#jane street dentist

[roselanddentaltoronto]

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[14thgalerie]

25 — part 3 (alt/ext. ending)

• pairing: exhusband!james potter x reader

• now playing: scott street by phoebe bridges / this is me trying by taylor swift

• word count: 6.1k

• genre: angst (as expected)

— based on this request, i unconsciously changed up some details as I was writing this but here you go! I'm not really the biggest fan of this as I haven't been feeling up to writing recently

part 1 part 2

There is silence around him, and there is time. For a while, he thinks he has all the time in the world, but the heavens have never been on his side and they never will.

James

It was cruel. To feel the ropes that tightened each day on his beating organ even in his sleep. 

Above, a dark navy sky drifts with flurries of clouds, moving in slow motion.

James

When his eyes fluttered open, his vision remained the same of the dark surroundings. Something that was not news to him.  The sound of birds chirping outside of the house along with the gentle stream of the river in the distance largely contradicted the condition of his closed-off room. 

James

He hears it again. The voice rang through his ears constantly in the past weeks. When he tilts his head to the direction of where it came from, it doesn’t take long for his vision to be filled with warm, hazy hues of orange. Only then did his mind register the light that entered through his swept curtains.  

“Darling.” He called so softly that even his ears could barely register the sound.

He leaped up, ignoring the groan of his limbs. He blinks once, twice, and then he says your name. Realising his mistake when he first called you by his preferred call name from when you were still together. “What-” He stammers. “What are you doing back here?”

A brief pause before his eyes widened. “Not that I mind! It’s just- you know-”

You let out an amused exhale. “Yes. Frank let me in and asked that I wake you up myself because he has to rush off for something.” You explain as your eyes kept their focus on the body that was fidgeting across from you.

“Oh! Yeah, he has this appointment for the dentist that Marlene met when she settled in London for a while.” His eyes never stayed far too long on one object, constantly shifting and yet it often settled on you. The red Mary Jane flats that you always wore. Hair that seemed to be a lighter colour than when he last saw you. 

“It’s his wisdom tooth, huh? I just got mine removed the other day actually.”

But his eyes never meet yours. They remain fixated on the bump that is poorly hidden beneath your clothes.

A fusillade of questions went through his bewildered mind. Had you already found someone and couldn't help but plaster to his face the future he lost? Was this another image that would haunt him for the rest of his days?

“James.” You call out again. “Can we sit downstairs?”

He nods, unable to articulate a word for he knew it would all be a jumble of syllables.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, casting its warm light on his pale hands which sat on his lap. You had decided to sit in the backyard, finding your old home to be too cold and missing the warmth that kissed your skin on the way here.  James went ahead while you stayed behind to grab the two cups of tea you had prepared before you went up to the bedroom.

“Hey there, I hope you still like your tea like before.” You gently placed the fragile ceramic on the table in front of him before you sat on the seat beside him.

“Two teaspoons of sugar.” You simultaneously said. His shocked state was broken by the laughter that came over him at your action. You also giggle, especially as you see genuine joy finally creep through his mein.

“So um, I guess I should speak first then.” You say out loud, after taking a sip from your cup. “I’m quite sure you have seen this stomach of mine already earlier. I mean, it’s gargantuan, it would be impossible not to.”

You pause to check on him and see the reaction on his face. To which you received none, for his face remained as blank as a whiteboard on the first day of class. 

James couldn’t understand the emotions that waved over him at the worst fear of his coming true. Millions of thoughts shift and begin inside his head, none of them coherent enough to be pierced together. All he knew was that everything within him lost sight and he is left dwindling at your whim.

Breathe. Breathe. 

“Yeah, how far along are you now?” He asks, trying to keep his voice still.

He watches as you exhaled heavily, your countenance now similar to his. You bite your lower lip, struggling to keep the flow of your sentences going.

“About five months now.”

James instinctively calculates the months in his mind. 

No.

He shakes his head. His eyes plastered intently on the wet grass in front of him.

“She’s yours. Not that I had been with anyone after you.” You reply, knowing it must have been the first question that came to him. Still trying to gauge the thoughts that he could be having. The latter, you muttered under your breath, unsure if he even heard it. So you quickly said something to cover it up. “If I counted right, it would’ve been from the last time we slept together a few weeks before we officially separated.”

The world slows down to an adagio, and he’s all caught up in the moment before he speaks. He heard it. His ears piqued at the words that were laced with a tiny hint of vindictiveness. But he didn’t bother to give it a second thought when his mind was still stuck on one thing. “A girl.” He laughs but it was more in disbelief. The world has apparently not been good to you either, giving you a gift that reminded you of his faults. “I wanted a girl.”

“Yeah.” You say, giving him a huge smile. “I know, and you finally won again.” 

Your hands reach out to wrap around his own pair, veiny and cold, a sharp contrast to his. His fingers curl around your fingers, laughing inwardly at his body’s automatic response to your touch. He doesn’t know how this was a win for him. His child would grow up, unknowing of her father who withered away miles away. 

He couldn’t accept it. The idea that another person would be taking his place beside you in watching her first steps. Laughing at her incomprehensible mumbles.

“Please,” He nearly shook at the voice that came out of his lips. Surprising both you and him. “Stay.”

He stands, without dropping your intertwined hands, and drops to kneel in front of you. His dark, searching eyes locked onto yours. In the depths of his irises, emotions swirled like a tornado, and in the middle of it all, a man lies. 

“I know I said I would not ask any more from you, but that’s the one promise I cannot stand behind. I’ll do better now. Just please, give me this chance and I swear I would forever be by your side.”

You pull your hands away to which you were met with resistance. He relaxes when he feels your arms wrap around him, combing through his dark hair. “Well, it seems you still have that habit of not letting me finish.” You joke. Though it could be seen in your expression, the hesitance, the drawback.

There is no doubt that you were still hurting from the repercussions of your ex-husband’s choices in the past. He couldn’t blame you for it, he is still suffering from it so he could not even imagine the level of your pain.

But before he could see it, you reverted back to your carefree expression as he pulled back to give you a playful glare, his red cheeks still smeared with the trails of his tears. “I was gonna ask you before you interrupted me if you want to give this a chance. An attempt to see if we could do this together. “ 

You made him stand and sit beside you, which he obediently followed. He finds himself being able to breathe properly again for the first time in a while, the smell of fresh air sifting through his lungs once again. The familiar comfortable weight on his shoulders that took the shape of your head in its place again.

“So, should we kick Remus out of the guest bedroom so we could paint for the nursery?” He jokes as you both silently watch the light blue sky covered with an abundance of clouds that looks so fluffy that you wanted to lay in them. 

You burst out in laughter, imagining the look on Remus’ face when he hears of this news. “He might just kick the both of us out when we do that.”

“But uh- I wanted to also ask you if it’s alright that we stay in my apartment instead?” You hesitatingly ask when silence befalls you again. “It’s just the idea in my head that so many things took place in this house that I would rather not be reminded of again.”

His heart clenches once again at the remnants of the consequences of his choices left on you. But he understood where you came from, and frankly, he felt the same. “Whatever you ask, darl- Y/N.”

“You can call me that. Don’t worry.” You assure him, knowing that he was walking on eggshells and you didn't want it to be like that now that you were welcoming this baby to your lives.

“I missed having someone hear me call you by that, darling.” He says. Was this suffering enough for all that I caused her? He asked himself. Was it even close to the hurt and anguish that I have traded for the ceaseless love she untiringly gave to him?

He doesn’t believe it is. He doesn’t even believe that all of what had just occurred in the past hours were real. He was fully expecting to be shaken awake by Remus, with a scowl on his face, muttering about how love is useless and shouldn’t be as needed as it is.

The tides have receded and all is calm and how it was.

James was surprised that you had left for another home miles and miles away. In a place where there is little to no trace of magic anymore. You were a step closer to the future you had always dreamed of.

A life away from the chaos and destruction that your world is currently in.

He doesn’t dwell on this fact any longer, instead taking it as a moment to appreciate that you had accepted him into this life. He remembers, from your trip on the way here, that you instantly got approved to be dismissed for a while from the missions all of you had been taking to ensure your and the baby’s safety.

Although he wasn’t quite as lucky, as he still needs to report back every now and then to perform his duties to the wizarding world. But they must’ve been in a good mood then, to allow him to take less time so as to assist and accompany you before your birth.

“I’ve been working at this cafe around the block.” You mindlessly mention, hanging your coat by the closet as he enters the bright and homey apartment. The natural light that comes in through the large French windows and the balcony lights up the whole place.

“That’s nice, are they treating you any good?”He inquires, wanting to absorb as much information about you as he could. You nod. He rushes back towards his bags which he had left by the stairway when he sees you about to pick them up. “I’ve got it! Why don’t you settle down for a while and rest up from our trip? I don’t want you carrying all this heavy stuff since it could hurt your back.”

You snicker, “I’ve been carrying much more heavy stuff in the past weeks since moving in. I don’t think two duffel bags of clothes will do much damage.”

“Still. I’m here now, and as much as I know you can surely carry this, I don’t want you to. I’m scared for you and the baby.” James worries. 

“Yeah, use the baby to guilt me. I can almost see a little girl version of you with a smile so wide asking for things that she doesn’t even care for.” You say, leaning both of your arms on your waist.

He laughs wholeheartedly, “Hmm, I might but I also might not.” Coming forward to pull you down on your cream couch. “Maybe she will grow up to be as nice, loving, and loyal as her mother. I’m sure she’ll be attached to your hip.”

“Yeah right, as if your stubborn ass would allow that to happen.”

He doesn’t reply anymore, instead exhaling an amused breath. The rest of the day was spent in mostly comfortable silence, while the two of you bicker over each song that plays on the radio; he had stood up to turn it on when his eyes glanced at it. Only coming to an agreement when it came to Laufey— a fact that surprised you by a whole lot but also made you the happiest woman on Earth. He laughed when you squealed in excitement. It was like the two of you were back on stage one, a chance to do it all over again. A small movement by his side caught his attention. 

Your warm fingers slowly inched in around his hand before enclosing it in the palm of your hand. The soft skin of your hand as it rests on top of his made his heart race in his chest and it takes a moment before James could manage to get a hold of himself. A minute has already passed when he also clenched her hand tight and placed their hands on his lap.

It’ll be a while before everything goes back to the way it is, but he’s got all the patience in the universe. 

— Two months later

James had never been so honest in his life than when he promised he would do everything within his power to be there for you and your family. It would be a long and difficult process but even when the two of you are well below 6 feet underground and your daughter has made a life of her own, he would still be at your will.

When the world reached its final stage of collapse, he could do nothing but watch it unfold. He didn’t know when exactly it happened. He was content with the roof that hid the dark sky away from him, in peace with the light you brought him. But when your world is built with the scraps of destruction, it is bound to crash onto you. 

It just so happened that it was his that fell off the axis.

James felt that the more he tries, the more he’s losing you. A thought that made him chuckle dryly because it’s so ironic when you lay peacefully asleep in the room you both share. He knew that you also were trying, even forcing yourself to feel the love that was even remotely close to the love that you used to have for him.

It wasn’t to say you felt nothing for him anymore, it was only that it wasn’t what you both expected it to be. It’s just that he is nothing but the father to your child now, not the one you saw yourself spending years alongside. 

This wasn’t all simple insecurities for him, he knew it was a fact. He did not mean to, but he happened to overhear a conversation you had with your neighbor who you had become close friends with. 

But to him, it didn’t matter. All he wanted was to make you feel loved and safe in his arms.

He feels you nestle your cheek in his arms.

“I’m sorry.”

He hears you mumble in your sleep, he had half a mind to wake you up. But he found himself unable to do so, investing in the way the wind flowing from the open window made your eyelashes flutter. 

He studies you carefully. You had all these little intricacies that he would like to believe no one else saw except for him— something of you that he would like to keep to himself.  He desires nothing more than to think that no one but him knows about the birthmark behind your ear, nor the scar on your hand from when you scratched yourself while riding a bike.

He longed to have every detail of your being ingrained in the deepest parts of his brain. He wanted to feel the intricate texture of your existence.

“Hi there…” You groggily say.

“Hi.” He leans down to press his lips against yours. You have gotten used to the feeling of connecting your lips to his, but the look in his eyes when he pulled back instantly filled you with a surge of anxiety that made you fully wake up. They reflected a kaleidoscope of emotions— too many to process but what stood out was the misery and acceptance behind it.

“James…”

“I love you.” Yet, he still tried to play his luck.

“James…I kissed someone else, we have to talk about it.“

The cold wind blasts with bitterness as you leave through the large heavy doors of your apartment building. Hugging your cardigan closer to you and holding your tote bag tighter to your chest, you rush towards the supermarket nearest you. James had gone back to meet with Remus and the others after Dumbledore had called them suddenly. Seeing as your plans to go to the park with him had to be put on pause, you decide to finish a few errands. 

“Welcome to Flamingo’s!” A staff greets you when you enter. Heading straight toward the long aisles, grabbing whatever item you need, and placing it on the large cart in front of you. A ridiculously large one. Truth be told you were completely baffled at its size when you grabbed it.   

But as much as you claim to hate it, you’re having the time of your life; feeling like a child pretending the cart was a formula one car and the aisles were a race track. The lack of shoppers made it all the better because you didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone. Quickly grabbing your items like they were some boosters from a game as you swiftly went through the aisles. It felt nice to completely let go and just pretend like she’s living as a carefree person, especially with how busy she has been lately.

You had just turned the corner when a sudden yelp brought you out of your daze. You drew your bottom lip in between your teeth at the sound. Scolding yourself for thinking that you wouldn’t accidentally hit someone. You turn to face the person to apologise for your careless actions when a clear, deep voice cut you off before you could even do so. “Y/N? What are you doing?”

His brown hair was damp and pulled back, indicating that he probably took a quick shower before he headed outside. His tall form was clad in a pair of old jeans, a plain white shirt, and a dark hoodie.

“Remus? What are you doing here?” You were confused, you thought when James said he was meeting with the group that Remus was a part of it. 

“Grocery shopping?” 

The two of you walk-in unison toward the cashier. “Oh, I thought you were meeting up with the rest of the Order.” You mention. “I wasn’t needed when I asked. But James and Sirius were called specifically.” He explains as you were lining up, his hand gesturing for you to go first.  

You feel a weird flutter in your stomach all of a sudden. You dismiss it as one of your pregnancy things.  With weak legs, you moved forward as the line progressed. Trying to compose yourself before he caught up.  

 “Why didn’t you call to tell me that you were dropping by?” You ask. Genuine curiosity scratching at your brain. During the time that you and James were still apart, he had been driving up to your place to help you out. He was one of the few people you told of your pregnancy.  “I wanted to give you a surprise since it’s been a while since we met up.”

“So, what are you cooking for me today, Chef Lupin?” She observes while taking a quick scan of his basket. 

“Bold of you to assume this is for you, lady.” He chuckles. “This is all for baby Olive.”

“For the last time, Rem, I am not naming my baby Olive.”

 “Well, even if you don’t, I’m calling her Olive after you made me buy a kilo of olives just to make me eat it instead.” He snarkily replies.

Feeling a warmth creep up on your cheeks, your head shifts away so quickly that you feared you may have gotten whiplash from it. In your movement, you see one of the cashiers' signs for you to move along. Not realizing that both of you had already been at the end of the line. Before you could push the cart, a long arm beats her to it. Your cart gets pushed by your company.  

“Stop being a gentleman, you’re gonna make women fall for you.” You jokingly tease him.

You settled beside him, watching the man handle your groceries. Your eyes focused on the screen before you. “Only for you.” A silence ensues at his reply. Remus guffaws at the curl of your upper lips, not even a beat after he said the cheesy line. “But I’m being honest here, I only do it with you. Well, except for the obvious like helping other people when they need it, but I mean that I enjoy helping you. ”

“Why?” You ask incredulously.

“I just do.” He said while crossing his arms over his chest. 

But right before either of you could utter a remark again, the man in front of you called the total. “That’ll be $235 in total, should I separate your items?” 

You each make a move to give cash first before the other but alas Remus still beats you to it, quickly finishing the task. “Please do, thank you.” 

Free food for you, then. 

You take a seat provided just a few steps away from the counter, drumming your fingers on the blue plastic chairs beside you. While Remus leans on the hand bar of the cart, patiently waiting for the cashier to finish, occasionally assisting with lifting some items. 

Inside your head, as your ears circled in on the sound of the hustle and bustle of the market that had become busy as you were in line, your mind wanders to what it would be like if Remus was the one that you liked back then. The love you held for James was visibly wavering with every moment you had spent with Remus in the aftermath of your divorce, he had willingly helped you out even when you told him not to for fear of being a disturbance to him.

Just as the brunette began to straighten up and pivot the wheels of the cart to face your direction, you shake away the thought. Baffled because this would be a betrayal to James, despite what he did to you.

“Let’s go?” He asks. You nod, taking your place beside him, engaging in some more small talk as you head out the door. If you would call rants about the horrible noise that your neighbour makes in the middle of the night as small talk, however. 

The man instantly moves to help you with the bags. Taking four at a time, telling you as he neared to just stay by the trunk and organise each of them to make everything fit. You silently give a nod in agreement, swiftly moving to not make him wait while carrying such heavy items. After all, it’s a relief that you didn’t have to carry all of these all the way back while you were nearly seven months pregnant. Building an efficient system in less than a minute.

The picture of the two of you reminds you of your childhood, watching as your parents do the same before it all went to shit. An air of domesticity is no doubt always felt when you are in their affinity. You stifle a smile that was threatening to form at the thought. You need to stop thinking like this. 

The sound of the metal cart clanging as it hits the end of the line clamours in the parking lot. He walks towards you in the hazy yellows and oranges behind him.  “That should be it! Should we go or do you need to drop by somewhere else?” He gestures for you to move out of the way of the trunk door, finger pointing to the passenger door which he had unlocked already. You shake your head, quietly replying with the former option.

Prying your eyes away from him, you make your way inside the car. Quickly settling inside the car, although with less ease than you had before as the last time you rode this truck was when you were lighter during your early pregnancy. Emitting a low groan, eyebrows knitted and eyes staring off to nowhere, you lean back and rest your head behind you. 

To say you were delighted by the realisations coming to you would be a joke. It was an attraction that you knew should and would never fruition into something more. Accepting it as soon as possible would be right for your mental well-being. But nothing’s ever set in stone and you’re currently sitting in the passenger seat of a friend that you have stared at far more than any normal person would and waiting for him so that he could drive you home.  

Stop doing that to yourself, Y/N.

“Are you good?” Worriedly, he asks, “You look like you’re in pain. Have you got a headache or anything?”

You let your eyes adjust to the bright light that enters through the windows, shaking your head from side to side in reply. You force yourself to hold your head up high, locking contact with the gold optics, brightened by the varying hues of the setting sun. Remus flashes a soft grin with his eyes smiling alongside. “I’m glad, but are you sure? I could drive you to the clinic if you want.”

Then and there, all at once, the rest of the world blurred and all that you could see was Remus. Remus, who had granted you the opportunity to be at the receiving end of his care when you really needed it, looked at you with as much fondness as you would others, unknowing that you noticed it. Nothing had existed as beautiful as he was. He smiled and you felt yourself spiraling down deeper into the hole that you had dug and covered over and over again yourself over time. 

For once, you feel the apples of your cheeks rise again in true joy; not believing that you could ever feel this way, this happy, ever again and with anyone else. 

You reach forward with your arm and grab his face to pull him towards you until you feel the slightly cracked but soft lips pressed tenderly against yours. 

The softness of your kiss conveyed a depth of feeling that surpassed the transcendence of words. His hands were frozen by the steering wheel moved to pull her closer, as if afraid that she would slip away.

In the arms of one another, time seemed to lose its meaning and the world outside melted away.

“What do you mean that you know?” You whispered, your voice a trembling echo.

You force your body to sit up and face him properly. Checking over his entire figure, afraid to see one of your biggest fears of hurting him. 

It was inevitable and you knew it. 

You were on the other side of this only months ago, and despite it all, you had never wished for him to feel the same. It was excruciating.

“Remus told me himself, explained the whole thing.” He explains as he looks down on his lap. His fingers played with the wrinkled fabric of his pajamas. The sight leaves you feeling a sense of deja vu.

“I knew he was going to you back then, at first it was because I asked him to because I was curious how you were doing. But then he started to act differently, describing what was up with you similarly to how I did back when we first started dating.” He explains further. 

“I didn’t notice it at first, Sirius did. I thought it was something Sirius made up in his head just to mess me with me again but then when I met up with Remus around two weeks ago, he dropped the bomb on me.” 

“I- what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything. I mean- how could I? I had just heard from one of my best friends that not only did my ex-wife kiss him, one that I am still in love with, might I add, but he also reciprocated it because he wanted to.”   

“I don’t know what to say…” 

“Right, so can we please forget about this and go back to sleep?” His voice pleaded, cracking with the force of his emotions, desperate for you to meet his gaze and for you to close the distance between you that widened with every second.

“I know this might be just your form of revenge towards me, and I forgive you! I really do! So can we please-“ His voice faltered.

He paced back and forth, his voice breaking with each syllable. “Could we please move on now? Can you please love me again?”

His emotions were laid before you, like vivid paint that once again smears the stark white canvas which had just been replaced. Letting you see all that he could give.

“No, James.” Your response was firm, tone strong to leave nothing for discussion anymore yet it is also strained. The stars shimmer in the clear, night sky bearing witness to the tumultuous end of your love and most of all, your struggles.

“This is unhealthy, I tried. I tried relentlessly to dismiss the blaring warning signals that echoed within me solely so that I never took away your right to be a father to your child. Regardless of all that came between us, she did nothing to receive only half of the affection she deserved.”

Your words were laden with pain, a silent plea for him to stop, to wave the white flag, but his unwavering love was an unstoppable force that consumed him entirely.

“Y/N-“ He started. His voice cracking at the weight of his inadequacy. The inability to give the love she deserves and to be the recipient of hers. 

Yet, before he could even begin again, she interjected, speaking into reality the words that would solidify the end of your shared path.

“You are a great man, James. I really do believe that, but I don’t think I can love you anymore like you expect me to. That’s just it.”

“I don’t hold any hatred in my heart for you. I really don’t, even if you make me think otherwise. Nothing will ever change the fact that you were by my side for years, long years where I knew nothing except that I love you. That will never change, and I’ll always care for you albeit it’s taken a different form now.” 

He is silent, a sense of defeat in the celestial orbs that once brightened like the night sky.

“You have been an incredible  husband, I even dare to call you my soulmate. It’s just that we weren’t bound to last as husband and wife even if we wanted to. God, I wished for nothing more when I first went back home to you that this would work because this emptiness without you was unbearable.” 

With a heavy sigh, choked with emotion. “Yet, as painful as it is to hear me say this, I think it was because you were this one constant presence in my life that when I lost you, I missed you so terribly that even when I felt my love for you slowly differ by day, this urge to recapture the past had consumed me.”

In denial, in sorrow, in defeat was his only state at the moment. 

“I love you.” His voice was laced with despondency.

He moved to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear before he caressed your cheek as though he were comforted by the mere presence of you right now. He had no answer for everything you had said, as it always is, you were correct.

It only felt that there were a thousand knives being poked through him now as if he were a dummy as he chooses to accept that. 

In hindsight, if there were any person who he would’ve stood behind in confidence when it came to you, it would truly be Remus. The two of you were closer than with any of his friends, knowing each other before you had met James.

But it was the knowledge that Remus loves as wholly as one should that assure him that you were in perfectly good hands. 

Of all things, he never wanted to force you to do anything, even if it meant that he had to let you go for the second time. This time, however, it hurt so much more because it proved to him that even with a chance, he would never have you back.

The only thing he’s got is one last night with you.

“Y/N?” He meekly calls your name. 

You hum in waiting, tired and in pain similar to him. This wasn’t any easier for you, you truly did want to mend this hurdle in your relationship but it simply wasn’t meant to be.

“Can you hold me to sleep one last time? You can leave whenever you want but please let me have one last sleep where I am still yours.” He asks, even if it makes him feel so pathetic, to be asking you for something as small as this.

Without any hesitation, you move to pull him back with you to lie in bed. You wrap your arms around his back as you let your head rest on the top of his, cocooning him with your entire body.

James couldn’t stop his tears from falling.

“Do you know?” 

“What, love?” 

“There were days that I wouldn’t go out nor would I sleep, I would just sit at the desk and watch outside the window. Outside, there were those tall grasses, who swayed in unison with the records playing in my room, unaware of our differences.” He says. You stare out the window, imagining the view outside your old house.

“The ones we planted flowers on?” You wonder. He nods.

“I sat there till the sun came up and the blossomed into new beginnings, wondering why I haven’t when the only difference was that my sun was in a picture frame.” 

You remain silent.

“I love you.” He whispered. The genuineness and remorse are clear in his voice. “I know.”

He picked up the apologetic tone in your voice. The pain in his heart was hollow and deep, striking the centre of the organ and reaching throughout his entire body, throbbing, throbbing.

“Can you say it too? Lie if you have to. I just need to hear it.” He whispers.  

“I love you too.” It hurts you, to know that he believes that you have to lie only so he could hear you say the words that seemed so normal back then, words that now feel like you took advantage of. “I love you so damn much, James.”

James could do nothing but quietly sob in your chest until he succumbs to the heavy weight on his eyelids, aware of the fact that in the morning, his only companion would be cold sheets once again.

In the dead quiet of the night, with no one else to hear it, a hum in the tune of Happy Birthday remains the only sound to be heard.

James had only turned 26 when the gravity of his promise had become an ephemeral spencer that despite his earnest desire, had lost all semblance of significance. 

masterlist

[popculturelib]

Haunted States of America: Virginia

Hampton's Haunted Houses & How to Feed A Ghost (1998) by Jane Keane Polonsky and Joan McFarland Drum

Hampton is a historic town on the eastern coast of Virginia and is one of the oldest European settlements in the United States. This short volume is part history, part ghost stories, and part recipes. Mixed in with tales of ghostly dentists, haunted hotels, and a visit by Blackbeard the pirate are recipes for dishes such as:

Heavenly Hash Candy for Ghost Hunting

Spoonbread

Chicken Salad and Sweet Potato Custard Pie (a favorite of a ghostly visitor at a building on Wine Street)

Spirit Punch, which comes with the notes: "Hearty consumption of the following spirit punch is certain to assist in raising the netherworld" and "Don't bother using quality liquor because it does not matter in this punch."

What do you like to eat and drink when you go hunting for ghosts?

Virginia is the second-most represented state in our collection, with 32 books about ghosts and hauntings. Take a look at these other books:

The Mystery of Ghostly Vera And Other Haunting Tales of Southwest Virginia (1993) by Charles Edwin Price; introduction by Sharyn McCrumb; cover art by David Dixon

Virginia's Ghosts: Haunted Historic House Tours (1995) by L.B. Taylor, Jr.

The Hauntings of Williamsburg, Yorktown, and Jamestown (1998) by Jackie Eileen Behrend

The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States.  Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.

[salonshop]

Dr P Breakfast With Broodthaers 18 – 21 April 2024 Presented in collaboration with Envy, Wellington Aotearoa Art Fair Envy, Booth U34 Viaduct Events Centre, 171 Halsey Street, Auckland VIP Preview Thursday 18 April, 1pm – 5pm Opening Night Thursday 18 April, 5pm – 9pm General Entry Friday 19 April, 11am – 6pm Saturday 20 April, 11am – 6pm Sunday 21 April, 11am – 5pm More information Dr P was born in Whanganui. She lives and works in Auckland. Her primal zodiac sign is the Vulture. Fellow Vultures include Gwyneth Paltrow, Snoop Dogg, Eminem and Truman Capote. Dr P is not a doctor or a dentist, lawyer or plumber. She is an occasional writer, indoor landscape garden designer and General Secretary of the Mokopōpaki Exhibitions Committee (MMPK).  Selected exhibitions include: Colonial Road, Pah Homestead, Auckland; Colonial Road, Mokopōpaki, Auckland; Domestic #3: Ahimaru, Mokopōpaki, Auckland; and This Joyous, Chaotic Place: He Waiata Tangi-ā-Tahu, Mokopōpaki, Auckland. Selected books include: Colonial Road, Auckland: Mokopōpaki & The Arts House Trust; Domestic #3: Ahimaru, Auckland: Mokopōpaki; The Last Picture Show, Auckland: Mokopōpaki; Colonial Road, Auckland: Mokopōpaki; This Joyous, Chaotic Place: He Waiata Tangi-ā-Tahu, Auckland: Mokopōpaki & Spiral; Taranaki Tiki Tour, Auckland: Kīnaki Press; Have you heard of Artemisia?, with Allie Eagle & Heather McPherson, Wellington: Spiral Collectives; Not Another Gondola: Venezia via Rialto: A Self-Guided Walk in Photographs, Part 2, Auckland: Kīnaki Press; Not Another Gondola: Venezia via Rialto: A Self-Guided Walk in Photographs, Part 1, Auckland: Kīnaki Press; and Was There: Jane Zusters at Tivoli, Auckland: Kīnaki Press. Image: Dr P, Breakfast With Broodthaers, 2023 Mixed media installation, dimensions variable Courtesy the artist, Envy and Mokopōpaki Photo: Arekahānara

[6v6taeminisloveshineeworld]

Homme Fatale -Dentist!Vampire!Taemin X Reader

homme fatale 

i. e. An undoubtedly seductive and dangerous man. One with a smile that would be too cruel not to kiss and a cherubic face with a temperament that’s anything but innocent. 

Summary: He was cloaked by the smell of death and wore it as armor. His life had little meaning, he pillaged through the world only to beguile and destroy as his veins hummed with bloodlust and selfish need. Nocturnal creatures should not be swayed by the beating hearts of the living but when Taemin catches a glimpse of you, a mortal in possession of a treacherous supernatural gift, he is faced with the temptation to claim you as his own. At his mercy, you discover a darkness in yourself that you’ve never dared to explore and you never imagined it could taste so sweet.

Genre: Smut, Romance, Dentist AU, Vampire AU, Supernatural, Horror, Lyric fic inspired by WANT MV and other Taemin song lyrics (easter eggs abound)

Rating: M for sexual content, death, and blood

Pairing: Taemin x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k+

You’d always had an unhealthy fascination with death. With autumn winds and the way the colors seemed even more vibrant just before everything fell and turned cold. When you were a child you’d been scared of the dark just like everyone else, until the day that same darkness befriended you. 

Your parents always said you’d had an overactive imagination growing up. That you’d kept invisible friends far longer than your classmates and that maybe this was due to the fact that they had never given you any siblings but they were wrong. Your friends were not imaginary, they were just unable to communicate with anyone else. 

It was on your tenth birthday that you first had a full conversation with a ghost. The little girl with blonde hair and green eyes was named Pomona and she seemed to like the same games and books you did. She loved building tree houses in the woods even though she couldn’t carry anything herself. She took sips of the green tea you served her by leaning into the cup with her tongue. 

Even though your visitor glided through walls with ease she was still able to keep down a meal. You’d laughed at her manners and held her hand. To your surprise, you felt the touch of her smooth skin as you never had been able to before. It was then that you knew you were truly different, you would never be able to unsee the spectors that appeared every day before you walking in the streets beside you. Not only was the veil lifted from your eyes unlike others around you but you seemed to be a part of their world as well and it had made Pomona’s departure from you as she ascended to join her family that much harder. 

When your parents had died in a car crash right on the outskirts of town you had thought that maybe this was why you’d been born with these gifts, that maybe your life of living like a pariah was all so that you could have this chance to communicate with your parents even in the afterlife. But there was no apparition. No voices that called for you from the curtain that separated the living from the dead.  And with that hope of communication gone you were left with a gaping hole inside of you but you continued on living in the world as invisibly as you could. It wasn’t hard to do in the small town of Ampleforth where everyone knew their neighbors but still kept to themselves and their clicks. The crowd around your age kept at a distance and the elders that passed you by in the grocery store looked at you with sympathy or rather through you at the poor orphan who never made friends easily. 

During your teenage years you’d had your share of otherworldly lovers. They came eagerly when you called to them while your parents refused to answer you from beyond. It didn’t matter how many candles you lit in your loneliness or how many beautiful fantoms kissed you with lips cold as hell. You never let them possess your soul. You never gave away the reigns of control to anyone.

That isn’t to say you hadn’t tried making living friends. However, most people in Ampleforth didn’t want to think about anywhere beyond Lastshire the next town over. You wanted to travel, you believed that to see the world was to live and you wanted to leave once you had enough money to do so. The townspeople were stuck in their roots and their old ways and even technology was a bit rustic. You often found yourself using the library wifi outside laying on the lawn with Emma, the only friend who really understood you even without knowing your secret in full beyond your morbid curiosities. And today, like any other Friday night was no exception. 

You looked away from your book to glance at her as she laughed aloud and continued to scan her phone. You bookmarked the page where Mr. Rochester disguised as a gypsy woman tells Jane her fortune for what must have been the tenth time you’ve read it over the years and move closer to Emma. 

“What are you reading?” You asked her curiously. “Fanfiction of course,” Emma said smiling. You joined her, reading along and smiling at the fact that someone was so comfortable around you even when you remained silent. 

The graveyard was especially chilly at sunset. You placed your freehand in your pocket to warm it and clutched the bag of glazed donuts and bouquet of white lilies to your chest with the other. Your parents graves resided on the grounds of St. Samael church, though the grounds hadn’t been tended in ages. After enemy troops from the Battle of Cymadd two-hundred years before took refuge in its walls it was seen as a sacrilege to worship here. Your mother and father however had lovely memories of picnics and stolen kisses on these grounds where no one would look for them and so when their will had stated that they were to be buried here in the desecrated church you hadn’t batted an eye though the tongues of Ampleforth had wagged.

You knelt before their graves and blew off the dried leaves. You divided the flowers evenly between them and placed a donut on each of the stones as you sat beside them and ate the rest. The anniversary of their death always washed you with a flood of anxiety. It was foolish to think that maybe on this day the abyss driven between you and them would be broken and they would appear before you. On the other hand you chided yourself for such selfish wishes. They were happy in their own paradise and only an ungrateful daughter would wish them to visit the earth once more, even if it was to say goodbye. 

The tears came then, unbidden. You lay on your back and shut your eyes. Shutting the pain away simultaneously for crying never could erase the scars.  At least here in the darkness you knew yourself even when your own thoughts were frightening and loud to your own ears. 

Your mind was filled with the epitaphs of the graves that stood tall here around you, phases passed your eyelids like shooting stars.

Life is but the whisper of death, in sleep we are merely participants of a new condition. 

To have loved and lost I know this, there is no greater torment than to love that which parishes.

Just as the last strokes of light were painting the sky you felt the cold hands of death embrace you at your shoulders. You opened your eyes quickly to find a young girl looking down at you in concern. Her wide blue eyes fringed by long lashes reminded you of a porcelain doll. The frigid bite of her fingers and her flawless features confirmed she was a ghost and one most likely buried here in St. Samael by the look of her outdated lilac petticoats. A giant bow rested at the back of her head, holding her raven hair away from her face as it cascaded over her shoulder. 

“I miss my parents too.” the girl said quietly.

“What’s your name? What’s keeping you from passing on and joining them.” You ask softly.

“My name is Callitae, and I stayed so that I could visit my father who still roams this earth visible to the living.”

“That’s not possible, if your father were still on earth he would be a ghost same as you.” You said in confusion.

“My father is very much dead but it is not his time to turn to dust either. However, the wheel of time seems to be running quickly for you, it comforts me to know that in your heart it is not death you fear but loneliness.” And with those bleak words she vanished into the mist of dusk.

You made your way along the path to your car, careful not to trip over rocks and the overgrowth of the untamed forest as all the while you felt the eyes of an unfamiliar presence upon you wolflike in its intensity. You moved a little faster and didn’t look back.

~ One Year Later ~

 Aldermire castle was at the very edge of Ampleforth, it was so named for its seemingly endless grounds of alder trees that swayed in honeyed light green shades against the sun. It was more of a manor than a castle but according to gossip that became legend, the man who once lived there with his wife and servants had the tastes and charisma of a king. He’d been a general during the battle of Cymadd with many honors to his name praising his valor and ferocity on the fields. This granted him favor in the eyes of many of the council but some were wary of him for he seemed to possess an almost inhuman tolerance for pain. 

He’d survived the torture masters of the enemy when he was captured and taken prisoner as none before him had. When he’d come back home to Aldermire and his wife he’d seemed like a living corpse. He recovered quickly under his wife’s care however, and by spring their first and last child was born for the mother died soon after. 

The master of Aldermire grew more reclusive in his grief and never took in visitors. He raised his daughter on his own but she was a delicate creature born before her time and prone to sickness easily. When she died of the plague that ravished Ampleforth faster than forest fire he lost the last anchor to life that he had and in his sorrow, it was said that he burned the castle locking himself inside as well. Even so, Aldermire was spared complete collapse as servants rushed to put out the flames but his body had never been found. 

As you drove past the alder trees and took in the overgrown vines that clung to the castle like the brambles of Thornfield Hall in Jane Eyre, a sense of excitement washed over you. You’d tried to catch glimpses of the castle before in your childhood but the forest had been so thick and the barbed wires attached to ‘no trespassing’ signs had looked so menacing you’d given up until that morning when Emma had called to say that “the creepy castle” you’d always wanted to explore as a child was now sold to the new dental surgeon in town who had renovated it as his clinic. 

It seemed the surgeon had appeared overnight, so quick were these renovations and appointments from patients in towns even farther than Lastshire but supposedly he’d been fixing the place a year in advance before ever stepping foot in Ampleforth. You supposed it was quite odd for a man of his profession to move so often but really what did you know of wealthy people and their judgment. 

The grounds were beautiful with crimson roses and golden apple trees. It was like something out of a fairytale when you pulled up at the driveway and walked up the stone path. You knocked on the heavy wooden door with its brass knocker, your heart racing all the while as you tidied your appearance and took in the words in bronze lettering in Latin above the door that read: VENI, VIDI, VICI. I came, I saw, I conquered.  An intriguing surgeon indeed.

A  middle-aged woman opened the door with a smile, her red heels and black mini skirt made you feel a bit self-conscious in your jean shorts and white blouse as you followed the sway of her hips inside. You noticed the white gauze bandage at her neck and wondered at if for a moment before turning your attention to the interior of Aldermire. 

 You were happy to see that though the new owner had renovated the castle for a clinic he seemed to want to keep the atmosphere of what the estate might have been like before. While some rooms had been entirely rebuilt to resemble a white-walled art studio, others seemed untouched by time and filled with bookshelves, upholstered chairs, and artwork against the old stone walls. 

You stopped in the hall to look at the paintings. All of them were memento mori’s displaying the reminder of mortality in its depictions of flower-filled vases, candles, fruits, and skulls. 

You peeked into room after room till you came to one with a small shooting range. The door was wide open as all the others had been. It seemed the owner loved showing his collections to the public though you felt that this room should surely be locked. Guns lined the far wall along with other combat gear. Well, at least the weapons seemed secure behind the glass cases. 

“The master of the house is an excellent hunter,” The receptionist said, turning to look at you. “I do believe it is one of his favorite hobbies.” You nodded, taking one last look at the room before continuing to follow her down the hall to yet another room with stark white walls.

“You may wait in this room,” the receptionist said with another bright smile as she motioned you forward into what looked like a surgical lounge chair with mirrors facing you on all sides. Before you could protest that you weren't planning on having any teeth extracted she was out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. 

The room was far too cold. You shiver under the thin material of your blouse as you take in the smell of cleaning chemicals and fruity furniture spray. Your spine tingles at the waft of air that assaults you from the vent above your head, the metal chair you are seated in presses against the back of your thighs like ice. 

 Along the walls of the room were bookcases, carefully filed papers, a small world globe, and to your trepidation an entire metal table covered in a white cloth that was filled with instruments. Some of which you wondered if they really were for teeth or something else entirely. Your stomach twisted with apprehension as you took in the empty syringes but before you could make your way to the door you heard footsteps approaching and you quickly sat down again.  

The door rattled open and you shifted your attention to the man who walked in. To your amazement, he was younger than you imagined. He in his mid-twenties maybe. He was very attractive which was not to be taken lightly in your mind for you had seen a great deal of beautiful spirits and judging by the way he held himself with such confidence in his stride he full well knew it too. 

If you’d seen him anywhere else you would imagine he was a model or singer instead of a dental surgeon. He was dressed in the most strikingly bright red suit you had ever seen and his blond hair was combed back revealing his forehead in a contradictingly neat but disheveled manner as if he had just run his hand through it before walking in.

 “Hello, are you Dr. Lee?” You said. 

His smile was bright enough to be plastered on every teeth-whitening poster in the lobby. “Please call me Taemin,” he said with a pronounced accent. You remember reading that he had transferred ownership of his successful clinic in South Korea to travel abroad setting up clinics from state to state and renting out large houses. Again you wondered why a surgeon as successful as he would travel so much. But then maybe he just liked the change of scenery. Certainly if you had the opportunity to see the world you would take it. Your brain was trying to piece the whole thing together rationally but under his very direct gaze, you felt exposed and flustered as you never had before. 

“What is your name?” He asked as he went to a drawer at the side of the chair and pulled out a white apron that fastened at the hips. His leg brushed yours as he closed the drawer and you shifted in your seat. His proximity making you nervous and excited even. The way his familiar blue eyes seemed to pierce you as he asked such an ordinary question made you wonder if what he really asked for was so much more. Where had you seen eyes like his before? You felt a bit lightheaded the more you tried to remember. 

At this moment you believed that if this total stranger asked anything of you, you’d give in without hesitation. There was something captivating about his aura, possessive even. For the first time in your life, you found yourself enjoying the feeling of being so inexorably won over, it was more than a little intoxicating. 

You mumbled your name aloud, thankful that your voice didn’t shake.

Taemin proceeded to put on elbow-length black gloves made of soft glittering velvet. Definitely not something anyone would want to use on a patient, you thought. They were more fit for a goth cinderella at a Halloween mask ball than anything else. This image would have made you laugh if it wasn’t for the fact that he looked so damn sexy putting them on. He held one of the gloves between his teeth as he pulled the fabric slowly up his arm.

When he finished he came so close to your ear you could smell his cologne full of spice and gardenias as he whispered, “I think you know I’m not the kind of dentist you’re used to” his hot breath against your earlobe and his words made your heart race and your legs squeeze together. Your curiosity overriding your fear as you answered,

 “I’m more than okay with that.”

He pulled back and smiled warmly, seemingly satisfied by this answer. He brought his gloved fingertip to your collarbone and moved his hand slowly till his fingers clasped your chin pulling it up to look at him. His eyes changed from blue to crimson and before you could fully process the fact that yet another one of your lovers was undoubtedly inhuman, his plump lips were at your neck kissing a trail down your chest as he effortlessly unbuttoned your blouse and unpinned your bra, throwing each to the floor. 

Your entire body was on fire now and he hadn’t even begun. You felt your body arch into his kisses on your skin and you gasped as you looked down to see him unzipping your jeans with his teeth. He pulled the material past your ankles and tossed them aside as well.

His gloved hands spread your knees apart as if you were a book he so desperately wanted to read. His lips moved to the inside of your thighs, nipping at your skin lightly as he went and purposely skipping over where you craved him the most. It was torturous till he blew on your already embarrassingly wet underwear, sending a shiver through you. 

“You have no self-control,” He said with amusement. “We can change that,” he lifted your hips and removed the last article of clothing before kneeling before you. And then he was painting butterflies against you with every skillful stroke of his tongue. Your small whimpers escalated to moans as you disheveled his hair further. 

“You want it more, don’t you?” Taemin said, pulling away and licking his lips. “And you’ll always be left wanting more, thirsting for more of me.”

“Yes, I do want you,” you said boldly surprised by your own shameless actions as you pulled him closer. 

  “My patients are usually so boring,” he said with a devilish laugh. Handsome devil. You thought as he continued. “Usually a syringe of blood is all I take and I tidy their minds so that they forget any unpleasant feelings but with you, no. Compulsion is not necessary, I want you to savor every moment till you fall for me without limit, beyond all instinct or reasoning just as I have fallen for you.”

 He moves to your neck again and this time you could feel sharp teeth graze your skin. He gripped your shoulders before piercing your flesh with his fangs. Your initial gasp of pain soon turns to pleasure as he drinks heavily from you. In a world overrun by ghosts why did the existence of vampires surprise you? You gazed into the mirrors that surrounded you and watched as blood trickled across your skin. Taemin’s reflection was nowhere to be seen, light seeped through him as if he wasn’t there at all.  An airy groan escapes you again when he pulls your hair back to allow better access to your neck. 

You move from the chair to stand and raise one leg to his hip. He loosens his grip on your hair then, taking you by the waist and lifting you effortlessly,  mounting you against him. “What sweet forbidden fruit you are.” He says as he licks the droplets of blood left on your neck and circles the two small punctures with his tongue so harshly you’re sure it will bruise. 

“I’m all you will see now, I’m your new world,” Taemin said before sealing that promise with a kiss. His lips claim yours hungrily and you responded just as fiercely, your tongue probing his in a battle for dominance as you moved against him. The taste of him and the mingling coppery trace of your blood made you realize you’d been starving and only he could satiate you now.

He carried you across the room, opening a door in the back that led to what must have been his bedroom. He gently set you on the floor and you took in the room. It was dimly lit with beautiful candelabras, an armour, and several paintings. The bed with its intricately carved mahogany headboard and satin white sheets was at the center. 

“Get on the bed, love.” He says as he moves towards the corner of the room.

You do so nervously, laying back against the pillows and watching Taemin open a cage. Your eyes widen as black snakes slither free. They seemed to stop and look to him for guidance and Taemin looked them in the eye and said, “be gentle with our new pet.” 

Your heart beats wildly as the snakes come toward you but you dare not move. This was some sort of test you knew and even though a small part of you wanted to bolt, a larger, more insistent thrum of curiosity and anticipation overwhelmed you. The snakes were each quite beautiful in the way that some lovely things are terrifying. Their glossy scales shone under the candlelight as two furled around your ankles and two more held your wrists bound against the bedposts. They were long enough that their bodies circled the posts several times. Their pink forked-tongues seemed to taunt you as they watched you squirm. Another glided up your stomach and between your breasts only to coil itself around your neck and fall asleep against the warmth of your skin. 

“You are a prisoner to it all now, my love,” Taemin said as he removed his right glove with his teeth and slipped two fingers inside you. You engulfed him greedily, blissfully surrendering to the slow movements of his fingers and the way you lost control of your hips as you writhed against your restraints. “You’re a prisoner to this heat, to my touch, and to my voice.” He said in a singsong that encompassed your senses. 

“I’ll tease you slowly,” Taemin said as his gloved hand rubbed circles against you, the velvety fabric sending shockwaves coursing through your body to the tips of your toes as they curled. “-Until the only name you taste against that pretty little mouth of yours is mine.” Your shuddering climax is met with erratic breaths as you will yourself not to beg for more. Here you were bare and shaking sweatily before him as he stood, still fully clothed and collected looking down on you with that deceitfully cherubic face. It sent daggers to your pride and yet how willingly you accepted your fate. 

Sensing your thoughts he began to undress as calmly and languorously as he did everything else. He seemed to take delight in the show he was putting on for you. His eyes glowed with mischief as he undid the last button of his suit and you found yourself unable to look away. He was muscular yet grace filled his form. He was a walking paradox, lithe and powerful all at once.

“My very existence is a sin,” Taemin said as he climbed onto the bed. “An unholy predator whose thirst will never be satisfied. And you love, are my prey.” 

He kissed you again and suddenly you found that the world was no longer monochrome but dripping with color. You felt alive as you never had before. The grey world died as his naked body danced with your naked soul and you felt as if you were drenched in light. Vulnerable yet safe, adrift in a pure deep sea. You wanted to drown in this time with him, you crashed into one another as waves on a moon-white shore. 

You want to trace the valley of his arms, you want to touch him though you can’t reach him. That is when you feel the snakes release you. You embrace him fully and in this moment, words aren’t necessary. 

You surfaced breathless and entranced as you took in his eyes again, they melted into deep blue once more. Your hearts beat to the same rhythm as Taemin moved to lay beside you. It was at that moment as he held you in his arms that your memory resurfaced, his eyes were the same as the raven-haired girl’s in the graveyard you’d seen a year before. She had her father’s eyes you realized.

He seemed to read the question in your eyes for he said, “Yes, Callie is my daughter. She was born here and she died here within these walls just as her mother did. It was my fault she died.” He said, shaking his head. “My wife couldn't bear to see me suffer, when the enemy commander turned me into a monster I turned against them and after that massacre I refused to follow my new instincts and feed. I was stubborn and prideful and when I came back to her arms I was weak. She gave me her blood without care for herself and like a beast, I drained her slowly and gave in to what we wanted most: a child. She couldn’t have known how baring a Child of Night would cause her to suffer but I should have known better. If I hadn’t weakened her so, if-”

“Shhh,” You drew your fingers to his lips to silence him and pulled him to your breast, wrapping your arms around him firmly. “She loved you and she did what she wanted to do for you and for her beautiful daughter. I know that she wouldn’t have wanted anything more than to have her no matter the consequence.” 

He took your wrist and brought it to his lips, then he traced your blue veins with the pad of his thumb before he said, “I knew from the moment I beheld you laying in the graveyard under that brilliant amber sunset that your soul was seeking mine. I pursued you shamelessly afterward as if you were tethered to me and I couldn’t let you go. You haunted my thoughts and made me care as I never thought I could again. It is a lie that the Children of Night are soulless and heartless, ours are bound to this earth as much as any mortal and they burn just as brightly.”

You entwined your fingers with his. 

“In your eyes I saw that we both shared the same spirit.” Taemin said brushing a kiss to your forehead. “We both fear being trapped but most of all we fear the way we isolate ourselves, there is no life, no death for us but rather a long and lonely road filled with people who see straight through us.”

“I know what you mean,” You said. “We are alone in ways no one else can begin to understand and yet I want to know you better than I know myself.”

“I never want to lose the one I love ever again,” Taemin said earnestly, he took your hands in his and squeezed them. “Would you spend forever with me till the earth itself crumbles with the weight of falling stars? Would you give me your soul to hold as my equal? All that I ask of you is to love me, respect me, obey me and I will be your slave for all of eternity.” 

“Then I am yours completely, in heart, body, and soul, I am yours just as you are mine.” You said. 

“It won't be painless,” He said with worry written in his eyes.

“Death is earned is it not?” You said, looking at him confidently. “I trust you.” You said more quietly.

“You scare me a great deal.” He said. You laughed at that, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

“Why?” You asked.

“Because you make me want to be a better man. My love, I am no angel. I am devious.” He ran his free palm against your cheek and you leaned into his touch. “My hands are stained from murder, and yet you trust them completely. I am selfish to want you and cruel to take you into darkness with me. I am a demanding creature but I am your servant.”

He took off one of his rings and slipped it onto your finger. It was gold inlaid with sapphire jewels the color of his eyes in the shape of a laurel crest. “This will protect you from the sunlight once the transition is completed.” Taemin said, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles and over the ring. “Never take it off, promise me.” 

“I promise.”

He brought his right hand to his mouth, his fangs elongated once more as they had when he’d feed on you and in one swift motion he pierced his wrist. His deep purple-red blood spilled like wine across the sheets. He took the blood into his mouth before bringing his lips to yours. 

His blood scorched the walls of your throat and trickled at the corner of your mouth. It singed the skin of your heart till you felt so full of him that you didn’t know whose body belonged to whom anymore. It was a dizzying kind of love, hypnotic and consuming in its luster. Sometimes love is sweet, You thought. You were drunk on this emotion and the taste of him. He was under your skin, he was flowing through your veins.

He licked the blood that had dripped at the corner of your mouth clean and pulled away to look at you. “Until we meet again, love.” Taemin said, before placing a satin covered pillow over your face.

Sometimes love is brutally soft. You thought as you lost consciousness. 

~ Epilogue ~

His scent tickles your nose and calls your limbs to arise from the ashes of your former self. 

“Welcome to hell my queen.” 

The voice in the darkness was sweet to hear. Your eyes open, light purple and full of lethal newborn lust for the blood of your sire, your soulmate, your king who smiles above you.

The impulse to feed is like a maelstrom consuming your senses. All you want is him, his blood, and his body against yours. He lays on the bed beside you and tilts his head in invitation. 

You crawl towards him, straddling his hips and piercing your fangs to his throat eagerly. You nibble and mewl against his collarbone when his skin does not break beneath you. He laughs at your frustration and gently strokes your hair. He reaches for your chin, lifting it to eye level and brushing the pad of his fingers against your small fangs till the tiniest drops of blood fall and you lick his fingers clean. 

“You're like a newborn kitten,” Taemin says in your mind. His voice inside your head sends a ripple of joy through your body. You'd thought you’d learned what true unity felt like but you’d never experienced this, an all-consuming warmth and wholeness. “Try again innocent one, this time tilt your head upwards as you elongate your fangs.” 

Your desire to please him was almost as vigorous as your hunger. You moved to his neck again and did as he instructed. 

“That’s my kitten,” he said. You beam under his praise as you quench your thirst. You find it’s not enough and you move to his lips instead. You kissed him like nightfall devouring the sun, an eclipse under a diamond sky. You were dangerous now you thought with glee as Taemin pulled you closer, closer towards the whisper of forever. And then you smiled when he said in your mind, When we align, will you or I be the moon? You bit his bottom lip and tugged it playfully in reply. 

[songofsoma]

B A S I C S Full name: Cecilia Jane Beck Nickname: Cece Gender: female Age: 26 (beginning of book one) Sexuality: lesbian Pronouns: she/her/hers O T H E R Family: Rebecca Beck (mother), Isaiah Beck (father) Birthplace: Wayhaven Job: Detective with the Wayhaven PD & human liaison to “The Agency” Phobias: Acrophobia (fear of heights) Guilty Pleasures: Cecilia has a major sweet tooth (especially for chocolate) and always has candy on hand. There is even a drawer in her office that always has candy. Don’t let her dentist know. Hobbies: Reading, taking care of her plants, going antiquing. Languages: English, a little Spanish, and some French. M O R A L S Morality Alignment: Chaotic Good Sins: Pride/Envy Virtues: Courage/Wit T H I S O R T H A T introvert / extrovert organized / disorganized close-minded / open-minded calm / anxious / restless disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient outspoken / reserved leader / follower / flexible empathetic / unempathetic optimistic / pessimistic / realistic traditional / modern / in between hard-working / lazy / in between R E L A T I O N S H I P S OTP: Cecilia/Ava BroTP: Cecilia/Farah, Cecilia/Tina 5 F A C T S Cecilia’s apartment is packed full of plants and books. Since she doesn’t have the time to own an animal, she settled on being a plant mom instead. Cecilia joined the police force because of her need to help the people in her community. She often finds herself missing patrolling the streets with Tina and interacting with Wayhaven’s townspeople. She has an unholy love for chocolate and always keeps some in her desk. Little does she know, Tina often steals some. The plant Tina had gifted her was named Harriet. She was so sad when Ava broke it, rip Harriet

[bluewatsons]

Yasemin Arikan et al., The arts, Bohemian scenes, and income, 28 Cult Trends 404 (2019)

Abstract

Where and how does arts activity drive neighbourhood revitalization? We explore the impact of arts establishments on income in US zip codes, nationally and across quantiles (from four to seven subgroups) of zip codes stratified by disadvantage (based on income and ethnicity/race). We focus on what is new here: how neighbourhood scenes or the mixes of amenities mediate relationships between the arts and income. One dramatic finding is that more bohemian/hip neighbourhoods tend to have less income, contradicting the accounts from Jane Jacobs, Richard Florida and others. Arts and bohemia generate opposing effects, which emerge if we study not a few cases like Greenwich Village, but use more careful measures and larger number of cases. Some arts factors that distinctly influence neighbourhood income include the number of arts establishments; type and range of arts establishments; levels of disadvantage in a neighbourhood; and specific pre­ and co­existing neighbourhood amenities. Rock, gospel and house music appeal to distinct audiences. Our discussion connects this vitalizing role for arts activity to broader community development dynamics. These overall results challenge the view that the arts simply follow, not drive, wealth, and suggest that arts-led strategies can foster neighbourhood revitalization across a variety of income, ethnic, and other contexts.

Introduction

Where and how might efforts to revitalize neighbourhoods by integrating or enhancing the arts succeed? Exploring the impacts of art establishments on neighbourhood income is valuable for learning where and how policies and programmes to spur community development, for example, creative placemaking, arts districts, or cultural quarters,1 might be effective in achieving their goals.

Several nationally salient initiatives where artists have led development projects in low-income areas include Project Row Houses in Houston, started in 1993; Theaster Gates’ projects in Chicago since 2012; and the Art + Practice Foundation in South LA, led by Mark Bradford in 2014. Grodach and Silver (2012) assembled international case studies of arts/community efforts. These illustrate distinct mechanisms for using arts to energize disadvantaged neighbourhoods, without displacing current residents.

This is the first US national study of how the impact of arts establishments varies across all US zip codes, divided by income and minority status. In the process we use multiple definitions of arts and disadvantage and combine social science with aesthetic and case study work to assess how generalizable the effects of arts activities are as amenities in revitalizing neighbourhoods. The zip code level analysis departs from the common case-study approach as we seek to observe more generalizable patterns of arts impact that inform debates at the intersection of arts, urban regeneration and equity.

Background: the “arts-drives-growth” question

The arts and prosperity have been linked, at least in the West since the Renaissance, where trade and imports of exotic goods sparked local creativity in clothing, architecture, and painting. Later Balzac wrote that artists needed distinct neighbourhoods to be free from bourgeois lifestyle constraints to paint and write creatively (Harvey, 2003). Jane Jacobs (1961/1992) held that artists and bohemians were core drivers of creativity, and their neighbourhoods within cities drove the new creative economy. Schumpeter (1942) stressed the creative destruction of old ideas as central for economic growth. The New Urbanism added pedestrianism and street life. David Brooks (2000) added money to transform bohemians into bobos. Richard Florida (2002) showed that these same processes worked in factories, corporate offices, universities, Economists such as Edward Glaeser (2000) stressed dense urban areas as concentrating amenities, people and economic growth.

We build on these ideas but extend them to low income minority neighbourhoods. For example, Harlem and Bronzeville, the black centres of New York and Chicago from the 1920s onward, fostered Black enterprises like dress and shoe designers, professionals like dentists and ministers and artists like jazz musicians, painters and novelists. The key black political leaders were Congressional Representatives, city council members, and mayors from black neighbourhoods; many favoured racial segregation to solidify their voting base. Harlem and Bronzeville declined economically after 1933 when Prohibition ended. But young African Americans continue to invent musical types from drill rap to hip hop to house even if the clubs are less concentrated in the twenty-first century and internet downloads and social media rise in salience. Jazz, blues and gospel thrive globally, and leading artists, much less constrained by racial discrimination, travel continually even if they retain homes in Harlem and Bronzeville. Harlem supports major bus tours of international tourists today. Meanwhile strong Hispanic areas of Los Angeles, Miami, and Chicago feature murals, Day of the Dead and Cinco de Mayo festivals, and parades. Wherry (2011) details how these artistic activities transformed the Philadelphia Barrio from a slum into an arts-driven tourist centre with guitar strummers on tour buses and more. Chicago’s prosperity in the twenty-first century, relative to most old Midwestern cities, is arguably driven by four months of music festivals and McCormick Place tourism, which continue the art-drives-income tradition of neighbourhood clubs from the Al Capone years (Clark, Lloyd, Wong, & Jain, 2002; Spirou & Judd, 2016). Hunter, Pattillo, Robinson, and Taylor (2016) explore place making via specific, newish arts activities.

Comparative modelling

About a dozen studies have explored these issues comparatively, mostly using cities and neighbourhoods in the US, finding that the arts grow where people concentrate – measured by population size, growth rate, or density (Grodach, Currid-Halkett, Foster, & Murdoch,, 2014; Kushner, 2013; Murdoch, Grodach, & Foster, 2016; Patterson & Silver, 2015; Schuetz, 2014). Only one study examines arts growth specifically in disadvantaged neighbourhoods in NYC: Murdoch et al. (2016) report that organizations locating into such neighbourhoods are the exception not the rule, and tend to be younger organizations, to target local audiences, have smaller budgets, and rely on part-time volunteers.

Where the arts grow, findings suggest that in the US they generally improve housing values (Grodach, Foster, & Murdoch, 2014; Noonan, 2013; Stern & Seifert, 2010; Woronkowicz, 2016) and income (Grodach, Foster, et al., 2014; Noonan, 2013; Schuetz, 2014; Woronkowicz, 2016) in urban and nationwide contexts. In Canada, however, Silver and Miller (2013) find that arts relations to income depend both on the type of arts that grow and type and strength of the cultural scene. Grodach, Foster, et al. (2014) similarly find that in the US the type of arts that grow affects the type of neighbourhood change. The “scenes” project’s other studies2 find generally positive associations between local arts activities and population, income, and job growth in China, Korea, France, Spain, Canada, and the US (below and Clark et al., 2014).

Method

We examine the impact of arts establishments on income across the entire US and among disadvantaged neighbourhoods. Our empirical analysis employs linear regressions predicting median household income in 2008–12 (American Community Survey 5-year estimate) at the zip code level for the entire US. Over 20,000 usable postal codes (Census zip code tabulation areas or ZCTAs) have relatively stable boundaries. These boundaries are not coterminous with the multiple meanings of “neighbourhood” or “community”, but they provide a far more nuanced analysis than national, metro, county- or city-level data. The large numbers are far better for multi-causal analysis than most past arts studies.

Estimating arts impact generally confronts concerns about endogeneity (e.g. Noonan, 2013), especially if the growth of arts (as a luxury) follows economic prosperity, and even more so if policymakers and planners target areas of rising affluence for arts growth. Our analysis mitigates endogeneity concerns by not pooling all neighbourhoods together (which could generate results from wealthy neighbourhoods driving arts growth), but instead examines the relationship of arts and income varying within and across subtypes of neighbourhoods.

We have elsewhere explored many other variables and models specifying, for example, relative feedback effects of arts on income and income on arts activities, summarized in Silver and Clark (2016).

Operationalizing arts activity

Our key explanatory factor is arts activity, measured as the number of arts establishments from the US Census’ Business Patterns (“bizzip”) at the zip code level in 2001. Measuring for establishments rather than jobs more effectively captures visible arts activity and opportunities for conspicuous consumption. Our “narrow” working definition of arts activities includes entities directly producing and distributing the arts, and includes a simple count of art dealers; museums; fine arts schools; theatre companies and dinner theatres; promoters of performing arts, sports, and similar events; dance companies; musical groups and artists; other performing arts companies; and independent artists, writers, and performers. This fits most discussions of the arts. Our “wider” definition captures the production and consumption of the arts via broad networks of direct and indirect participants (Becker, 2008). We create a broad measure of 37 North American Industry Classification System (NAICS) codes. This includes the narrow definition and adds others such as musical instrument and supplies stores, historical sites, and amusement parks. Grodach, Currid-Halkett, et al. (2014) summarize other broad measures.

Controls

Controls include factors that past research (e.g. Glaeser, 2008; Silver, Clark, & Graziul, 2011) suggests shape income or innovation: population (density in 1990), racial composition (the proportion of non-White residents in 1990), general policy environment (county-level proportion of votes for the Democratic presidential candidate), and cost of living (county-level mean median gross rent rate in 1990). We also include a measure for urbanity using bizzip data, measured in 2001 as the earliest year available. Other control variables analysed but dropped in results shown here due to multicollinearity include proportion below poverty, with a bachelor’s degree, married, and unemployed. We add controls for 1990 as initial conditions relevant to arts activity: proportion living in the same house for five or more years, to see if more established neighbourhoods with more character matter; proportion of households with children aged 0–17 hypothesizing that young families have less time for the arts; and the average commute to work time, expecting lower arts participation with longer commuting.

Operationalizing neighbourhood scenes

We also examine how neighbourhood scenes mediate relationships between the arts and income. To summarize, a “scene” refers to the atmosphere or cultural life of a place. We take it to include less tangible activities and practices, but amenities provide a window into the type and range of experiences available.

Bohemia implies an unconventional lifestyle and can be at play in neighbourhood vitalization efforts with the arts. Bohemia’s role may differ in wealthy and poor neighbourhoods. Understanding how bohemia shapes the relationship between arts activity and income may therefore provide clues for arts activity among disadvantaged neighbourhoods. Our Bohemian Scene index follows Silver and Clark Scenescapes (2016, p. 341). It measures how closely a zip code resembles an ideal-type bohemian scene, defined using classical writings on Bohemia including Benjamin (2002) and Wilson (2000). Bohemian theorists imply that more bohemianism should generate more innovation and thus income.

Tests have been few, so we sought to go further.

Artists, bohemia and scenes have been broadly discussed as overlapping concepts for decades. The Scenes Project contribution is not to ignore, but to systematize these three past artistic terms to help them become social science concepts and methods. We, thus, developed a list of 15 distinct scenes dimensions by codifying major related efforts from past work, including Hegel, Wagner, Max Weber, Levi-Strauss, Inglehart and Welzel (2005), and related survey research on basic value dimension like the World Values Survey, the General Social Surveys and International Social Survey Programs (detailed in Silver & Clark, 2016). Figure 1 outlines the 15 dimensions.

Figure 1. Scenes 15 dimensions. Source: Silver and Clark (2016).

To measure the 15 we used 143 individual industrial categories to characterize each zip code in the US. The 143 consumption-related amenities are from electronic bizzip data by NAICS codes. Each of the 143 is scored 1–5 for each of the 15 scene dimensions, using a handbook for coders defining each dimension. We computed reliability measures among coders, sharpening our Coder’s Manual of criteria, and applying the method to143 bizzip and over 300 Yellow Page amenities types. The amenities data were used to generate scenes performance dimensions as shown in Figure 2.

Figure 2. Scenes performance score construction example.

The performance scores combine scores assigned to each amenity with data on the number of each type of amenity located in a zip code. Suppose Zip Code #1 has five total amenities: four body piercing studios and one Catholic church. Suppose also that body piercing studios were scored 5 on transgressive theatricality while Catholic churches were scored 1. Multiply the number of each type of amenity (4 body piercing studios, 1 Catholic church) by that type’s transgression score (5 and 1). Sum the product and you get 21. Now divide that total output by the total number of amenities in the zip code (in this case, 5). The result of that division, 4.2, is Zip Code #1’s transgression performance score. A different zip code, say, Zip Code #2, with four Catholic Churches and one body piercing studio, would thus have a transgression performance score of 1.8.

The same procedure was repeated for each zip code, generating a score on each of the 15 scenes dimensions for each zip code area.

For this paper we created an ideal bohemian pattern, defined using classical writings on bohemia including Benjamin (2002) and Wilson (2000) in terms of our 15 dimensions, shown in Figure 3. Then we subtracted the score of each individual zip code from this bohemian ideal and took the absolute value of the difference; we reversed the sign so that a high value indicated a more bohemian zip code. This distance from a bliss point is widely used in public choice analyses of political party loyalty of individual citizens. This bohemian index was used in the regressions, showing the interesting negative relationship with income.

Figure 3. Bohemian ideal “bliss point” scores on the 15 scenes dimensions.

As a result, a zip code is scored as more bohemian if it has more amenities included in the 15 dimensions with positive weights in transgression (breaking conventional style), charisma (promoting extraordinary qualities and accomplishments), ethnic (undiluted by homogenizing, deracinated, abstract global monoculture) and self-expression (actualizing individual personality); and fewer amenities with negative weights in rational (emphasizing intellect, exercise of reason), corporate (defined by mega-corporations), state (defined by the nation-state), neighbourly (personal networks, face-to-face intimacy), egalitarian (human equality), utilitarian (instrumentalizing a situation with respect to profit), and traditional (connecting with the past and a historical narrative). The remaining dimensions are weighted neutral in the case of an ideal-type bohemia – glamorous, formal, exhibitionistic, and local.

The Bohemian Scene index is thus much broader than any index to date, such as Florida’s (2002) bohemian index which simply counted and summed census data category jobs like artists, writers, and performers – thus assuming that artists are bohemian. Because artists include (possibly) non-bohemian web designers, advertising staff, and amateur watercolour painters, we measure artists and bohemia separately. Our reanalysis of Florida’s data for gay and bohemian indexes as tolerance indicators and job drivers are in Clark (2004). Our Bohemia index correlates significantly (Pearson r = .16) with arts activities in 2001, illustrating the importance of not assuming the two are identical. The mean Bohemia score is .064, ranging from .046 to .091, (standard deviation .002, N 35,675). In Chicago, for example, Bohemia raw scores in 2001 include Bucktown (.065), Wicker Park (.065), Humboldt Park (.064), and Logan Square (.065), all then commonly perceived as lead bohemian/hip neighbourhoods (Lloyd, 2010; Redmond, 2008), despite later changes.

The scenes’ scores provide continuous measures for all zips; we do not select just a subset of high-scoring neighbourhoods but retain all. Of the 143 amenities included, tattoo parlours, nightclubs, and liquor stores were examples of NAICS industry codes scored 5 (high) on transgression (as a behavioural not a legal concept). Including this Bohemia Scene index in our national regression analysis assesses the impact of bohemian local scenes on income (distinct from the arts and control variables). This shows how important a bohemian ethos is rather than assuming that artists are all equally bohemian. The results show how this matters.

Selecting disadvantaged neighbourhoods for analysis

We conduct separate regressions in two national contexts. First is the national context, of all US zip codes for which we have data on all of the variables in each regression model. Second, we repeat the same models within each quantile of “disadvantage”. For this, we create a zip code-level disadvantage score using only median household income in 1990. We add two alternative composite disadvantage scores: one combining income and proportion of non-Hispanic African Americans, and another combining income and proportion of Hispanics (both in 1990). We rescale income and reverse the race or ethnicity measure so both variables have a minimum of 0 and a maximum of 1. High indicates low-income and a high proportion of Blacks or Hispanics. All three scores are normally distributed.

We divide all zip codes into quartiles of disadvantage. We re-estimate the regression initially four times, for each subsample. To assess robustness, we repeated using quintiles, sextiles, and septiles (Table 1).

Table 1. Descriptive statistics by income-only disadvantage quartile.

Results and discussion

We report detailed results for one illustrative set of models, then summarize main findings of others.

Table 2 shows ordinary least squares regressions of zip code income on an arts index and a variety of control variables. Control variables (in the Method section) are omitted from the tables here, but are available upon request from the authors.

Table 2. Narrow arts index, national and within Quantiles of income-based disadvantage, Model 1 and 2 results.

In Model 1 regressions, zips with more arts establishments show higher income for all US zips combined, and in three of the four subsets of neighbourhoods. The strongest effects are for the least-disadvantaged quartile, but second-strongest is consistently the most disadvantaged. Results for the wide arts index (not shown) are similar. Again, income rises with the arts index especially in the least disadvantaged followed by the most disadvantaged neighbourhoods.

Model 2 adds the strength of the bohemian scene to the model, thus measuring both arts and bohemian effects in a single model with controls. The results are dramatic. By separating arts activities from Bohemia, we find the opposite of the Jane Jacobs/Florida creativity hypothesis. More bohemian zips suppress income, controlling other income drivers in our model – the opposite of the positive arts-income effect. These contradictory coefficients provide a new perspective on these two opposing effects which are combined in many historical accounts and case studies like Jacobs’ Greenwich Village, or Florida’s national (mostly metro) rankings (presented generally without multi-causal analysis). Still, remember the feedback loop: some bohemians move to lower-income zips.

Table 3 adds minorities to income to create further measures of disadvantage. The main results are unchanged using alternative disadvantage definitions. The differences are difficult to interpret as they may be driven by subgroups within each quartile acting in ways better studied with models more targeted on such distinct patterns.

Table 3. Adding minorities to Table 2 shows similar effects.

Though the analysis here considers over 20,000 zip codes, some small zip codes are excluded as the data are not disclosed by the US Census due to confidentiality concerns.

Bohemian scenes

One of the most dramatic findings is that bohemian effects do not just reinforce arts effects. They are generally opposed, in our data and time period. More bohemian scenes have less income, with the exception of the most disadvantaged neighbourhoods using an income-only disadvantage definition in Tables 2 and 3. Comparing impacts on income, the Narrow Arts Index explains 82% and the Bohemian Scene 17% of the effects generated by considering just the sum of these two variables in Table 2 Model 2 column 2. Measuring the arts and bohemia as two opposed effects should encourage others to look for potentially disparate factors driving these processes despite past historical accounts. More important, as we add more subgroups in terms of income, Bohemia, African-American, Hispanic and more, the patterns are often stronger and clearer than with the simpler bigger categories. This diversity illustrates the importance of context and multiple causal pathways. For instance, ironic hipster arts activities may appeal in more bohemian neighbourhoods, while gospel-inspired music is more in harmony with activist churches in other equally disadvantaged areas. This is generally consistent with Silver and Miller (2013) who find that the type and strength of a particular scene can weaken or strengthen the relationship between arts activity and income. How might bohemianism suppress income? Consider the case detailed by Lloyd (2010) of aspiring artists, many of whom working as bartenders in a Bohemian Chicago neighbourhood. They went to other bars on their days off and gave away much of their incomes to other bartenders as generous tips. Drinking undermined their arts work too. How census-defined disadvantage is locally ignored or proudly celebrated hugely matters. Stuart (in progress) shows that gang members make tough drill rap videos, whose YouTube ratings are their new bottom lines. Bohemian scenes can aid or inhibit leveraging buzz, depending on how these are combined. These examples illustrate patterns that demand subtlety to clarify. Our new findings of significant income effects, positive for the arts, negative for bohemia, should not be overgeneralized but spur more sensitive work that explicitly joins aesthetic style with socio-economic and ethnic factors.

Number of arts establishments

The more arts establishments in a zip code, the higher the income. On average, a 10% increase in a neighbourhood’s arts index is associated with a $2,111 increase in median household income. This positive relationship holds across wide and narrow arts types and of disadvantaged neighbourhoods but varies in magnitude. This result enhances past studies (Noonan, 2013; Schuetz, 2014; Stern & Seifert, 2010; Woronkowicz, 2016) by adding many controls, larger Ns, and explicit contrasts of more and less advantaged neighbourhoods.

Type and range of arts establishments

Different types of arts vary in their relationship to neighbourhood income. Differences shift with the type of consumer and number and types of staffing, material, and infrastructure. Our estimates suggest that the narrow art establishments measure is slightly more predictive of higher median household income than the wide measure, consistent with past studies considering multiple arts definitions (Grodach, Foster, et al., 2014; Kushner, 2013; Murdoch et al., 2016; Silver & Miller, 2013).

Level of disadvantage

Table 2 results show a weaker relationship between the arts and income in moderately disadvantaged neighbourhoods, relative to the most and least disadvantaged. The relative middle-class homogeneity has attracted less research and policy intervention than for the highest and lowest income groups. As groups like the National Endowment for the Arts add more types of art in more recent surveys (like knitting), specifics become more visible.

Conclusions and implications

These results show that the arts are positively linked to income in some 25,000 odd US zip codes within four to seven distinct income and ethnic groups. These patterns shift by scene context, illustrated by bohemianism. The most striking contrast with past work is how separate bohemianism is from the arts, specifically that bohemianism suppresses income.

While local scenes shift impacts, a striking result is that most neighbourhoods with more arts activity have more income. This holds within the wealthiest and the most disadvantaged of neighbourhoods. These results challenge the view that the arts simply follow, not drive, wealth, and suggest that the arts can add value (e.g. by generating buzz via better texts, posters, websites and more) and effectively foster neighbourhood revitalization.

Nevertheless, even if the arts help income in all sorts of neighbourhoods, there is no one-size-fits-all arts strategy for effective neighbourhood revitalization. Key to success is sensitivity to the local context by arts activists and policymakers, as illustrated in the diversity of local arts, lifestyle, and social background connections detailed in Silver, Lee, and Childress (2016) and Brown-Saracino (2018).

From a policy perspective, the largest US national arts programme is Our Town, supported by the National Endowment for the Arts. Unlike national programmes in more centralized countries like China and France, each of several hundred Our Town programmes is jointly created and implemented by local artists, civic groups, and a local government. The increasing global recognition that the arts are critical foundations for education, aesthetics, and creative neighbourhoods should encourage more detailed inquiries. We need to join the case studies of specifics with the larger comparative analyses to inform future local projects as well as national arts and culture policies around the world. To better understand context and thus improve the likelihood of success and equity, decision makers and planners can use the two approaches employed in the present study – analysis of distinct scenes and income groups – to better inform strategy and policy.

Notes

See National Assembly of State Arts Agencies (2015) for a brief on state level policies; the US National Endowment for the Arts’ “Our Town” grant programme, https://www.arts.gov/grants-organizations/our-town/grant-program-description; the EU “Capitals of Culture” initiative, https://ec.europa.eu/programmes/creative-europe/actions/capitals-culture_en; ArtPlace America, https://www.artplaceamerica.org; and Artspace, https://www.artspace.org.

See https://scenescapes.weebly.com.

References

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Benjamin, W. (2002). The Arcades Project. (R. Tiedemann, Ed.). New York: Belknap Press.

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Brown-Saracino, J. (2018). How Places Make Us: Novel LBQ Identities in Four Small Cities. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Clark, T. N. (2004). Gays and urban development: How are they linked? In T. N. Clark (Ed.), The City as an Entertainment Machine (pp. 179–192). Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2011 paperback; originally Amsterdam: Elsevier/JAI, 2004.

Clark, T. N. (Ed.). (2014). Can Tocqueville Karaoke? Global Contrasts of Citizen Participation, the Arts, and Development. Bingley, UK: Emerald.

Clark, T. N., Lloyd, R., Wong, K. K., & Jain, P. (2002). Amenities drive urban growth. Journal of Urban Affairs, 24(5), 493–515.

Florida, R. (2002). Bohemia and economic geography. Journal of Economic Geography, 2(1), 55–71.

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Glaeser, E. (2008). Cities, Agglomeration and Spatial Equilibrium. Oxford: Oxford UP.

Grodach, C., Currid-Halkett, E., Foster, N., & Murdoch, J., III. (2014). The location patterns of artistic clusters: A metro- and neighborhood-level analysis. Urban Studies, 51(13), 2822–2843.

Grodach, C., Foster, N., & Murdoch, J. (2014). Gentrification and the artistic Dividend: The role of the arts in Neighborhood change. Journal of the American Planning Association, 80(1), 21–35.

Grodach, C., & Silver, D. (Eds.). (2012). The Politics of Urban Cultural Policy: Global Perspectives. Routledge.

Harvey, D. (2003). Paris, Capital of Modernity. New York: Routledge.

Hunter, M. A., Pattillo, M., Robinson, A. F., & Taylor, K.-Y. (2016). Black placemaking: Celebration, play, and poetry. Theory, Culture & Society, 33(7–8), 31–56.

Inglehart, R., & Welzel, C. (2005). Modernization, Cultural Change, and Democracy. New York: Cambridge University Press.

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Stuart, F. (in progress). The battle of the bullet. (Draft MS. Sociology). University of Chicago.

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[pynkhues]

Love your writing always ❤️❤️❤️❤️ rio making light hearted jokes about Beth being a cougar . Or Beth pta friends or neighbor asking about beths younger bf

Ahhh, this one got long, anon, haha. 

Anyway, here you go! 

(Quick reminder that Asmita and Lauren are who IMDB tells me are Beth’s S2 PTA mom friends). 

Set in The Centre and Circumference / Domestic Fic universe

-

Despite what she knows Rio will inevitably tell her later, Beth didn’t really have a choice.

Or, well, she did, kind of, but honestly telling Asmita and Lauren that she couldn’t make it to her own leaving party seemed like the exact type of drama Beth was inclined to avoid. Besides, it sort of felt like the end of an era. The school year was over, and with that came the end of her kids’ time at Peach Grove Elementary (and her own time on the PTA) and Marcus’ at Buckley Street Elementary – the promise of Glenvale and a new start waiting at the end of the summer.

If nothing else, Beth was mostly excited too – it felt like the final transition, after all. They’d moved months ago, had gotten the kids settled, had navigated Dean and Laura and the rest of their families, and while none of it had been without hiccups, it had all been surprisingly easy too. So what if she spent a few hours enduring Asmita and Lauren’s banal chatter as they saw her off and out the elementary school doors? Beth might not have felt particularly excited at the prospect, but in some ways it felt like an accurate way to mark the end of this chapter of her life.

(Although Rio had disagreed.

“Just tell ‘em you ain’t interested,” Rio had told her over breakfast at the café down the road from her office, newspaper folded to show just the crossword in front of him, a pen in the hand not holding his fork. “Not like you gonna see any of them again.”

“Except I will,” Beth corrects, taking a sip of her coffee, eyeing off the clues from across the table. “Lauren’s daughter is Emma’s best friend. Four down is Jakarta.”

Rio blinks up at her, eyebrow arched, and Beth tilts her head back to the crossword.

“Four down, capital of Indonesia. It’s Jakarta.”

Rio fills it in.)

And all in all, the party wasn’t exactly bad. The kids were all burning off energy in the playground while the parents hung around the back of the school hall, drinking cheap chardonnay out of paper cups. The PTA had organised a bland spread of gluten-free, sugar-free, flavour-free cakes and slices, a few of the dads manning a smoking barbeque, and Asmita had insisted on an array of gold-toned balloons that looked more nickel beneath the glare of the afternoon sun. (Honestly – what were they going to do without Beth to wrangle all of this?)

At least she wasn’t here alone anyway, Beth thinks, her gaze finding Rio easily across the fray of other parents – his tall, lean form, his navy button-up shirt, his angular handsomeness striking like lightning in the otherwise dull fog of the PTA. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t even seem to realise she’s looking at him, not with the way his forehead furrows, his lip curled at something Annie must’ve said as he stares down at her and her date. Beth bites back a grin when she sees Rio draw in an unimpressed breath.

Beside her, Asmita snorts.

“Your sister sure knows how to pick them, huh?”

With a quick twitch of her lips, Beth’s gaze drifts away from Rio to where Annie’s date stands beside him, nursing a beer – and just, god, nobody could say her sister doesn’t have a type. Beth wouldn’t look twice at him in an empty room, but he seems sweet enough, and enamoured with Annie, and it wasn’t like he was unattractive – sandy-haired and a little pale, thin, wire-framed glasses propped on a long, narrow nose. He talks a little too quickly, nervously, and had made at least three pop culture references in the space of their five-minute introduction that afternoon which Beth had enough experience to just smile and nod at, but had Rio shaking his head in what Beth was starting to recognise as second-hand embarrassment.

At the thought of Rio, Beth’s gaze slides back to him, and she’s surprised when he meets her look this time, his dark eyes rolling up as Annie’s date babbles beside him. Beth bites back a grin.

“I mean, he is handsome,” Lauren confesses. “But gosh, you know, he looks like he could be in a gang or something. Like in one of those shows on cable.”

And just - - wait. Beth stiffens, turning around sharply to look at Lauren and Asmita, but before she can even get a word out, Asmita shifts closer, tilting her small paper cup at Beth and levelling her with a strange look.  

“Speaking of new men,” Asmita says, shoulders raised a little as she leans in towards Beth. “You’ve certainly kept yours on the down low. I feel like last I heard you and Dean were just starting to talk about separating, and now look at you! You’ve let some new beau buy you a house.”

“He didn’t buy me anything, we bought it together,” Beth corrects, but Lauren and Asmita titter excitedly, ignoring her.

“A house near Glenvale,” Lauren enthuses. “I mean, gosh, those are million dollar houses out there.”

The words are enough to make Asmita nod a little too furiously, and Beth turns to reply only to pause when she sees Asmita’s face twist, almost pinched, before she catches Beth looking and smooths it back into a PTA-friendly smile.

“Must be on good money then, huh?” Asmita says quickly, then sing-songs: “Upgrade, am I right? So is he a doctor, dentist, lawyer?”

“Finance,” Beth replies easily, a practiced routine. Her gaze skirts the crowd again, locking in on Annie who’s somehow managed to steal one of the chardonnay bottles from the catering table and is liberally topping up her own cup. “He made his fortune young, now mostly invests.”

With a happy gasp, Lauren throws out a hand to paw at Beth’s arm.  

“Oh my god, an investor. Like, a Silicon Valley type?”

Beth opens her mouth to reply, but Asmita doesn’t give her the chance to.

“How’d you meet him?”

“Grocery store,” Beth says with a shrug. “I…accidentally picked something up that belonged to him. You know how it goes.”

“Ohmygod, Beth! You are like, a total Meg Ryan right now. Total romantic comedy moment. Or - - what do people call it? A sweet meet?” Lauren gushes, while Asmita makes a strange noise in the back of her throat.

“Meet cute,” she corrects, eyeballing Beth, and Beth takes a sip of her cup of wine, dragging her gaze away from Annie and looking back out across the park to where the kids are playing now, laughing as they chase each other around the climbing frame. Even Marcus has gotten in on the action, Beth thinks with a grin, pleased to see him chattering with Jane at the top of the slide.

“That’s it! You know, it reminds me a little of me and my Steven – we met at a football game, back when I was still cheering. He was working in management - -”

“Please, he was managing the hot dog stand,” Asmita says with a snort, and Beth jerks her gaze away from the kids to look at Lauren, who’s blushing bright now, swallowing thick as her hands tighten around her cup of wine. Beth purses her lips, not even looking at Asmita.

“But he was barely twenty-one back then, wasn’t he?” she says loudly, smiling at Lauren. “Managing anything at twenty-one is pretty impressive. Besides, I’ve heard nothing but incredible things about his new restaurant.”

Her words are enough to make Lauren practically glow back at her, and Beth’s smile settles into something a little more natural at the reply, even if she now just wants to tell Asmita exactly how ugly the balloons she’d chosen were. Not worth it, Beth reminds herself, sucking in a breath, but then again - - it really would feel pretty good.

Before she can think any more of it, there’s a hand at the small of her back, and she turns in time to see Rio slide into view beside her, leaning in to kiss her chastely on the lips.

“’Ey,” he says, grinning against her mouth, and Beth can’t quite chase off her own grin in time as he leans back to reveal the wide-eyed looks of both Lauren and Asmita, and - - right, Beth thinks, standing up a little straighter. She clears her throat, turning back a little to better face them, as Rio’s hand drops down her back a little further so that it’s resting less at her tail bone and more at the upper swell of her ass. He balls his hand in her dress, making it bunch a little, before smoothing it back down. Beth resists the urge to slap his hand away, because god, if this is absolutely not the time or place.

“Lauren, Asmita, this is Christopher, Christopher, Lauren, Asmita,” Beth gestures back to the girls, and Rio tilts his chin up at them in acknowledgement, and she sees it – the way he seems to unpack them instantly, his gaze lingering a little longer on Asmita’s curled lip than Lauren’s wide eyes. He holds out a hand to Lauren. 

“Nice to meet you,” he drawls, and Lauren flusters, but takes his hand and returns the sentiment.

“Wow, you are not what I was expecting when I heard Beth had herself a boyfriend,” Lauren stutters, and then blushes, glancing at Beth apologetically. “I just mean, you’re very - -” her eyes flick over Rio’s face, his neck tattoo, the bracelets on his wrists, his converse, and everything all those things imply, before she settles on: “Young.”

And well, Beth thinks, resigned. She certainly could’ve said something worse. She lets herself glance over at Rio, who mostly just looks intensely amused, tilting his head, which only serves to keep Lauren talking, a bundle of nervous energy.

“I just mean to - - to be an investor,” Lauren babbles, her tone reaching a higher pitch, her hands flailing, her cheeks pink. “Beth said you - -”

“Beth was just saying you worked in finance,” Asmita interjects, giving Rio a long, pointed once over, and god, Beth thinks, annoyance sparking in her gut. Has she always been this much of an asshole? She frowns, opens her mouth to reply, but Rio smoothly moves his hand from her ass to curl around her hip, pulling her into his side.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” he drawls, almost bored, and Asmita must pick up on it, because next thing she’s tilting up her nose, eyes unblinking.

“My husband actually works in accounting – for Shepherd and Sons.”

“Good firm,” Rio replies easily, and Asmita blinks, surprised, before quickly recovering.

“One of the best in Detroit.”

Sucking in his lower lip, furrowing his brow, Rio nods in a way that Beth hopes reads as considering instead of condescending.

“One of, sure,” he replies, tone loaded, and Beth resists the urge to elbow him in the side.

Thankfully, Asmita doesn’t seem to pick up on the undertone of Rio’s words, instead she seems to preen, her husband’s status firmly re-established, and god, Beth had forgotten she’d be like that. She’d mostly laid off the comparisons after Beth had told her she and Dean were divorcing, but suddenly she’s having flashbacks of Asmita sniffing that Boland Motors was a cute little family business but really, if Dean was more ambitious he’d be looking at climbing the ladder in an established, name-brand dealership like Toyota or Mazda, like Martin was at the Shepherd and Sons firm.

“You might know him, actually, if your background’s in finance. He was interviewed for an article in The Detroit Economist a few months ago.”

Rio just shrugs.

“Maybe. Think Elizabeth probably woulda told me though, huh?”

And god, both Asmita and Lauren’s eyebrows shoot up at that.

“Elizabeth,” Asmita says, a look of disbelief on her face. Her eyes skirt quickly to Beth, as if asking is this guy for real? before settling back on Rio. “A little formal.”

“Mmm,” Rio hums. “Was raised to respect my elders, y’know?”

He gives Lauren a playful grin at that, making her blush furiously, and Beth resists the urge to roll her eyes. The words are enough to make Asmita laugh though, something too loud and put upon, and Beth catches Rio’s look back at her, his lips twisted in something that tells her Asmita’s reaction was exactly what he wanted, and just. God, she wishes he was less obvious when he wanted to put people in their place.

“You certainly have made a regular Mrs Robinson out of our Bethie, huh? Of course, Mrs Robinson wasn’t the one who shacked up with her boy toy in the end, was she?” Asmita says, voice still a little loud, and just - - what? Any sympathy for Asmita flies out the window as Beth almost swallows her tongue in mortification, her body stiffening even as Rio’s grip stays firm on her hip. He stares back at Asmita, something between amusement and clear disregard colouring his features.

“Asmita,” Lauren hisses behind her, but Asmita ignores her, looking smugly between Beth and Rio, her shoulders set back firmly, and right, Beth thinks. It’s time to go. Before she can summon up an excuse though, Rio’s leaning forwards a little, his eyes bright.

“Oh, you lookin’ for tips, baby?” Rio asks Asmita suddenly. “Don’t blame you. Can’t be easy bein’ married to a guy at a second-rate firm like Shepherd and Sons. Gotta say though if you lookin’ to pick up some college-aged side piece, I’d probably take the basic bitch act down a notch.”

“Okay!” Beth says loudly, over Asmita’s gasp of outrage, grabbing Rio’s hand. “We really need to go check on the kids. Lauren, still on for the play date next week?”

Lauren nods, eyes wide all over again, staring between Rio and Asmita, as Beth waves them off and drags Rio down towards the playground and the kids. She waits until they’re out of earshot to glare up at Rio.

“That was rude.”

“She was rude,” Rio counters easily, untangling his hand from hers to drape his arm over her shoulders instead. Beth huffs at the weight of it, still glaring at him, and Rio just rolls his eyes. “You’ve never had any problem callin’ me out, why you play polite around that shit?”

And, well. Isn’t that the million-dollar question? She bites her lip, looking away. Somewhere behind her, she can hear Annie laughing, can hear the sizzle of the barbeque and the sounds of children playing, and if it were anyone else - - hell, if it was them a year ago, she’d probably have changed the topic. As it is, Beth sighs.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Had to see them all the time, I guess.”

“And you ain’t seein’ me all the time? Mama, you wakin’ up to me, ain’t you?”

Beth rolls her eyes, reaches a hand sideways to jab a finger at his side, to the one spot she knows is ticklish, relishing in feeling him twitch at her side.

“I just can’t believe you’ve seen The Graduate,” she adds instead of elaborating any further, and Rio grins, dart quick, before swallowing it. Honestly, she can’t. She thinks she can count on one hand the number of movies Rio’s seen, and most of them involve Minions thanks to the kids.

“Maybe she wasn’t entirely wrong about the Mrs. Robinson thing,” he replies easily, and Beth blinks, turning enough beneath his arm to stare at him again.

“You like older women?” she asks, then corrects it, nose scrunching up in disbelief. “You like that I’m older?”

Rio just laughs, the sound lyrical through the fray of the event.

“Like the whole package, you know that.”

It’s enough to make her squint up at him, making a noise of disbelief, before saying:

“Some parts more than others.”

And that just makes him hum in agreement, and then, quick as anything, the hand attached to the arm draped over her shoulders, slips down the neck of her dress and gropes her breast, and even though she yelps, really, she should’ve figured he would’ve taken that as an invitation.

***

 And okay, it’s not like the thought takes up that much space in her head, just that it floats back to the surface later that night, when she’s straddling him in bed.

“You really like that I’m older?” Beth asks, a little breathless, and Rio blinks up at her face, tearing his gaze away from where he’s rolling her nipple between two fingers.

“You like that I’m younger?” he counters, and really, it’s not something she’s thought about recently, and back when she had, it had mostly come with a degree of embarrassment – at being so much less experienced than him in almost every capacity except child rearing, at wanting him so much, at being made fun of for it, at being some sort of desperate joke to him and his boys. Before she can work out how to say that though, Rio rolls his hips up beneath her. “Like bein’ a cougar, yeah?”

Beth rolls her eyes, but can’t quite hide her blush at the thought.

“Like bein’ a MI- - “

She drops her hands to cover his mouth.

“Do not finish that,” she hisses, and Rio laughs beneath her hand, the sound dampening her palms, and she gasps when he thrusts up into her, tilting forwards, and then before she can better balance herself, he’s rolled them over, grabbed her wrists, held them above her head as he pulls almost the whole way out and then sinks slowly back into her, drawing a low, guttural moan from her in the process.

The thought mostly leaves her mind until afterwards, when Rio flops down on the bed beside her, stretching a little, his long, leonine body curving effortlessly against the sheets. Beth rolls onto her side to watch him - - god, she loves watching him move - - before pursing her lips.

“What is it about that, anyway?” she asks. “The whole mom you’d like to - - older woman thing.”

The question is enough to make Rio roll onto his side to face her, hand finding the dip of her waist, settling there.

“Dunno,” he says lightly, stroking his hand down from her waist, up to the peak of her hip. He makes a noise of appreciation that still surprises Beth. He likes this – likes feeling every curve, memorising them with his touch, and Beth - - well, Beth likes that he likes it so much, even if it had taken her longer than she cared to admit to get used to it. Dean had always seemed to use touch as a means to fuck her, disentangling as quickly as he could after he’d had her. She doesn’t think Rio would ever stop touching her if she let him. “Idea of bein’ taken care of maybe.”

Beth furrows her brow at that, blinking in surprise, her gaze darting over Rio’s face, searching for any sort of insinuation or request in it, but he’s as much of a mystery as ever, so in the end, she just asks:

“You want me to take care of you?”

His reaction is instant – he snorts, shakes his head.

“Fuck no,” he says, and then looks at her, levels her with an expression that can only be described as lewd. “Maybe,” he corrects, shifting a little closer towards her, enough she can feel his cock twitch at her thigh, and Beth rolls her eyes, but can’t quite help her grin as she lowers her hand to glide through the thin line of hair from his belly button to his crotch.  

And it’s later still, when he says:

“Wouldn’t matter.”

And Beth’s panting underneath him again now, writhing up to get closer to him, when he pulls away a little, and Beth looks up at him through her lashes.

“What?” she asks, twitching back a little self-consciously, and Rio just shakes his head.

“Wouldn’t matter if you were twenty-six or sixty-six, age - - just a fuckin’ number. But you. Ain’t nothin’ just about you.”

And it’s just - - it’s the way he looks at her when he says it, his gaze fixed on her, soft and dark and not like anything she’s ever felt before, but nothing with Rio is anything she’s ever felt before, and before she can stop herself, she’s surging up to kiss him, tangling her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Nothing just about you either,” she says breathlessly, and Rio grins against her lips, brushing his nose against hers as he thrusts into her, and Beth just holds him closer still.

[dweemeister]

2019 Movie Odyssey Awards

As the 2019 Movie Odyssey Award for Best Original Song final was extended, the 2019 Movie Odyssey Awards themselves are late. As always, this is the annual awards ceremony to recognize a year of films that I saw for the first time in their entirety in the calendar year. All films featured - with the exception of those in the Worst Picture category (and even then, the Worst Picture winner won a competitive award below) - are worth seeing.

The full list of every single film I saw as part of the 2019 Movie Odyssey can be seen in this link.

Best Pictures (I name ten winners, none of which are distinguished above the other nine)

The Ascent (1977, Soviet Union)

An Autumn Afternoon (1962, Japan)

BlacKkKlansman (2018)

The Informer (1935)

Kuroneko (1968, Japan)

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019)

Sons of the Desert (1933)

Victor/Victoria (1982)

The Westerner (1940)

Woodstock (1970)

Three of these Best Picture winners received 10/10 from yours truly: The Ascent, Sons of the Desert, and Woodstock. To my discredit, there are - for the second consecutive time - no silent films here. It is also the second consecutive Best Picture lineups without entries from the 1990s or 2000s. This is the first Best Picture lineup without a winner from the 1950s. It is, as a result of my seeing fewer feature-length films than usual this year, the most monolingual Best Picture field in a while. This field of ten runs the gamut of comedy, documentary (Woodstock is only the third documentary of 80 over the last eight years to be a Best Picture winner), horror, musical, American Western, war, family drama, and historical drama.

Best Comedy

Booksmart (2019)

Design for Living (1933)

The Great McGinty (1940)

Jewel Robbery (1932)

Jour de Fête (1949, France)

Sitting Pretty (1948)

Smokey and the Bandit (1977)

Sons of the Desert

Toy Story 4 (2019)

Victor/Victoria

Most of these had me bursting in laughter. Design for Living not Jewel Robbery may not have been gut-burstingly funny, but I appreciate the wittiness of ‘30s romantic comedies and so there get a spot here. Booksmart is the best pure comedy of 2019 and Smokey and the Bandit has been described by a few Southerners of not so much a comedy as it is a documentary of Southern culture in the 1970s. But Sons of the Desert, with Laurel and Hardy’s slapstick mastery, takes it away here. Fun fact: “Sons of the Desert” is the name of the international Laurel and Hardy fan club (its founding documents co-written by Stan Laurel).

Best Musical

Frozen II (2019)

The Happiest Millionaire (1967)

King of Jazz (1930)

Mary Poppins Returns (2018)

The Perils of Pauline (1947)

Rocketman (2019)

Thousands Cheer (1943)

Victor/Victoria

Oh this wasn’t close. Some films here may have packed more songs into their runtime (The Happiest Millionaire and Mary Poppins Returns), others were more fantastical (Rocketman), or dispensed with a plot altogether to concentrate on the music (Thousands Cheer)... but Victor/Victoria felt narratively decades of its time and was bolstered by an outstanding performance by Julie Andrews. Credit to Henry Mancini and Leslie Bricusse for their musical score, too.

Best Animated Feature

Frozen II

Fun and Fancy Free (1947)

How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World (2019)

Modest Heroes (2018, Japan)

Toy Story 4

There have been years where some category dries up in its nominees. This year, it was certainly animated feature. The wave of recent non-English language animated films that usually populate this category were severely diminished to just one last year: Modest Heroes. The weakest Toy Story film of the four - note that this bar is extremely high - is your winner, just edging HTTYD.

Best Documentary

The African Lion (1955)

Hale County This Morning, This Evening (2018)

Made in Vietnam (2017)

Minding the Gap (2018)

Pavarotti (2019)

Seadrift (2019)

Walk Run Cha-Cha (2019 short)

While I Breathe, I Hope (2018)

Woodstock

Yellowstone Cubs (1963)

A year that saw yours truly watch many more documentaries than usual sees Woodstock, directed by Michael Wadleigh, as the winner here. Woodstock perfectly immerses the viewer into the totality of the eponymous 1969 music festival of the same name and is one of the great concert films. Runners-up included the experimental Hale County This Morning, This Evening  (a collection of contemporary images of black lives in Hale County, Alabama) and the excellent Minding the Gap (an observational glimpse into the lives of three friends from Rockford, Illinois who are all drawn to skateboarding and a devastating portrait of youth and masculinity in America) - both Oscar nominees and both shown on PBS earlier in 2019.

Congratulations to Walk Run Cha-Cha for being the first short film nominated in this category since 2015. I first saw it as part of the curatorial committee on Viet FIlm Fest this year and this New York Times film is now shortlisted as a potential Best Documentary Short Film nominee for the 92nd Academy Awards.

Best Non-English Language Film

The Ascent, Soviet Union

An Autumn Afternoon, Japan

Barnali (1963), India

The Garden of Mr. Vong (2017 short), Germany

Ginger and Fred (1986), Italy

Jour de Fête, France

Kuroneko, Japan

La Pointe Courte (1955), France

Pitfall (1962), Japan

Song Lang (2018), Vietnam

I may have seen fewer non-English language films this year, but there’s still a great selection here. In what was essentially a choice between The Ascent or An Autumn Afternoon, the only 10/10 recipient is the winner here. Vietnam has its first appearance in this category with Leon Le’s Song Lang - which is still making the film festival circuits.

Best Silent Film

Bobby Bumps and His Pointer Pup (1916 short)

Bobby Bumps at the Dentist (1918 short)

Bobby Bumps, Chef (1917 short)

Bobby Bumps in Their Master’s Voice (1921 short)

Bobby Bumps’ Last Smoke (1919 short)

Bobby Bumps Starts for School (1917 short)

The Curse of Quon Gwon: When the Far East Mingles with the West (1916 short)

Dr. Mabuse the Gambler (1922, Germany)

The Racket (1928)

Street Angel (1928)

As you can see, I didn’t see a lot of silent films this year. Dominated by Earl Hurd’s Bobby Bumps series of animated short films - Hurd innovated cel animation, a technique that would be used by pretty much everyone in hand-drawn animation for several decades - the winner is Fritz Lang’s sprawling crime epic, Dr. Mabuse the Gambler. The first Mabuse film is a solid, if imperfect, example of German Expressionism, a movement emphasizing darker stories and production/lighting design depending upon extremely angled sets and high-contrast lights and shadows.

Personal Favorite Film

Booksmart

The Farewell (2019)

House of Usher (1960)

The Moon-Spinners (1964)

Murder, She Said (1961)

One Foot in Heaven (1941)

Smokey and the Bandit

Sons of the Desert

Toy Story 4

The War of the Worlds (1953)

“I can hear the scratch of rat claws in the stone walls.” I mean, come on. How could one not appreciate Vincent Price’s straight performance in a fun, albeit loose, adaptation of Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher? Such a great horror movie for an October evening and you don’t want to be scared out your wits. Runners-up were two other literary adaptations: Murder, She Said (adapted from Agatha Christie’s 4.50 from Paddington and starring a fantastic Margaret Rutherford as Ms. Marple) and The War of the Worlds (a chilling adaptation of H.G. Wells’ novel, with special effects convincing for its time and a change of setting to SoCal).

Best Director

Stuart Cooper, Overlord (1975)

John Ford, The Informer

Fritz Lang, Dr. Mabuse the Gambler

Spike Lee, BlacKkKlansman

Laurence Olivier, Henry V (1944)

Yasujirô Ozu, An Autumn Afternoon

Irving Rapper, One Foot in Heaven

Larisa Shepitko, The Ascent

Kaneto Shindô, Kuroneko

Michael Wadleigh, Woodstock

By no agenda at all, we have our first woman winner in Best Director. Shepitko directs her film with the utmost discipline and interest; it is to cinema’s misfortune that she died so young. Other considerations were Ford, Olivier, Ozu, and Wadleigh.

Best Acting Ensemble

An Autumn Afternoon

BlacKkKlansman

The Farewell

The Great McGinty

The Holly and the Ivy (1952)

O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000)

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

One Foot in Heaven

Victor/Victoria

The Whales of August (1987)

Standout performances alone don’t always triumph here, nor do big names. So when it comes to collective performances, there was a wealth of options from the 2019 Movie Odyssey. Just edging An Autumn Afternoon (recommended for those who have seen several Ozu films) and The Whales of August (which I would recommend for those who have seen plenty of Bette Davis, Lillian Gish, and Vincent Price) is The Farewell. What surprised me most about the movie was how well-directed it was. I came into it expecting it to be poignantly written, but the caliber of acting from the cast was astoundingly high.

Best Actor

Demián Bichir, A Better Life (2011)

Yul Brynner, Anastasia

Rudolf Klein-Rogge, Dr. Mabuse the Gambler

Fredric March, One Foot in Heaven

Marcello Mastroianni, Ginger and Fred

Victor McLaglen, The Informer

Laurence Olivier, Henry V

Vincent Price, House of Usher

Burt Reynolds, Smokey and the Bandit

Edward G. Robinson, Little Caesar (1931)

Somewhat forgotten amid more popular John Ford films is The Informer. And with that, mostly forgotten is Victor McLaglen’s performance. McLaglen was a major star who peaked in the late 1920s and 1930s, mostly playing Irish drunks even though he himself was of English origin. He was relegated to supporting roles in the 1940s and beyond. He’s a force of nature as Gypo Nolan in The Informer though, and it is his brute force and physical acting that carries him over the likes March, Olivier, Price, and Robinson (who is my second choice here).

Best Actress

Jane Alexander, The Great White Hope (1970)

Julie Andrews, Victor/Victoria

Constance Bennett, What Price Hollywood? (1932)

Ingrid Bergman, Anastasia

Janet Gaynor, Street Angel

Giulietta Masina, Ginger and Fred

Yûko Mochizuki, Farewell to Dream (1956)

Lupita Nyong’o, Us (2019)

Ann Rutherford, Murder, She Said

Sharmila Tagore, Barnali

What can she not do? We think of Julie Andrews so much as the governess or nanny who makes everything right in the end. For those who don’t know, Andrews stars in Victor/Victoria as Victoria Grant, a struggling song-and-dance lady who, going along with her friend Robert Preston’s get-rich-quick plans, plays a man named Count Victor Grezhinski who plays a woman. Confused? Then you probably haven’t seen the movie (thanks to Blake Andrews’ direction, the film sells the illusion even though we the viewer can see through the disguise). Behind Andrews are Bergman, Nyong’o, and Rutherford.

Best Supporting Actor

Mahershala Ali, Green Book (2018)

Walter Brennan, The Westerner

Jackie Gleason, Smokey and the Bandit

Tom Hanks, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (2019)

Tim Blake Nelson, O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Brad Pitt, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Robert Preston, Victor/Victoria

Anatoly Solonitsyn, The Ascent

Akim Tamiroff, The Great McGinty

Eijirô Tôno, Farewell to Dream

Supporting categories tend to like villainous roles. In a faux supporting role, Walter Brennan - that raspy-voiced (because of his exposure to mustard gas while serving in WWI) coot who had the misfortune/fortune? to always look at least sixty or seventy years old - is “Judge” Roy Bean, a hanging judge who holds kangaroo courts in his lawless corner of Texas. Charismatic, out-of-touch, sexist, and silver-tongued is Brennan in this film... and never for a moment is he anything other than a delight to watch (as much as you may hate his character). Within striking distance are Brad Pitt and Akim Solonitsyn.

Best Supporting Actress

Amy Adams, Vice (2018)

Beulah Bondi, One Foot in Heaven

Doris Davenport, The Westerner

Helen Hayes, Anastasia

Holly Hunter, O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Regina King, If Beale Street Could Talk (2018)

Yoshiko Kuga, Farewell to Dream

Maureen O’Hara, Sitting Pretty

Kiwako Taichi, Kuroneko

Lesley Ann Warren, Victor/Victoria

The most recent Oscar winner for Best Supporting Actress does the same thing here for If Beale Street Could Talk. As the mother of the female lead in the film, King is an emotional scene-stealer from the first moment we meet her. Her character’s sojourn to Puerto Rico late in the film solidifies that. Far behind King is Yoshiko Kuga.

Best Adapted Screenplay

Yuri Klepikov and Larisa Shepitko, The Ascent

Charlie Wachtel, David Rabinowitz, Kevin Wilmott, and Spike Lee, BlacKkKlansman

Ben Hecht, Design for Living

Lulu Wang, The Farewell

Howard Sackler, The Great White Hope

Kaneto Shindo, Kuroenko

Dudley Nichols, The Informer

Ethan Coen and Joel Coen, O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Casey Robinson, One Foot in Heaven

F. Hugh Herbert, Sitting Pretty

One Foot in Heaven is a film with its Christian themes on its sleeve. Hell, the film does revolve around a Methodist minister, his family, and the community he serves over the course of a few decades. But it is a film with no need to proselytize, its heart understanding how human suffering can be tempered with mercy and forgiveness. Runners-up were BlacKkKlansman; The Farewell; and O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Best Original Screenplay

James Gray and Ethan Gross, Ad Astra (2019)

Kôgo Noda and Yasujirô Ozu, An Autumn Afternoon

Emily Halpern, Sarah Haskins, Susanna Fogel, and Katie Silberman, Booksmart

Federico Fellini, Tonino Guerra, and Tullio Pinelli, Ginger and Fred

Preston Sturges, The Great McGinty

Rian Johnson, Knives Out (2019)

Quentin Tarantino, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Christopher Hudson and Stuart Cooper, Overlord

Kôbô Abe, Pitfall

Oliver Hardy, Jack Barty, Stan Laurel, William A. Seiter, Glenn Tyron, and Eddie Welch, Sons of the Desert

Ozu’s final film shows that, though he usually revolved around familial dramas, never changed his signature visual aesthetic, and demanded little sensational acting, his films were always imbued with a deeply-ingrained humanity - asking complex questions about aspects of our familial or public lives that we would not give a second thought to. Ozu and his frequent collaborator Noda make those mundanities cinematic. That is why he is one of the greatest writer-directors who has ever lived.

Best Cinematography

Hoyte Van Hoytema, Ad Astra

Alfred Milotte and Elma Milotte, The African Lion

Vladimir Chukhnov and Pavel Lebeshev, The Ascent

Robert Krasker, Henry V

Joseph H. August, The Informer

Kiyomi Kuroda, Kuroneko

Roger Deakins, O Brother, Where Art Thou?

John Alcott, Overlord

Paul Ivano and Ernest Palmer, Street Angel

Frank V. Phillips, The Wild Country (1970)

In the history of WWII films, Overlord almost always never gets a mention. But this highly personal story of one young British soldier’s service on D-Day - and its shocking, but realistic ending - is beautifully shot. Runners-up include The Ascent and Kuroneko.

Best Film Editing

Norman R. Palmer, The African Lion

Uncredited, Dr. Mabuse the Gambler

Andrew Buckland, Michael McCusker, and Dirk Westervelt, Ford v Ferrari (2019)

George Hively, The Informer

Alain Resnais, La Pointe Courte

Ethan Coen, Joel Coen, and Tricia Cooke, O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Jonathan Gili, Overlord

Barney Wolf, Street Angel

Everett Douglas, The War of the Worlds

Thelma Schoonmaker, Jere Huggins, Martin Scorsese, Michael Wadleigh, Stanley Warnow, and Yeu-Bun Yee, Woodstock

Taking editing techniques that had been used but not pieced together so masterfully before give the Woodstock team the victory here. Their closest competition came from Ford v Ferrari, Overlord, and The War of the Worlds.

Best Adaptation or Musical Score

An Ton That and Leon Le, and Song Lang

T Bone Burnett, O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Alfonso Corelli and Milton Ager, King of Jazz

Robert Emmett Dolan, The Perils of Pauline

Ian Neil, Rocketman

Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez, Frozen II

Henry Mancini and Leslie Bricusse, Victor/Victoria

Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman, Mary Poppins Returns

Robert B. Sherman and Richard M. Sherman, The Happiest Millionaire

Herbert Stothart, Thousands Cheer

Every song was an original in Song Lang. And with cải lương a receding artform in Vietnam, what an unlikely shot in the arm Song Lang is - the beauty of its melodies and especially those lyrics. This category, which advantages musical scores over adaptation scores, also saw Mancini and Bricusse nearly take this one.

Best Original Score

Terence Blanchard, BlacKkKlansman

Bronislau Kaper, The Red Badge of Courage (1951)

Alfred Newman, Anastasia

John Powell, How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World

Leonard Rosenman, Fantastic Voyage

Alfred Schnittke, The Ascent

Max Steiner, The Informer

Leith Stevens, The War of the Worlds

William Walton, Henry V

John Williams, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (2019)

Not the best field for Original Score, but our winner ranks among the greatest film scores of all time. For the second straight year, a composer better known for their classical music work rather than film scoring has won. Following Ralph Vaughan Williams for 49th Parallel (1941) is fellow Englishman William Walton. For Olivier’s adaptation of Shakespeare’s Henry V, Walton was inspired by Elizabethan music, stunning magisterial fanfares. And, of course, there is the passacaglia “Death of Falstaff”. Walton beats Newman, Steiner, and Williams by a country mile.

Best Original Song

“Are We Dancing?”, music and lyrics by Richard M. Sherman and Robert B. Sherman, The Happiest Millionaire

“Crazy World”, music by Henry Mancini, lyrics by Leslie Bricusse, Victor/Victoria

“East Bound and Down”, music and lyrics by Jerry Reed, Smokey and the Bandit

“I Wish I Didn’t Love You So”, music and lyrics by Frank Loesser, The Perils of Pauline

“(I’m Gonna) Love Me Again”, music by Elton John, lyrics by Bernie Taupin, Rocketman

“Le Jazz Hot!”, music by Henry Macini, lyrics by Leslie Bricusse, Victor/Victoria

“The Next Right Thing”, music and lyrics by Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez, Frozen II

“The Shady Dame from Seville”, music by Henry Mancini, lyrics by Leslie Bricusse, Victor/Victoria

“Trường Tương Tư”, music and lyrics by Leon Le, Song Lang

“Woodstock”, music and lyrics by Joni Mitchell, Woodstock

Thank you all to those who participated in the preliminary and the final round of MOABOS this year!

Best Costume Design

René Hubert, Anastasia

Roger K. Furse, Henry V

Walter Plunkett, The Informer

Herman Rosse, King of Jazz

Yoshio Ueno, Kuroneko

Mary Zophres, O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Sarah Edwards, Ocean’s Eight (2018)

Edith Head and Waldo Angelo, The Perils of Pauline

Ghia Fam, Song Lang

Patricia Norris, Victor/Victoria

There were a handful of films I saw in 2019 that were revue musicals - something that, unless you’re an aficionado of musical theater history or know musical films, is unfamiliar to most people in 2020. A revue musical is a musical that features a collection of musical numbers that serve no narrative purpose when put together, often integrating dance or comedy sketches. Revue musicals were far more popular in the first half of the twentieth century. King of Jazz is an early two-strip Technicolor revue musical and its costume design reflects the extreme stylistic and cultural differences of its musical numbers. Behind King of Jazz are Anastasia and Song Lang.

Best Makeup and Hairstyling

Ma Kalaadevi Ananda and Tony Ward, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Uncredited, Dr. Mabuse the Gambler

Tony Sforzini and Vivienne Walker, Henry V

Jack P. Pierce, King of Jazz

Shigeo Kobayashi, Kuroneko

Louise McCarthy and Alan D’Angerio, Ocean’s Eight

Wally Westmore, The Perils of Pauline

Le Cam Huong, Song Lang

Greg Cannom, Kate Biscoe, and Patricia Dehaney, Vice

Paul Engelen, Harry Frampton, Peter Frampton, and Bobbie Smith, Victor/Victoria

Damn there was a lot of makeup in this movie, rendering certain actors unrecognizable. As much as despised Vice (more on that shortly), it takes the cake here. Also being considered was Dr. Mabuse the Gambler.

Best Production Design

John Graysmark, Andrej Andrejew, and William C. Andrews, Anastasia

Otto Hunte, Erich Kettelhut, Karl Stahl-Urach, and Karl Vollbrecht, Dr. Mabuse the Gambler

Jack Martin Smith, Dale Hennesy, Walter M. Scott, and Stuart A. Reiss, Fantastic Voyage (1966)

Paul Sheriff and Carmen Dillon, Henry V

Van Nest Polglase and Julia Heron, The Informer

John Myhre and Gordon Sim, Mary Poppins Returns

Anthony Masters, The Moon-Spinners

Cedric Gibbons, Daniel B. Cathcart, Edwin B. Willis, and Jacques Mersereau, Thousands Cheer

Rodger Maus, Tim Hutchinson, William Craig Smith, and Harry Cordwell, Victor/Victoria

Harper Goff, The Vikings (1958)

An absolutely ridiculous German Expressionist classic with ridiculous production design that would not have passed in an era with color. The amount of sets needed would have been mind-boggling. Behind Mabuse is Henry V (credit to the reconstruction of the Globe Theater).

Achievement in Visual Effects (all are winners because it would be unfair to compare the visuals of Ad Astra against 1953′s The War of the Worlds)

Ad Astra

Detective Pikachu (2019)

Fantastic Voyage

Ford v Ferrari

Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019)

King of Jazz

Niagara (1953)

The War of the Worlds

Worst Picture

Gus (1976)

The Last Flight of Noah’s Ark (1980)

Vice

The World’s Greatest Athlete (1973)

Adam McKay’s conceit for The Big Short (2015) fails spectacularly with Vice - which I found neither funny nor enlightening. It is your “winner” over some pretty culturally insensitive, somewhat entertaining movies that folks who were creating Disney+ probably have not watched.

Honorary Awards:

Kevin Brownlow, for his efforts in silent film preservation

Earl Hurd, for innovating cel animation in film through the Bobby Bumps series

Robert Israel, for his modern-day film scores helping audiences connect to silent films

Jacqueline Stewart, for her scholarship on black cinema in the United States

FILMS WITH MULTIPLE NOMINATIONS (excluding Worst Picture... 48)

Fourteen: Victor/Victoria Nine: The Informer Eight: O Brother, Where Art Thou? Seven: The Ascent; Henry V; Kuroneko Six: Dr. Mabuse the Gambler; One Foot in Heaven Five: An Autumn Afternoon; BlacKkKlansman; King of Jazz; The Perils of Pauline; Smokey and the Bandit; Song Lang; Woodstock Four: Frozen II; Ginger and Fred; The Great McGinty; Once Upon a Time in Hollywood; Overlord;  Sons of the Desert; Street Angel; The War of the Worlds Three: Ad Astra; The African Lion; Booksmart; The Farewell; Farewell to Dream; The Happiest Millionaire; Mary Poppins Returns; Rocketman; Sitting Pretty; Thousands Cheer; Toy Story 4; Vice; The Westerner Two: Barnali; A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood; Design for Living; The Great White Hope; House of Usher; How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World; Jour de Fête; La Pointe Courte; The Moon-Spinners; Murder, She Said; Ocean’s Eight; Pitfall

Victor/Victoria’s nominations haul is a record for the Movie Odyssey Awards.

WINNERS (excluding honorary awards and Worst Picture; 28) 3 wins: The Ascent, Victor/Victoria; Woodstock 2 wins: An Autumn Afternoon; Dr. Mabuse the Gambler; The Informer; King of Jazz; Sons of the Desert; The Westerner 1 win: Ad Astra; The Ascent; Detective Pikachu; Fantastic Voyage; The Farewell; Ford v Ferrari; Henry V; House of Usher; Godzilla: King of the Monsters; If Beale Street Could Talk; Kuroneko; Niagara; Once Upon a Time in Hollywood; One Foot in Heaven; Overlord; The Perils of Pauline; Song Lang; Toy Story 4; Vice; The War of the Worlds

85 films were nominated in 26 categories.

[tabbycasto]

John Bell & Croyden

Last week I was invited to Wigmore Street in West London to get to know  John Bell & Croyden, a gorgeous pharmacy/shop known to be a go to spot for celebs. I’d not heard of them before the event and found out it’s a bit of hidden secret in London! The staff have a wealth of knowledge and there are a number of bespoke services they offer. 

Upon arrival I was greeted by their friendly team who showed me around and talked me  through just some of the many ranges of products they offer. 

Vitamins + Minerals

They had a HUGE variety of new health vitamins,  minerals & food supplements available with the best of the best brands available. They’ve even got a vegan friendly range by Gold Collagen which had the chance to try out : 

Gold Collagen Vegan is a plant based nutritional supplant which promotes healthy skin hair and nails, collagen formation and general well being. This was fantastic to see as I know a lot of the vitamin supplement brands on the market are not suitable for vegans (I’m not personally a vegan but many of my clients are and I think it makes sense to bring out a range for vegans as theres such a surge in people changing the way they think about the enviroment/ their effect on it at the moment). 

I’ll be trying some of the Ashwaghanda supplements as well as the Origine 8 Green Tea alongside the very sought after Lumity Range. Lumity are a cruelty free brand who also create luxury skincare. When their Facial Oil launched back in 2017 there was a 2 year waiting list for it as it was so sought after! I’ve been lucky enough to get my hands on some and will be writing a more in depth review about this once I’ve tried it out for a few weeks (eek) : 

 The Nutritional Clinic 

Next I had a mini appointment with DR Vidhi, an in house resident at John Bell & Croyden every Thursday who’s an experienced  nutritionist and research & Development consultant at Minerva Labs.  

After a brief consultation she introduced me to an EIS Scanner. This scanner basically identifies when organs are not functioning properly and allows Dr Vidhi to suggest nutrimental adjustments that will improve deficiencies in vital vitamins & minerals.

6 electrodes are placed onto your hands , feet and forehead and the machine then measures resistance to the flow of electric currents through the interstitial fluid *that’s the fluid between your cells*.  In just a 15 minute mini assessment I found out some really useful things about my health which I didn’t know before. A full session is £180 and last for 90 minutes. I can only imagine that a full 90 minute session with Dr Vidhi would be beneficial to anyone and I’m keen to book in for a full session. Dr Vidhi came across as a very genuine and warm person and I would be comfortable discussing my health with her over many of the doctors I’ve experienced dealing with over the last few years! She’s certainly a credit to John Bell & Croydon and I’d highly recommend booking in! 

Sneak Peeks

After this interesting and revealing session, I got to explore the range of  makeup & skincare that John Bell & Croydon offer and I was seriously impressed by the staff knowledge. 

They had a few sneak peeks of things not launching until August such as the new Jane Iredale Full Coverage Liquid Foundation which I’m really excited about :

They also offer other cruelty free brands such as Dr Haushka , Dermalogica and some new cruelty free brands I’d never heard of including Rosalique who make this fabulous Green SPF25 which neutralises redness and then adapts to your natural skin’s tone to add  a tint of colour to the face. It felt really sheer and comfortable on the skin and I’d feel inclined to wear it all summer! It was fantastic to be introduced to another fab cruelty free range : 

Amongst other brands I was also introduced to Ion Sei who make the mother of all electric toothbrushes! The technology of this brush is Japanese and works to inhibit plague bacteria using uv light & electrical charges from your own body! I was seriously impressed with it - I’ve been using it for a week and the difference it’s made is noticeable - I just wish I’d discovered this sooner and switched to an electric toothbrush earlier in life as one go with this felt like I’d had a professional clean from the dentist!

In all honesty I was totally blown away by my experience at John Bell & Croyden. The brand cleary take customer service very seriously and the staff are really kind, well informed and above all so helpful. I normally just head to Boots or Superdrug and don’t really think about trying other places, it’s just always been where I shop, but after my visit here, I think I’m going to start shopping a lot more with this pharmacy. It’s worth trying something new and sometimes the hidden secrets of London take a few years to discover *in my case 10!!* Let me save you the time and say GO AND CHECK THIS PLACE OUT. It’s super central and easy to get to, very close to Bond Street. Fantastic brands, great advice. Stay tuned for more in depth reviews of some of the products I had the chance to explore! 

[thisdayinfavrd]

May 9, 2009

I predict pastries in the morning. Call me Nostradonuts.   @badbanana (Tim Siedell) – 75

20 percent of Americans now self-identify as Republicans. Which, coincidentally, is the percentage of dentists who recommend sugared gum.   @adamisacson (Adam Isacson) – 60

At the Star Trek movie. I'm the only one wearing red. And nobody knows my name. Weird.   @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 57

Sometimes I worry I've set my intelligence dial to "idiot". Then I realize it's my nipple. And I'm shirtless in WalMart. Again.   @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 54

"Jonas just asked me if French girls shave their pits." This is the kind of text message we get when we leave Jonas with a babysitter.   @AmyJane (Amy Jane Gruber) – 52

We're hosting a playdate today. Commence "Operation Make it Look Like We Don't Live in a Tiny Cluttered Rowhouse with 2 Incontinent Cats."   @adamisacson (Adam Isacson) – 50

Missing tweet #1747115936   @luckyshirt (Unavailable) – 44

When life hands you soul-crushing disappointment, just make soul-crushing disappointment-ade! It still tastes better than Pepsi One.   @gordonshumway (Jelisa Castrodale) – 44

I found out how to get my wife to hold me again. All I need to do is crap my pants and cry inconsolably after every meal. The crying's new.   @awryone (Josh Donoghue) – 42

I'm sick of hearing about bad unemployment figures. These folks have enough concerns without worrying about body image.   @badbanana (Tim Siedell) – 42

Just realized I have never put an actual button in my belly button.  I'm as shocked as you are.   @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 41

I would pay $1000 for Birdhouse if it sent my toots to @lonelysandwich first and let him punch them up a little.   @AmyJane (Amy Jane Gruber) – 40

Antidepressants are ruining my Twitter output. Bright side: the ultimate First World Problem has been found.   @Remiel (Remiel) – 40

If I were Samuel L. Jackson, I might say, "I just took a mutha-fuckin' nap."  Well, I'm not. But I did.   @adamisacson (Adam Isacson) – 40

Do these Spock ears make me look like I've never boldly gone all the way with a member of the opposite sex?   SET PHASERS TO YUCK BOOBIES   @thedayhascome (Josh Hopkins) – 38

You kids have it so easy. When I was a boy, the SoftSoap didn't foam itself.   @scottsimpson (Scott Simpson) – 38

One good thing about living near Indianapolis is the high probability of local traffic reporters saying "I-69".   @yhf (Jim Something) – 38

I need a coffee enema in my mouth.   @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 38

I know it's racist, but I feel so much safer crossing to the opposite side of the street whenever I see Bill O'Reilly.   @awryone (Josh Donoghue) – 38

The thing about finishing my run by 8am is that it gives me a solid three hours to annoy the shit out of Jim while he tries to sleep.   @CcSteff (Stephanie) – 37

[roselanddentaltoronto]

Common Pediatric Dental Procedures: What Parents Should Know - The Roseland Dental Clinic

As parents, we strive to provide the best care for our children's health. From regular check-ups to addressing specific concerns, dental care plays a vital role in maintaining their overall well-being. Understanding common pediatric dental procedures can help ease any anxieties and ensure that you're equipped with the knowledge to support your child's oral health. In this blog, we'll explore some of these procedures and provide insights for parents. To know more visit https://www.roselanddentaltoronto.ca/ or call us at 416-743-4155.

[littlefoxywrites]

Big Sky Country (Montana)

A/N- Set this whenever you want. Early seasons, later seasons, reboot, I saw it around season five-ish. The store’s been there since before I can remember, and while it’s not known for ghosts, the Pollard and the Smith Mine site are. Sorry for taking so long, lol. This morphed from a Thanksgiving story, to Christmas, to New Year’s, to Valentine’s, but at least it’s not a St. Patrick’s Day story. I’ll leave that to someone else (;

“Scully! Come here.”

She walked over to her partner, raising an eyebrow in the process. “What?”

He nodded towards a building across the street. “I think should investigate. It’s old enough to be the home base of the paranor-“

‘A candy store, Mulder, really?” She ducked away from a wildly waving flag. The main street had been lined with American flags and decked in pine boughs.

“Yeah!” He adjusted his collar and grinned at her. “Come on, Scully. It’ll be fun.”

She sighed and looked across the street. Red Lodge was cold, snowy, windy, and- apparently- the source of most of Montana’s UFO activity. She thought the X-Files had moved past unsubstantiated UFO sightings and onto more concrete conspiracies, but Mulder had insisted upon a weekend of ghost hunting and sky searching in the snow, and someone had approved the estimated budget.

Montana Candy Emporium.

“Sure.” She pushed a flapping flag out of her face. “Fine. Whatever.” Anything to get out of the sleet. Her coat was warm, but it wasn’t meant to be frozen and soaked simultaneously, and neither was she. Mulder offered his arm as they crossed the street. It was icy, and the snow was coming down faster than the plows and grit trucks could manage.

He had been so excited to come. He’d shown her slide after slide about the Smith Mine and the Pollard Hotel and the ghost stories that came with them. There had been countless accounts of UFOs rising over the Beartooth Mountains, and a few old cases of unexplained disappearance that Scully put down to early cowboy justice.

So here they were, mere weeks into the new year. The candy store had a wooden front like an old theater, complete with the billboard. She pulled the door open and warm air gusted out, defrosting her nose. Mulder reached over her head and held the door, waving her in.

“Look, Scully!” Mulder picked a jar of pastel candy up from a shelf and rotated it so she could see the garish label. “It’s a sign."

“Fizzy UFOs?” She began peeling her chilled gloves off.

“Or. . . you know, hold on.” He moved further into the shop, easing past a group of teens in Carhartt crowding around a glass cabinet. The hardwood creaked under his weight. “How about this?” He had a box of bubblegum cigarettes. “Doctor approved?”

“I doubt your dentist would agree.”

He could see the amusement in the fine lines of her expression, even as she fought to clamp it down. She looked down to shove her gloves into her pockets and unbutton her coat. For all the cold outside, the shop was warm, bordering on tropical, filled as it was by students and tourists alike.

The bubblegum was forgotten as Mulder’s gaze caught on a large display of European candies. “Scully, you’re not gonna believe this, but I haven’t seen this stuff since I was at Oxford. Salted liquorice. . . Fox’s. . .”

“Foxes?” Scully stepped forward to see the packet, expecting a fox-shaped candy.

“Fox’s Glacier. They make mints and fruity hard candy. I mean, it’s the same kind of thing we have here, except for the blackcurrant ones. For some reason, I guess America never really got into the blackcurrant thing.”

Scully listened to him ramble about blackcurrants and Montana huckleberry, an apparent local favorite. Mulder’s nose was red with the cold, his hair damp with melting snow. She resisted the urge to reach over and brush it off. Instead, she unwrapped her scarf and fluffed her hair with her fingers, melting the last of the hoarfrost that had formed near her face. 

“Scully?”

She looked up and found a curious expression on his face.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just, you drifted off.”

“It’s been known to happen.”

He grinned. “Sure, whatever.”

“Sure, fine, whatever. You missed one.”

“Can’t have that.” He peered over her, back out the window. “Tell you what, let’s cut out early today. We aren’t going to get anything done in that.”

She turned and looked back out the window. Sure enough, the snow was coming down harder, coming sideways harder, if she were honest. “I expected more from the New Englander.”

“It wasn't windy like this out East.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hmm. That seems like a flimsy excuse, Mulder.”

“Would you rather be in a warm candy store across the street from our hotel or out there ghostbusting near the mines in negative temperatures?”

When he put it that way. “Let’s see what they have back here.” She let her fingers tangle with his as she led him through barrels of taffy. Here, in Montana, nearly two-thousand miles from DC, and several dozen from the nearest field bureau, she didn’t mind the public gestures. Their black wool coats and leather shoes marked them as outsiders, but beyond that, no one knew or cared.

They wandered the store slowly. Mulder picked up a brown paper bag and was filling it with a wild variety of processed and dyed sugar as he recounted ghost stories. Candy corn in January, cow-tails, the squirrel nut zippers that Scully vividly remembered from her childhood, huckleberry jelly bears, and two of nearly every flavor of taffy.

“How about this? Extra hot taffy. Should I bring some back for the Skinman, or do you think we spice up his workdays enough already?”

Scully shrugged. “Capsaicin is said to reduce blood pressure in high enough quantities.”

“In that case-“ Mulder was about to plunge his hand back in the barrel when Scully stopped him.

“I’m talking high quantities as in thousands of ghost peppers’ worth of capsaicin.”

“Oh.” He grimaced. “I’m no longer interested in the health benefits of capsaicin.”

“Sex lowers blood pressure, too. Orgasm in women releases oxytocin, which-“ she paused and cleared her throat as Mulder glanced over in surprise. “Lowers blood pressure via vasodilation,” she finished quietly.

“Is that where your mind wandered to earlier, Agent Scully? Sex?” He grinned at her, slightly bemused by her sudden self-consciousness.

She shrugged again, looking down at their joined hands. “No, Agent Mulder.” She added the same emphasis on his title. Two could play that game. “I was thinking along lines somewhat more germane to our investigation.” 

“Yeah?” He couldn’t quite tell if she was bullshitting him, but he suspected she was.

“We’re primarily here to investigate the disappearance of a Lutheran pastor, are we not?”

“Yeah, technically. He disappeared from his apartment over this shop-“

“In 1956, Mulder.”

“Yeah, but I showed you all those reports of electrical issues and noises from upstairs. They’re ongoing. That apartment hasn’t been rented out since-“

“1994, I know, and it’s locked. The realtor told me over the phone. She hasn’t give the key to anyone, and she has the only copy as far as she’s aware, and she’s out of town this weekend.” Scully fingered a coconut long-boy. “I was thinking, there’s probably a stairwell going from the back of this place to the apartment. At one point, that apartment was intended as the shopowner’s home, and it only makes sense to have an internal entrance.”

“The back. . .” Mulder looked up at the striped curtain drawn across the wide hallway to the back rooms of the emporium. He glanced towards the front again, where the employees seemed to be busy with the Carhartt kids and a new group by the fudge window. He set the brown bag of candy down behind a basket of Atomic Fireballs. “They probably don’t want merchandise back there,” he said calmly. “C’mon, Scully.”

He led her with purpose. Over the years he’d found that acting like he owned something- a stolen ID, a crime scene- got him further than asking. He flipped back the curtain, high enough for Scully to pass under, and then dropped it, enveloping them in darkness. 

“Scu-“

There was a click and her face suddenly lit up with an eerie glow. She lifted her flashlight away from her chin as he jumped back. “Gotcha.” She smiled, then cast the beam around them. “Doesn’t look too exciting.” There were more barrels, cardboard boxes with confectionary labels, and a cramped folding table.

Mulder stepped up to the table and Scully let the light follow him. “Cards, maybe a. . .” he flicked something across the table. “A little bit of Mary-Jane.” He wandered away and Scully followed, smiling. There were rows of boxes on shelves, sealed tight. She watched as Mulder ducked behind a tower of boxes and pushed a shelf to the side to tap a door with his knuckle. “Nice call, Scully. It doesn’t look like this has been moved in ages.” The wall behind the shelving was darker, the wood varnish unfaded. The glint of the doorknob in the torch light must have caught Mulder’s eye, she realized.

“Mm.” She stepped up to the door and twisted the knob, then pulled it open. The shelf blocked it from opening more than a few inches, but it was enough for her to squeeze through. She paused partway, braced herself on the doorway, and shoved it open a little further. “Come on in, the water’s fine, I think.” She swept her light over the area behind her. There was just a dusty staircase that looked utterly untouched.

Mulder eased in behind her and looked up. “Hey baby, you wanna?”

She snorted. “Sure.” This time, she led the way up the stairs. There was another door at the top, unlocked, and Scully’s hopes fell. It probably dumped out outside the apartment, in the entry hallway. She tried it nevertheless, and blinked in the bright light that flooded in.

“Scully?”

“I think we’re in the apartment. The door-” she turned to look at it. “It’s disguised to look the wall. I can see how someone missed it with all the grooves in the wood panelling."

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She clicked her flashlight off and stepped into the small living room. “It’s stopped snowing.” Her heels clicked on the floor as she crossed to the window and drew the gauzy curtain back slightly. The sun had cut through the clouds and the snow had slowed to a vertical descent once again. “It looks like diamond dust in the air.”

“Beautiful.”

She glanced up at her partner, who was decidedly not looking out. “Muld-err.”

“I mean, yeah, the snow’s nice, too.”

She dropped the curtain and stepped back. “Hm.”

He cupped one cheek with his hand and let the other fall to her waist. “Are you still cold?”

She wasn’t, not really. “Yes.”

“Hmm. Gotta do something about that.” He kept his hands on her and walked her back to the sofa he’d spotted among the furniture that had all been pushed to the wall.

She reached up to begin unbuttoning his trench, working on his shirt at the same time. “Here? Really?”

“Well, someone’s got to keep the local ghost stories going, and what better way than mysterious noises from locked apartments?”

She snorted. “Not the best pick-up I’ve heard, but one of the more unique ones.”

“It’s better than the one I told you right before Skinner walked i-“

“I’ve blocked that from my memory. Shush.” Scully rose on her toes to press her lips to his, stopping the flow of words. When she dropped back to her heels, Mulder began stripping her outerwear off in earnest. 

She yelped involuntarily as his cold fingers brushed her ribs. “Jesus, Mulder!"

He paused long enough to grin at her. “Payback for all those times you stuck your ice-block feet between my calves.”

He certainly wasn’t joking about the mysterious noises, she realized. There was some jostling as he gathered her up in his arms, then balanced her between him and some covered furniture. 

“We’re going to have the shopkeepers up here if we keep this up,” she mumbled into his mouth. 

He broke the kiss. “I think we’ll hear ‘em coming up the stairs. They were kind of creaky.”

“Mm, so are you.” She thought about unbuttoning her shirt, then merely pulled it up from her slacks. Mulder’s hands ghosted up her sides again, and he slipped his fingers past her underwire. He could feel goosebumps rising on her breasts, from cold or arousal he didn’t know. 

She tightened her legs around his waist. “I hope your shirt isn’t dry clean only,” she mumbled. She kept one hand on his neck and ran her free fingers through his hair. 

Mulder pulled back, and for a moment she thought he actually was worried about her slushy boots on his hips. “Scully.”

“Hm?” Her hips jerked forward against him involuntarily. She could feel her gluteals tense, and fought for control again.

“We’re in a haunted apartment, Skinner’s nowhere in the vicinity, and you’re worried about my shirt?”

She laughed aloud. “I see your point.”

He leaned in again and kissed her quickly. “What if we headed out of here?”

“Mul-der!” 

He cocked his head to the side and stared at her. Her hair was wind-whipped, cheeks wind-chapped, and she had a damp glow from the snow that had melted in her hair and collar.

“What the fuck?” She was cross enough to swear at him for having interrupted.

“Exactly.” He leaned and kissed her again. “I don’t want us to cross Montana off up against a wall.” The map with the little star stickers was in his desk drawer. The locking one. “Not-“ He moved lower, butterflying kisses along her jaw. “When we have a-“ He licked the edge of the thick muscle on her neck. It had some long name that he never remembered. “A beautiful hotel room in a haunted hotel.”

“Oh my God,” she muttered in frustration. “Of course.” She shivered as he nipped her collarbone. “Ah!”

He glanced up in time to see her eyes roll back slightly. She reached between them and fumbled his free hand back out of her pants. 

“Mulder, you can’t keep doing that and then stop and ask me to walk back outside. It’s worse than a cold shower.”

He chuckled then. “Well then, let’s go, because I want to keep doing that, as soon as possible.”

She huffed in mock annoyance, but unlocked her legs from his waist and slipped back down to the floor. She didn’t bother fixing her rumpled shirt, merely buttoned her coat over it. A few moments later, Agent Scully, MD, had re-emerged. She reached up and rubbed her thumb against the corner of Mulder’s mouth. “'Toast to New York' isn’t your color.”

“Are you sure? Maybe we should check again.” 

She rested her hand over his lips with a smile. “If we start that again we’ll never get out of here. We can check the color when we’re back at the Pollard.” She dropped her hand to his chest and began fastening the buttons on his own coat. Wary of the lipstick, she rose on her toes to kiss him again, then pulled him towards the door of the apartment. They descended the stairs quietly, and slipped into the dark back room. Mulder pushed the shelving unit back in front of the door as Scully slipped her damp gloves back on. No one noticed them sliding past the curtain between the private and public parts of the store. If anything, there were more people crowding into the sugary warmth of the shop than before.

“Scully?”

“Hmm?” She raised one eyebrow curiously.

“Can we stop to get the candy?” Mulder actually looked completely serious.

She chuckled. “And here I thought-“

He looked down, flushing slightly. “Yeah, I know. I actually do miss Fox’s-“

“Sure, Mulder. That’s fine.” She caught his grin and smiled back. “Whatever.” He laughed. “Tell you what. Since we’re going to get held up in the line, we might as well pick up some fudge. It’s apparently made in house, and I bet it melts if it makes skin contact for too long. It’s real chocolate and butter, not your nonfat tofutti." He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I can think of all sorts of things to do with real-“

She fought the flush rising on her cheeks. “Mulder!” She snuck glances at him as they waited in line, then finally sighed and gave in. “Fine. Just pick something that won’t permanently dye my skin.”

“No M&Ms then.”

“No,” she said firmly.

He scans the window, examining slabs of fudge like she does specimen slides. “Does this one look like Elvis to you?”

She raised an eyebrow. 

"Maybe not red velvet, either, then.”

“No.”

“Aww, Scully,” he muttered half-heartedly, before glancing back at her. “Tell you what. Classic milk chocolate for a classic girl.”

She laughed aloud and didn’t bother hiding her smile. “Okay, Mulder.” She paused, remembering how they were in Montana, in a snowstorm, hundreds of miles from anyone of import to her, then reached for his hand and laced her fingers between his. When he looked down in surprise, she shrugged. “I don’t want the sequel to begin with your icy fingers.”

“Cold hands, warm heart?”

“From a physiologic standpoint, I’d have to say no, but I appreciate the effort.”

“Speaking of physiology, maybe we could continue the lesson across the street?”

She hummed quietly as he passed bills to the cashier and took their paper bags of processed sugar. “I was thinking we could move onto anatomy this afternoon, maybe you’d have better luck with the change of subject.”

Mulder swung their joined hands as they stepped back into the sparkling cold of the street. “I got an A in anatomy in high school.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to see how much you remember.”

Mulder chuckled as they crossed the street. “Yes ma’am, Dr. Scully. Pop quiz at 1600 hours.”

“Mm, I was thinking more along the lines of an exam, a full-length exam.”

He drew his gaze slowly along her form and ducked a flapping flag. “It’s still going to be a short exam.”

Her mouth dropped open and she glared at him without any real heat. “I didn’t say which one of us would be the examinee. I was thinking it’d be a longer exam, to be honest.”

He held the door to the hotel open and they made their way past the taxidermied moose in the lobby. “I suppose it’s not beyond the realm of extreme possibility.”

Scully hurried up the stairs, taking two steps to every one of Mulder’s. “You know what they say, though. Seeing is believing. And-“ she bumped her shoulder against him. “I really should verify your report.”

The wind howled past the hotel, shaking the electric lines, and filling the big sky with biting swirls of snow. It would pass through Red Lodge, Mulder knew, before rising over the pass to the south, and gusting through the ruins of the Smith Mines. From there, it would tear through Bearcreek, with its supposedly world-famous banana cream pie, and then carry the cold down to Wyoming. Mulder turned his attention to his partner. The wind didn’t matter, nor did the ghost stories and the strange lights at night. He had Scully by his side, and that was the only truth that mattered.

Their ghosts could wait.  

[doux-ciel]

Personal Trainer CH. 13

Tagged: @erinisawriter @riftversus @between--alleys @bodoramzap @bodoramzap @requiemdelune @lefttowritee @pazwrites @ghost-possum @delphwrites @writing-in-the-margins @thewritertiffany @theouterdark @youngdumbxlit @velvet-moss @niva-writes @natalierosewrites @jess---writes @jadeswritinggarden @cvlms @fannistwrites @sauwrites @seraphilth

*Let me know if anyone wants to be added or removed*

Masterlist:  🥊 🥊 🥊

“Can I get all the locks changed?” I ask the locksmith on the other line getting irritated with his response. I start to walk to the dairy section of the grocery store, balancing the phone between my shoulder and my ear. “Yes when can you do it?” again another answer I wasn't waiting to hear at all.

“Nothing sooner?” I ask.

I might as well take my chances. I sigh.“Ok… next week is fine”

After pressing the end button and bringing the phone away from my ear, I see Cameron checking out the eggs seeing if any of the were broken. She sees that I got off the phone she begins voicing her opinion on the situation. “I cannot believe that psycho bitch showed up at work...damn it I knew I shouldn't have went to that stupid dentist appointment.”

I cringe a little just thinking about her showing up to my new office makes me want to become truculent all over again and actually fight her. “Cameron”

“What? I wanted to see all the action”. She pauses placing the eggs in the cart, she grabs the end of the cart slowly walking around to the cheese section. Opening the glass door. “Seriously girl why haven't you called the police yet”

I snort at her comment,“And say what? My trainer wants me to win a boxing match give her the death penalty”

“I'm serious Azalea, she's like on some stalker shit she showed at the job and practically threatened you” Cameron stressed, grabbing a pack of some pepper-jack cheese she threw it in the cart.

I shake my head side to side, pulling on one of my curls. “No I don't need Gerald thinking that I can't handle my own problems...I just got the promotion.”

She turns to me a hand on my shoulder, she tilts her head to the side smacking her lips, “Well you need to do something” She pauses looking at me then she clasps her hands together. “I say you me and Griffin all move to Jamaica and change our names..my name could be, Kalisa oh and you could be Raeni”

I gasp chuckling a little by her suggestion, but I'll play along with it. “I look like a Raeni I was thinking more like Taniyah”

Cameron's eyes get wide as she leans down on the cart her smile getting wide. “Yessss fabulous name”

See this is why I love her, she always know what to say to get my spirits back up. We turn the corner, “Now we got to work on our backstories….”

“Azalea?” I hear a familiar voice call out to me down the aisle, I squint my eyes into the crowded aisle before me, that when I see her blonde hair and her brown eyes coming closer.

She doesn't even live in this area...let alone go this grocery store. My lips form a straight line, staring at her. “You usually don't shop over here…”

Just then Cameron jumps in front of the cart, walking closer to Fiona getting all up in her face. “Are you stalking my best friend?”

I grab her forearm pulling her out the way, she really wants to get in a fight with this woman in the middle of a grocery store? I move in front of her glaring at Fiona, “Chill Cameron I got this, you stalking me?”

Her eyes get soft and she has this dazzled look on her face as if she doesn't know what she doing. Placing her hand on her chest, moving her cart to the side so the elderly woman can walk past. “What? No I would never-” She pauses after scanning my cart. She shakes her head and places her finger on her lip tapping on it lightly. “I see some unhealthy choices in that basket of yours”

I see Cameron slip past everyone and grabbing 4 packets of cookies. “Oh my gosh you're totally right we forgot something else” She grabs a tub of ice cream, placing it all in the cart. I had to cover my mouth to stifle the laughs that were coming out.

Fiona turns her attention over to me, pushing her cart past me a little. “Well Azalea I hope you will change your mind about our conversation before-”

“No I'm still not needing your services”

With that she finally walked away, turning the corner and going down another aisle.

Cameron slaps me on the arm, giving me a look. “She's giving me total Carrie vibes”

                    ¤ ¤ ¤

After that crazy encounter with Fiona at the grocery store with Cameron. I needed to take some time for myself and just relax in the comfort of my own home. I was currently on my computer looking up some dinner recipes for soy sauce chicken when that woman flashed into my head talking about Fiona. I go on google and search up her name, I type in Fiona Wescott, I don't see anything on web so I click the images tab.

Once open. I see a picture of a young girl with dark brown hair and freckles, just like the woman Rita described. I start to investigate further by click on the image, I see a street sign behind her.

Wescott Ave.

That's her last name. This is getting freaky, I go to the maps tab typing in Wescott Ave just to see what pops up and low and behold it's in a town called WillBerry just like woman said. I'm trying to remember what she said her name was.

Was it Jamie?

Jane?

Jean! It was Jean, I search up Jean Wescott in WillBerry.

Nothing shows up

I remember hearing the lady say Oli, I'm guessing as in Jean Oliver so I proceed to look that up and that's when I find her. I find out the truth. I see a bunch of online articles, I click the first link.

Family mourns after father found dead in Gym.

Published: May 2nd 2002

Authorities found a 32 year old man early Tuesday morning in his gym on George Blvd. Keith Oliver the local gym owner had a tragic accident, while he was doing a morning workout a screw seemed to be loose in one of the Bowflex machines and tragically ended his life, His 16 year old daughter Jean found him according to authorities.

“I'm in shock” said Keith’s sister, Carla Oliver.

Jean who is a sophomore at the local high school will be staying with her grandparents for the time being.

“Oh my god what have I gotten myself into” I say quietly, my whole body was shaking. I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders, I jump up and turn my body around bringing my left hand up hitting the person in the throat. When I look down to see who it is I didn't realize Griffin had walked in the bedroom near the desk.

He was on the floor clutching his throat, coughing. I gasp clamping my right hand over my mouth.I reach my hand out to him and he grips it, pulling himself up off the floor.

I give him a sheepish smile muttering a quiet sorry.

He says he understands and starts rubbing his Adam's apple slowly. He clears his throat before speaking. “Did you eat my ice cream?”

I shake my head no, walking out into the hallway. “No there's still some in there.”

Once I'm in the hallway I walk into the living room turning on the t.v. I soon hear Griffin in the kitchen opening freezer door, taking out his vanilla ice cream.

I focus my attention on the remote in my hand, changing the channel to the news station. It's what I hear next that has me mortified.

The blonde news reporter is on the t.v. “Henry Miller was found today, he was floating in a river nearby a local park. Authorities say that it looked to be a homicide but we will find out more after the break.”

It just keeps getting worse, Henry's dead, Jacob still hasn't told me who did that to his eye and now Fiona isn't really Fiona her real name is Jean….too much is just going on. I can't watch it anymore, I turn the t.v. to some game show, I notice I didn't hear Griffin come out the kitchen with the ice cream. I didn't hear him at all, my eyebrows raise as my eyes shift over into the kitchen.

I don't see him.

I start to get worried and I call out his name. “Griffin?”

“Baby?”

I kiss my teeth, this boy better not be playing right now I already hit him in his throat. I don't need him going to hospital next. But as I get up and I make my way to the kitchen I see the ice cream on the floor in front my feet. When I turn the corner and see his body laying on the floor. My heart drops and I scream, “Oh god Griffin!”

                     ¤ ¤ ¤

“Azalea?” A voice calls out to me, I'm sitting in the waiting room of the hospital currently crying my eyes out.

“Yes?” I ask still looking down, I see a long white lab coat, my eyes trail up to the older man's face. I wipe some tears with my arm standing up.

“Hi I'm Griffins Doctor” he states giving me a comforting smile. I give him a small smile back but I'm honestly scared about what he's going to tell me. He starts looking at his paper on the clipboard in his hands. “We found some Sodium diethyl when he came in, we had to pump it out but it should be clear in a couple of days.”

My arms cross over my chest as my lips twist up. “What is Sodium diethyl?”

“A sleeping powder...Odorless, Tasteless, Classified as a hypnotic...Heavy stuff knocks you out in minutes.” He pauses hesitant with his next statement. “It hasn't been used since the 1950's”

I had to sit down, I can't handle all this, I already have his mother texting my phone non-stop asking about him. Cameron called me ten million times asking which floor I'm on. It's all just too much. I feel the tears coming up again, I place my head in between my knees taking a moment to breathe.

When I open my eyes while my head is still down I see his dansko shoes inching closer to my body, his voice softer than before and he asks me. “Ms. Lewis have you and Mr. Hillman been fighting recently?”

My head shoots up, looking up at him. “No we haven't what are you trying to imply? You think I did this?”

He puts his hands up in surrender, “I'm just asking a question-”

I shake my head. “No you think that I tried to kill my boyfriend why in the fuck would I do that...I love him.”

“Look I don't want to believe you did this-”

Our conversations got interrupted by Cameron literally sprinting down the hallway, she bumps into the doctor. She takes a seat next to me. “Oh hell no this bitch is going to pay”

I turn my body to her nodding, I start to crack my knuckles. “Right?! I'm ready to fight her right now”

After hearing that the doctor sat down and had a nice and long talk with us about how violence wasn't the answer and how we should call the police if we felt we were in harm's way. Honestly the shit just went in one ear and out the other. But after he left we start to think rationally.

“Look you just have to prove that she's not who she says she is, take it to the police and go from there.” Cameron says as she takes a sip of her water that she got from the vending machine around the corner.

I sigh looking down tapping on my phone, texting Griffin's mother about what was going on. I still didn't feel right about this police thing...I just don't want to do it too soon.

Great.

Now I'm conflicted.

“What if I don't want the police involved yet..I still have to get more evidence.”

She gives me the side eye, letting out a quick breath. “Do whatever you want but just make sure you have the evidence to back it up.”

After a while Griffins nurse named Jenna said we could come in the room, She told us he was still a bit droopy from the medicine they put in the IV. I see him lying the bed his eyes are barely open but when we open the door and he sees both us standing there, a smile immediately erupts on his face. I thought I was going to cry again but not even one tear. After giving him several kisses and face timing his mom we had to leave the room to let him rest.

While Cameron and I sat in the waiting room sitting beside each other. I turn to her, hoping she will let me get this very important thing from her. “Can you give me your brothers number?”

“Why?”

I smirk, “I just wanna ask him some questions.”

[crowkingwrites]

Friday Night Fever

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Fic Request:  Friday Night Thing is just amazing! Can I ask maybe for pt2, where it became s thing and happened couple of times and with each time Ramsay was becoming more and more obsessed with her, and one Friday its readers day off, and she didn't tell Ramsay about it, because, well, technically they're not together, but she comes to the bar to get Theon spare keys to his apartment, and she's all dressed up and make up, because she is going to club. So Ramsay see her and follow her to the club, and he see some guy dancing with her and gets incredibly jealous. And it ends with club smut and Ramsay making reader admit that she belongs to him.

Words: 2731

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12869268

Author’s Notes:  I mention a female DJ duo called 'The Jane Doze'. They were a real dj duo!! They have since broken up and each individual is doing their own thing, but they were so much fun to listen to. I wanted to pay them a tribute by mentioning them in this fic. I loved seeing them live and meeting them, they were big sweeties. If you ever want to get into EDM music/ dance music/ or just trying to find someone new to listen to here's their mix cloud here (https://www.mixcloud.com/thejanedoze/) I highly suggest them!

You hated yourself a lot. You really didn’t know why, but after that first Friday, you let it become a thing. At first, you told yourself the next day it was ‘a one-time thing’. Then, the next Friday came, and there he was with that same, stupid smirk on his stupid face. Next thing you knew, you were in the men’s bathroom with him against the wall, losing your breath.

That next day, you told yourself you would swear off of him. He was no good. You’ve heard rumors about the shit he did. Theon told you how bad of a childhood bully he was. He didn’t sell drugs, but you did hear an awful rumor about how he murdered his brother.

The next Friday came, and you were going to be strong. You were going to tell him no, but the next thing you knew, he was fingering you in his car. And damn, it felt good. It wasn’t like you were cheating on anyone. You were single, and so was he. Every Friday, it would be the same routine. You would tell yourself to not let it happen again. He would bother you until you were frustrated. He would follow you while you were on your break, and then he would fuck you wherever he could.

You didn’t know how he did it. He just happened to manage to get his dirty fingers all over you every time.

This Friday would be different. Yara had hired a new girl to relieve you on the weekends sometimes. Some cutie named Jeyne. You trained her during the week. She was lovely, nice, and it was her first bar job. You sorta felt bad because you knew what she was in for. She assured you that she felt confident to work Friday night, and Theon told you he would man-handle anyone who gave her a hard time. Secretly, you thought they would make a good couple.

Excited, you logged onto a dating site, you recently signed up for. You saw a couple of messages from a guy you’ve been talking to for a week and a half now. He really wanted to go out with you, but since you worked weekends you never had a chance until now.

He was nice to you. He was full of ‘dad’ jokes and dorky memes that made you laugh. He worked as an assistant to a dentist, and he lived only twenty minutes from you. You agreed to meet up with him at a new club in town.

You were moving on to better things, and that made you happy. Meanwhile, Friday evening came around. Ramsay and his bastards came in from the cold and sat in the same spot as always. Groups of friends who sit in the same spot in bars consistently making jokes, placing slap bets, and drinking beer were usually nice people. Ramsay’s bastard Grunt almost punched the people sitting in their seats.

He scanned the bar for you. He looked for the same short skirt and cute low cut t-shirts you always wore. Nowhere. At first, he thought it must be some mistake. The longer he looked for you, the more annoyed he became until a young girl approached the table.

“Hi guys! What can I get for you?” she said with a smile. Ramsay looked at her up and down.

“Where’s the other one?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Where’s Y/N? Doesn’t she work Friday nights?” Ramsay narrowed his eyes. The young girl shook her head.

“Not tonight she doesn’t. She’s off,” she explained.

You walked into the bar. You put on a new dress you just bought. A classy little black number with t-strap platforms that you’ve been dying to wear. Your hair had the perfect volume to it paired with beautiful earrings. Ramsay inhaled the air and smelled your perfume from across the room. It wasn’t your normal one. This one was different. Sexier. More mysterious.

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself.

He kept his eyes on you. You leaned over the bar and laughed at Theon. Theon stopped in front of you and spoke to you. The only words Ramsay could make out were “Saturday morning”, “errands”, and “see you tomorrow”. Theon handed you over his spare keys and Ramsay watched you leave. Your new scent followed you out the door.

Confused and annoyed, Ramsay flew out of his chair and towards Theon. He tapped his fingers on the bar, staring at him. Theon reluctantly walked over to him.

“What do you want, Ramsay?” Theon knew about your and Ramsay’s trysts every Friday night. Theon made stupid decisions, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Where is she going?” Ramsay asked.

“That’s none of your business,” Theon retorted. “What Y/N does with her life is her business.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Where is she going?”

“Again, not your business,” Theon wanted this thing between the both of you to end. He was ecstatic to hear you were going on a date tonight. He wasn’t going to give Ramsay that satisfaction. Ramsay had his own methods. He reached over the bar and grabbed Theon’s shirt collar and pulled him towards him.

“I’ve been fucking your waitress every Friday for five weeks, you dollar store dildo,” Ramsay began. “And I have never seen her dressed like that ever. Where is she going?” His nostrils flared in Theon’s face. For the first time in a long while, Theon wasn’t scared of Ramsay because Theon realized something.

“Oh my god,” Theon started to snicker. “You’re nervous. Alright, I’ll tell you,” Theon wore his best shit-eating smile he could wear. “It’s your worst nightmare, honestly. She’s on a date.” Ramsay let go of Theon.

“What?” Ramsay’s fists balled up. Theon played a dangerous game.

“Yeah, she’s moving on from you, buddy,” Theon kept going. “She went to the new club in town. Profile? I think it’s called Profile. Anyways, she met a guy who’s actually has a job, is nice to her, and on top of all of that, she’s been talking to him for a while now which means you don’t have a hold on her anymore.”

Ramsay’s eyes widened and he bolted out of the bar. He took Ben’s keys and took his car. Ramsay raced down the streets and tried to find the nightclub, Profile. He saw a line of people in front of a gray building.

He skipped the waiting line to find the bouncer staring down at him. He gave him a crooked eyebrow.

“You know there’s a line,” the bouncer said, pointing to the line behind him.

“I need to get into this club right now,” Ramsay demanded. “Fuck your line.”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to get into the line or leave,” the bouncer explained. Ramsay took out his wallet. “That’s not going to work. I don’t take bribes.”

“I’m not fucking bribing you,” Ramsay took out a fake police badge and showed it to the bouncer. “I’m with precinct 10. I’m working on a case on fraud. My suspect is in this nightclub. If you try to stop me again, I will arrest you on obstruction of justice.” Ramsay stood there and waited for a response. The bouncer nodded his head, and lifted the red velvet rope to let Ramsay in.

Ramsay chuckled to himself. “Works every fucking time.”

The club had a social media aspect to it. The walls were Twitter blue which faded into the darker Facebook blue. Hashtags signs flared everywhere with suggestive tags. At the back wall, there was an average stage where two female DJs played pop-influenced dance music. Their DJ duo name “Jane Doze” in white lights with the amount of Facebook likes next to them.

Ramsay scanned the bars for you. He saw brightly colored martinis and drinks. He saw a guy handling two drinks. Ramsay watched him go onto the dance floor with them and handed one of them to you. You sipped the drink and laughed at something he said.

“What the fuck,” Ramsay muttered. “Who does she think she is?” Ramsay watched you dance with your date. You grinded against him, your body curved into his. Your date grabbed your hips and danced to a remix of Safe and Sound while he got closer to you.

Ramsay didn’t enjoy any of this. He kept watching over the both of you while drinking two shots of tequila. A girl tapped his shoulder asking him to dance, but Ramsay gave her the finger and kept watching you. It wasn’t until the guy kissed you innocently on the cheek that Ramsay lost it.

He pushed his way onto the large dance floor until he got to you and your date. Ramsay pulled hi off of you. You turned around and felt chills go down your spine.

“Ramsay?” you shouted. “What are you doing here?”

“You know, that’s funny. I could ask you the same question,” he responded back at you. Your date came up behind Ramsay.

“Dude, what the hell?” he said.

“Who’s this guy?” Ramsay pointed at your date.

You held out your arms to try to calm down. “Ramsay—

“Y/N, what’s going on here?”

“Yeah, Y/N what’s going on here?” Ramsay narrowed his eyes at you.

“I’m so sorry, Andy,” you apologized to your date. “This is Ramsay, just ignore him.”

“Ignore me?” Ramsay shouted at you. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Look, Y/N, if this is some ex-boyfriend you have business with then I don’t want any part in that.”

“He’s not my ex-boyfriend!”

“So what am I then?” Ramsay questioned you. “It’s not like we’ve been fucking or anything.” Andy looked at you and sighed.

“Seriously?” Andy said to you. “You told me you weren’t seeing anyone.”

“I’m not! Ramsay’s just—please listen to me, Andy. Ramsay’s not anything to me. Ramsay, you need to leave. Andy, I just want a good time with you, please,” you begged Andy. He pushed his hair back and took your hand. Desperate, Ramsay took your other hand and pulled you towards him. Ramsay kissed you with full force, letting his tongue go inside your mouth.

Andy groaned and let you go. As he was leaving the club, you reached out towards him. Ramsay smacked that hand away and kissed you again. His tongue halfway in your mouth. You slapped him across the face hard. Ramsay had to take two steps back and recover.

“What the hell?” you pushed him. “I was having a good time and you have to come and ruin everything!”

“Is it ruining everything? You barely knew him.”

“That’s what dates are for Ramsay! To get to know someone, dammit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he shouted at you. The pop-dance music still pumped in the background despite the heated argument between the both of you.

“Why are you here?” you questioned him.

“To protect you from guys like that.”

“Guys like that?” you raised your voice. “He’s a dental assistant, Ramsay! What the fuck is he going to do to me? Threaten to clean my teeth?” Ramsay grabbed onto your dress.

“You know who you belong to.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,’ you spat back in his face. Ramsay smirked at you. His fingers strayed from your dress to the hem at the bottom. The dress was so tight it hugged your curves comfortably, but Ramsay’s fingers slipped under it, tracing both your skin and the bottom of the dress. Your breath hitched, and he saw it.

“That’s what you think,” he said. Before you could think, Ramsay took a hold of your wrist and put it behind your back. Ramsay pushed you towards the exit. You felt the cold air on your exposed skin. The line of people gawked at you. Even the bouncer watched you carefully. Ramsay winked at him and kept pushing you away from the bar.

“Ramsay—

“Shut up,” he said to you. Ramsay pushed you into Ben’s car and closed the door behind him. He began to go for your dress, but you pushed him away.

“Stop! Take me home, asshole!” you yelled at him. Ramsay’s hands touched the back zipper of your dress, unzipping it slowly. “I said stop!”

Ramsay pulled back and stared at you. You straighten yourself out in the backseat. Ramsay remembered the words Theon told him. ‘She’s moving on from you.’ Ramsay kissed you again. Both of his hands went into your hair, gripping it tight and putting all f himself into it.

You pushed him away again, but Ramsay caught your wrists and kissed you over and over again. You didn’t know why exactly, but it happened. You started to kiss him back. He was like a chemical that activated something inside of you. Your hands went around his neck.

Ramsay kissed your cheek and buried himself inside the crook of your neck. He inhaled your perfume, taking in all he could. He started to nip and bite at you. Ramsay’s fingers felt over your chest and down your dress. He touched every curve you had and made his way underneath your dress.

He stopped. “No underwear?” You stopped breathing. Ramsay stopped kissing your neck and looked at you. You caught some hurt in his eyes.

“You were planning to fuck him?” he asked you. You didn’t answer out of fear of what he would say. “You naughty little thing.” Ramsay’s fingers started to massage your folds. You started to feel yourself becoming wet to his touch. He started to push one finger inside of you.

“He couldn’t do what I can do to you,” Ramsay whispered in your ear. He pushed two fingers inside of you and played with you a little faster. Your body started to respond to him. Your back fully against the seat. Your head went back, leaving your neck exposed. Ramsay sucked on it while pushing his fingers faster inside of you.

You were getting wetter by the second. Ramsay took his fingers out and sucked on them, tasting you. You watched him do it, slowly and with a smirk on his face. His eyes went down to your vagina.

“Spread them,” he said to you. You lowered yourself as much as you could while spreading your legs for him. He pulled down his pants and forced himself into you without warning. “Who do you belong to?”

You moaned in response, not saying any name or giving Ramsay the satisfaction. Ramsay thrusted into you harder while pushing you down into the backseat. You tried to balance yourself, but Ramsay took the collar of your dress and held you in the same spot while creating a hard rhythm.

“I don’t like asking again, who do you belong to?” he asked you, staring into your eyes. You looked away. With the other hand, Ramsay turned your face to him. His face inches from yours as his dick went in and out of you. It was hard to concentrate when your walls grew tighter.

“Look at me. Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Say my name,” Ramsay said, placing his thumb on your clit. His other hand still kept a strong hold your dress. “Say my name and I’ll give you what you need. I’ll give you what Andy could never give you.”

Ramsay started to rub you clit while slowing himself down, torturing you. You needed to go faster. You needed him to move faster. He asked you again. “Who do you belong to, naughty girl?”

“Ramsay Bolton,” you said. He began to go faster. Licking his fingers and then rubbing you in circles.

“Louder.”

“Ramsay Bolton!” you shouted a little louder. Ramsay let go of your dress and went to your hips. His hips rolled against you harder, faster, and better. Ramsay was a better lover when he was jealous.

“Louder!” he shouted at you, enjoying himself. You could feel your end coming. Your walls couldn’t take it much longer. He had been rubbing you in smaller and faster circles.

“Ramsay! I belong to Ramsay!” you shouted and you came while he was still inside of you. Ramsay thrusted against you making your realse that much sweeter. You felt your eyes almost roll back. He slowed and pulled himself out. Both of you caught your breath and looked at each other.

“That’s a good girl,” Ramsay reached over and kissed your cheek. “You belong to me.”

[thesobouquetme]

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