen Wolf

Stiles/Derek

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress (Omegaverse AU, E, 112K, Secret Relationship, Enemies to Lovers kinda)

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?”

The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.”

Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Cornerstone by Vendelin (Human AU, E, 83K, Marine Derek, Blind Stiles, Friends to Lovers)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by DevilDoll, Rahciach (AU, Graphic Violence, E, 76K, Captivity, Feral Derek)

"Stiles knew damn well what a pissed-off wolf sounded like, and every hair on the back of his neck was telling him that somewhere in this room was a very pissed-off werewolf." An AU in which Derek is feral, Stiles is magical, and they eat a lot of fast food.

The Payoff Pitch by Leslie_Knope (Sports AU, E, 83K, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers)

Derek is on the cusp of his second season with the LA Dodgers, and as the reigning runner-up Rookie of the Year, the pressure’s on him to become the team’s star pitcher and lead them to the playoffs for the first time in five years. He’s trying to deal with the burden of expectations and really has zero desire to spend any extra time or energy on anything that isn’t baseball.

But then he meets Stiles.

[edelwoodsouls]

it’s hard to get to heaven (with my head in my hands) - ch. 1

"Come on, Mark," Damien insists. "Not yet- there's someone we can't leave without." [or: Caleb is fifteen years old when he finds himself in Tier 5]

dedicated to @exhaustedwerewolf​ for putting up with my endless babble, especially the past few months <3

Word Count: 2,431 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: N/A [currently]

Chapter 1 - Now I

Damien

"We can't leave yet."

Dr B's brother can barely stand, barely keep his eyes open - his face is thin and drawn with sweat, sunken and waxy in all the worst places, like a skeleton with skin stretched across its bones - and still he shoves Damien with considerable force as he begins to head for the exit.

"What?" Damien can't help the irritation itching in his voice. He can hear Dr B buzzing in his ear with increasing panic - it's starting to grate on his nerves, and he wants to be far away from here before she decides to grow a brain and call the AM on him.

He's not sure how many people he could manipulate at once, and certainly doesn't want to try to find out fighting his way out of this place.

"Come on, Mark," he continues, trying to lift the guy up - he's like a sack of rocks, suddenly rooted to the spot. "We don't have time for this - we have to go."

"No," Mark grits his teeth. He's clearly in pain, a breath away from falling, struggling against Damien’s desires though he doesn’t yet know it. "There's someone we can't leave without."

"As flattering as it is that you think so highly of my abilities already, even I can't face off this entire building. I can't organise a whole fucking prison break."

"I know." His eyes are wide and Damien can feel himself melting already. "But just one. Please."

Damn the Bright siblings.

"Fine. Show me."

Now that he's promised, Mark becomes a lot easier to move - but not much. He's barely holding his own weight as it is.

Whoever this other person is better not be in a coma, too, or Damien might just call it a day and leave them both to rot.

Okay, that's a lie. But what the hell can possibly be so special about one of the other prisoners here to warrant priority? Mark is leading him down a corridor lined with cell after cell, and Damien can sense countless minds - tangles of messed up wants and fears and needs - on the other side of the doors.

It makes him feel sick. It makes him feel as if that despair - their despair - is collecting like rainwater in the pit of his stomach, filling him steadily up. He wants to escape - they want to escape, and the want ricochets back and forth until it's a hammering against his skull.

He's about to give up when Mark stops. "Here," he says, nodding at a door that is no different to any of the others.

Damien leans Mark against the wall, grabs the keys he stole from the previous guard. As he reaches out for the door, he finds that awful need to flee vanish, replaced with a calm certainty. This is the right thing to do, he thinks, but the thought sits awkwardly inside him, rubbing rough edges against the rest of him.

He pushes the discomfort away. Just because you had an unselfish thought for once doesn't mean you need to have a breakdown, he tells himself, and the voice in his head sounds an awful lot like Dr Bright.

He isn't sure what he's expecting when he opens the cell door. A cute girl, perhaps. A guy Mark has made friends with - Dr B always said Mark imprinted on people like a lost puppy.

But of everything, he definitely isn't expecting the child hunched on the concrete floor. The strip lighting in the cell flickers on, illuminating the figure. He's dressed in the same drab uniform as everyone else, but it's loose, hanging awkwardly off his frame. His skin is a similar sickly pallor as Mark, shadows dragging at his eyes. The only individual flare is a spray of golden curls springing unruly from his head, falling over his face in an oddly shy, high school kind of way.

He's already staring at the door when Damien pushes it open, eyes narrowed and unsurprised.

Hm.

"Uh," Damien reaches unsuccessfully for words, "hey, kid."

Said kid ignores him entirely, eyes shifting to stare at - no, through - the wall beside him, where Mark is slumped. Can he see through walls? Detect heartbeats?

"This is a jailbreak," Damien continues, doing unenthusiastic jazz hands. "Let's go?"

"What did you do to Mark?" the boy asks - and he is a boy, seventeen at the most. Damien feels an uncomfortably sick feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"I'm breaking him out. Hang on, how did you-"

But the kid is already pushing up from the floor, rocketing past Damien without a word.

Damien stares into the room. It's small, just as sparse as Mark's room even though the kid definitely hasn't been in a coma for two years. There's a desk with nothing on it except an ipod without headphones - the wires a suicide risk, he guesses.

The bed is perfectly made - aren't teenagers supposed to be messy? Though he supposes the lack of anything else to do might make one tidy out of boredom.

He ducks into the room to grab the ipod - just in case.

When he emerges, the kid is checking Mark over with surprisingly gentle fingers, a look of utter concentration on his face.

There's something dark and brewing behind it that sets Damien on edge.

"Mark?" the kid's voice is surprisingly soft. Damien can't get a read on this kid, a bundle of contradictions swinging back and forth between two extremes. When he reaches out to feel the kid's mind, he finds a swirling hurricane of colour. Taking a single step feels like the winds will tear away his skin, his very being.

"Hey, Caleb," Mark murmurs, a laugh bordering on hysteria. "Long time, huh?"

"Yeah, come on. Let's get you out of here."

And just like that the kid - Caleb? - heaves Mark off the floor like he weighs less than a bag of feathers, holding him up effortlessly.

Damien tries not to feel self-conscious about how hard he was struggling only moments ago.

"Are we going?" Caleb stares fiercely at Damien, making eye contact for the first time, and suddenly the hallway feels too small. He can feel the fear of being trapped down here climbing his throat and strangling him. It makes the world slant in a blur of dizzying colour, the sudden onslaught rushing through his veins.

"Yeah," he chokes, all but stumbling in the direction of the exit. He wants to get out. "This way.”

~/~/~/~

Caleb

He emerges into sunlight for the first time in two years.

Isn’t it strange how you can forget things so vitally important? Things that kept you alive for sixteen years, kept you together and breathing?

Well, it isn’t so strange; he can’t remember the curve of his mother’s smile, the colour of his sister’s hair, the image of ink staining his father’s fingers. They are cartoon sketches in his head, placeholders where he knows real images should be.

Like the sun. The pain of it bright against his eyes feels like breathing for the first time in years. Stepping out of a grave back into his own skin.

Adam would say something about Persephone, or Orpheus. Caleb just grits his teeth and shoves the memory down.

He’d forgotten what it was to have that natural warmth against his skin, warmth not stolen from radiators or lukewarm cups of tea (they wouldn’t let him have hot drinks, just in case). He’d forgotten the soft yellow that wasn’t harsh halogen strip lights or flashing red alarms.

He’d forgotten the world had light and warmth at all.

Mark weighs almost nothing, as they hurry away from the building with surprisingly little fuss, even with all the muscle mass Caleb’s lost from loitering in a cell for two years. He feels the amber sparks of concern churning in his gut - and it’s almost nice.

He’d forgotten what his own emotions felt like, too, sitting inside of his chest. The last year has been a haze of grey populated with other people’s noise.

After a few seconds the emotions start to scratch against his skin. They don’t fit anymore, so unfamiliar with their home - so used to living in other people’s chests.

He reaches out blindly for someone else to latch onto. Mark - bright, familiar Mark, whose relief and bewilderment spill into Caleb instantly, like a dam being let loose.

Just for a moment, he’s adrift in a sea of green.

All too soon, that bliss is snatched away with the arrival of this new guy. He’s unfamiliar and conspicuously shady, wearing a black hoodie, his long dark hair pulled up in a loose bun. Yellow sparks across his skin like electricity, an acidic emotion somewhere between concern and suspicion.

Caleb doesn’t like how strong this guy’s emotions are, how they jump across the space between them without Caleb even reaching out, digging into his skin. How they tower over him like a skyscraper, a wave threatening to crash into him, wash away any sense of self he has fought tooth and nail to cling to these past few years.

Definitely a Class E. Some kind of manipulator.

Maybe someone like him.

“I’m Damien,” the guy says, brushing past him to open up the doors. “Let’s get going.”

And all of a sudden Caleb feels the urge, the need, to get going sink into his bones before he has time to think. He pulls Mark into the car, setting him down carefully into a seat as the other guy climbs into the front.

As soon as the wheels begin to turn, the tug in his gut vanishes, leaving behind only the ghost of a raw, exposed nerve. Like someone has cracked open his chest and scooped his organs out.

“Don’t do that again,” he hisses, surprised and pleased at how the threat sounds in his voice. He isn’t the child he was when he first came here; he’s learned from the best how to be dangerous.

He can’t help the sharp flash of power in his chest as he feels the flicker of shock roll off the other guy - Damien, what kind of name is that? - as their eyes meet in the rearview mirror.

“Most people take minutes - hours - to wear off the first time.”

Caleb says nothing, just glaring.

“No, seriously.” The car comes to a stop and Damien twists in his seat, reaches out and grabs Caleb’s wrist tight. The skin on skin contact burns like someone is scraping away the top layer to expose the flesh beneath. When was the last time someone - not a doctor taking his vitals but a real , human person - touched him? “What are you?”

“Angry,” Caleb snaps back. “So don’t fucking do that to me again.”

“Or what? What can you do?”

He isn’t going to rise to this guy’s goading, no matter how tempting it is. Not yet. As much as he wants to wipe the curious, hungry pool of red lapping at his heels away. As much as he wants to reach out and twist it into the bottomless silver of fear, the only colour he truly recognises as familiar anymore.

But he doesn’t have enough of the facts. Doesn’t know who this guy is, or why he broke Mark - and him - out. Doesn’t know what this world looks like, what he looks like, compared to before. He needs to bide his time.

Adam would be so proud of his restraint.

“Look,” he says through gritted teeth. “I appreciate the break out. But I don’t owe you shit.”

Damien’s hunger tints with anger - this is a guy who isn’t used to being told no.

Caleb feels that anger, that desire curl through the car, twist itself around his tongue. “I’m an empath,” he says, the words spilling out like they can’t wait to be free.

Damien’s emotions dull instantly with disinterest and disappointment. “Oh. Like you can feel other people’s emotions and shit?”

“And shit,” Caleb agrees, using what little is left of his own will to skirt around the truth.

“Disappointing.”

“I know.”

Damien’s desires evaporate slowly from the air, and Caleb breathes a deep sigh of relief, a weight lifting from his chest.

“What’s so important about you?”

Caleb blinks. “What?”

Damien’s eyes search his face, not pushing at him like before, just genuine curiosity. “I only came for Mark. But he wouldn’t let me leave without you.”

Something goes soft and warm inside Caleb - a deeply buried part of himself he tries to ignore. “We got stuck together a lot in there, before…”

The warm glow turns sour. Once Mark had vanished without trace and Wadsworth had lost her favourite toy, she’d needed a new plaything.

And after all, as she always told him, he was so special. Powerful. She’d taken a particular interest in his budding ability to affect others.

“Mark’s kinda like the older brother I never had,” Caleb shrugs, shoving away the dangerous rabbit hole his thoughts are spiralling into. Damien isn’t pushing his will onto him, but he still feels the truth rolling off his tongue unbidden.

“Hm.”

“What’s he to you, then?” Caleb reaches out, trying to tease apart the tangle of emotions Damien is giving off. “Why risk getting on the AM’s radar for one guy?”

He laughs bitterly. “I’m already on their radar, thanks to his fucking sister of all people-”

“His sister?”

“Yeah. Dr Bright.”

Caleb’s brain grinds to a halt. “Dr Bright?”

“You know her?”

“Dr Bright is Mark’s sister?”

“Uh, yeah. How do you not know that?” Confusion spills into the car, ricocheting back and forth between them.

“Mark’s last name is Bryant- fuck, of course it’s a fucking code name.”

He turns to look at Mark’s sleeping form with new eyes. It’s there, underneath the layers of trauma Tier 5 piled on top of him - in the curve of his jaw, the crook of his nose.

His former therapist is still ruining his life years after he last saw her.

“Can you just drive?” he asks suddenly. The need to flee sits between them like a bomb about to go off, a timer counting down, panic climbing his throat. He can’t think straight with those lifeless grey buildings still looming on the horizon.

“We’ll come back to this,” Damien says with a pointed look. “But sure, kid. I hate this place as much as you.”

“I very much doubt that,” Caleb laughs darkly.

He’ll be back soon, he promises himself, as that hell begins to vanish behind the trees lining the curving road.

He’ll burn the whole fucking place to the ground.

[luv4fandoms]

Laying Claim (Castiel x Witch!Reader)

@ladyofhellhounds

So with that in mind, this is what my brain came up with, idk why XD, I hope you like it 😊

(Also guys, my mom and I finally got to the Godstiel part of Spn I've heard so much about, and pretty much our reaction was the same, just "oh sweety, no, what are you doing?)

Word count: 2,476

Pairings: Castiel x Reader

Warnings: Cussing, Demons being asshole, unknown claiming? Fluffly Cas, Angry Cas

Today's the day! The anniversary of when you first joined the Winchesters and their guardian angel one year ago. You had met when a coven in your town had started killing people, you were going to find out for yourself but...Well after all, if they wanted to do the dirty work of searching, why not let them?

Though you still did some digging of your own after you found a hex bag in your gutter, silly little girls, just a bunch of soccer moms who thought Harry Potter was real. Needless to say the demon they had sold their souls to at their little slumber party wasn't the type to give them back, and with a little help from one of your spells, the pieces fell right into place for the Winchesters to slay the demon...

Only problem was the bitch knew about you, and used her last breath to spill the beans, so you really weren't surprised when the trio came barging up to your house. The two boys seemed to want nothing more than your head on a platter as well, thinking you were linked to the coven, but the third, the third simply stared at you, seemingly trying to decipher you as well as commit you to memory. It wasn't hard to know what he was, the gift of sight as your grandmother called it, allowed you to see the large black wigs that rose behind him.

'Interesting' you had thought, remembering everything you had ever read about angels.

"Tell you what" you spoke, stopping the argument the boys were having.

"Have your little friend here read my mind, or memories, which ever he prefers, and see that I have never harmed anyone" the boys looked to the angel who seemed to have broken out of the trance he was under at the sound of your voice.

"Cas?" The shorter man asked, to which 'Cas' simply nodded and made his way over to you, he lifted his fingers, placing two on your forehead while closing his eyes, a moment later he opened them and nodded at the boys.

"She's telling the truth, she hasn't hurt anyone, she actually helps people, and was a target of the coven herself" he told them.

"See? I told you, now, would you care to join me for some tea?" You asked, eyes never leaving his blue ones, oh you could get lost in those babies.

"I even have pie" you added with a smile as you finally turned to the other two.

 That had been the first time you had a civil conversation with the trio; Sam and Dean, two orphan hunters following in Daddy's footsteps. And Castiel, the angel who decided to fight his own kind to protect humanity, interesting. You offered your services should the boys ever need it, figuring they would never take you up on it, but hoping to be able to see the stoic angel once more, and low and behold...

They called. For almost a year now you had been helping them, being a researcher, going with them on cases, even using your magic to take down baddies. The work made your feel alive, but not as alive as when Cas would come around. Something about the angel's presence alone makes your body feel electrified, and when his piercing blue orbs met yours you swore your heart stopped. Lately though, he started treating you like a child who was incapable of keeping herself safe.

The first time was while you were helping the boys with some demons, a reason for Cas to be present, and you hadn't thought much past trying to slow down your heart rate when he grabbed you and pulled you to his chest, shielding your eyes as he let out a blinding light that killed them all.

The second time though, you had been against a neat of vamps, one which you and the boys were handling just find, but just as you were about to drop the vamp that was advancing towards you, a silver blade pierced it's neck, quickly taking it's head, and when it fell it revealed Cas standing behind it. He stated that he needed to speak with Dean and Sam about something, so that is why he located you all, but you began to wonder when you were the first one he healed, and he stood extra close to you as he spoke.

The third time you started to grow annoyed. You were just fine by yourself, could handle yourself against the werewolf, and in your opinion, kicking ass. Sure you had taken a few scratches, and your arm hurt like hell from the deep claw marks, but you held your ground...And then right as you were about to give the killing blow with your magic, that all too familiar angel blade made an appearance once more.

"What the hell Cas that was my kill!" You told him, less angry about the fact that he finished the fight and more about the fact that he had done it so often recently. 

"You're injured" he simply stated.

"So? I was still kicking its ass!" You defended as he walked over to you and healed you, causing you to groan and walk away from the confused angel.

The final straw had been tonight, the whole day throughout the hunt for a pack of demons who had intel on Lucifer, the boys and you had been in a somewhat good mood after you had bought them breakfast and explained the anniversary. The hunt had gone well, you found the demons, killed all but one and was grilling it for information. It was a tough nut to crack, even an exorcism didn't scare it. 

"We're not getting anywhere, let me try" you told them, causing Dean to immediately shake his head.

"Hell no, I'm not letting you near that thing alone"

"Funny, you say that like you can stop me" you stated while looking over at him, there was a silent stare before you sighed

"Just five minutes Dean, I promise you I'll be fine" before Dean could even open his mouth Sam spoke in your defence

"She's right Dean, and besides, he's in the trap, what can he do?" 

Dean was silent for a moment before his eyes met yours again.

"Fine, but five minutes is all you got" nodding, you made your way back into the room. 

"Ok buddy, here's how it's gonna go down" you started as you stood in front of him, but he only laughed while looking around.

"Boy toys now coming?" He asked

"Sorry pal, just you and me, now you're gonna-"

"You know I'm surprised your mate leaves you alone with them, he must trust you a lot, or he's an idiot"

"What the hell are you even talking about?" You asked, confused as to why he would state you have a "mate"

"Oh….Oh you don't know" he started laughing hysterically.

"Shut it!" You yelled watching as his laughter died down, but the smirk stayed.

"Sweety, you reek of him. His sent his all over you. Desperate protectiveness, longing, it's enough to make me gag, the best part is that he did this without you even knowing. A do not touch sign to anyone else, a claim on you, really that's horrible, and I'm a demon" he laughed again, while you digest the information, something had laid a claim on you? You felt like you needed a shower thinking that it could be any of the creatures you encountered in your year with the boys. 

"You know though, I'm not surprised you didn't know" it stated, causing you to look at it once more.

"You're such an idiot" and with that he lunged at you, knocking you back into the wall and knocking the air from your lungs. You were pretty sure you heard your shoulder pop while your vision blacked out for a moment. When you looked around you noticed the slow steady drip of water from a nearby pipe that had washed away part of the devil's trap, before your eyes were brought back to the demon's face as he straddled you, leaning in and taking a deep breath.

"I wonder how he would like it...If I laid my own claim to you" he smirked, and you tried to push him off as he leaned down, him somehow over powering your magic, but just as he was about to reach your neck, his weight disappeared from you and a crash was heard from the other side of the room. 

"W-wait I-I didn't know!" It started to plead as you watched Castiel slowly walk towards him.

"I didn't know she belonged to an angel I swear!" He pleaded again.

'Belonged to…' your mind started to remember little things that happened these past couple of months. Cas giving you his coat when you stood outside watching the boys do a salt and burn, Cas sitting next to your while you explained your favorite shows to him, by the end of the night you would be leaning against him and his arm would be on the back of the couch, fingers lightly resting on your shoulder. Cas listening to your music with you from your ipod in the back of the impala despite the fact he could easily poof to the location. And then there was Cas always swooping in when you were fighting things...did Cas...Lay claim to you?

You watched as he easily got the information and killed the demon, only then noticing that the boys had been pounding on the door trying to get in, upon the demon's death, it unlocked and they rushed into the room. 

"Y/N!" Dean started but Cas was quick to cut him off.

"Why were you not with her?" His voice rising slightly, the only indication besides the fire still burning in his eyes that he was pissed.

"We figured she" Sam started, but was also cut off by Cas.

"That she what? Was your bait to get information? You put her in danger!" A light blew out in the room.

"And we told her" Dean tried

"And you know she would not listen! You should have been in her presence at all times!" Another light, the bright flash momentarily illuminating the shadow of Cas's wings, oh, he was very pissed.

"Cas" you started

"This is exactly why I have to keep-"

"CAS!" You yelled, turning the room silent as you stood, grabbing your arm that you could clearly tell was broken.

"I came here alone of my own accord, they didn't want me to, but I did it anyways, it's not their fault"

"They should have protected you" he started, coming forward to heal your wounds, his eyes showed a different story, and in that moment you knew what he was really trying to say.

'I should have protected you'

"We need to talk by the way" you stated, looking at the boys then him.

"Alone" with a nod he grabbed your hand.

"I'll take her back to the hotel" he told the boys, and in a blink, you stood in your hotel room. You let go of his hand, making your way over to the bed and sat down, Cas didn't move as he stared at the carpet.

"Cas did you…."you started before realizing that this was going to be really embarrassing to ask.

"Did you ...Lay claim to me?" you asked, not meeting his gaze when you saw him look at you from the corner of your eye.

"...Not...Fully" he spoke after a moment, this caused you to look at him.

"What does that even mean?" You gave a short laughed and watched as he sighed before coming to sit next to you. 

"Y/N I...I have feeling for you...Ones that someone would only have in the presence of a potential mate" he states turning to look at you.

"Wow sweety we gotta get you into now days language" you said with a chuckle, before adding.

"So..You have feelings for me?"

"Yes, I thought it was wise to push them away at first, you would be in danger if anyone after me, found you. But as time went on I found them...Harder to repress, and I found myself claiming you before I even realized it" He states, looking down as if weighted by shame.

"We have different versions of claiming"you laugh, thinking back to what the demon had said

"He said I smelled like you" Cas nodded, still not meeting your eyes.

"It's the first stage of claiming someone, we cover them in our scent, it's not perceivable to your senses, but to other beings it lets them know that you belong to someone" he explained, "So every time you sat next to me or gave me your coat?" He nodded, before adding.

"My grace also leaves behind a scent" he added.

"Your grace? Do you...Use it often?" You asked.

"To protect you yes" He nodded

"So this was why you have been jumping in front of monsters for me?" You asked, again he nodded.

"You know I can take care of myself" you smiled

"But it's my job to protect you" he stated, finally meeting your gaze.

"Because you're my mate?" You asked with a laugh, but noticed his cheeks darken at your words.

"I'm not your mate…"

"Yet" You smirked when he looked at you with wide eyes.

"I have feelings for you that someone would only have in the presence of a potential mate" you smiled, watching as he scanned your eyes for any sign that you were untruthful.

"But I can still take care of myself" to laughed.

"But It's my-"

"Job to protect me, tell you what, if it's your job to protect me, than it's my job to protect you" you told him as you leaned in, watching his confused expression as you pressed your lips against his, they were just as soft as you always imagined they would be, and your hand came up to cup his face, his stubble lightly scratching your palm as you felt his hand rest against your hip. You pulled away and looked into his eyes, the striking blue swallowed by black pupils. 

"As your mate" you smiled, watching as a smile spread across his lips.

"So...if putting your scent on me is the first stage...what are the other stages of..Laying claim to a mate?" You asked with a smirk, watching as his smile turned playful.

"There are a lot of stages, it could take all night" he replied.

"Well, guess we better get started" you spoke before pulling him down for another kiss, you were in for a long, blissful night with your new mate. Happy anniversary to you.

Hope everyone enjoyed it! Let me know what you think.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic: 23 Mar 2020 (Free Tacocat game, Adafruit's open source PPE, coronavirus jubilee, Private Kit, Italian mayors enforce quarantine)

Today's links

Tacocat, a free print-and-play game from the Exploding Kittens team: Super smart endgame!

Adafruit offers open source PPE manufacturing: They're retooling and available to help

It's time for a coronavirus jubilee: Debts that can't be paid won't be.

Medicare for All is an economic stabilizer: Private health insurance turns recessions into depressions.

Private Kit, a free/open app to give you control over your location history: Doing contact tracing without invading privacy.

Italy's mayors berate quarantine-breaking citizens: "Does your dog have an inflamed prostate?"

This day in history: 2005, 2010, 2015, 2019

Colophon: Recent publications, current writing projects, upcoming appearances, current reading

Tacocat, a free print-and-play game from the Exploding Kittens team (permalink)

Need a game to play while stuck at home? Elan Lee and Matthew Inman, creators of Exploding Kittens, have just released a free, print-and-play game called Tacocat, which we just played at home, and it's fun!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/15UT6cElLNpxHG4er68DLxXwSrqbOTq2JFNFYzrmfO8I/edit#heading=h.8osmzd2mkump

It's a card game that's a bit like War, but with tons of little strategic gracenotes, including a totally brilliant endgame that makes the win up for grabs all the way to the very end. It took a couple of hands to figure out this complexity, but once we did, — wow!

Adafruit offers open source PPE manufacturing (permalink)

Some of the all-time heroes of the open source hardware revolution are the folks at Adafruit, a woman-owned, 150-person OSHW company in lower Manhattan. They've been deemed an essential industry and are retooling to make PPEs.

https://blog.adafruit.com/2020/03/22/covid/

They're VC-free, debt-free and profitable, and they're paying their 150+ employees through the crisis. They're manufacturing open source hardware face shields, ventilator components and electronics.

If you need manufacturing, design, logistics, or production support for PPE projects, contact covid19@adafruit.com.

It's time for a coronavirus jubilee (permalink)

The word "jubilee" comes from Hebrew for "trumpet," because every 50 years, the trumpet would be blown to signal the forgiveness of all personal debts. New kings once routinely announced debt forgiveness upon their ascending to the throne.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2020/03/21/debt-jubilee-is-only-way-avoid-depression/

Forgiving debts meant that the workforce stayed intact and productive, instead of falling into debt-bondage or mass migrating (think of Greece and its mass exodus after the recent imposition of debt austerity by the EU).

2008 represented a chance to write off bad mortgages. Instead, we evicted. Today, wealth inequality is far worse than during the last crisis. The new crisis has the potential to make inequality go supercritical.

The decision of Germany's creditors to force the country to pay war debts after WWI caused mass immiseration and paved the way for fascism. After WWII, the allies wiped 90% of Germany's debts off the books, triggering the nation's "economic miracle" and soaring prosperity.

As Michael Hudson writes in the Washington Post, if the US can afford a $4.5T quantitative easing package, it can afford jubilee for student debt. And private creditors who wipe out bad loans – ballooned by fees and penalties – will long have been made whole on the principal.

Leaving the "accruals" (fees, etc) in place, "actually subsidizes bad lending."

"Debts that can't be paid won't be. A debt jubilee may be the best way out."

(Image: Paul Miller, CC BY)

Medicare for All is an economic stabilizer (permalink)

The pandemic is revealing the extent to which private health insurance makes a bad situation worse. At the exact moment that we need more coverage, people are losing their jobs (and their coverage).

As Nathan Tankus writes, Medicare for All would be a great, countercyclic automatic stabilizer – buffering economic shocks for faster recovery. The current US system is an accelerant, making bad situations worse.

https://nathantankus.substack.com/p/medicare-for-all-is-a-great-automatic

Losing your job (and coverage) due to coronavirus, then losing your savings due to a broken ankle or a kitchen-knife slip? That's a recipe for turning deep recession into a new depression.

In discussion with Matt Taibbi this week, Noam Chomsky makes the point that private health care treats excess capacity as uneconomical and inefficient: "You should have just enough beds for what you need tomorrow. You shouldn't prepare for the future."

https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-news/noam-chomsky-covid-19-useful-idiots-podcast-970047/

Under the finance sector's theory of shareholder capitalism, maintaining an extra hospital bed is a form of theft from your investors.

Neoliberalism treats all redundancy and resilience as "waste" and neoliberal raiders delight in selling it off.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/05/warner-chappell-copyfraud/#righttoresilience

Whether that's the corporate raiders who bought up newspapers and restaurant chains and sold off their real-estate and rented it back – leaving them grievously vulnerable to rent shocks – or the airlines' hub-and-spoke system that means one airport outage tanks the system.

Our supply chains – offshore, dependent on single points of failure – and the use of DMCA 1201 anticircumvention rules and other dirty tricks to suppress independent repair and third-party parts manufacture turn the devices we rely on brittle, making emergencies into crises.

What's worse than having your only computer go down at the start of a pandemic lockdown? Having your only repair depot shut down for the duration with no way to retrieve it.

https://9to5mac.com/2020/03/21/apple-store-repairs-coronavirus/

As Chomsky says, neoliberalism leaves us totally unprepared for a crisis. "What we're good at, what our leaders are good at, and have been very good at for 40 years, is pouring money into the pockets of the rich and corporate executives while everything else crashes."

(Image: Elvert Barnes, CC BY-SA)

Private Kit, a free/open app to give you control over your location history (permalink)

Private Kit is a free/open location-tracking app that does not expose your location data to third parties (including the app's authors) until you explicitly authorize it.

https://github.com/tripleblindmarket/private-kit

It's intemded for use in pandemic mitigation, "allowing you to share information with health officials accurately and quickly," but only when you explicitly opt in, and only for as long as you remain opted in. The authors' paper on this is "Apps Gone Rogue: Maintaining Personal Privacy in an Epidemic," which digs into the reasons that potential (or confirmed) carriers might be reluctant to participate in contact-tracking, and how privacy tools can help.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1nwOR4drE3YdkCkyy_HBd6giQPPhLEkRc/view

It also discusses the rise of blackmail scams in South Korea in which criminals demanded payments not to falsely accuse businesses of being sources of new coronavirus infections (!!).

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/mar/06/more-scary-than-coronavirus-south-koreas-health-alerts-expose-private-lives

Private Kit allows for user location-history sharing directly with health authorities, without requiring third-party (carrier, app maker) intervention, aggregation or other high-risk activities.

This is an excellent example of the principle that "privacy" isn't the same as "secrecy." Privacy isn't "Nobody knows your business but you." It's "You decide who gets to know your business."

http://privatekit.mit.edu/

Italy's mayors berate quarantine-breaking citizens (permalink)

Our household can't stop marveling at this highlight reel of Italian mayors berating their stubborn residents for denying the quarantine orders. It's magnificent.

https://twitter.com/GiuliaRozzi/status/1241859350060093442

"We will send the police over. With flamethrowers."

"I can't formally ban you from leaving your house, Fine. I will ban you from setting foot on public land."

"Where the fuck are you all GOING? You and your dogs!* They must have inflamed prostates!"

"You can't play ping-pong. Go home. Play videogames."

"How can I spell it out? You can't stay in the streets. We need their girlfriends here. With clubs."

"Getting in your mobile hairdressers?! What the fuck is that for? Don't you understand that the casket will be CLOSED?"

"I saw a fellow citizen jog up and down the street, accompanied by a dog* who was visibly worn out. I told him, 'Look, this isn't a movie. You are not Will Smith in 'I am Legend.' You have to go home."

*Dog walking is a popular pretense for breaking quarantine.

This day in history (permalink)

#15yrsago Reflex: brilliant, page-turning sequel to Jumper https://boingboing.net/2005/03/23/reflex-brilliant-pag.html

#10yrsago: Secret ACTA fights over iPod border-searches http://www.michaelgeist.ca/2010/03/acta-de-minimus-proposals/

#10yrsago: Demonstration against Digital Economy Bill tomorrow at Parliament, London <a href="https://www.openrightsgroup.org/campaigns/disconnection/>https://www.openrightsgroup.org/campaigns/disconnection/

#5yrsago: Backchannel: computers can talk to each other with heat https://www.wired.com/2015/03/stealing-data-computers-using-heat/

#1yrago DCCC introduces No-More-AOCs rule https://theintercept.com/2019/03/22/house-democratic-leadership-warns-it-will-cut-off-any-firms-who-challenge-incumbents/

#1yrago British schoolchildren receive chemical burns from "toxic ash" on Ash Wednesday https://metro.co.uk/2019/03/08/children-end-hospital-burns-heads-toxic-ash-wednesday-ash-8868433/

#1yrago Procedurally generated infinite CVS receipt https://codepen.io/garrettbear/pen/JzMmqg

#1yrago Video from the Radicalized launch with Julia Angwin at The Strand https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FbdgdH8ksaM&feature=youtu.be

Colophon (permalink)

Today's top sources: Slashdot (https://slashdot.org/), Naked Capitalism (https://nakedcapitalism.com/), Alice Taylor (https://twitter.com/wonderlandblog/), Four Short Links (https://www.oreilly.com/feed/four-short-links).

Currently writing: I've just finished rewrites on a short story, "The Canadian Miracle," for MIT Tech Review. It's a story set in the world of my next novel, "The Lost Cause," a post-GND novel about truth and reconciliation. I've also just completed "Baby Twitter," a piece of design fiction also set in The Lost Cause's prehistory, for a British think-tank. I'm getting geared up to start work on the novel next.

Currently reading: Just started Lauren Beukes's forthcoming Afterland: it's Y the Last Man plus plus, and two chapters in, it's amazeballs. Last month, I finished Andrea Bernstein's "American Oligarchs"; it's a magnificent history of the Kushner and Trump families, showing how they cheated, stole and lied their way into power. I'm getting really into Anna Weiner's memoir about tech, "Uncanny Valley." I just loaded Matt Stoller's "Goliath" onto my underwater MP3 player and I'm listening to it as I swim laps.

Latest podcast: The Masque of the Red Death and Punch Brothers Punch https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/16/the-masque-of-the-red-death-and-punch-brothers-punch/

Upcoming books: "Poesy the Monster Slayer" (Jul 2020), a picture book about monsters, bedtime, gender, and kicking ass. Pre-order here: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781626723627?utm_source=socialmedia&utm_medium=socialpost&utm_term=na-poesycorypreorder&utm_content=na-preorder-buynow&utm_campaign=9781626723627

(we're having a launch for it in Burbank on July 11 at Dark Delicacies and you can get me AND Poesy to sign it and Dark Del will ship it to the monster kids in your life in time for the release date).

"Attack Surface": The third Little Brother book, Oct 20, 2020. https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531

"Little Brother/Homeland": A reissue omnibus edition with a new introduction by Edward Snowden: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250774583

[parkerspicedlatte]

Disconnected-Chapter Seven (Luke Hemmings)

Summary: In an alternate universe where everyone has a soulmate, Luke and his soulmate share the rarest of them all. Some people have matching tattoos, others feel each others pain/emotions, but mental connections are the least common. The connection that Luke and Lynn share is that they can hear whatever song the other is singing. When they are close together they will be able to hear each others voices but for the meantime, they can only hear the recorded versions.

Pairings: Luke Hemmings x Lynn Corby (OC)

Warnings: A few cuses 

Content: Just you wait...

Featured Songs: None

“Hey, what’s on your schedule for today?” Kylie asked while barging into Lynn’s room through the connecting bathroom door.

“I’ve got laundry, a few errands, and a yoga class in the afternoon, why?”

“Okay let me be a little more specific, what are you doing tonight?” Kylie rephrased.

“Um nothing so far, were you thinking of doing something?” Lynn asked while combing out her strawberry blond hair, dripping fat drops of water from the shower.

“Well my sister is coming in tonight,” Lynn nodded remembering Kylie’s younger sister Avery, the wilder of the two with eyes that made the moon dull. “Well she’s been begging me to take her to the bar downtown-”

“Wait, hold on a minute. You’re not seriously thinking about taking your fourteen year old, underage sister to a bar are you?” Lynn frowned placing both of her hands on both of her hips. Water trickled down her t-shirt.

“Well-”

“And not just any bar, you want to take her to the bar that I am trying to build a reputation in, a reputation that says sweet, mellow, down to earth singer songwriter. Not law breaking alcoholic who brings children to bars.” She said gesturing wildly. Invisible air quotes were dragged through the air with her bare fingers. “I’m not supporting this, no.”

“She’s sixteen but she’ll be seventeen in a few months. Besides she has an ID that says otherwise. Avery can pass for older and you know it, plus it would only be once this visit.” defended Kylie.

“This visit?” Lynn’s head tilted to the side, not believing the words coming out of her roommate’s mouth.

“You know what,” Kylie said. “Just forget I even mentioned it.” she finished, her voice giving hints of anger and frustration.

“Believe me, I will. I can’t believe you even suggested that.”

“I just thought you would want to have some real fun instead of sitting here at home with a stick up your ass.” Kylie mumbled as she exited the room.

Lynn stood there, jaw dropped, shocked at Kylie’s words. They hadn’t had a real fight since they moved in together over a year ago. While that might not have even counted as a fight, Lynn was feeling like their friendship was damaged a little. She knew that she liked to be tidy and tame while Kylie liked to be messy and have her fun. That’s why they worked so well together, they balanced each other out. Together they made an amazing team, but Kylie and Avery were partners in crime, nothing could stop them, which was probably why Kylie had gotten so defensive.

Lynn thought about apologizing but then stopped herself. Why should I have to apologize for something I didn’t do wrong? Kylie is the one who wanted to take her baby sister drinking. I only told her that it was not a responsible thing to do. Kylie is the one who said that I had a stick where the sun doesn’t shine. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be her.

Lynn heard the front door close followed by a car engine roaring up a few moments later. Either way, Lynn was not getting up to go apologize at that moment, especially not for something that she hadn’t done wrong.

***

“Feel like getting a drink?” Luke asked Ashton, waking the older man that had been sprawled out asleep on the couch.

“A drink, right now?” Ashton sleepily questioned, wiping the residue from his eyes while peering up at the Luke. The man he considered his little brother, despite the height difference.

“Well no, not at the moment. But I want to go downtown and explore a little bit, see a few shops or whatever. I figured I would bribe you to come with me if I promised you a drink at that bar we passed on the way here.” suggested Luke.

“You make me sound like an alcoholic.” Ashton told him.

“So are you in or not?”

Ashton thought about it before giving in. “Alright, I guess I’ll go with ya.”

“Cool. I’m heading out in about half an hour.”

“Goodness Luke, what’s the rush? We’ve got all week.”

“I don’t know.” Luke shrugged. “We haven’t really done anything since we got here which is nice but I’m also feeling a little cabin fevered. I’d like to get out for an afternoon.”

“Well I won’t argue with that.” Ashton yawned and sat up on the couch to reach for his phone on the coffee table to check the time. “What’re Mikey and Calum doing?”

“They left about an hour ago to get a few groceries. They should be back any minute. They’re going to come with us.”

“You sent Michael and Calum out to get groceries? They’re not coming back any time soon.” Ashton stated flopping back onto the couch. “Calum will get lost and Michael won’t have a clue where anything is.”

“They’re adults, they’ll be fine.”

“So are you Luke.” stated Ashton.

“Are you saying that I wouldn’t be able to pick up a few basic groceries?” Luke questions

“No, all I am saying is that there are more efficient ways to shop than the ones you are familiar with.”

“Is that so?”

“You know what I mean.” Ashton looked up at Luke. Luke wasn’t buying anything he was saying. “You have your own ways to do things, and then there are the more normal ways, the ways that take less time.”

“Ashton just stop, you’re digging yourself a hole.”

“Yep.” Ashton shut up immediately.

Luke turned to walk out of the room to put his phone on the charger for a quick top up before they left. He glanced out of the window, watching as a few birds picked through the grass in search for their next meal. Luke thought about how some birds mated for life, about how one would die of malnutrition if something were to happen to the other. Birds had soulmates that they chose for themselves. They didn’t have to play the cruel game that fate had arranged for the human population. The game that had driven some people to believe that it wasn’t worth it, to spend their entire lives looking for someone just because fate said they connected. People over centuries had given up hope. Some had spent their entire lives looking for someone, only to find them and one of the connectors died within days. The thought of it broke Luke’s heart. He’s heart yearned for someone he’d never met before.

***                            

Luke, Calum, Ashton, and Michael found themselves wandering the streets of downtown Sadowa. They had parked the rental in a parking lot behind a post office and decided to walk around, enjoying the simplicity and serenity of the town. They’d checked out a few stores that adorned the walkway advertising arts, flowers, wooden carvings and other small trinkets that seemed to cater to cottagers rather than the locals. Calum and Michael bought ice cream in the ice cream and fudge shop while Ashton and Luke had gotten a cardboard box of French fries to share across the road at a restaurant decorated to look like a food truck. They all sat on the longest bench in front of the restaurant and ate in peace. Ashton was taking pictures and posting a few on his Instagram story while Michael tried to get Calum’s ice cream onto Calum’s nose by telling him that the ice cream smelled sweeter than what they had back in LA. He was successful in doing so. Calum had ice cream on not just his nose but his lips and chin as well thanks to the help of Michael’s hand. Snap: another picture for their social media.

Luke people watched, absentmindedly putting the fries in his mouth. He observed as an older couple walked hand in hand with a pair of small children at their sides telling them about their friend from school. Half a dozen boys with shaggy hair and snapbacks who looked to be about twelve or thirteen raced down the mostly empty street on skateboards with one girl in a blue and pink helmet in tow. Two girls with identical wild, dark curly hair giggled as they walked into another store across the street. Everyone around him was happy. The remainder of the sun felt nice on his face. A dog was tied up across the street while its owner went into a store. Luke wondered if his soulmate liked dogs. What would he do if they were afraid of Petunia, or allergic?

Luke was pulled out of his train of thoughts when a little girl approached them with what appeared to be an older sibling or babysitter.

“Hi there.” Calum was the first to speak up.

“Um hi, I’m Amy.” the little girl told them. “Are you guys in a band? My sister went to a concert in Toronto a while ago and you guys look a lot like her pictures.”

“Well Amy, we just so happened to be in a band.” Ashton told her. “We’re called 5 Seconds of Summer. My name is Ashton, this is Calum, Michael and Luke.” They all waved to her smiling; rarely did they have little kids approaching them. “What’s your friend’s name?” Ashton asked referring to older girl who had followed Amy, but hadn’t torn her eyes away from her phone.

“That’s Elizabeth, she’s my cousin. Lizzy’s visiting for the week.” Elizabeth looked up momentarily at the sound of her name but went back to her phone once she saw that she wasn’t needed. “She has a secret special friend that she is texting, but I’m not supposed to know that.” Amy whispered to them making them all laugh.

“Did you want a picture with us to show to your sister then, to make her jealous?” Calum asked. Amy thought about it for a moment before nodding her head eagerly making them laugh once more. She pulled an iPod touch out of her pocket and signalled for them all to squish in close so she could take a picture of them.

“Okay one, two, three pizza rolls.”

“Pizza rolls!” the four of them chanted smiling for the camera. Amy giggled and jumped up and down a few times.

“Okay now your turn.” Luke told her. “That’ll really make her jealous.”

“Okay!” she agreed. “Elizabeth can you come take a picture for me?” Amy asked her cousin pleadingly.

“I’m in the middle of something, later.” the cousin responded.

“That’s okay, we’ll do like one big group selfie.” Michael suggested. The boys all bent down to her height and crowded together, letting Amy in the middle. They took a few pictures and then a few goofy ones. Lastly they took a short video saying hi to Amy’s sister and thanking her for coming to their concert.

After a few minutes, Elizabeth had called Amy back so that they could get home for dinner. They said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

“So how about that drink?” Ashton nudged Luke gesturing to the small bar across the street. By then the sun had disappeared behind the buildings. Their food was long gone and they’d continued walking with no particular destination in mind.

“You sure you don’t want to get a sandwich first, or maybe a book for some hammock reading.” Luke teased.

“No it’s guys time, get me a beer.”

***

“So wait a minute, Lynn knows who her soulmate is but she’s not doing anything about it?” Avery questioned her sister as they sipped away on some vodka mix that literally tasted pink.

“She says that just because she has an advantage that it doesn’t mean she should use it.” answers Kylie.

“Bullshit!” stated Avery, “I’d kill to know who my soulmate is. It’s literally all I want in life.”

“I know, I know.”

“So if she knows who they are, but they don’t know who she is, how’d she even figure that out? Did she catch them singing or something?” Avery wondered aloud, half to herself, half to her sister.

“Yeah, something like that. I’m not allowed to give specifics but I can tell you that he’s not from around here.”

“So it’s a ‘he’ then, and he’s not local.” Avery took a long sip of her drink emptying the glass. “Lynn hasn’t really got much to go on now has she? She’s basically got herself any guy who wonders through here. Lynn knows nothing about him but she’s decided to let him go, Ky, that just doesn’t sound like her.”

“Believe me; Lynn knows more about this guy than most people should know about their soulmates before they meet.”

Avery frowned at her sisters words, not quite understanding what she meant. Maybe this guy was in trouble with the law or something. But regardless, wouldn’t she still love him and want to be with him? It’s just not natural to not.

“So she’s heard some not so nice things about him then.” Avery stated questionably.

“No no, not like that.” Kylie said knowing how her little sister thought, “If anything Lynn’s kinda intimidated.”

“But it doesn’t matter.” Avery half slammed her empty glass on the counter out of frustration. Every head turned within a two table radius of them but Avery didn’t care. She was never one to give a damn about others opinions.

“Hey, try to keep it down.” Kylie told Avery, “We’re technically not supposed to be in here so don’t draw any extra attention to us.”

“Kylie! A soulmate is a soulmate and you can’t change it. Lynn is being incredibly stupid to not go after him.” Avery continued her rant, “She’s being selfish. Not only is she hurting herself but she’s also hurting her soulmate. Lynn is being stupid.”

“Avery enough,” Kylie shapely stepped in and put on her big sister face to stop her little sister before she said something worse. Avery had a tendency to speak her mind without giving consideration of other people. “That’s my best friend you’re criticizing, show some respect. You also don’t know the full story. There’s a lot more to it but it’s none of your business so watch it.”

“Kylie are you even listening to yourself? Lynn is-”

“Lynn is taking her time and trying to do what is best for her and Lu- I mean her soulmate. You are in no position to judge her for this. When you are older and both you and your soulmate are ready to meet, then perhaps you will begin to understand how stressful this is for them.”

Avery, as fiery as she was, backed down once she saw how fiercely Kylie was defending Lynn’s decision.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. You’re right.” she sighed subconsciously rubbing her left shoulder, a nervous habbit. “I don’t understand the situation. I guess I got a little jealous of Lynn. Seriously Ky, all I want in life is to find my soulmate and live out our lives happily and healthy.”Kylie had heard Avery say that a million times but this time she was as sincere as she could get.

“I know you do.” Kylie’s voice softened when she saw her sister’s change of attitude. She reached over and placed her hands atop of Avery’s, a communication of emphasis that both of them understood. “You’ll find them, I promise. If we have to ask every single person if they have your matching tattoo then so be it.”

Avery chuckled at the thought. “You know, now I’m really jealous of Lynn because it would be far easier to find her soulamte if they walked by. All she would have to do is match up the voice.” A bartender came over and brought each girl a new drink. “With me, it’s more difficult because I can’t say ‘Hey, take off your shirt and let me see if we have matching tattoos.’”

“Now that would be interesting.”

“My soumate could be right under my nose and I wouldn’t even know it.” Avery pouted.

Before Kylie could respond, her jaw dropped. In walked four young men that were one hundred percent tourists. Clad in leather jackets, half unbuttoned button ups and black boots, there was no way in hell they were locals, along with the fact that Kylie had never seen these people in the small fifteen hundred person town before. But it wasn’t the jackets, boots or even funky styles of hair that caught her attention. It was the piercing blue eyes that belonged to the tallest blond. The blue eyes she recognized to belong to her best friend’s soulmate. In walked Five Seconds of Summer and where the hell was Lynn!

Avery turned to look at what had caught her sister’s attention only for her own jaw to nearly hit the counter. Her head whipped back.

“Is that-”

“Yes, be cool, there’s something I need to tell you.” Kylie commanded, using her eyes to silently beg her sister to listen for once in her life.

“We’ve been talking in this bar for the last hour and you want to tell me something now.” Avery sounded near shrill as she questioned her sister. “Five freaking Seconds of Summer just walked in and I want a picture, tell me after.”

Avery pushed back her bar stool to get up but Kylie was faster. She caught Avery’s wrist before she could leave, squeezing enough to tell Avery that it was serious.

“Sit back down.” growled Kylie under her breath, “There’s something I need to tell you about them that involves Lynn and a little bit of us.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Avery arched her eyebrow, clearly indicating that she didn’t believe Kylie.

Kylie leaned over the table to speak to her sister without the listening ears of others. She already didn’t want to tell Avery but it would be the only way to keep her quiet, maybe. If other people found out, it could ruin their moment.

“Promise me you won’t say anything when I tell you.”

“Nope.” Avery shook her head, “You’re up to something. How are you not freaking out? Your first celebrity crush just walked into the bar!”

“Avery I need you to trust me.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Just. Trust. Me. Two zambucca.”

“Two?” Avery repeated questionably.

“Two.” Kylie confirmed.

“Two has never been on the table before meaning that this is serious?” All Kylie could do was nod her head, lost in thought. Serious was an understatement. This was life altering.

Kylie sighed letting go of Avery’s wrist to rub her temples. She glanced over at the vacationing musicians. The three blonds were talking about something that must have been funny because all of them wore three award winning smiles. The one she knew as Calum was looking in Avery and Kylie’s direction seemingly lost in his own mind. After a few seconds he must have realised that he was starring and flashed the girls a nervous half smile before turning back to his group.

“Okay here’s the deal. Lynn’s soulmate just walked in.”

“Lynn’s soulma- wait what? Why are you just telling me no- ohhhh you mean....” Avery nodded her head at the band with eyes as wide as saucers.

“Yup.” Kylie confirmed.

“So that’s why Lynn was so scared to-”

“Mmhmm.”

“Well we have to tell her!” Avery whisper shouted.

“No no no, no you can’t.”

“Well why the hell not?” demanded Avery, her hand flew to her left shoulder once more. A nervous habit she’d had since she was still in elementary school.

“It’s Lynn we’re talking about, you know, the only one of us who thinks things through logically. We can’t just call her up and say ‘hey roomie, we just ran into your soulmate, remember him? That guy you’ve been avoiding for about a year. Why don’t you come down and meet him?’ Lynn would freak out. She’s not like us, we do things impulsively, she’s a thinker. Lynn has to think about every step and everything in between. She won’t just jump into things like you and I do.” Kylie finished, reaching for her drink she stole another glance across the bar and then back to Avery.

Avery was silent as she thought about what her older sister had told her, a million ideas running through her head.

“Do you think we should do something? They could be leaving tomorrow, then it’ll be years before Lynn and whoever it is connect.” said Avery, “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me which one is her soulmate would you?”

“Not a chance. I’ve already told you more than I’d like to have.” A few silent moments passed before Avery broke it, not being able to stand the slight tension she felt.

“So what do we do?”

“I have an idea.”

Series Masterlist

Regular Ol’ Masterlist

A/N: would you guys believe me if I told you that there is only one chapter left? Well believe it. Honestly I can’t thank you guys enough. You have been here from start to finish. You’re love and support never goes unnoticed. I know you guys are probably not loving Avery at this point but bear with me, she’ll make a come back in a bit. Then you guys will like her, promise. Thanks for reading,

-xx Reetz

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Taglist is by no means limited, if you want to be notified when new chapters come out just ask and you will be added to the list! :)

[katehuntington]

How You & I Will Be - part two

Fandom: Supernatural Timeframe: mid-season 2 Main characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer (mentioned), Ellen & Jo Harvelle (mentioned), Ash (mentioned), Mary Winchester (mentioned), Reader’s mom (mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Series summary: When a hellhound case in the mountains goes sideways, Dean and Y/N find themselves trapped in a small cabin, miles from civilization. A serious injury forces the two hunters to come to terms with their true feelings for each other. Rescue is on its way, but will it be in time? Warnings part two: minor angst, some fluff, pining, swearing, description of blood and injury, bittersweet memories, Dean’s bad singing voice. Music: ‘Hellhound On My Trail’ by Robert Johnson, ‘Piano Man’ by Billy Joel Word Count: 2341 words Author’s note: Part two of a five part mini-series. This part might feel like short pause from all the drama, but I promise you it’s only the silence before the storm. @idreamofhazel and @littlegreenplasticsoldier, thank you so much for being awesome betas!  

Find the ‘How You & I Will Be’ masterlist here!

     “You know what I want?”      Y/N pulls up one knee to her chest and fold her arms around it, trying not to move the injured leg as she does so. It took a little while, but the abandoned cabin is finally starting to warm up now that a fire is growing under the chimney. Thankfully, Dean found some wood in the backroom, although they will run out soon enough. Flames flicker playfully and every now and then the wood cracks, lighting ambers up into the air.      “Please share,” he replies before he rests his head against the wooden wall and closes his eyes for a moment.      “A beer.”

     He chuckles and gazes at her, a sense of pride and amusement on his handsome face. He straightens himself, his shoulder rubbing against hers, and smiles. Man, is she one cool chick or what?      “Right there with ya. I’d kill for a Budweiser,” he agrees.      “Or a good glass of whiskey,” she imagines, closing her eyes imagining the drink.      “Jack Daniels.”      “Johnny Walker.”      They both sigh at the same time as a silence follows, and for a while they dwell in their thoughts. Chances are, though, that neither of them is ever going to have that drink. Surely, Sam is a smart guy and a fantastic hunter, but he can’t work miracles. The youngest Winchester is right; for as far as they know, there is nothing that can kill a hellhound.

     Tired out, Y/N stares at the fire, the same fire she saw when she looked that monster in the eye as it sneaked closer, growling, blood dripping from its mouth. Apprehensively, she swallows; this is going to result in some nightmares, of that she’s sure. Looking for a little affection, she leans in towards Dean and rests her head on his shoulder while her gaze slides down to her leg. Her friend bandaged it to keep it clean, but she can feel it throbbing. She lost a fair amount of blood, enough to feel sleepy and light headed. It’s clear as day that she needs to get to a hospital, and that says something coming from her. Yet they are stuck on a mountain slope, miles away from civilization, miles away from help. Y/N wants to keep her hopes up, she does, but even an optimist would have to admit that it's looking pretty grim.

     "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" Dean asks softly, laying his cheek against her hair.      A small smile forms, the corner of her mouth curls up a little. She has known the Winchesters for quite some time now. They are like her brothers; she would die for them and they would do the same for her. Both boys have the ability to see behind the mask she claims to wear so well. It’s not often that Dean is this affectionate, though. Him almost losing his friend probably has something to do with it.      "We're in deep shit, Dean," she acknowledges.      "Can't deny that," he admits. "But we'll get out of this mess. Sam is working his mojo down the mountain and we will figure out a way to kill those chihuahuas, okay?"      Y/N looks up at him, into his emerald green eyes. He seems so calm, so confident. It eases her a little, and so she lets the air escape from her lips as he slips his arm around her and lets her lean in against him. Her eyes fall shut; it's starting to dawn on her just how tired she is. A mixture of fear, lack of sleep and blood loss, she assumes. But laying here, so close to Dean, it makes her feel all kinds of other things too.

     Safe, no matter how many hellhounds are on their doorstep.      Warm, despite the freezing cold outside.      Loved, even though she knows Dean doesn't love her the way she loves him. 

    Y/N always had a soft spot for the oldest Winchester brother, but in their line of work it seemed stupid to get involved with the hunter. Of course she has wondered, asked herself ‘what if it works out’ and ‘what if this time it won’t hurt.’ But since everyone she cares for has either left or died, she reluctantly kept her distance. It’s what got her into this business in the first place. The losses she suffered left scars so deep, that she promised herself that she would never let anyone close again. And then Sam and Dean walked into the Roadhouse and bought her a drink.

     She chuckles. The Roadhouse, man, did they spend a lot of time there. She thinks about the bar for a moment. The worn leather stools, the pool table that Ash sleeps on when it’s not being used, the old jukebox that is full of R.E.O. and other mullet rock.      “I wish I brought my iPod,” Y/N comments.      The silence in the cabin is bothering her and a little music would have helped cast out the sound of the dogs rustling through the snow outside, barking every now and then.      "Yeah, I could dig some rock tunes right now,” Dean agrees.            Y/N watches how he picks up the backpack and digs up a snack. Her upper lip twitches at the sight of the protein bar; she finds them disgusting. Dean offers one and she refuses.      “C’mon, you have to eat something,” he pressures.      “I’m not hungry.”      Dean lifts his eyebrows and glares at her sideways, holding her gaze.      “That’s a new one,” he comments after which he takes a bite from his bar. “Have some Gatorade then.”      He hands Y/N the plastic bottle with the blue sports drink inside.      “Dean, stop nursing me!” she refuses chuckling.      “You need to keep up your strength,” he argues.      “For what?”      “For when Sam gets here. Who knows what stunts we might need to pull off when we get your fine little ass out of trouble,” he replies, after which he takes another bite from his bar and grins while chewing.

     Rolling her eyes and sighing reluctantly, Y/N takes the bottle and drinks. When she restores eye contact, she shoots him a ‘Satisfied?’ glare. Dean smirks, amused with her attitude, takes the bottle back and has a swig as well. Y/N can’t help but to steal a glance. My God, isn’t he gorgeous, she thinks to herself. Watching how he has his head tilted back, his strong jawline and rough stubble standing out, throat exposed, then licking his lips after he brings the bottle back down. It reminds her of the times she had a beer with him and his brother. The three of them rode out plenty of nights, to find a quiet spot where they sat on the hood of the Impala under a night full of stars. Dean kept the beers coming, she played some music, Sam made sure they got home okay. Y/N smiles at the memory and flips through to the next, not noticing how Dean is studying her.

     “What?” he wonders, looking at her intently.      “Remember how we basically fought for a month because I wanted to bring my guitar along on the road and you thought it was a waste of space?” she recalls.      Dean looks away as the smile on his lips grows wider.      “Yeah, I remember that. And I had a point too. Baby is not a tour bus.”      “It’s one guitar, Dean! You have an arsenal big enough for a small army in the trunk!”      “Exactly! No room for your musical instruments,” he exclaims, but smirking nonetheless.      Y/N lifts her head victoriously because they both know who won this battle.      “Where is my guitar now?”      Dean clears his throat. “In the car.”      Both have a laugh, the grim mood lifted for a moment.

     “You brought your harmonica?” he asks curious.      Y/N opens her jacket and takes the tiny object out of her inner pocket.      “Who needs an iPod then,” he responds, delighted. “Play something.”      Looking forward to her performance, he straightens his back and turns to face his partner. He always enjoys it when she plays or sings, somehow it always seems to calm him down. Dean watches as Y/N leans against the wall again, trying to think of a suitable song. Then she holds the harmonica in front of her mouth with one hand and partly covers the exhale holes as she lets the air flow through, creating that unique sound. Waiting for Dean to guess the song, she plays the tune. He’s a little slow on the uptake, but then she notices the expression of recognition on his face.      “Hellhound On My Trail? Seriously?” he comments.

     Y/N pauses and laughs. She was wondering how long it would take for him to figure that one out. Content with herself she holds the harmonica in front of her, tracing the delicate initials in the silver with her fingertips. There's a story behind this instrument, the first she learned to play.      "It used to be my Mom's," Y/N shares, when she feels Dean's lingering stare. "She taught me to play it. Guitar, too."      The line on Dean's lips curve up, listening to her story.      "She was a great singer. I remember when I was really young, she would sing me lullabies, but not always usual ones."      Dean chuckles; that sounds familiar."My mom didn't appreciate the traditional lullabies either."      "Really? What would she sing to you?" she asks intrigued.      "Beatles songs, mostly. 'Hey Jude' was her favorite," Dean recalls.      His gaze drifts away as he takes a short trip down Memory Lane, trying to grasp what recollections he has of Mary. Afterall, he was only four years old when she died.

     "Mom was a big fan of Billy Joel," Y/N remembers. “She usually lulled me to sleep by singing ‘Vienna’ and ‘Lullabye’.”      “Why don’t you play one of his songs, then?” Dean offers.      “I thought that wasn’t your thing,” she assumes.      Dean shrugs. “Maybe not what I would normally listen to, but I sure can appreciate it. Play something you enjoy for once.”      He’s got a point, because Y/N usually plays what he likes. Truth be told, she would practice songs by his favorite bands for hours whenever they weren’t together, just to impress him. It worked too, she will never forget the sparkle in his eyes as he watched her absolutely nail the riff of ‘When The Levee Breaks’ by Led Zeppelin.

     Again Y/N takes a moment to find a song in her memory to play, then the ultimate Billy Joel track comes to mind.      “Okay, imagine…” she holds out her hand, painting a picture as she’s telling the story.  “Imagine the Roadhouse. Old worn furniture, hunting antiques and vintage beer signs on the wall. Pool table over there, a U-shaped counter on this side. It’s crowded, but not too crowded, y’know? Hunters are having a drink, laughing, writing in their journals, exchanging stories. Jo and Ellen are there, Bobby too, Ash is drinking his PBR. It feels…”      Dean watches her in awe. There’s something about her, that’s a given fact. But when she’s passionate and lets her imagination run free, he just can’t stop looking at her. She’s so vibrant, all big eyes and wide smile. Damn, she’s beautiful, he thinks to himself.

     She pauses, feeling Dean’s eyes on her and meeting his intrigued gaze, causing her to lose her breath for a second. Their eyes remain locked and she can feel him drinking her in. It’s a good thing that she knows he’s not in love, otherwise she might start to believe he is.      “It feels… cozy, and happy… and warm,” she continues.     Then Y/N breaks eye-contact and points at the other corner of the little cabin.     “Over there is a piano. A man walks over, sits down and starts to play.”     She brings the harmonica to her mouth and starts the music. Although Dean would probably consider this kind of music too soft, the joyful sound of his laughter mixes with the notes. Y/N breathes out relieved in the break; she hoped she would get to hear that sound again. The melody repeats with a playful variation and she closes her eyes in enjoyment.

     “You know the first verse?” she challenges.      “What? Me?” Dean glares at her, surprised.      “I’m not asking the dogs to howl along. Yeah, you!” she grins.      “Yeah, I know the song,” he sits up and prepares.      Y/N nods excited. “Alright, you do first verse, I’ll do the second.”      Again she hits the note and Dean comes in right on cue. His impression of Billy Joel is not entirely on key, but it’s amusing nonetheless.

     It's nine o'clock on a Saturday      The regular crowd shuffles in      There's an old man sitting next to me      Makin' love to his tonic and gin

     He says, "Son, can you play me a memory      I'm not really sure how it goes      But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete      When I wore a younger man's clothes.

     Y/N can’t help but to laugh, but keeps on playing and Dean keeps on singing. She takes over the lyrics of the second verse and they join together for the chorus.  

     Sing us a song, you're the piano man      Sing us a song tonight      Well, we're all in the mood for a melody      And you've got us feelin' alright

     It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday      And the manager gives me a smile      'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see      To forget about life for a while      And the piano, it sounds like a carnival      And the microphone smells like a beer      And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar      And say, "Man, what are you doin' here?"

     Sing us a song you're the piano man      Sing us a song tonight      Well we're all in the mood for a melody      And you got us feeling alright

Read part three here

Thanks for reading the second part! Don’t hesitate to let me know what you think.

This series is already finished, so I expect to update soon. Stay tuned for more!

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[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Trail (Part 2)

Chapter Cryptid/Folklore Creature: Stick Indians.

This chapter is dedicated to my grandmother who is really interested in Native American lore and has been begging me to tell her 'a stick indian' story. I hope that I do justice to the Salish culture and their story.

Pacific silver fir and western white pine tower over them, creating what looked like an impenetrable wall of woodland. As if the forest isn’t dense enough already, black cottonwood and mountain hemlock fill the spaces between. It is a wonder to Zuko that they have managed to get here at all.

His mood had already been dreary before, with Zhao officially recruited and having rambled for hours, during their flight, about life on the Scottish highlands. Zuko stands before a large and crystal clear lake, littered with massive boulders and small stepping stones. Normally this may have lifted his spirits, but a light and billowing snowfall steals that away.  

He shivers, cursing his sister for renting a tent instead of booking a hotel. “I thought that you like to plan ahead.” He finally snaps.

Azula looks up from her work. “Zhao, prove your worth to this team and finish setting up camp.” And she turns to Zuko, “yes, this is part of the plan. Don’t you think that it will be easier to hunt down forest dwelling beasts if we are in the forest?” She shrugs. “Besides, I figured that we could save a little money this way.”

“I think that it’s easier to hunt when I’m not freezing my ass off.” He grumbled.

“When Ah was a lad…” Zhao starts and Zuko groans loudly, sorry that he had spoken at all.

“Try to relax a little.” Azula comments.

He only folds his arms over his chest, muttering, more to himself than her, about how she always has to have things her way. How they can never do what he wants, never mind that he had chosen the final say about their destination this time around.

Azula sighs, “come over here and look at this.”

For a spiteful moment, he thinks of ignoring her, but he comes to sit next to her on the log she has perched herself upon. “Ever hear of stick indians, Zuzu?”

“No?”

“Neither have I.” She replies. “According to uncle, there have been reports of them. Apparently, they’re becoming a bother tourists and locals around here…”

“And you want to look into it?” He asks.

“We’re here.” She replies. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”

“Because we’re here for the wendigo.”

“I think that we can handle both.” She insists.

“Ah shite!”

Azula flinches at the sound of the tent collapsing.

“You wanted him here.” Zuko remarks.

.oOo.

The snow continues to fall, it would almost be soothing if it weren’t so like the night their mother went missing. Azula rolls onto her side, thinking of Iroh’s notes. He doesn’t have much for her to work with aside from a basic rundown of what they are dealing with. They are supposedly hairy and not unlike the better known big-foot. They have a knack for trickery and leading people astray, if Iroh has his facts right. She rolls back onto her back and watches, from the nearest window as the snow falls around them. A gust of wind rocks the tent, but not jarringly enough for her to wake the other two. It is a wonder that Zuko sleeps at all. She supposes that he had spent all of his energy on pointless rage in the daylight hours.

She ought to be sleeping herself but for some reason or another, sleep doesn’t want to come to her.

Azula tries to analyze her own emotions; she doesn’t have angry or depressive thoughts to haunt her mind. She considers for a moment that she is afraid. Yet, that isn’t it either. Her heart doesn’t race, she doesn’t feel the need to look every which way.

Perhaps it has to do with the flight and a time change.

The wind whistles outside of the tent.

With no sign that her body wants to sleep, Azula gives in and grabs her camera, she doesn’t often take nighttime photography. As quietly as she can, she unzips the tent and slips from it. She makes sure to seal the flaps once more to keep Zuko from complaining about the cold.

She hears, again, the wind whistling against the tent. She wanders away from the sound and towards the lake. Under the moonlight it is ethereal. If not for the snow she know that its surface would be smooth and undisturbed. As things are, the snow puts a certain sparkle to the water. It is perfect, she lets the camera flash. Once and then twice more before she seeks out something else to capture.

She thinks, briefly, of climbing atop one of the large boulders and taking a photo from a new vantage point. She gets a rather vivid mental image of herself slipping on the slick snow and crushing her camera as she topples into the lake.

The whistle of the wind comes again, this time, a chill shivers down her spine. At first, she can’t place why. She tries to push the feeling aside, but the snow in her hair, the deeply quite woods, she remembers the feeling.

Remembers the look Ursa exchanged with Ozai.

She creeps away from the pond and towards her tent, the only thing keeping her at bay is the absence of an abysmal odor. They always have a scent. A truly wretched scent. But the absence of woodland chatter it wakes the most primitive of her senses.

She hears the whistle of the wind again.

This time it registers.

Her hair isn’t fluttering. She doesn’t feel the gust on her bare face.

With that realization she comes to decide that the sound itself is distorted. The next time she hears it, she can swear that it is as though the sound is being played in reverse.

Azula goes tense, it is near the tent.

And tenser still when the whistling sounds from behind her and then to the side of her. There are more of them now and they create a disorienting whir. She fights down the anxiety that they’ve managed to rouse.

She hustles back into the tent. As long as she doesn’t let them lure her out there she should be fine. Her dread doesn’t waver, not even slightly. “Zuko!” She hisses. He grumbles something sleepily gargled. “Zuko!” This time she offers him a sturdy kick.

She dodges a reflexive punch. “Christ, Azula! What?” He shouts, sending her nerves skyrocketing. She clamps a hand over his mouth as Zhao bolts up with a “wha’cha fussin’ aboot?”  She hushes him too.

She almost regrets having done so. She can hear, with more clarity, a scampering from outside. Zuko turns to her and mouths a soft, “what the hell.”

Azula simply points at Iroh’s notes.

“Ah’m gonna shoot ‘em.” Zhao proclaims.

“Take one shot and you’re fired.” Azula whispers harshly.

He opens his mouth for a voluminous protest. Azula throws a hand up, “one word and you’re going back to Scotland.” She threatens quietly. She has a hunch that they were going to have to wait this one out. She chances a peek out of the window, hoping to see the deep blue of approaching dawn. The sky is still inky and spotted with stars and flecks of snow.

She knows that the night will be long.

Any desire to ignore the outside chaos and sleep it off is sapped away at the sound of laughter. Its quality is uncanny, human but with an off-putting edge too it. Something that licks and plays with the most instinctual recesses of her mind.

“Ken Ah shoot it now?” Zhao asks, keeping his voice low.

Logic yearns for her to say yes, but the part of her that is off-put by the laughter speaks first, “you’ll only make it worse.”

She feels vulnerable, terribly so. More so than when she had been sinking in Loch Ness. At least then, she knew what and where her foe was. Zuko’s glower leaves her feeling worse. He had already been vexed by her choice to camp at all. She supposes that it is on her entirely if they tear through the tent and make off with one of them.

She hopes, for the sake of her conscience that they take her.

A stick hits their tent and Zuko jolts. She wants to day that she hadn’t flinched, but Zuko gripping her hand tells her that she did. She can’t remember the last time he had held her hand, but she thinks that it was when they were children.

Azula looks at her phone, it is only 3:14.

She swallows, suddenly four hours is dauntingly long.

Her eyes begin to droop at 4:00 and she fights to keep them open. Zhao snores softly, with his gun still in hand. Azula thinks that maybe he has it right. They can’t be lured out of their tents if they are asleep. Maybe she should just cave to her body’s demands. She can use the rest. Briefly she thinks of pulling out the novel she’d brought along and reading until sleep overtakes her. But she doesn’t want to attract attention with the light of her phone.

Instead she moves further from her brother and wraps herself up in her blankets, the uneasy flutters never leaving her belly. Zuko seems to follow in suit, but moves his sleeping bag closer to her. She wants to scold him for the loud shuffling noises, but there isn’t a point. The creatures already know that they are there.

Their eerie scuffling and chirping persists but the ruckus doesn’t come any closer.

It doesn’t make her feel any safer.

In fact, it only leaves her wondering why they aren’t attacking. Perhaps they are waiting for them to let their guard down. Perhaps they are toying with them. She digs through her bag for her iPod. She puts her headphones on, the noise will drive her insane if she doesn’t.

“Don’t pay them any mind, Azula.” The words play themselves back in her mind. “Some beings just like the attention.” She remembers smiling up at him and nodding as he tucked her in. She wishes that he were there. This chapter is dedicated to my grandmother who is really interested in Native American lore and has been begging me to tell her 'a stick indian' story. I hope that I do justice to the culture and their story.

[yourereallyhere]

tagged by @historyandships @iishallbelieve <333

1. What Station on the Ark would you be from? Uhhhhh I literally have no idea bc we don’t really know about a lot of the stations / what they did. I’m in pre-med so maybe Go-Sci because that’s where Ark Station Medical is? I just looked up all the stations but I really have no idea. good question though. if anyone wants to respond with what they know about they stations that’d be !sick!

2. What would you get arrested for on the Ark? I’m kind of a goody-two shoes but if there was a curfew then maybe that. Or defending someone (I'd like to think)

3. Would you take off your wristband when you landed on the ground? It’s hard to think of what I would or wouldn’t do considering that I've never even been close to being in their shoes but I don't think so

4. What would the necklace Finn would make for you look like? (Clarke: deer/Raven: a raven duh..) hmmmm maybe a dog??

5. If you could resurrect any MINOR character who would it be? wow so many minor characters have died it’s hard to remember. Is wells a minor character considering he was only in a few episodes? if yes then him. if not then Jake. let us go back in time and bring him back season six </3 but not like before Clarke was arrested like present show time bring him back

6. Create a squad of 5 characters to go on missions with. Who are they? Clarke, Bellamy, Murphy, Roan, Monty. I wanna say Raven but we’re in a fight right now.

7. What Grounder Clan would you belong to?  Louwada Kliron Kru SO COLORFUL

8. What would your name be in Trigedasleng? Lian (?? whatever Leeann is in trig)

9. Thoughts on Finn? Some people hate him, and others love him, so I’m curious. Honestly I never liked him he was so weird and cocky and in his first 2 seconds in the show the people who followed him died and then he jumped off the drop ship in front of Murphy like wooOOWW Finn ur sewww coooool and and then he cheated on his girlfriend who risked her life to be with him like idk? couldn't you wait more than a week and half??? and then he literally massacred a village like ik people have done a lot of shitty things but they were posing no threat whatsoever. they tried to redeem him with the spacewalker backstory but I didn’t really feel for him :/ I don’t think he deserves the insane amount of villianization (is that a word?) he gets in fits and stuff but I also don’t think he’s the good guy they introduce him as

10. Be honest. How willing would you have been to take the chip without knowing all the horrible things it does? I think without knowing most people would say yes and on one hand I don’t do drugs and it seemed super drug-like so I probably wouldn’t but on the other hand emotionally this has been the worst year of my life bc I went through a medical thing so maybe?

11. What character do you relate to most? I think lately Murphy bc my life is literally Murphy’s law ( ha ha no pun intended ) and I kind of feel like a lot of things are working against me but I'm still here bitchesssss

12. What character do you like the least? ABBY I literally have hated her since the first episode and I wish she could die without it breaking my baby Clarkes heart but I know it would kill her to lose her so I'm kind of in a pickle. and jaha before he died was the WOAT 

13. Describe your delinquent outfit. (Would you wear something like Murphy’s jacket with the spikey red shoulder patch or have a trademark like Jasper’s goggles? Be creative, yet practical) Loose jeans or something similar and a t-shirt with a comfy jacket and the closest thing they have to Blundstones boots

14. Favorite type of mutant animal? butterflies

15. What would your job be on the Ark? something in med bay

16. Would you have willingly pumped Ontari’s heart if Abby asked? obvi

17. If Lexa wasn’t Heda, but she was still alive, then who would have made the best commander? Aiden

18. How would you act if you ate the hallucinogenic nuts like Jasper and Monty? if I was around other people and it was a good effect then lots of dancing I think but if I was alone and it had a bad effect like with Clarke and Bellamy then I would be pretty sad 

19. How would you have dealt with Charlotte’s crime? A more John Murphy approach or Bellamy Blake approach? Neither. id probably try and set up some sort of judicial system and figure it out with a group of people

20. Who should have been the Chancellor, if anyone? Clarke with Bellamy as her right hand and some others (including Kane) as a council. Their main concern was relations with the grounders and the people who have actually communicated with them should be in charge of that 

21. Would you have been on Pike’s side like Bellamy or on Kane’s side? Or Clarke in Polis? Kane’s

22. Mount Weather had a lot of modern commodities. (example: Maya’s Ipod) What is the one thing you would snatch while there? the iPod. idk how they survived this long without music.

23. What would your Grounder tattoos look like? Hairstyle? War paint? I don't like having permanent things on my body especially when its not symmetrical asdfghjk but maybe like a small meaningful tattoo?? hair would be two dutch braids or just down and war paint maybe the black line on the face like in season five?

24. Favorite quote? too many to choose from but literally anything bellarke. a few that jump to mind are “but we need each other Bellamy. the only way we’re gonna pull this off is together” “you keep her centered / you got it backwards” “I’ve got you for that” “if I'm on that list you're on that list” “we can’t lose her” oh and non bellarke “If only a conscience was a free pass, and not just a voice in your head you pretend to listen to between unspeakable acts.” is a good one

25. If all of the characters were in the Hunger Games, who would have the best shot at winning? Murphy or Bellamy 

26. Least favorite ship? Favorite canon ship? Favorite non canon ship? NOT INCLUDING CL OR BC OR BE Braven (I don't mean to offend but they just used each other for sex, I love their friendship) / but for actual canon relationship Kabby (but only because everything abby does bothers me), marper (too pure for this world pls let more good things happen on this show), niytaviah (so! much! sexual! and! romantic! tension!)

27. A song that should be included in the next season? If there had to be another guest star like Shawn Mendes on the show, who would you want to make a cameo? Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen for those rover ~vibes~ / Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing by Aerosmith / Love Like by Peter Collins, and show guest star Brie Larson, Gemma Chan, or, selfishly, Chris Hemsworth 

28. What would you do if you were stuck in the bunker with Murphy for all that time? party and watch movies and sexy time

29. You’re an extra that gets killed off. How do you die? I’m the guy who died first when the scouts attacked in season 1 bc that’s my luck

30. A character you’d like to learn more about and get flashbacks of? Bellamy

31. A character you’d bang? umm if you know me you know the answer to this is my homeboy Bellamy he can do whatever he wants to me

32. Would you stay in the Bunker? Go up to Space? Or live on your own in Eden? I wanna say eden but being alone would suck so space

33. In the Bunker, would you follow Octavia? What would you do to pass the time underground? I guess I'd have to because if not I would die uk and I would read if that was possible. if not I'd get some friends

34. What crime would you commit in the Bunker that lands you in the fighting pits? stealing supplies

35. Up in Space, who would you bond with first? Who would be the most difficult for you to get along with? Harper, and if Bellamy wasn’t too depressed to hang out then him too. Most difficult would be echo

36. How long do you think you would last on Earth by yourself? not long at all

37. When the Eligius ship lands what do you do? Hide, the valley is literally huge. or wait in the village bc no one is taking it over bitchhhh if they wanna talk then talk

38. Favorite Eligius character? Least favorite? Diyoza, McCreary

39. Would you Spacewalk? no im so scared of getting lost in space

40. Would you prefer to eat Windshield Bugs, Space Algae, or Bunker Meat? space algae

41. Would you start a war for the last spot of green on earth? What would your solution be to avoid it? nahhh I said the valley was huge before and I meant it, they're all overreacting just share it bruh

42. Would you rather dig out flesh-eating worms or stick thumb drives into bullet holes? thumb drives into bullet holes

43. Are you willing to poison your sister for the Traitor Who You Love? What would you do to stop Octavia? 100% also he kind of knew she would wake up. if I was her sister then the same as Bellamy. if not then kill her.

44. Would you go to sleep in cryo or stay awake like Marper? Cryo

45. Who are you waking up first to explore the new planet? Bellarke

tagging @chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky @anne-shirley-blythe @fen-ha-fuck-you @talistheintrovert @prophecy-gurl @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold

[floradevereaux]

Comfort Food || Flora/Juliette

Who: Flora Devereaux & Juliette Fabray When: August 2nd-ish (lol) Where: Quinn Fabray’s Home Summary: The Southern ladies cook up a storm, helping to feed all those who have come to see Quinn. @inkstainedfingersfabray

Flora didn’t like to travel alone, it always made her nervous. She should have gone with Judy, it would have been so much easier, less stressful, less worry. This time she had the power of music to soothe her, she bought herself an Ipod and figured out how to use it. She was able to follow the instructions and set up her music library. She focused on her music for the whole trip, glad to be off the death box in the sky.

She met Juliette and they shared a very long hug before breaking apart and heading off to grab some groceries, “I need a good stress relief, I think we should cook up a feast, all our favorites.” Flora came to the realization that New York was very expensive but this was an emergency and ignored the price. “So, where are we going to cook all of this?”

Juliette smiled, just having her mother there made her feel a thousand times more confident that everything would turn out for the better. And the fact that she’d get some home cooking out of this helped, even if the reason behind it was one she’d rather have done without. “Have I got a kitchen for you.” She said, picking up as many of the bags as she could hold in her arms. “C’mon Momma. You’ve got to see this to believe it.”

The trip to Quinn’s took long enough that Juliette’s arms were aching by the time they got their but it was worth--or it would be once she got to stuff herself with her Momma’s cooking--and it was a short job to get them both into Quinn’s house even if she did have to put down several of the bags to do it. “This way,” she said, motioning with her head as she lead Flora through Quinn’s house in a beeline for the Kitchen. The grand tour would wait until Judy could join them after she got back from the hospital.

When Flora set her peepers on the house she nearly passed out, “This is the kind of house you only see on television.” Flora followed Juliette inside and gasped when she saw everything, she knew Quinn was well off but this was insane. “Heavens,” She nearly dropped the eggs when she saw the size of the kitchen, she had never cooked in one this size- it didn’t even look used. “The things I can do in here,” She blinked in disbelief, “okay, let’s put everything away in this huge fridge. I need a moment to gather myself before we begin.” Flora started to help Juliette put things away, leaving out a few things that needed to be room temperature. She sat down on a stool and looked over at her Sunflower, “How are you doing, Sunflower?”

It was hard not to laugh at her Mother’s reaction--so much like her own had been the first time she’d seen the kitchen--but Juliette managed to contain her amusement long enough for it to subside as they put away the majority of the perishables. It wasn’t until Flora asked how she was doing that the reason why they were where they were returned in sharp relief and the smile that have been on her face since seeing her Mother at the airport dimmed.

“I’ve been better.” She said quietly, nodding her head as she spoke, then crossed over to wrap her arms around Flora in a tight, needy hug. “I was so scared, Momma. One minute everything was fine and then…” Juliette shook her head, blinking against the heat building around the rims of her eyes. “She’s gonna be okay though, I know it. The doctors say she’s going to be okay, that’s what Saphira told me and she wouldn’t lie, would she?”

Flora wrapped her arms around Juliette and smiled, holding her close. “I know that feeling, it’s a very scary time but everything will be okay.” She rubbed her back and placed a kiss to her head, “She is in very good hands, they are going to take very good care of her. The doctors are going to work their magic and she is going to pull through. Saphira doesn’t seem like the person to lie,” Truth be told, she had no idea if Saphira was lying but this was something Juliette needed to hear. “Let’s get ready to cook a big feast for our friends and family, people are going to need a full stomach.” She kissed Juliette again, giving her a squeeze. “And I’m sure you could use a little home cooked goodness?”

Juliette’s smile regained some of its lost strength--not all, but enough--and she nodded as she pulled mostly away, one arm kept hooked around her Momma as she turned towards the counters and the waiting ingredients they’d left out. “Biscuits and Gravy? She asked, turning back to Flora, “Or fried chicken first?”

“Fried chicken first, it takes longer. However, if you want to brown up the sausage for the gravy, that will save us some time.” Flora gave her another kiss and waited until Juliette breaks contact first. She made her way over to the fridge and grabbed the chicken out and started to wash it. Making sure to pat it dry, it was certainly going to take some time to fry all this chicken up. “This kitchen is spotless, does she even cook in here? Does she have a deep skillet to fry this up in?” It wouldn’t have the years of seasoning her own pot did but it would have to do.

“Mmhmm.” Juliette answered both questions with one hum, briefly leaving the sausages alone as she retrieved the requested skillet from where she’d found it the first time Quinn had given her the tour. “She says she more a baker, then a cook.” Juliette added, giving the pan to Flora before returning to her own task of slicing the sausage casings open to crumble the seasoned meat inside into a large bowl before transferring the contents to a preheated skillet or her own. “We were going to trade cookies before-” Juliette’s hand stopped stirring the meat for a moment, then shook her head and continued where she left off. “Before the accident.”

Flora took hold of the skillet, it was deep enough and placed it on the stove. “I see,” Not everyone cooked, baking was just as important. “The chicken will need to sit in the fridge once it’s seasoned, then we can start to dredge and frying it.” Once the chicken was washed and dried, she started to mix up all the seasonings in her Marmee’s recipe. “Hey, you will still trade cookies, it’s just going to take a little longer.” Walked over to peek into the skillet, “add a bit of salt and pepper, Sunflower.”

“I know.” Juliette said, a hint of exasperation in her voice as she reached for both. “I remember.” She pinched in a dash or three of both before stirring them into the meat, then left the trio to simmer as she fetched some flower and a sifter, both placed to the side for their time. “You talk to Daniel or Avery yet?”

“Shoot, I forgot, need to start the pecan pie first. That’s going to need to sit for a few hours to cool down.” Once Flora finished seasoning the chicken, she placed them on a tray and slid them into the fridge. “And I have not, I sent them both a message and let them know what was happening.” She grabbed a bunch of things and move to a different counter, “Maybe one day they’ll remember they have a momma.”

“They remember.” Juliette said, rock hard certainty in her voice, “They’re just busy. They’ve got jobs and such, they aren’t on summer break like me.” Juliette finished her speech by measuring out some flower into the sifter and slowly adding it to the sausage. “But we could always drop by Avery’s with some food. It’s not like we won’t have some to spare.” A mischievous smile curled her lips as she stirred the flower in. “And we can send pictures of what he’s missing out on to Daniel.”

They kept their distance and she didn’t blame them, so, she just smiled and nodded her head. “You’re right, they are very busy. It means I raised them right,” Flora focused on making the pie, deciding not to dwell on negative thoughts. “What else did we want to make tonight, Mac and Cheese?” She grabbed the flour, salt, and vegetable oil and added the butter. When the dough looked like tiny pebbles she added an egg, water, and white vinegar.

“Oooh, Mac and Cheese.” Juliette said, a hungry reverence in her voice. Next to her Mawmaw’s cobbler, and her Momma’s fried chicken, her Momma’s Mac and Cheese was one of her all time favourites and had helped her through more bad days than she could count. This was definitely a Mac and Cheese type day. “I’ll get the butter and milk out.” She moved the sausage off the heat--it would need some milk as well to finish its journey into becoming gravy--and made her way to the fridge. She grabbed the cheese as well while she was in there and, after a bot of looking through, the sour-cream as well.

“Pot, pot, where are the pots.” She sung to herself as she looked around the kitchen, letting out a triumphant, “Aha!” when she remembered. Emptying her arms of ingredients by placing the lot on the counter in a haphazard pile, Juliette fetched two pots--one for the pasta and another for the sauce--and then detoured to dig through a few drawers until she found Quinn’s gratter. Beaming at Flora, Juliette dropped off all but one pot next to everything else, then headed over to the sink to fill the pot she kept with water.

Flora knew that Juliette would get all the ingredients out, preparing what needed preparing as she focused on the pie. The dough was ready and she separated it into two halfs, she would make two pies- sure that it would be a favorite. She stored the dough in the fridge for now and started on the filling, granulated sugar, brown sugar, salt, corn syrup, butter, vanilla and eggs. And mixed it all together until it was well combined. “Mmm, I love the smell of vanilla and brown sugar.” When that was mixed well, she grabbed out the dough and started rolling them out. “Why don’t you grab the other ball and roll with me, you need the practice.” She winked.

The water was just coming to a boil when Flora called her over and Juliette had managed to get the sauce ready in the interim with an extra bowl filled almost to overflowing with grated cheese to sprinkle on top before the mac and cheese got tucked into the oven to bake. Juliette turned a wounded expression on her mother as she dumped the pasta into the water, then made her way over to Flora’s side. “Mawmaw loves my crusts.” She protested.

Giving her hands a quick wipe with the wet cloth she’d taken with her before dusting her hands in flour to keep the ball of dough from sticking to her palm as she dusted the countertop with more flour. “How big do we need it?” Juliette dropped the dough onto the counter centering it on her workspace before looking around for, and grabbing, a spare rolling pin.

“Does she?” Flora smirked and leaned over to press a kiss to Juliette’s temple. “And I guess that depends on how big her pie pans are, if she has pie pans.” Flora did not think this through but she would make due. She cleaned her hands off and searched around, finding two pie pans tucked away. “And these looked used, looks like she does bake a little bit.” She gave them, a quick wash to be sure and dried them off. “Roll the crusts to fit just so over the pan, you know the drill.” Flora did the same as Juliette and cleaned the surface she needed, sprinkling some flour on the counter and dusting her own hands with it. “I’ve missed cooking with you, Julie, it’s nice to have this again.”

Juliette swallowed the pecan she’d ‘borrowed for taste testing purposes’ while Flora was looking for, and prepping, the pans, hiding the act behind a smile as she set to rolling out her dough.  “Me too.” She replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my classes and all, and I really like New York, but even if I had a stove in my dorm, or a kitchen like this one, I’d still miss cooking with you.”

This time, Juliette was blatant about snatching another Pecan after re-dusting her rolling pin, an unapologetically guilty grin on her face as she looked over at Flora. “And not just ‘cause I miss your cooking, either.”

Flora always made sure to have extra pecans in the bowl, for testing purposes. She reached over and grabbed one herself and gave Juliette a wink. “So, pecan pie and what did we want this second one to be?” Flora finished rolling out the crust, dusting the bottom of the pie pan before draping the dough over it. She offered Juliette one more pecan before pouring the pecans into the crust and the sweet sticky mixture over the top. She covered it with tinfoil and popped it into the preheated oven. “Thirty minutes with foil, twenty without- depending on the power of this stove it might only need ten.”

Juliette shook her head in mock disappointment over her mother’s question. “As if there’s any other choice; lemon meringue, Momma.” She continued to shake her head at her mother’s ‘antics’ as she set about fitting her own crust into her pan, lightly dusting the cookware as Flora had her own. “We can save the cobbler for tomorrow, and maybe a cherry pie too.”

Juliette’s head snapped upright as she sucked in a sharp breath. “Ooh!” She exclaimed excitedly, “Strawberry.” She nodded her head. “Definitely strawberry pie, and a big old bowl of whipped cream to go with it.” A soft, “Mmmm” purred in Juliette’s throat as she licked her lips, almost tasting tomorrow’s dessert as the continued to work on today’s. “And some ribs, sweet and smokey ribs, slow cooked with a big bowl of fresh slaw with dill and some rosemary buttermilk biscuits and-”

She slowly turned towards her mother, a bashful expression mostly replacing the hungry one on her face. “And let’s get these pies done first, get these people fed.”

Flora tapped Juliette’s nose and smiled, “How silly of me, of course, let me get that ready.” She grabbed more eggs and started to separate the whites from the yolks. She beat the yolks until they were slightly thick. Grabbing a sauce pan, she added sugar, salt, and cornstarch and started the burner. “Sunflower, can you measure out the milk for me.” She stayed with the pan to keep it from burning. When Juliette brought her the milk she started to add it slowly, whisking it. When the mixture started to boil she let it go for about a minute and kept whisking. Taking some of the mixture, she added it to the bowl of yolks and once it was well incorporated she put it back into the saucepan. “Do you want to start on the meringue for me?”

Happy to help, Juliette flashed her Momma a smile and gave a nod before hurrying off to do as Flora sked. Leaning forward, she watched Flora whisk the ingredients together, equal parts eager to see the pie finished and enjoying the chance to watch her mother at work.

“Hmm?” She hummed as she looked up from the pan. “Oh, right. Yes Ma’am.” Juliette gave another smile before slipping around to Flora’s other side and set about mixing up the meringue, glancing over at Flora and the pan every once and awhile.

“Cover your ears.” She warned as she picked up the mixer, a callback to her younger days whenever the mixer was called into action when she’d help her Momma in the kitchen and she’d cover her own ears to block out the high-pitched whir.

When Juliette told her to cover her ears, she smiled wide and gave her a wink. Keeping her eyes on the pan and cooking the mix for another few minutes. When it was ready she removed it from the heat and added lemon zest, lemon juice, and butter. While she waited for the meringue to be finished, she set the pie crust to bake. “Now we wait for the pie crust to bake and then we can go from there.”

The timer went off for the pecan pie, so, Flora went over and took the foil off. Adding ten minutes to the timer, she would check it again and see if it needed more time.

The ladies spent the rest of the day cooking up a meal. There was enough food for themselves and for at least twenty people, “I think we did good, Suge.” Flora wrapped her arms around Juliette and leaned in to give her two quick kisses in succession.

Juliette wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist, her head resting on the elder fabray’s shoulder as Jules surveyed the results of their first day of cooking--her watering mouth told here there would be a second. Letting out a contented sigh, she tightened her hug, her head rocking against Flora’s shoulder as Juliette nodded in agreement. “Yes we did.”

With a last squeeze of her arms, Juliette pulled away. “Dibs on the chicken.”

[msdianagarvez]

I Give Good Phone

Smutty one-shot. Luke calls Penelope at just the wrong right time. Shameless smut because I wanted to. I will post it over at FF later on. But today I am posting a different one-shot over there of my interpretation of the next episode's promo.

I got stuck in another state because of weather and we lost power at my house. This month has been crazy, so I have completely ignored Tumblr. Apologies, but since I haven't made the time to bring my work from FF over here, I thought I'd post this one-shot here first. Tumblr exclusive (for now.)

SMUT NO PLOT just one last warning

It was the second call in a row. Penelope groaned and reached over, answering her phone. “Yeah, what?”  

He cringed at her curt tone. “Sorry. Am I interrupting something.”

“Yes. No. Just some much needed alone time. What do you want?” He was interrupting something - something incredibly important, something she'd been dying to do, something she needs to do and finally had the time and energy to take care of.

“Just wanted some help with… Nevermind, uh, I can just bring it in on Monday.”

“You already called, Alvez. Why don't you just...” She let the vibrator in her hand fall next to her bare thigh. The lace panties and lacy tank top she had on left her skin exposed to the cool air in her apartment. She closed her eyes. He just had to call and make this hard. Or make this easier, if she was honest, but unfortunately, she feared the intense moaning she'd be doing would give her away. “Just tell me what you need.”

“Remember, I told you I can't get my laptop and iPod to sync. When I went for my run this morning, honestly, I got sick of the same songs.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course I'd be happy to help. Just maybe, later tonight, or possibly tomorrow?”

“Sure. Doesn't have to be right now if you're busy.” It upset him that she was so angry. He thought she’d maybe be impassive.

Okay, she was getting off the phone. She was going to masturbate, at least twice, and then she could call him back later. Hell, maybe tomorrow. She might need the time. Hearing his voice, picturing him right now… Damn it! Why was Alvez so hot? How could someone so annoying be so beautiful? “Uh, what? Sorry. What did you…?” She felt the vibrations. Shit! When did she turn the damn thing on? She needed to get off the phone.

“I was just saying I can bring it over, just let me know when you're not busy.” She was zoned out. He knew she wasn't paying attention. They had a long weekend, and he sort of felt alone, and Garcia always made him laugh, even if that wasn't her intention.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, “Yeah, sure. That, uh, that works. Yeah. No problem. Let me just call you back, mmmkay?” She heard her own voice. It was a little too breathless.

“Garcia, are you okay?” He was concerned. Her behavior was weird. Her voice was ragged. “What are you… What are you doing?”

“Alvez, I'm about to hang up on you. Can't you just understand? I. Will. Call. You. Later.”

“Garcia, but, I'm just worried. You sound...” She sounded like she was out of breath, but it's not like she was out for a jog, herself. What the hell could have her out of- “Garcia, are you with somebody right now? Why would you answer the phone?” He was utterly disgusted that she would talk to him while she was with another man.

She growled. “No, Alvez, you ass. I'm not with anybody. I'm very much alone, except for your annoying self that won't take a hint. Now, can I call you back?” She turned off the vibrator and set it on the nightstand. She was going to need to reset her mind after this call. He might turn her on, but he also pissed her off. She was still touching herself though. She'd been so horny and had so little time.

She just took a relaxing bath, pulled her hair back into a chic ponytail and put on some clothes that made her feel sexy. She was getting this done. She ran her fingers over her clit and then dipped them into herself. She could feel how wet and ready she was. She almost forgot she wasn't really alone, until he spoke.

“Gar- Penelope, are you…?” He didn't want to assume. What if he was wrong? There was a part of him, the part that committed what her long legs looked like in short skirts to memory, the part that looked down her dress when she was bending over to dig in her desk drawer. That part of him really, really hoped she was doing exactly what he thought she was doing. “Are you- Tell me what you're doing.” His voice softened. He wasn't sure, but asking her was a good way to find out.

“Luke,” she said adamantly, “you don't want me to answer that.” Why did he have to make everything so difficult?

“Actually, Penelope, I really do.” He was damn sure not letting her off the hook now.

Penelope sat straight up and squinted at the air in front of her. She stayed quiet, hearing only silence in return. She checked her screen. She knew he was still there, but she needed to look anyway. She slowly laid back. She was certain in the moments it took her to sit up and lay down again that she had lost her damn mind. “I'm laying in my bed.” She couldn't believe she even said it. Well, it was innocent enough, right?

Luke took a deep breath. Fuck, this was happening. He really wished he was in his bed too. Actually, maybe hers. “Just laying there?”

She felt the flush run over her body. Yeah, any rational thought went out of her mind. He’s a coworker. You're going to need to see him daily. You're going to have to look him in the eye at work. This is Luke. All of that should've made her stop this in its tracks, but instead, it let the anticipation grow. “No, I'm not just laying here.”

She wanted this too. He could tell, but she wasn't sure of him yet. Well he had to make her sure. “You're laying in bed, in the middle of the afternoon, and you're doing something. Should I guess what it is?”

“You can try.”

“Do you want me to try?”

“Yes.”

That was it. That's what he needed. “I'll try, but only if you do something for me first. See it's harder to guess what you're doing if I can't picture what you look like. So tell me. Are you wearing one of your dresses or lounging around in sweats? Because I don't think it’s either.”

Her voice was low. “No, I haven't bothered to get dressed yet.” She bit her lip, waiting for his response.

“So you're in sleep clothes?”

“No, I just took a bath, and I didn't want to put on clothes, so I decided on underwear and a tank top since it's just me here.”

“So you're alone in bed, wearing panties and a tank top, you just got out of the bath so you probably smell like that coconut stuff you use, and you're busy. So I'm thinking that you're doing something that I could do better for you.”

“I don't know. I'm pretty good.” She was circling her clit with her fingers. She could feel the sensation building with every rotation.

“I have never doubted that you are, but tell me, Penelope, would you turn down my help if I was there right now?”

She felt a new wave of heat rush through her. The phone was to her ear. She didn't want to put it on speaker. It would ruin the moment, but she did want to touch her breasts. “Well I could use the extra hand right now.” She tore her fingers away from her core and snuck her hand under her tank top.

“I’d give you both. So where do you need me?”

“I thought you were good. Shouldn't you know?”

“Okay, if you don't tell me, then I'm just going to figure it out myself.” He couldn't hide the smile in his voice. This was amazing. This was quickly becoming his new favorite memory, his new best day. “Since you need a hand, I'd use mine to slide into your tank top. Knowing you, it's probably low cut enough to tease me so I'd have to tease you back. I’d let my fingers run over your chest, moving from one side to the other, pulling it down lower with each stroke. Since I'm not there though, can you do it for me?”

“Already am.” She was moving her free hand over one breast dipping down in the middle and then up to the swell of the other, using only her fingertips, pretending it was him teasing her skin.

“Good girl. So since I've got two hands, I could also feel your long legs. I could run my hand from your ankle, past your knee, and to the inside of your thigh, feeling the softness there and making you squirm from the sensation of my fingers on your sensitive skin. Just when I’d teased you enough, I could move up, running my fingers over the heat coming from you, before letting my fingers touch exactly where you want them. I’d feel how wet you already are because you are. I know you are, but I'm not there, so can you make your fingers wet for me?”

“Yes. I can feel how wet I am. I can hear it when I move my fingers in and out.”

He growled and brought the edge of his phone to his forehead, closing his eyes and taking a breath before responding, “See, here's my problem. I'd want to taste you. I'd want you all over my tongue. So can you taste yourself for me?”

Breathlessly she answered, “Yes.” She brought her fingers up to her mouth and did as he asked.

He heard the faint pop of her lips letting her fingers out. “Good, baby. I'm jealous. I wish I could taste you.”

“Me too. I'd rather it was you.” She let her fingers run down to her nipples again, grazing them through the fabric. Then she let her hand glide down her stomach, back to her panties.

He was trying not to completely lose his shit. He wasn’t exactly in the comfort of his home. That was going to be a problem, if he didn’t get a hand free soon. “Licking my fingers wouldn’t be enough. I'd want to taste it all. I'd move your underwear to the side. I’d bury my face in between your legs, and I'd let my tongue run over your clit, back and forth. Then I'd move down and dip my tongue inside of you. Can you feel me doing that? Can you imagine that for me?”

“Hmm mmm, yes.”

“Yes, who? Whose tongue is making you squirm? Whose hands are gripping your breasts? Whose? Who am I?”

“Luke. It's you, Luke.”

“Yeah, it is, Penelope. It's me. You want it to be me, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wish I was there right now?”

“Yes.”

“Penelope, you're getting closer. I can feel it, but don't let it go yet. Do you understand? I'm not done with you yet.”

“I understand.”

He made a decision, and he needed to make sure she understood. “Good. I need to you to know something. This isn't the first time I've thought about this. Have you thought about me before?”

“Yes.”

“Good. What did you imagine I did? We did?”

“Everything.”

“You'd let me do anything to you? Anything I wanted?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why me?”

“Because you're Luke Alvez, and you've only been in my fantasies so, if I had you alone, I'd let you do whatever you want because I want you to have what you want.”

“So if I wanted to sink into you right now, if I wanted to pound into you and make you call my name right before I come inside of you, you'd let me?”

“Yes.”

“Penelope, how much do you want me?”

“More than anything.”

“Anything? So you want me more than your fingers or vibrator? More than another man? You want me?”

“Yes.”

“No, Penelope, listen to the question. If I was really there right now, you wouldn't hesitate?”

“No.”

“Dip your fingers back into yourself, spread your wetness all over your clit, and then rub it slowly, teasing yourself. Are you doing it?”

“Yes.”

“Now, bring that hand up to your cleavage and leave a trail of yourself right down the middle.”

“But Luke-”

“Do it. I didn't say you could come yet.”

She faintly heard a door opening. Part of her brain said she should figure it out, but the rest of her had no intention of ever moving again. She was completely shocked and yet not surprised at all when she saw Luke throw his shirt to the ground as he stalked towards her. He unzipped his pants as he swiftly mounted the bed. He pulled her legs wide as he pushed her panties to the side and entered her with force. Without a moment even passing, he pulled her tank top down forcefully, some of the lace ripping as it was stretched, letting her breasts fall out to his gaze. “Now you can come.”

She felt her body raise off the bed, her head thrown back, as the intensity of the orgasm ripped through her. She moaned loudly, and she could hear his name fall off of her lips. Her eyes might be closed. She might have forgotten her own name. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was when she started to refocus, she could see his eyes darting from her face to her chest.

His eyes narrowed, as he stared at her breasts while he pulsed into her harshly, making her whole body move. He never ceased his movement as he moved both hands up to tease her nipples. “Good, you did what I asked.” He could feel the remnant of moisture on her chest. “Look at me, Penelope.” He scanned back and forth between both of her eyes.

She felt him searching for something, something he must’ve found, because he growled and leaned over her, taking one nipple in his mouth and hearing a loud moan as her hands flew to his hair, gripping the curls. She wasn’t sure she was comprehending what was happening. He was there. Luke was there, in her house, in her bed, in her. She could feel another orgasm building. She knew he could easily make her come again. She'd never felt more turned on in her life, and in the two minutes he's been inside her, she could already tell how talented he was.

He roughly brought a hand to lay half on her neck and half on her shoulder in a sign of dominance. The other was on the bed for support as he thrusted harder and faster. He was lust-filled and so drunk on her. She felt the sense of power she always wanted over him as he controlled her.

She could feel it building. She could feel it coming, and she brought one hand to dig her nails into his chest and the other to fist the sheet. She screamed his name again. Any shame or doubt was already miniscule, but now it was obliterated. She’d never felt more wanted or felt more need in her life. As she came, he growled and then let out his own strangled moan. She felt him coming inside of her. She felt the warmth it created. She breathed harshly. She could feel him inside of her, on top of her, surrounding her. She could feel him everywhere that no one else had ever been.

Their eyes connected, their chests rising and falling. She could see the unrestrained lust in his eyes. It didn't die out, even after the reality set in. He pulled out of her slowly, both of them lamenting the loss. He flopped down next to her. After a few moments, they instinctively turned towards each other. Both of them studied the other’s face for regret, insincerity, or something indicating either of them didn't mean to do what they had just done, and neither of them found it. Both realized that they wanted this even before this happenstance of a situation where he called her at just the right moment.

His eyes fell from hers to her lips and back. “Whatever I want right?”

Her eyes widen and then darken, “Yes. Whatever you want.”

“Good girl.” He put his hand on her hip. “Because right now I want to kiss you. Later you’re going to call the team to go out for drinks. While we’re at the bar, I’m going to fuck you in the bathroom. They're going to know exactly what we did, and, when they ask, you're going to let them know you're mine now. When we get home, I'm going to come in you as many times as I want. But until then, I'm going to come on your chest, and you're going to sit on my face, and then I'm going to bend you over every surface in this house. Understood?”

“Understood.” She nodded seriously. “Just one question. Did I forget to lock my door?”

“I grew up in the city, Penelope. I can pick a lock.”

She nodded, understanding his answer and his previous request.

“Good, let's get started.”

[shirlleycoyle]

The Hieroglyphics That Appears When No Other Font Is Available

The thing they always say about good typography is that it often blends into whatever setting you’re using so it gets out of the way and you barely even notice it.

If that’s the case, the font LastResort may be the greatest font of all time. (For fans of Papa Roach, I’m sorry to say it has nothing to do with the turn-of-the-century nu-metal classic.)

If you’re a Mac user in particular, it’s a piece of typography that only occasionally shows up in technical settings, and when it does, it doesn’t scream at you, in part because most of the time it only shows a single character—the type of character that is missing from the font you’re trying to use. If you’re in a country with a language based on Latin script, it’s generally this one:

But LastResort is a more interesting font than it seems. It’s essentially the typography form of hieroglyphics, showing unusual characters intended for people building fonts to have some sort of error system that helps them figure out what might be missing from their typeface.

LastResort is not an easy font to dig up. It does not appear in the Mac’s emoji interface. When I downloaded the typeface from the Unicode Consortium to analyze it, I found that it didn’t display in MacOS’ default Font Book app. (If you want to see it there, download a font that doesn’t have any lowercase characters.) Downloading a third-party app got me a bit closer to seeing it, but even then, it only showed me a single character.

The truth is, there are a lot of characters there, but you don’t see them because they are only designed to signify a certain type of character. Most users don’t see these because they largely stick to one language.

But Apple, reflecting its focus on accessibility, has to account for everyone. For example, if you go into your Mac’s /System/Library/Fonts folder, you might be surprised at the sheer level of interesting fonts in there that you probably never use, one of which is LastResort. Buried inside my Mojave-based system, the first font that shows up is “Apple Braille Outline 6 Dot.ttf,” a font that, unlike LastResort, is easy to uncover in Font Book. Numerous other languages appear as well. Most of these fonts are not intended for you; they’re intended for whatever tiny edge case that a multilingual operating system must account for.

(But be careful in that folder: As a 2005 MacWorld article notes, if you remove one of a handful of fonts from the system, it won’t boot.)

LastResort is the edge case that appears when all the other edge cases have been exhausted. First developed in 1998 for MacOS 8.6, the font was initially a part of the Apple Type Services for Unicode Imaging (ATSUI) stack, and was intended to offer an internal fallback for typography that appears within the operating system.

As an Apple website from the era explains of its use case:

These glyphs are used as the backup of "last resort" to any other font; if the font cannot represent any particular Unicode character, the appropriate "missing" glyph from the Last Resort font is used instead. This provides users with the ability to tell what sort of character it is, and gives them a clue as to what type of font they would need to display the characters correctly. 

(Compare it to how, if you don’t have a certain font that a website needs, it will use an inferior backup like Times New Roman instead.)

Reflecting its age and dating it, the edges of LastResort’s blocked outlined characters, even to this day, feature numbers and descriptive characters displayed in the font Chicago, an iconic part of the Mac’s distinctive look and feel for many years, but a font that was retired in most Apple products by the late 1990s (with a notable exception being the early versions of the iPod).

LastResort, though with a front-facing use case, is largely intended for developers, as it lets them know characters that might be missing in their Unicode-compliant typefaces. But even though that’s the use case, there is some generally weird stuff in there, including a Saturn-shaped planet, an alien, and a ghost, along with references to private and undefined characters.

Even the characters that were intentionally meant to be useful are fascinating—Aztec pictographs make an appearance, as do literal Egyptian and Mayan hieroglyphs, as well as the Easter Island rongorongo glyph system. If it’s a type of character, it’s probably represented in this list.

But while the ATSUI stack didn’t last in MacOS, being replaced more than a decade ago by Apple’s current Core Text technology, LastResort is still there—and is in fact (fittingly) the basis of a Unicode standard that is maintained by typographer and linguist Michael Everson.

If you go to the Unicode website, in fact, you can find characters sorted by the LastResort codes.

If you want to dig through the LastResort characters yourself, the user altmind on Github has high-resolution renderings of the glyphs worth checking out. There’s some pretty wild stuff in there.

The Hieroglyphics That Appears When No Other Font Is Available syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[sol1056]

Do you have any advice on how to write compotent "evil" empire that's existed for about, 30 years or so?

I gots all sorts of historical references for that, but the first question is really: evil, by whose measure?

The thing to remember about empires is that they exist because someone benefits. This does not have to be a direct, material, thing; sometimes people benefit by a kind of nationalism, like Brits who used to boast that the sun never set on the British Empire. But generally speaking, in every empire, there is a core constituency who benefits, who are grated status, opportunities, wealth (or wealth potential), that they’d lose if the empire fell. 

The second is that empires span the entire gamut of political systems. There are totalitarian empires, like the PRC (China), or socialist empires, like the UK, and democratic empires, like the US. Even within the political system, there are nuances. America, for instance, has really devolved into a plutocracy (political agendas prioritize the wealthiest citizens), and since the 80s, we’ve seen a huge push of it becoming a corporatocracy (where corporations power and set the political agenda). 

The third is that empire by definition means colonialism, in some measure. It is not enough to simply have your own country; an empire requires subjugating a separate entity for material, political, or cultural, capital. That kind of subjugation is expensive, people-consuming, and resource-consuming, so it takes time for a new country (or remade country) to ramp up into having its own ducks in good enough rows to start tackling foreign properties.

That said, there are two examples that spring to mind, and one is far back in history, while the other is pretty recent. The first would be the Dutch East Indies Company (aka the VOC), and the other would be Apple. 

the dutch east indies company

Back around, oh, the late 1500s or thereabouts (what we call the ‘early modern’ in academia), the Dutch fought for their independence from Spain, I think it was. Not long after, someone had the bright idea to get into the spice business, and the new government created the VOC. Note that being govt-sponsored meant access to, and command over, Dutch troops, so we’re talking a corporation with a military branch. The VOC set out first to trade, then realized a monopoly would be so much more lucrative, and within maybe thirty years had simply taken over chunks of Southeast Asia, radically shifting that region’s economy into cash crops for the sole purpose of selling it all in the markets of Europe for vast, incomprehensible profits. 

It’s worth reading about the first Dutch expedition, led by Cornelis de Houtman, who was possibly the last person anyone should’ve put in charge of anything remotely diplomatic. Honestly, VOC history is the ultimate bull in a global china shop. (You may be pleased to hear that on his next expedition, de Houtman ran afoul of Aceh and was taken out by a female admiral, Keumalahayati, who understandably thought the Dutch were asshats and beat them soundly every time they showed their faces in the straits of Melakka.)

Now, that linked wiki article says the entire fiasco barely broke even, but I’ve also read academic studies that indicate this isn’t entirely accurate. More like, between the inflation back in Europe (thanks, nonstop warfare), and the lure of fantastical spices, the relatively small haul still turned enough of a profit to pay for that expedition and a good chunk of the next one. And so, the Dutch empire was born, lasting for several hundred years. (Even after the VOC shut down, the Dutch retained their colonies up through WWII.)

apple, or, any modern corporate empire

Now, as a modern empire of a different sort, we’ve got Apple (and Google, or IBM, or Facebook, or Amazon, there’s a lot of ones that fit). Apple has its core company (the home country), and realizes there’s profit to be made if they can control this other, external, piece. Competition to the iPod? Buy the company that builds that thing, and put them out of business, just like capturing foreign territory and slaughtering the natives. Someone comes up with a technology that dovetails neatly with Apple’s own products? Buy the company (or even just the stakeholders, if you’re dodging IRS/monopoly laws), so now you can control both the main product and the peripheral, just like making sure you own/control the colony that produces the resource you want. 

Profits are higher if you reduce cost, which means outsourcing to, and control of, the companies producing the parts (this is also called a vertical monopoly or supply-chain monopoly, if you want to look it up). There are entire factories in China, India, etc, where Apple sets the hiring, oversees the management, does inspections on facilities, and so on. Only on paper can you argue these factories are independent from Apple’s control; in reality, they’re utterly hogtied and answerable to the corporation. Apple is effectively sole owner and sole consumer of a colonial resource, same way the VOC took over the Banda Islands and said, “this is what you’re growing now, and if you sell to anyone but us, and you will suffer for it.”  

empires are always a mixed bag

Remember what I said about someone always profits. No empire is fully evil to everyone under its umbrella, ‘cause it wouldn’t last very long. Even empires that are partly-evil (or offload their evil onto foreign colonies) will have some kind of arrangements, somewhere, in those colonies so that someone benefits there, too.

In the modern corporation, it’s that Apple can promise purchasing X number of goods, which means Y number of jobs, often in a rural area where there’s literally nothing else. Sure, it’s a horrible job and dangerous (even abusive) working environment where the company controls literally everything, but hey, it’s a job, so it’s better than the alternative, which is no job at all.

Or in the VOC, it was often firearms, and various trinkets the locals couldn’t get, that now they had access to bc of Dutch ships pulling into port. The Dutch figure out which chief is struggling, and they say, “hey, we’ll give you weapons to defeat that guy, but in return you have to give us all these croplands, or change what you grow to this one spice we want,” and the chief would say, hmm, okay, deal!

But inevitably the locals end up in debt to the VOC for those firearms or technology, and the VOC says, sorry, you couldn’t pay, we’re taking over. (This is also pretty much the basic process by which the Brits took over India, btw. Piece by piece, ‘helping’ one local chief/lord, then sweeping in and claiming it all, after the dust settled.)

Or in military empires, like Japan in Taiwan, in the 30s and 40s. Yes, the invasion had its brutal sides, especially against the Taiwanese indigenous peoples. But Japan also modernized Taiwan at a rapid pace: laying down roads, setting up a postal system, building schools. There were collaborators (Taiwanese who worked with the Japanese) because they looked around and said, well, so some stuff is bad, but now I have access to things I couldn’t get before, that make my own life better, so I’m okay with it, overall. 

a semi-new empire focuses on profit, and benefits

If you’re going to write a somewhat new empire, remember that in its early years, it’s going to be expanding, possibly at a ferocious pace. But it will always pivot on benefits – for the core/home group, and for just enough people in well-placed positions in the colonized groups – that the dominant perception might be some vague awareness of ‘well, okay, so some things could be done a little better, but overall, my life is much improved, now!’ And those voices will be enough to drown out, or force into silence, anyone who disagrees. 

And the other is that empire is always ruled by profit. Either (in the case of the VOC and Apple), because controlling a foreign entity means getting shit really cheaply, to keep costs low and profits high. Or (in the case of America’s current cultural empire) the ability to sell shit to other countries at high prices because they want anything that has that ‘america’ stamp on it, whether that’s movies, fashion, or attention from nonprofits. 

I’m not sure if that’s giving you enough to work with, but if not, let me know what I missed and I’ll dig into that, too. :) 

[alcordraws]

Please Don’t Stop the Music

It’s a sickfic <3 Something I told @lowat-golden-tower I was gonna write ages ago

Bop is sure that between the bright, sticky rays of sunlight piercing through his blinds and into his eyes and Bing barging into his room, wild-eyed and panicked, door slamming shut behind him loud enough to wake the rest of the building, he should feel more awake than he does. The world is blurred around the edges though that might be due to his lack of contacts, and the light’s making his head throb, just slightly off-beat from his heart. Bop groans and Bing, who’d been pacing and rambling a mile a minute (a whole conversation that Bop had missed), stops, body going unnaturally still. He’s vaguely reminded that Bing isn’t human.

“Nah, bro, not you too”, he moans, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Wha-?” Bop croaks.

He blinks sleepily, scrunching his nose as a harsh sneeze ripples through his frame. Bing buries his face in his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. When he looks up, Bop’s face is still flushed, his dark hair falling limply into his tired face, the dark circles under his eyes the only spots of color on his unnaturally pale face besides the spots of red high on his cheeks. A sharp exhale leaves him mouth.

“Mark, uh, got back from a con last night”, says Bing, “and apparently he caught something.”

Bop’s mind is slow to process the information, but Bing lets him come to his own conclusion.

Oh.  

Mark is sick. His illnesses tend to, on occasion, affect his egos. Bop makes the connection as he sneezes once more into his elbow.

“How many?” Bop asks, voice thick.

Bing runs his hand through hair again, lips pursing.

“That’s the thing, there’s three sick. Three! No surprise that Trimmer got sick, everyone saw that coming, but you? And get this bro-”

Here, Bing stops his anxious pacing and plops onto the bed next to Bop and shuffles closer. His voice in conspiratorial when he speaks, oddly quiet but with unrestrained bewilderment.

“Dark got sick too.” Bing’s eyebrows have risen to meet his hairline and his glasses slip down his nose to reveal his confused golden eyes. The news is bizarre enough to pierce through the fog in Bop’s mind.

It’s… Bop hasn’t been around long enough to know when had been the last time Dark had gotten sick, but he figures it can’t have been recent. He doesn’t get much time to ponder it longer because his door’s swinging open again and Dr. Iplier’s striding inside, a surgical mask placed firmly over his mouth and nose. His eyes latch onto Bop (curled up in a cocoon of blankets, trembling, and looking terribly disheveled). Dr. Iplier supposed he could attribute the last one the early hour, but he can't ignore the rest of the symptoms.

He turns a sharp eye on Bing, narrowing his eyes and inspecting him like a child might a green on their plate.

“How’d I know you’d be here? No matter, get out”, he says, shooing Bing away with his hands. Bing scoffs in indignation.

“What? No!”

Dr. Iplier sighs, rubbing at his throbbing temples.  

“He’s got something contagious, leave before you’re infected too.”

It’s obvious Dr. Iplier is running thin on patience, but Bing doesn’t want to leave his friend and pushes his luck.

“Doc, it’s fine, I’m a ‘droid. You let ‘ol Oliver stay with Trimmer!” Bing says, determined to stay. Dr. Iplier isn’t having it.

Dr. Iplier slips into the room, giving Bop a wide berth and grabbing Bing by his bicep in a surprisingly strong grip. Bing is dragged, unceremoniously, out of Bops room, his protests ignored.

“You aren’t a complete model and your virus protection isn’t fully implemented. You run just as much risk of being infected as any of the rest of us.” His tone softens, just a bit. “I don’t think Bop would appreciate you getting sick as well.”

Bing deflates, mouth pulling into a frown and though Dr. Iplier can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, he’s sure they’re fixed on Bops door.

“He’ll be fine, I promise”, Dr. Iplier assures him, tone gentle in a way reserved for Bim or the Host.

Bing nods, just slightly despondent, and shuffles away, shooting occasional glances over his shoulder until he disappears from sight. Dr. Iplier exhales, just slightly, his shoulders drooping. He turns back to Bop’s room and slowly makes his way in. Bop’s gone back to hiding under the covers, dark strands of greasy hair peeking out from beneath the dark blue blanket. He sighs again, knows he’s been doing that quite a bit and knows he’s going to be doing it for a while more. It’s not the Host on a bad day, at least.

…

Moving Bop to the new room for monitoring is not as big an ordeal as he’d feared, even with Bop so out of it. Google offers his assestace (though Dr. Iplier supposes it’s more per request of the Host and Dark than an actual need to help). They settle him into a bed in what is usually Blue's room, a sleek and minimalist space with pale blue walls and a shelf of books that Dr. Iplier knows are a mix of fantasy and whatever copies of the Host's works that Blue likes the most.

Next to it was a small, comfortable looking couch, a deep maroon that clashes slightly with the walls. Two beds had been moved in, one neat and freshly made, the other occupied by Dark, his aura squirming like a malicious shadow around him. He doesn't look at them when they enter, eyes glued to the book in his hands. He's down to a loose white shirt and though he appears unkempt (hair unruly, clothing rumpled) one could almost call it purposeful if not for the strained lines around his eyes.

Dark was not one to be accustomed to sickness.

They settle Bop into the other bed and he falls immediately into a fitful doze, curling up tight around his pillow. Once that’s done Blue leaves, and Dr. Iplier knows better than to expect him to return. He’d said he’d stay with the Host until Dark and Bop got better and then retake his room. Bim, whose symptoms Dr. Iplier found to be more severe, is in the next room over under Oliver’s watchful eyes. He hadn’t been sure about leaving Bop with Dark, but it’s not like Bop can do anything that would be of use to Dark, who, after all, is weakened by illness. Dr. Iplier doesn’t want to leave them, doesn’t feel right leaving someone as vulnerable as Bop alone with Dark, but he has little choice. The Googles are the only ones who’d be able to help keep an eye on them without succumbing to illness and only Oliver’s offered his services. He can’t force Orville, Oxnard, or Blue to help if they don’t want to, not without making them hate him.

He has to go, it’s nearly time for his appointment with the Host to change his bandage. He shoots Dark and Bop one more hesitant glance and slips out of the room, his white coat swishing silently behind him.

…

Dark isn't particularly thrilled to be roomed with Bing’s noisy friend, but he can tolerate it if he's quiet. He’d been hoping to room with Bim; there with things he wanted to try that, even with his weakened powers, could have garnered some interesting results. But of course, Bim is a bit of gamble with how unstable he is so Dark supposes he can wait until he’s returned to full strength.

Night had come oddly quick in between bouts of fitful dozes and hazy attempts to read. Bop had been silent the entire time, alternating between listening to music Bing had brought him (on a small ipod with earphones and not his obnoxious, outdated boom box, thankfully). Bop didn’t speak, barely spared him a glance and fell asleep early with his back turned to him. None of this bothered Dark of course, Bop meant nothing to him.

If anything, it was amusing.

He glances down at the book in his lap, a rather thick volume about the poor of France. The words blur in the darkness of the night, only the pale rays of the moon to illuminate the tiny words. Dark rubs his eyes and sets the book down. He settles against his pillows, suppressing a cough and grabbing a tissue to clear his running nose. Hatred burns in his veins for Mark’s awful immune system. It's one of those rare times where he actually wants to sleep and he can’t. Dark shoot a look to where Bop shivers from under his blankets in an uneasy sleep, and for one possibly insane moment, he envies him.

Dark is quick to shake it off, scoffing. Envious of a useless ego, as if.

But he’s bored and curious and reading has lost its charm. His shadows are hissing around him, little whispers that implore him for release, for something to taint, if just a little. Dark’s current project isn’t around for him to fiddle with, unfortunately… but. His eyes land on Bop again, now intrigued. Dark is no scientist, but the effect of his powers on others had alway been an interesting subject, the way they corrupted and consumed and warped those they touched nearly beyond recognition.

He has a single tendril slither away, little more than a drop of his power and hardly enough to register to anyone with the exception of the Host. And perhaps Yandere.

The tendril caresses him, hardly more than a trickle on Bop’s sweaty forehead. He snuffles, but otherwise doesn’t react. Dark glances at the clock on the wall, the hands reading 2:45. He keeps his expression neutral, but his dark eyes gleam with excitement. His has all night to experiment.

…

There’s a soft melody echoing in his ear, a solid high tune ringing behind it and a growing ache in his chest. He scrabbles at the side of his head, looking for earbuds to pull out and finds nothing, the melody quieting and the high tune rising. The ache in his chest deepens and he clutches helplessly at it, trying to rub the pain away.

He whimpers and the melody turns mocking, an echo laughing at his patheticness and the high tune stabs into his head, a spear of sharpsharp noise that drives itself in with a vengeance. The ache turns into the feeling of a knife plunging into his core and then being ripped out and jabbed back in. He opens his mouth to scream but no noise comes out and he writhes in his tangle of sheets, clawing furiously at his bare chest anything to stop the agony growing in his chest. He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood and the melody heightens, more scream than music now.

He can pick up a voice, smooth and deep, familiar in a way he can’t understand. It’s mocking him too, laughing at how powerless he is. The voice is singing, siren-sweet and so very terrible. It fills the air around him, a physical mass that chokes his lungs and invades from his mouth and nose and scratches at his skin like sandpaper. There’s tears streaming from his eyes but he can’t cry out and the voice keeps singing and laughing and it won’t stop and he can’t breathe he’s gasping but nothing comes, the noise is screeching in his ears like a train whistle-

Something in him snaps and the sound is gone. The voice disappears but the crashing waves of pain remain and he can’t hear anything why can’t he hear anything?

He want’s this to stop. He wants to be left alone. He dredges up the remnants of his strength, searches for the timbre of that awful and beautiful voice and screams.

“STOP”, he roars, voice raw and deep, deeper than he’s ever gone, an echoing reverb that does not belong to him whirling around him.

And the darkness stops.

…

Everything seems to stop.

Dark stares, wide-eyed, at the trembling, sobbing child of an ego, nothing compared to his ancient roots. He’d mimicked his voice to a tee, not just the empty husk of sound, but the power of it, the power to stop his shadows and.

He cocks his head. Bop had imitated his voice and his power.

He’s… curious, to say the least. Dark thinks of the Host, with the power to manipulate and warp and predict and Bim whose power mirrors Wilford’s in far more unpredictable ways. A sound manipulator who can mimic the power of his voice? Dark wonders if perhaps he could mimic the power of others as well.

But. Bop’s never done this before. Dark narrows his eyes and stifles a cough into his fist, thoughts awhirl. His aura swims around him, dark and foreboding. It’s possible that the stress of Dark’s powers had brought forth an ability Bop hadn’t even been aware he had, he was a new ego and quite a few of them had interesting reactions to his aura. His thoughts flicker briefly to Yan, the way he seemed to draw his aura in rather than shrink away.

In the other bed, Bop squirms, hands clasped tightly over his ears and murmuring and wheezing, interspersed with harsh coughing into his blankets. Dark wonders how long it’ll take for Dr. Iplier to come check on him.

He’d only used a little over a fraction of his power, too weakened by his obnoxious illness use more and highly doubting he’d be able to handle much more of it. Dark’s need to experiment’s been piqued though so he sends another tendril infused with his aura, pokes Bops bare chest with it (red and covered in scratches from his own blunt nails). The younger ego hisses.

“Stop”, he says again, but even though it’s still in Dark’s voice (and it manages to make his shadows flinch), it’s little more than a rasp.

Dark hums and is unable to stop another coughing fit from rattling in his lungs. He decides to pursue this at a later time when his strength is recovered and he can examine the results better. He pulls up his covers and settles in for the night.

…

Bop doesn’t look any better the next morning. Dr. Iplier eyes him critically and resists shooting Dark an accusatory look. Dark’s almost completely healed, down to little more than sniffles and the occasional sneeze. His fever’s gone and Dr. Iplier has deemed him fine to go as long as he takes it easy. Even Bim, whose illness tended to last  as long as Mark’s, had improved overnight. Bop’s fever burns on and he doesn’t respond to any of his prodding, verbal or physical.

And Bing refuses to leave him alone.

He’d been furious when he found out Bop had been put in the same room as Dark, had insisted he be moved out and had come to visit as often as possible to keep an eye on things. He had also declared that Dark was the reason Bop hadn’t been able to get better. Dr. Iplier has his theories (tries not the think of the Host), but tries to convince Bing that Dark likely had nothing to do with it. He isn’t so sure when he sees the scratch marks all over Bop’s chest, he small clumps of hair that he’d pulled from his head. He doesn’t tell Bing about those.

He feels his heart stutter just slightly when he finds traces of blood in Bop’s ears.

“Did you see it?” comes a voice from the doorway and Dr. Iplier nearly jumps into the air in fright.

He turns away from his patient to find the Host in the doorway (bandages soaked and cheeks heavily streaked with crimson), mouth set in a thin, grim line. Dr. Iplier thinks back to the vague vision he’d had about Bop and music, looks to the Host’s face and to the numbers stretching infinitely above Bop’s head. News Jim hadn’t said anything about anyone dying, but Dr. Iplier knows that’s not the worst thing that could happen to an ego.

“I saw… something”, he says, Bop’s dull eyes flicking in his head.

The Host shuffles in, taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket and rubbing away the blood on his face, only to have more replace it. He crinkles his nose at it and replaces the handkerchief back into his coat pocket.

“I don’t have very long, my vision came to me last night and I can feel Dark’s aura seeking me out.”

“Was… was it bad?” Dr. Iplier asks, wincing at the flat look the Host gives him, blood dripping onto the collar of his shirt.

“You must warn him. Once Dark sets his sights on someone”, he quiets.

Dr. Iplier is sure he’s this close to slipping into third person.

“He is relentless”, Dr. Iplier finishes, eyes darting to Bop’s prone form.

The Host nods. One hand comes up to rub at his temple and Dr. Iplier offers to change his bandage again. The Host smiles, thin-lipped, but accepts. He leaves with fresh new bandages and an impending sense of dread.

Dr. Iplier runs a hand down his face, exhaustion dripping from his skin.

…

Consciousness comes to him molasses slow. He blinks his eyes open, groans at the sting of sleep that clings to them. His chest burns with a low fire that scorches at his lungs and his throat feels too thick. There’s a slight buzz in his ears and there’s a melody in his head that’s too faint for him to catch and it fades as he rubs the drowsiness from his eyes.

Bop frowns at the sheets clinging to his skin with sweat and pushes them off, ignoring the chill that raises goosebumps on his arms. Deja vu washes over him when Bing slams the door open (and he realizes now that this is not his room) and starts pacing, hands tangling in his hair.

“Bing? I, uh, where am I?” Bop asks, looking around the unfamiliar room trying to grasp who’s it is from the pale blue walls. He has a very vague memory of being moved, but too out of it to really remember much.

Bing hesitates, pausing at the foot of the bed and not looking him in the eye. Possibly. It’s hard to tell with the sunglasses.

“Um, Doc had to move you to Blue’s room with Dark while you recovered. Of course antique with legs recovered first.”

His voice holds a sort of venom when he says Dark’s name and Bop shudders at the thought of being in the same room as him. Distantly he remembers deep red eyes glancing at him from the other bed, not particularly interested. Being in Blue’s room bothers him a little less, though it does make him eye the walls suspiciously.

“Are you alright, dude? You seem kinda quiet”, Bing says, his own voice unusually soft.

“Just tired”, Bop responds, swallowing to soothe the roughness in his throat.

Bing pours water into the glass on his bedside table from a pitcher Bop hadn’t seen. He’s warned to drink it slow and can’t help the sigh of relief when the cool liquid runs down his achy throat.

“I’ll leave, then, just came to give you your spare ipod”, Bing mutters, handing over the small device from his clenched fist.

Bop smiles at him, small but thankful and his fingers linger against  Bop’s hand as he takes the ipod from his palm. Bing pauses in the doorway, his mouth set in a thin line.

“Get better bro”, he says before leaving, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Bop slumps back into the bed, replacing his old ipod with the new one. The first song is a peppy one with a repetitive chorus about finding happiness within one’s self. It’s catchy and bright and it makes bop feel better. It fades, for just a second, to be replaced by a faint buzz, and comes back before he can really register it. Bop takes out one earbud and then the other, puzzled. They both look fine and he slips them back into his ears. The song goes on uninterrupted.

The next song is not quite as happy. The singer's voice is cold, a careless caress against his skin. She sings about love like she’s mocking it, warbles about cold eyes and distant smiles and while her voice is beautiful, Bop isn’t in the mood for it. He skips the song. It’s another fast one, energetic with a hint of violin, a sharp voice calling for revolution. Bop taps his fingers to the beat, humming along with the tune of the man’s whip-quick voice. He forgets about the static of the first song, too engrossed in the music filling the silence.

It returns on the tenth song.

It’s slow and calm, the singer’s delicate voice belting out a plea to be left alone by the darkness following her. It’s a jarring contrast, the melody flowing along like clear stream while the singer cries in almost agony to stop, stop leave her be and it stirs something in him, a faint memory or a what felt like a white hot metal stabbing into his ears and chest. Bop wants to change the song, but something keeps him from doing so, his thumb frozen on the skip button. And then her voice fades, static filling his ears, a deep sense of wrongness filling in his chest, something that feels like drowning. There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t clear and no he can’t breath what’s going on he thought it was a dream

The song ends.

Bop tears the earbuds away, nearly throws the ipod against the wall in an effort to get away from it. His breath comes in short and shallow, and there’s an after echo that won’t go away. He barely notices the tears tracking on his cheeks, too busy trying to control the coughing fit that hits him hard and heavy. He reaches a hand up to rub his ears and his eyes widen when they come away wet. His fingers glisten red.

“Oh”, he says. He can’t hear his voice.

…

“What did you see.”

The Host doesn’t turn away from the window, though the voice from behind (rough from recent illness) calls him to. It’s sunny outside, a contrast to the cool shadows of his library and he soaks in the warmth.

“He’ll suffer.”

He rubs more blood away from his face, relieved when it isn’t immediately replaced by more. He’d been having a lot more Bad visions recently and it was hard to keep everything from being stained. There’s a hum of acknowledgement.

“But… he would make a handy addition”, he says after a stretch of silence.

Dark’s hand lands soft and familiar on the nape of his neck, he breath cold against his ear. His shadows whisper around him, snickering little wisps that curl around his wrists like physical manacles. He imagines what Dark might take from Bop, his eyes aching with a phantom pain.

Something like pity pangs in his chest.

[theworstbob]

the thing journal, 4.2.2017

scattered thoughts on the things i took in over the last seven days. this week: matt pryor, boyhood, julien baker, literally show me a healthy person, drake i guess, the goldfinch, the discovery, dave chappelle

1) Memento Mori, by Matt Pryor: i mean yeah, it's an album of acoustic folk songs? so i don't. i'm sure there's a lot that can be said about this album? but i'm so not the person to say those things, i could listen to this album again and again and try my best, but i can't be that person. this is no one's fault but my own, i'm not gonna be like "nyeh, this album sucks" because this happens to be something i don't typically dig, because i'm just not the kind of person that listens to folk. (don't you listen to country?) yeah but in country everyone's drunk and heartbroken, this is, i dunno, adult? yeah too adult for me, and i'm comfortable admitting that. (aren't you 27?) listen.

2) Boyhood, dir. Richard Linklater: So it IS possible to be absolutely dazzled by MOVIE-MAKING MAGIC yet be left kind of cold by the finished product. The story of how this film was made is cool, and you can feel the love and passion for this project oozing from the seams, but this is also a film about how a young boy grew up to become a college student with bad facial hair?, and there's a limit to how engaging I find those types of stories. So it's tough, because this is a film completely unlike anything else before it and an absolute treat to watch and think about (gosh, the pains one must have to go through to shoot a film over 14 years and make the finished product look cohesive!), but also a story I could get literally anywhere else. I thought the overall product was fantastic, but enough other people have been waving their flags hard enough and long enough that I'm okay not adding my own to it.

3) Sprained Ankle, by Julien Baker: This week, Bob! attempts to digest three quiet indie things despite not being all that into quiet indie things! For what it's worth, I know I have to give this a more attentive listen, this sort of music would pair better with list-making than it did with Mario Kart 7. I won a race where I had fewer Mario Kart points than all but one other dude in the field. I won the race with a last-turn pass and only by half a second maybe, and once I saw I took 1st, I shouted at my Nintendo 2DS, "REMEMBER THE FUCKING NAME," while alone in my apartment. The Mario Kart 7 headspace is not condusive to an album in which a young woman sings songs about death. I will say: even spending the first listen shouting at Mario Kart 7, I could still tell there was tremendous depth to be plumbed, so at least this thing was able to permeate the mania. Every now and then I'd hear a lyric ("I'm screaming at myself in public/I know I shouldn't act this way in public") and think "oh fuck, that's me, I need more time with this."

4) literally show me a healthy person, by Darcie Wilder: I don't know that any one thing has had a greater influence on my writing, if not my outlook on life, over the last year or so than the 333333333433333 Twitter account. Darcie Wilder is an absolute master of that form. I deleted my Twitter because the website is exhausting and I couldn't handle it (also real talk I'm just a fucking dude in Minneapolis, why do I need to worry about my brand), but hers is one of select few accounts I still visit on a regular basis because the Posts are just that Good, and her voice is perfectly represented in this book. Lesser writers would have published a compendium of tweets. Wilder presents something between a monologue and a short story collection, a recap of the day's thoughts, her mind bouncing from fun thoughts about rats to THIS IS SOMETHING I DID WHICH I DEEPLY REGRET like a mind actually does. It's dope as hell. It's the best thing I've ever read that I was able to knock out in three and a half bus rides. (Also, there's a passage in this book that is just a two-word sentence, "bob died," and it is my favorite instance of my name appearing in a work of art since Undertale.)

5) More Life, by Drake: I took an Intro to Film course at community college, because I like film AND I liked taking classes to help fill the art credit requirement! I took this class in 2008, so naturally, people were abuzz about some of the classics that had been released late in 2007, like There Will Be Blood. The professor DID NOT like There Will Be Blood. When pressed, he said something along the lines of: "There's no story! Daniel Plainview begins the movie as a monster, and he ends the movie as a monster. What changed? What did we spend two hours of our lives watching?" And while I don't agree with his assessment of the film, his perspective has stayed with me. Why do I bring that up? Who knows! Anyway this is the same album Drake has been making for nearly a decade and listening to it didn't enrich my life in any meaningful way because I already listened to other Drake albums. Also this was fucking 80 minutes long and even if I enjoyed Drake's whole thing, there is no excuse for a feature-film-length album, like calm down, just who the fuck do you think you are even? I spent less time reading literally show me a healthy person than I did listening to More Life. That's stupid and I hate it.

6) The Goldfinch, by Donna Tratt: This was recommended to me by a friend, so that's how I read this story about a young man who gets big into antiquing, and now I'm offering a review where, not only am I out of depth trying to proffer literary criticism, it's not even the sort of book that I'd come to on my own, so now I'm HELLA out of depth. This book is written in this elegant, austere way, and I loved the moments in the book where the author was just describing things, this book is at its best when no one is talking, but it was always somewhat jarring when a reference to modern technology was made. It felt odd and out-of-step with the rest of the novel, to have the odd reference to video games or iPods, like what's technology doing here, get out of here, I wanna read about the chairs this dude's been selling. But overall, I dug this book. It's about grief and the power of art and how decisions you make when you're 13 still influence the rest of your life, all things I’m into, and it was a welcome change of pace from what I usually read. (You mean nothing?) Again, listen:

7) The Discovery, dir. Charlie McDowell: ah just what i need a cloudy-day movie about suicide So like, I remember watching The Happening for a Bad Movie Night and thinking that the worst thing the movie did was squander an intriguing premise. There was a good movie somewhere inside The Happening, a movie about how to keep yourself believing life is still worth living, and it's not a perfect one-to-one translation of course, but The Discovery is pretty danged close to being the film I thought The Happening could be. Maybe it's a matter of scale: it takes this concept, "What would happen if science proved the existence of an afterlife?" and applies it to this small family drama, the son of the man who found the proof and their efforts to find out what the afterlife is. It has an offbeat sense of humor (I never realized how much I needed to see Jason Segel and Jesse Plemmons just hangin' out), and I appreciated the hell out of the final twist (even if I could have done without the Usual Suspectsy montage of moments from earlier which presaged the twist; "Look at all the foreshadowing we did! Aren't we such clever boys?" ugh i mean as someone who once paid enough attention to game of thrones to be able to identify every single white dude with a beard, i find that kind of shit annoying, i KNOW he said those things, i was WATCHING your FILM). I found much to enjoy about this film, even if "enjoy" is a weird word to apply to a film where a suicide counter figures prominently in the background.

8) Deep in the Heart of Texas, Dave Chappelle: I think a lot of what I said about his other Netflix thing applies here. The focus was a bit tighter, but ESPECIALLY here, it felt at times like he was telling jokes he wrote a few years ago that he just really wanted to get on television. He did a run on "Wait (The Whisper Song)." I didn't know people were still talking about that. He attributed "Wait (The Whisper Song)" to 50 Cent. One, you think people are gonna remember "Wait (The Whisper Song)," but won't remember The Yin Yang Twins? Two, you're gonna attribute it to 50 Cent? Come on, man. Say Lil' Jon. Lil' Jon is as current a reference as 50 Cent (moreso, actually, given "Turn Down for What"), that name is at least in the ballpark, and it's an easy applause line for you, like dude, shape up, I know it's not that simple but I'm pretty sure I've nailed it. But this was still more good than bad, and it still provided exquisite shots of white people in the front row who somehow didn't know who they had paid to see. Gosh, you could just smell the "well, actually" on some of those bros. That's the best part of these specials.

[randomoverwatt]

Stand Up

Warning: warranted swearing herein. Press 'J' to skip an enraged rant. A while I was given an ipod. As gifts go, it's really prized, it plays music like nobody's business and has a devastatingly flexible alarm and schedule system. Even has a web browser if I want to look something up when I'm on the go. There's even a few very useful programs available for it, like Duolingo. Neat, right?

It's not without its problems, though - the requirement to give an extremely large multinational not only money (the problem of the original purchaser) but also my email address and various other sundry pieces of information just to use it (if i was buying more stuff it might be understandable) is galling. But this morning, I found myself swearing like a sailor at apple, twice. .

After using the Duolingo program, I forgot to turn off the wi-fi. After breakfast, I wanted to put on my favourite playlist while cleaning up. Only, when there is wireless access, their "Music" program changes the user interface. And it stays changed. Until you turn off the wireless, dig into the system settings and change an obscure detail, restart the device, and dig into the system settings and change it back. I think. But most importantly, the interface changes. Seems they want buying music easier than playing it.

When I finally got that bullshit straightened out, I was in the mood for different music. As I scanned through my library, I discovered that in the short period that I had been online with their Music program running figuring out how to undo their vandalism, it had downloaded several album covers and added them to my mp3 files.

Bullshit.

My music collection is specificly curated without album covers embedded in music files. Remember how I used the word "vandalism" before? I did not pick it at random, and it applies here also. But that's not the half of it. My music is my business. I've never bought any music from Apple before, they have exactly zero reason to know what my music collection looks like and I never gave them permission to look.

Fuck you, apple.

I've been ok with buying some of their hardware before, but they will never get another cent from me. In fact, I solemly affirm that I will never give them or any representative of theirs money again or suggest that anyone else do so.