#near the end of their friendship too which is the real kicker

[boltgunkiller-archive]

anyone else think santina kissed. multiple times. constantly. nearly dated maybe

[snarkwrites]

FFT: if i only had a brain; landry clarke

Notes:

This is clearly the first part to the FFT I just posted. Yeah, I know. I’m a backwards ass bitch. Anyway, this is the cuuuuute little beginning of these two, and fuck yeah, I was going to put it here when I found it again at long last.

Summary:

Landry is asked to tutor the new girl and a friendship forms. Maybe it’ll lead to more down the line? Who knows.

Pairing:

Landry Clarke x OFC, Arabella.

Warnings:

uhhh.. cute but awkward first meeting holy shit so awkward.

Being the new girl in Dillon was hard. Especially given that Arabella didn’t really do the whole football life. Being the new girl in town who can’t math to save her miserable life though?

Harder.

Especially considering the counselor, Mrs. Taylor.. She thought maybe Arabella could benefit from a tutor. Not just any tutor though.

Landry Clarke.

The kicker for the Panthers.

“He’s just a guy, Belle.” Arabella reminded herself as she took a deep breath, staring intently towards the football players lunch tables. Tim Riggins sat to Landry’s left and to his right, Matt Saracen.

… this is going to be so fucking awkward…

… not if you remember that one, he’s dating Tyra Collette and he won’t even give you a second glance and two, he’s a football player. Football players all have some sort of ego thing…

Across the lunch room, Matt Saracen happened to look up, brown hues darting around, searching the crowd for his girlfriend Julie. Instead of finding Julie, he spotted the new girl in their grade.. Staring at Landry with this look of blind panic all over her face.

Word going around was she was a shy kid. Hell, she barely spoke two words in the whole month she’d been attending Dillon High. And she really didn’t have any friends in the town, either.

It amused Matt, so he nudged Landry, who grumbled and looked at him before following his gaze.

By now, the petite brunette was walking towards their table warily, almost as if she were afraid they’d bite or something.

“What’s the big idea, Matt?”

“Just gonna tell you she was starin awful hard.”

“There’s the thing with…” Landry started, but he sighed. Technically, he reminded himself, Tyra Collette was just using him until something better came around. And she hadn’t been talking to him much, she’d been going above and beyond to avoid him.

So technically, Tyra wasn’t an issue.

“She’s pretty.” He didn’t mean to mutter it, but he did before he could stop himself. Tim overheard and nodded towards the brunette, wiggling his brows. Matt chuckled, because Landry may or may not have mentioned in passing the same thing… about a thousand times.. Matt noticed that  she’d stopped about halfway over, she was talking to Mrs. Taylor, the conversation seemed to have this kind of pleading tone and it ended with Mrs Taylor guiding the girl in question towards their table.

Tim chuckled and leaned in. “Shy one, ain’t she?” as he nodded towards the brunette. It seemed to make her quickly avert her gaze and focus on the floor.

“Gentlemen.. If you don’t mind, I’m gonna borrow Landry from ya.” Mrs. Taylor nodded and Landry stood, walking over to where the brunette sat a few tables away, picking at deep red nail polish, staring intently at the tabletop as she did so. Mrs Taylor cleared her throat and Arabella looked up, her cheeks immediately darkening.

“You didn’t have to do that, I… I was gonna ask him, ma’am. I swear.”

Mrs. Taylor gave a soft laugh and shook her head, turning to Landry and explaining the situation.

“Arabella is new in town. And she’s about to fail Calculus again. She could really, really, really use your help.”

Landry eyed the brunette, noted how she made a point not to make direct eye contact, the blush of her cheeks. He cleared his throat and addressed her directly. “If you don’t want me to tutor you, all you gotta do is say so.”

Arabella’s head snapped up and she shook her head, a pleading look in her eyes. “No, no, no.. It’s not that, I just… I was kinda scared to ask. Figured you’d be real busy, what with football and rally girls and all that jazz.”

… Her accent is something… really does a number on a guy…

Of course, Landry had to own up to the fact that maybe he’d seen her around. She lived out near him, after all.. And maybe he’d let his gaze linger just a little when she wasn’t looking. She always had her nose stuck in some magazine or a romance novel or writing in some old battered notebook that she always put away whenever anyone stared too long.

Maybe he wanted to get to know her better and maybe he’d slipped up and said it to Saracen once a while back and forgotten -or tried to..

Matt’s nudging him made sense now, naturally, Matt hadn’t forgotten their talk.

“Rally girls?” Landry gave a blank look and Arabella shrugged. “I may not talk much but I hear all about it.”

Mrs. Taylor looked back and forth between the two and cleared her throat. “So this is settled then? You’ll tutor her? Thank you so much for doin this, Landry. You’re a sweetheart.” she made a hasty retreat and Arabella nodded to the empty seat across the table from her own.

Landry pulled out the chair and sank down.

“So, umm… Tell me what days you’re busy and we’ll work around that?” Arabella suggested and Landry shrugged. “Football’s almost every afternoon, but we could do it after? I mean if you want.. Whatever days work for you are fine with me.”

“Considering I’ve got a 35 average right now…” Arabella admitted it sheepishly, her hand going to her mouth and the gesture drawing attention to delicate fingers and how small her hand was. Landry shook his head at himself and gave a quiet whistle.

“Math isn’t my thing. You probably think I’m an idiot.. I just… Yeah, I’m gonna shut up now.”

“No, no. It’s okay. I mean I’m not the greatest at…”

“I know you’re in nearly all AP classes, so don’t even. I wish I was half as smart as you.” Arabella sighed and twisted a dark brown curl around her fingertip, continuing, “Do you like… Want my number? So you can call?”

Landry nearly choked on the water he’d taken a sip of but he nodded, giving her a friendly and reassuring smile as he made the joke, “Relax. I don’t bite. That’s Riggins, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Arabella glanced over to the table Landry had been sitting at and burst into laughter, rolling her eyes. “Not even!”

… You mean there’s a girl out there whose not immediately attracted to Tim Riggins?…

“I mean.. I can see what the attraction might be to most girls, but nope. Reminds me too much of my oldest brother Tommy.”

“Oldest brother?” Landry started, but then he remembered seeing her with her mom and her siblings in church last sunday and he remembered that she came from a single mom multiple sibling family.

“Yeah. He’s 23? All the girls just love him. And he’s an idiot.” Arabella laughed and then she blurted it out before she could stop herself, “Don’t you live on the same street as me or something?”

“I do, actually.”

“Awesome!” her face lit up when she smiled at him and he chuckled, standing. “Are you afraid of the guys?”

“No, just tend to avoid ‘em. Over half my brothers play football, so I get enough of that at home. I just like… I froze? Sometimes I get weird about askin for help.”

“Well, you don’t have to be weird with me. It’s okay. I don’t mind. I gotta walk back over to grab my stuff.. Do you wanna walk with me?” he asked, half expeccting her to say no, instead, her eyes met his and after a second or two in which he was almost sure she was blushing and he knew he was, she nodded.

While he grabbed his bookbag, he noticed that she sort of squished herself against him and apparently, Matt noticed too, laughing and giving him the thumbs up as he mouthed to him, “What was that?”

Landry mouthed back “Tell ya later, man.” and he turned to Arabella, asking if she wanted to go back to the other table.

“Yeah. Thanks for doing this.. Maybe I can help you with something sometime?”

“Maybe so..”

[bezgoesboo]

––  m i c   t a p !    “ an’... ohp !  we’re live ! ”    

               r u s t l e   r u s t l e . . .   

“ well, if you’re listenin’, welcome to another episode of witchin’ hour, in which i’ll do a real valiant job of wastin’ your precious time. 

                             we got the tunes, we got the loons, and the night’s fresher                              than a pack of fuckin’ mini mart twinkies. yep. i’m bez.                                                              whaddya say we get jinkie with it ? ”

or, alternatively:  my name is linc, this is bez holmes, and i hope you brought your schnazziest seatbelts ‘cause, oh bud... you’re in for quite the trip.

( timothee chalamet, ghost, he/him & cismale ) is that ( another one bites the dust ) by ( queen ) playing? guess ( killian beelzebub holmes)’s comin’ in hot! heard folks say the ( twenty three ) year old ( local radio host ) was at the thanksgiving fair, ( throwin’ darts at the balloon wall with his buds ) when chaos ensued. during the glitch, ( he was killed by one of his best supernatural pals he was tryin’ to talk down while everyone else was bookin’ it to the woods, but ain’t the faintest clue he’s dead… yikes ).

b a c k g r o u n d    .  .  .

the autumn of 1959 brought the youngest holmes sibling into existence and knocked out their mother in one fell swoop. killian beelzebub holmes was born to mr. holmes and his late wife at precisely 3:33am just before an uncharacteristically frosty dusk.

mrs. holmes chose the name killian long before her second-born ever killed her, so... heh !  joke’s on her !  bez’s pops didn’t have the heart to call him *cough* er, killian, so the family settled for the next best thing so they could still honor his mother’s wishes: beelzebub. except... well. that still was a lil problematic, given the timing of his birth. and callin’ beelzebub on class attendance? not exactly the best look. hence, the nickname bez was born, and he’s been goin’ by it ever since.

bez has an older sister lee and the two are as thick as thieves. growin’ up, they always kept their father on his toes –– wherever the holmes kids go, trouble follows.

mr. holmes served as county sheriff until he was killed by his second wife when bez was 13 and lee was 14. lee went back to art school after the local police department covered up the bear out as a fuckin’ armed robbery gone wrong. lee ‘n bez were sworn to secrecy, but nothin’, not even authoritative men in police badges, can erase the image of stepmonster slashin’ dad to bits and lettin’ him fall face first into a plate of spaghetti.

bez never liked stepmonster to begin with, but killin’ their dad was the kicker. lee returned to art school and bez struggled to keep the peace in the household. the bitch stepped up the loving stepma act until a year later, when she wigged out again ‘n landed him in the hospital for a couple days. after that, lee returned home, ‘n it was officially holmes vs. mama bear.

movin’ out was the dream, but unfortunately, mr. holmes overextended when he bought this nice shiny new house for his new wife ‘n kids; most of his insurance money went to getting the house out from underwater, ‘n the rest went to funeral expenses. so... the kids were kinda stuck with her. still are.

bez never let himself be stupid enough to dream ‘bout leavin’ letum falls. he likes it here. he’s got his people. throughout school, he romped ‘round with the cool kids. hung out with all the supernaturals. in fact, you’d be hard pressed to find bez holmes chillin’ ‘round anyone who’s actually human. contrary to his sister, his father’s death didn’t turn him off from supernaturals –– if anythin’, it made him desperate to prove to himself just what a wildcard stepmonster was.

after high school graduation, bez pestered his way into workin’ at the local radio station. what started as a simple soundboarding gig morphed into hostin’ his very own show, the witchin’ hour, on which he talks about letum falls’ spooky happenings and engages with live callers. he’s got a sleep with me bit –– callers name celebrities, fictional characters, or even existing locals bez has to seduce via song and cheesy pickup lines. basically, the whole show’s a hangout with bez –– more often ‘n not, he’s high as a bird. so the witchin’ hour’s got itself a steady cult of listeners. bez loves every second of it.

he’s got a reputation for bein’ sexually ambiguous. he was outcasted pretty young as bein’ a lil... off? never into sports. liked to paint his nails colors sometimes. borrow lee’s shirts. his dad never raised issue with it, but stepmonster definitely had her reservations. still does. bez holmes is a kid some fathers told their sons to steer clear of. for fear of, bez’ll laugh as he tells ya, spreadin’ it around.

labels are for chumps, he’ll tell ya, mid-cigarette drag. size y’up real good. odds are, if you’re attractive ‘n mysterious in some way, he’ll fuck ya. ( not countin’  six months of abstinence in 1980 when he was convinced everyone he fucked wound up dyin’ two weeks later... there were a string of incidental deaths. but honestly, sometimes ?  he thinks ‘bout it. )

fuckin’ klutz. yeah, he skateboards. yeah, he looks cool doin’ it. yeah, he’ll even wear his shades while he’s doin’ it at night. but surprise him? make him laugh? he’ll trip over his own two feet.

addicted to cinnamon waffles, enough syrup to drown atlantis a second time. he always haunts the local diner. when he’s not there, he’s likely playin’ pinball or skeeball at the local arcade, or slurpin’ down a rootbeer float and annoyin’ the living shit outta earl at the mini mart.

if it’s illegal? sign him up.

he owns a shit ton of thrifted clothes. lots of chunky jackets, v-necks, rings, necklaces. funky pants. he’s recognized around town by his crazy curls. they’re never tame. he’s always lookin’ artfully disheveled. smirkin’. stealin’ looks.

t h e    f a i r     .  .  .

bez was hangin’ out with his supernatural buds ( wanted connections )when all hell broke loose. he was actually makin’ a fool of himself with balloon darts, but he made a ten buck bet he could win a stupid hat.

while everyone else ran, bez tried to talk down one particular friend ( wanted connection ) who was tryna keep themselves from attackin’ him. he got so far as to get ‘em calm, place a hand on their shoulder. lean in to look ‘em in the eye real close. 

“ hey man, hey now. listen. y’don’t gotta do this. killin’ ain’t punk, ‘kay? y’hate blood, hear me? i believe in you, ‘n even though you serve killer looks –– you’re not a killer. ”

even in the face of death, this kid fuckin’ joked around, and... basically this friend slashes his throat and ripped his heart out right after bez managed a hopeful smile. talk ‘bout a magical fuckin’ friendship.

lee and dean hollis took bez’s body with them when they fled the scene.

bez woke up a few days later in the woods near the fairgrounds. he wandered ‘n wandered, almost in a sleep-like trance, ‘til he reached dean’s house. walked in, blinked right at the guy. they exchanged words, albeit bitter ones, before bez left and walked on over to the radio station. did his show like normal, like he’d never even died. no memory of the glitch. no nothin’. 

heads on over to earl’s mini mart like usual. but earl won’t check him out. earl isn’t hearin’ him. so he fuckin’ leaves with a bag of doritos and a big bottle of mountain dew. runs into his boyfriend, xander chapell. all’s fine ‘n well. he’s overjoyed to see the other male. everythin’s normal.

the next mornin’, he slinks home. finds lee cryin’ in her room. pieces it together and thinks it must be dean hollis. must be ‘cause of that asshole.

c u r r e n t l y    .  .  .

ain’t nobody got the heart to tell this poor kid he died. he’s dead. and since he doesn’t know he’s a ghost ?  he thinks wakin’ up near hose weird ass woods, near the fairgrounds ? it’s all a dream. he thinks the worsened insomnia ? ah. that’s just the weather. ‘n when his hand sometimes goes through things ? when people sometimes don’t see him ? some witch is probably havin’ trouble controllin’ their abilities.

stepmomma has a hunch bez’s spirit might be hauntin’ the house. she keeps tryna sage it. tryna figure out what’s gonna help get her stepson to the beyond. ‘cept bez doesn’t know this, and lee’s playin’ damage control.

he’s still so hopelessly in love with xander, but neither of these two goons have actually shared that with one another. it’s all in the looks. the touches. and now... there’s an added bonus that bez is dead –– technically a goner, unless he never resolves whatever’s keepin’ him here. which, y’know. he won’t. ‘cause he’s got no clue.

can he please get a waffle ?  now some of the waitstaff won’t serve him at the diner ! the fuckin’ nerve !  it’s really okay because he’s got duffy ‘n georgia there to help him out. but damn. no one’s ever been this cold ‘cause of his off-color humor before. what’d he do ?  lord knows.

weird shit’s happenin’. people in town are actin’ strange. something’s up. but then again, somethin’ always is. so bez doesn’t mind it. keeps on hummin’ his stupid tunes. carries on with his show. the radio station producers are scared shitless ‘cause like... this dead kid keeps goin’ on the air. what kinda cruel joke is this, huh ?

c u r r e n t     c o n n e c t i o n s  .  .  .

older sister – lee holmes.  the holmes kids are revered and feared. always up to somethin’... tragic, what happened to ‘em, but lordie. that dead sheriff raised some weird kids.

low key love of his life – xander chapelle.  they started dating a few months ago and bez... never... expected... this. he ain’t the feelings type, no sir. but xander lights somethin’ in him. somethin’ new. yeesh. now you’ve got him all fluttery.

chaos crew – maya shen.  partners in crime, in an endless pacman and pinball war. they’ll beat one another’s scores back ‘n forth and back ‘n forth, never ending. bez is fascinated by maya’s family line ‘n all. she’s great to have ‘round, too, when he’s got a hankering for a cig but needs a decent light.

row, row, row your boat the fuck away from me – dean hollis.  dude was pretty cool, ‘til y’know... he fuckin’ dumped his feelin’s on lee and skipped town. yeah, football. yeah, nfl. cool beans, huh? what’d he have to go and fuck with his sister’s heart for? and now that he’s back and lee’s actin’ weird... bez knows he’s the cause of it for sure. and he doesn’t like it one bit.

grew up together – georgia duchannes.  bez, lee, ‘n georgia all grew up peas in a pod. mr. duchannes took over the role as sheriff because he sniffed somethin’ fishy goin’ on in the department and wanted to protect bez ‘n lee. bez gets a real kick outta georgia, ‘n folks even thought he had a crush on her back in the day. which is hilarious. ‘cause everyone ‘n their mother always knew georgia’d end up with vanetten.

the case he’s gonna crack – teejay vanetten.  bez always liked vanetten, thought he was a chill guy, y’know? a lil’ vanilla, but hey. not everyone can be as ace as him. the dude’s always been a lil’ defensive around bez though, ‘cause of georgia. bez thinks it’s funny. plays into it sometimes, just to get a rise outta him. after the glitch, it becomes clear teejay’s goin’ through something not human, so bez is tryna get lee on board to help this guy figure out his shit.

w a n t e d    c o n n e c t i o n s    .

the best supernatural friend who killed him.  bonus points if things get, like. real fuckin’ angsty.

past hookups.  bez has gotten around. guys, gals, non-binary pals. sex is sex.

supernatural kool krew.  this squad has a runs with wolves kinda vibe. bez might be the glue that holds it together. keepin’ up with supernaturals as a human, though? fuckin’ full time job.

avid radio listeners / callers.   i... would love for some routine callers? maybe some peeps he knows from around town who he has ongoin’ banter with on the air?

goofy gays.  all the gay vibes, just... we need a power gay squad mmkay?

enemies.  i’m sure bez is on a lot of people’s shit lists. he speaks his mind. he goes outta his way to be a nuisance. but he’d just find this whole thing abso-fuckin-lutely hilarious.

music jam peeps.  music is a huge part of bez’s everyday life. he listens to bands more than he listens to people. ‘n he dabbles in some musical shit himself. piano, some songwritin’ here ‘n there. nothin’ too major, but it’d be cool to have some pals who also feel as connected to music as him. he does, after all, run a radio show.

post-glitch connections.   dude roams ‘round letum falls a lot now. he did before, too, but maybe there are some people who knew of him but didn’t know him before who’re now startin’ to talk with him? ‘cause they can see he’s a ghost, ‘n they feel bad? i dunno. at this point, bez is startin’ to yammer on ‘n on to whoever’s gonna listen. maybe they just see one another in odd ass places. like earl’s mini mart. or the arcade. or maybe this person’s willin’ to speak to someone for him when they’re doin’ that stupid ass ignorin’ game again.

[whistlewhileiblogit]

Red Flags/Gut Instincts

Here I go, ranting again.

But if you meet someone, anyone, and you get a funny feeling from them?

Go with your gut.

If you have been getting to know someone for say, a few months, and they suddenly say something that seems alarming.

Go with your gut.

Even if you have known a person for years. Maybe in conversation they say something troubling like, "I want to test (friend/partner/whoever) to see how much they care", I can guarantee, you are better off breaking off a years-long friendship than enduring that sort of manipulative, abuse behaviour.

People may think that is cold. And maybe it is. But I have seen and experienced people showing red flag after red flag and ignored it. And guess what? It never works out in the end.

That girl you think is kinda cute admits she wants someone that will completely dote on her, but she refuses to do the same to her partner?

That guy you like gives you a sob story about all his "crazy" exes?

The friend you have had for fourteen years doesn't listen to you when you try to explain your personal grievances to them?

DITCH THEIR ASSES.

I promise you, red flags are always real. If you get alarm bells going off for any reason, trust your instincts.

Trust them, because I wish I had.

I know what it's like to have blind faith in people. I did for most off my life. Someone every now and then might have said "hey, so and so is a bit of an asshole, Rom, Dick and Harry have all said so" and I'd be confused and wonder why they'd think that. Because so and so was always nice to me, they didn't seem like the type of person to be an asshole right?

I could give example after example, but I will give a true, personal, and probably tmi story.

So I'd been seeing this guy for a short while. And already we both were super into each other. We had spent almost every day together, literally staying awake all night to go on night rides and "aventures" (at least they were to me). I looked at this guy, this gorgeous guy, and I thought he was perfect. Perfect for me. He treated me so well. Better than anyone had before. And he was genuine, and honest. And he actually seemed to really like me. On these night drives, we'd talk about everything, and I mean everything. Stupid stuff, our interests, deep 'n meaningful things...things neither of us shared with anyone else. We'd jam out to music (particularly our shared interest in early 2000's "emo" music), and I'd laugh as he'd put on some heavy metal and headbang. We would often park near a beach or wharf, and we'd hang around there throwing rocks in the water, chatting some more, and sometimes he would pull his guitar out from the boot of his car and play music for me. More than once he did this while we sat in the back of his car and watched the sunrise together.

I felt like I was in a movie. It was so perfect. Too perfect, yet I never once bat an eye.

Until I got what I realised was my first major red flag.

So, now comes the tmi part. But I swear, it's necessary for the story.

So once night we were parked somewhere in his car again, just hanging as usual. Now, before this night, we hadn't done...well, anything save for giving each other hickeys one night. But oddly enough we hadn't even actually kissed yet. (both very shy)

Anyway so this night he finally kissed me, which was a big deal for both of us but especially for him because he'd never made the first move on anyone before (or so he told me, I can't actually confirm). And long story short...we had sex.

To clarify, this was a massive deal for me, (and supposedly him too but again, can't confirm) because I am very...picky when it comes to who I sleep with. Idc if people choose to sleep with loads of people but I personally can only ever sleep with someone I really, truly care about. So this is my long winded way of saying that I cared about this dude...a lot. And again, I believed he felt the same way. But I was especially nervous, because it had been only a few weeks. I'd usually wait much longer.

Anyway, so after that night, everything kept going fine...until a few weeks later, and surprise surprise, we were having sex again. And he suddenly stopped and said, "hey...you don't think I'm jist using you for sex, right?"

I was stunned. Where the fuck had that come from? My first reaction was, "what the fuck? No? Why would I think that?" to which he replied, "I've just had someone accuse me of that in the past." and I sorta went, "Oh okay...well I don't think that" and that seemed to settle his concerns.

And this was where I genuinely felt my first red flag pop up. A little voice in the back of my head was telling me something wasn't right about that. Why would he think that I thought that? And why bring it up and such an...inopportune time?

But, stupid, heart-eyed me just shrugged it off. I suppose I figured it was his anxiety, or insecurities showing or something.

But here's the kicker; four months down the line he suddenly didn't want to see me anymore because he "wasn't ready for a relationship". But we stayed friends (keeping in mind there was still flirting and light sexting going on in this time) because I stupidly thought that maybe down the line somewhere, he might be ready. And even if he wasn't, I didn't want to lose such a great guy as my friend. I just wanted him.to be happy, after all. A few months after that? He sent me snapchats of his new girl IN HIS BED POST...ugh. You could imagine.

Anyway, I don't tell this to get pity or whatever. But take it as a cautionary tale, if you will. If I had been smart, and listened to my gut, not my heart or my pussy (graphic but true), I wouldn't have had my heart broken. I may have been bummed out that things didn't work out with the hot guy I really liked... But I wouldn't have gotten nearly as messed up as I am now.

And honestly? I'd be lying if I said I didn't still have feelings for him. All this messed up shit, and I can't even bring myself to be proper angry with him...because of my feelings.

But if I can prevent anyone from taking a stupid risk like I did? Then maybe it'll be worth the hurt.

I mean it; the SECOND you have a friend, colleague, partner...who the fuck ever- give you red flags or bad vibes... Just do yourself a favour and avoid contact if you can. We have these instincts for a reason, and so many of us choose to ignore them just to give someone the benefit of the doubt, but is it really worth it?

If you think someone you met at a bar is creepy and you don't want to be alone with them? Don't be out of politeness.

Who knows? Creepy Gary from the bar might actually be the loveliest man you've ever met, but is it worth running the risk that your gut is screaming "something isn't right with this guy!"

I'd much rather be a little embarrassed over getting a judgement wrong rather than ignoring my judgement and getting hurt.

And let's be real; how often are your instincts wrong?

[icharchivist]

And this is going to be a very self indulgent hpm rambling to work through my own issues bc i’m on a roll tonight on self introspection so ya can skip that unless you want to see me project on characters for god knows how long

but ANYWAY I was so caught up with the fact that Dice was so inspiring to me and was specifically the one to give me strength to think “fuck it” and actually thinking more seriously about my independance that i completely overlooked that like… there was reasons why Gentaro became my fav the MOMENT i’ve read his song, and that Gentaro is just as much my fav as Dice.

And I feel like this is always the sort of duo i have both with my fav characters and my fav ships by extension it is like, 1) the character I can enter in depth about while distached from their plot while generally also having some admiration for them, 2) the character I either relate too much to OR I ended up projecting to HELL on that i don’t even know anymore if any of what i’m saying is relevent in analysis bc is it meta or is it therapy you might never know-

But there’s so much to Gentaro where I can just *shoves my symptoms* that it is hhhhhhhhHH.

I mean it always striked to me as odd that while he says his family was poor the reason he was bullied was because “he was adopted” and bc I’m Like That i ended up projecting that perhaps he had some abandon issues that could manifest just like mine, and like I could…. write a lot about that. 

But i tend to overlook that one of the thing that makes it easy for me to project it is that, I was bullied at school and i honest to god closed off for years because of that. I still have a lot of difficulties with where that left me per se, but the kicker? I was told that the reason i started to get bullied in elementary school was because of the rumors surrounding the reasons of my eldest sister’s running away from home, which is the thing i have Abandon Issues About since my parents thought it was clever to Not Let Me Know for about a year that my sister had ran away (and yeah i talked about it to my mom a few days ago, she confirmed it to me that they did try to hide it from me, leading me to believe my sister ran away at my 7yo rather than at my 6th bc they were covering up the truth in that time, that’s f u n)

And the thing is how he specifically talks about how he viewed himself as twisted because he MUST be a bad person if people hates him this much, tat’s something i Feel Deep In My Bones and have felt all my teenagehood, that there was something wrong with me. Bc Like in elementary school i was thinking “it’s the rumors about why my sister left”, but when it kept going in the three middle schools i went to i just thought i was the problem.

When I entered high school i was tired and angry and i remember going to class the first day thinking i dont even want to TRY to make friends. Like not even TRY. Plus one of my elementary school bully was in my class and that didn’t help at all feeling like this year would be any different than the others. 

And I remember that bc on the first day actually i got lost, but there was a girl who had been following me around all day who therefore was lost with me, and when we were asked where we were going, we jusT. looked at each other and we started laughing from confusion, and from that point on we became very close and it is one of my closest friend still to that day. and she often mentions that she wanted to talk to me right away bc we looked like we would be on the same vibe, but i was terrifying her with my death glares dkfhdfk bc i was just in the mindset of nope, no need for friendship this time around.

And from being friend with her i also opened up a lot to others people and that’s how i’ve made the group of friends i now have, but yeah before her basically attempting all day to be my friend despite me sending signal that i didn’t want to, I was just basically also in this mindset of “i must be a terrible person and i don’t need friends” so that kinda rang a chord with me.

While the timeline isn’t the same for me though, the thing is that being bullied all time is what pushed me to start writting when I was about 11? I was writting in class and in between because then i could just afford to not have to think about the fact people hated me for some reasons and i could create realities in which i could just run away.  (and it is still making me so, so salty i ended up completely frozen from writting bc of my ex guh but then i just found back the last drafts i’ve writen and i just… should get back to it tbh)

So like… all those issues i have from those things i ended up projecting on Gentaro a lot and it’s terrible.

One thing i don’t have at all in common with Gentaro is the fact i cannot lie to save a life, like, i freeze when i even think about lying per se. But the funny thing is that i’ve spent… my whole life actually thinking about whenever or not i should lie or not? Okay this is very weird to explain but - my parents lie all the time. And it had me doubt my reality a lot growing up*. And i’ve always… kinda lived this line of “not wanting to share anything about me and make up things about me so people cannot get to me” (which was basically the reaction from being bullied thinking there must be something fundamentally wrong with my real self y’know) VS “I dont’ want to be like my parents and i’m desperate for people to actually know the Real Me for once because it’s not like it’s my parents who’d know that”

and idk it’s something i’ve always found very fascinating with that theme in particular bc it’s not just something i don’t have in common with him, but it’s something i’ve reflect a lot about whenever i wanted to be like that or not, and just took the decision not to - but basically things alligned in my life that this was something i’ve regularly been thinking about ever since i’m a kid.  (and THAT my friend is legit why my favorite characters are all either liars or people who had made up their personalities to distance from their real selves. Bc this has litterally been My Fantasy since i’m a kid. So Cloud, Allen, Lavi, y’all can see where my patern happens there.)

*about thatone of my major projecting or not is that well my parents spent my life gaslighting me on how some events of the past happened and it makes me doubt a lot of my memory, some of whichi just cling to bc i know i wrote them down when they happened. so when Gentaro's editor, a spy from the gov, tells him that the fiction Gentaro just wrote that is based on actual horrors we know the gov is doing, is truly just fiction and try to reinforce that while Gentaro still wonders if it is, i've read it as an attempt of gaslighting. and it was relatable to me and its why i really read the editor stuff as the gov trying tobmake him doubt his past, thus why reaching out to a private detective is to try to fight that back. and anyone who suffered from gaslighting can understand wanting to have someone neutral who can help you point out that no the person was gaslighting you. istg the private detective reveal was a relief to me bc it is just like when i ask my friends if they remember some events ive said in the past that would disprove my parents lies. and it is even worse bc me lile gentaro im sure, have a part of our past no one can attests for so thats when the gaslighting is the worst. i've related h ard to that but again how much is me projecting?? (and tbh this is why i read gentaro's lies as a "you are trying to make me doubt my reality, fine then i'll make my own that i know is false and you cant do anything about it". it's like reclaiming control on his narrative that people are twisting)

(in the end the real thing i don’t have at all in common with Gentaro is his loving parents lmao what are those? don’t know that. But his reaction to them being all “i felt a gratitude infinite for those people who didn’t have to care for me that i’ve refused to even let them know i wanted things so they wouldn’t have to sacrifice things for me” is….. my attitude toward my friends. As in my best friends always have to insist for me to actually let them spoil me from time to time. And by spoil i mean “giving me money to see the doctor bc my parents failed to do that”. So this is HUH.)

Anyway the point of what i’m trying to say is that therefore i can interpret every single of Gentaro’s reactions or stuff in the lenses of how i personally lived those things i ended up finding… relatability in Gentaro’s story y’know?

Like i’m thinking about the fact a while ago i did a long post about how Dice was Gentaro’s comfort zone. “ At any given opportunity, Gentaro would rather get close to Dice than to try to even connect with anyone else, avoiding every conversations possible if he cannot deviate it on focusing on Dice, almost as if the world scares him enough for him to prefer to be near someone he trusts. “

I’m.. just realizing (i mean this is what prompted this post) that the freak out i just had in my previous post about the fact People kinda scare me because it is outside of my comfort zone that this is about the reading i projected on Gentaro’s behavior there: That Gentaro seems to not want to spend a lot of time connecting with new people and eventually just always get back to a comfort zone and this zone is Dice for him, but like.. point still stand that it depicts him as quite uncomfortable with People in general as a result that he cannot stay around them unless he is staying close to Dice.

*puts head gently on table* and that’s likely major projecting but i didn’t realize it until just now where i realized i would… essentially do the same or that at least, this was natural for me to interpret his behavior as him being uncomfortable around people. because that’s how i’d live it. I just… didn’t think about how that connected until now.

And there were… more elements i’ve picked up along the time i’ve overanalysed Gentaro (remember i have a 178 page long file of rambling about how i read Gentaro and Dice?) i’m not thinking about right now per se. 

but like his fear of the Posse splitting up really does call back to me to the fact he *was* abandonned *and bullied for that*, so while he initially was ready for the Posse to be just temporary, now he couldn’t let go of it y’know? 

and hell lol there is the whole HC i have about him projecting on NLH that is litterally me just projecting bc that’s what i’d do, but then again NLH and Gentaro… has bounds that could explain that. And well i gues sjust the fact Gentaro is that attached to fiction is probably the one thing that is very easy to relate to. “reality is often more disappointing than fiction” is… litterally what i’ve always been thinking all of my life so lemme tell you that when i’ve read this translation after he did a full fanfiction of his life (which i do in my head a few times to try to process my anxieties so I ALSO relate to that), i had a big whiplash of huH.

Also man i get the thing about having ridiculous triggers, even if mine didn’t… translate themselves the way his did. But i have very ridiculous things that can send me down depression spiral down or panic at once and honestly this was.. woah to see. 

“it’s by learning from the past that we can make a future” he says in battle x 3 and that one still cracks me up bc i’ve been litterally raised with the sentence “we need to learn where we come from to go where we’re going”, it was my mom’s motto to get me interested into history (although very bold from the woman who didn’t pass down any of her cultural heritage but that’s an irony for another day). Like everytime he says this sentence i have a throw back bc I’ve. litterally used this sentence in my /essays for classes/ that’s how much it is in my head.

I’m losing track of what i mean, my meds finally kicked in so now i’m not too much into digging into my trauma as i was 20 mins ago but at any rate, 

Gentaro is very very very important to me and idk how much is projecting and all but his behavior just makes SENSE to me, it is just… so logical. 

And to me he’s such a vulnerable character who is just trying to at least give off a feeling you cannot hurt him because he’s been hurt before and doesn’t want to… let it happen again. He can give an approachable facade but he doesn’t really let himself be opened with people around him and when he does he always does it in a way he can be distached from it -say sending the message via writing a fanfic rather than saying “hey i’m anxious about that”. 

i don’t know. meds have kicked in too badly i’ve lost my train of thoughts.

But yeah. 

Gentaro good and i just love him so much and it still kinda kills me how the moment i’ve heard his song i knew he was going to be my fav yet it took me months to actually get back to “why is he my fav” without realizing that i’ve therefore done meta entierely based on how “i can relate to his trauma and his reactions remind me of how my symptoms manifest” so that’s a thing.

jkhl it’s funny bc meanwhile i remain more comfortable with a dice icon and all but…….. man, gentaro man.

so yeah just ✌ what a saga man

[ask-crimson-cardinal]

Equestria isn’t what it seems. Ask anything. And you will get the entire truth. No questions asked!!

To read a bit more of my backstory, keep reading. 

Hoofington is a seemingly pleasant little town. Located on a pristine beach, just a little ways north from the shining star of Los Pegasus. On the outside, a sweet and simple villa for scholars and aspiring writers, and escapees from the hecticness of the outside world. However, its isolation did not spare it from the influences of the Equestrian aristocracy, albeit that seemed harmless enough, if not more secure. Of course, the reality was much, much darker.

Equestria was a rickety house of cards that managed to rebuild itself pretty quickly when knocked over, but it was a house of flimsy cards, no less. A world of chaos almost completely governed by four goddesses and their families, not to mention the various other atrocities that controlled the world beyond, in addition to the very elusive racial divide between the the four equestrian races and the two other sovereign species, gryphons and dragons. What a mess. But who was to acknowledge it? Meet Crimson Cardinal. A skinny, tall red pegasus with a long and flowing purple mane and tail, a journalist of ill-temperament and an extreme lover of conspiracy, cider, and revolution. A proletariat of cynicism and pride with an extreme hatred for dark magic, corruption and aristocracy. And finally, not much a flyer, but a strong adherent of pegasus pride and a shameless destroyer of alicorn supremacy. Though seemingly sour, Crimson greatly enjoyed his little town and the ponies who inhabit it. His full-time job (journalism being more of a freelance job and anti-fascism being more of a hobby) was a bartender at everyone’s favorite salon downtown, “The Bubbly Mare,” owned by an equally gleeful little stallion, Bubbling Cider. Crimson―a lover of conspiracy and writing is also a great, great lover of alcohol, almost more than pen and paper. In truth, his best rhetoric was born from the bottle. But the townsfolk flocked to his side drunk or sober. The political views of Hoofington were slightly varied, but there was one thing in common―The town was mostly Earth ponies and Pegasi. Farms on the borders of town were hard workin’ folk who prided themselves in tending the soil with their own hooves, criticizing the unicorns for laziness. The pegasi, whose job was to beat clouds into submission and maintain the weather likewise berated the unicorns for using their powers to whip up a storm or chaos anytime they pleased. On the flip side―those small-town earth ponies and pegasi were shunned by the elitist unicorns of the big city, and it was remarkably difficult for a non unicorn to have a profession other than a farmer or cloud-kicker. And it wasn’t just Hoofington that held this belief. This distrust of magic wasn’t seen by those who visited the shining capitals and paragons of Equestria. Canterlot, Ponyville, the Crystal Empire and other big cities that portrayed the unity and magic that the country prided itself on and preached had shiny, posterless walls. But elsewhere, every alleyway in almost every small town, hidden from dignitaries and diplomats, was marked with cynical graffiti alongside the tyrannical Celestia’s infamous “Obey” posters. Now, Crimson himself wasn’t a hater of unicorns per se, or at least that’s what he contended. His roommate and ‘special friend,’ Regal Pen, was one and a rather magically inclined one at that. But did he appeal to the collective distrust of magic in the town? Oh yes he did. …

The day was searing hot, the sun was beating down on the coast and the streets were fairly empty. The dark alleyways, however, were flooding with quietly chattering ponies, but they weren’t there for the shade. They crowded around a soapbox, placed in front of a fresh, untouched, massive propaganda poster, Celestia’s image glaring down at the crowd in ominous shades of dark blue, tan and red, below the stark blue OBEY. There was a hanging uneasiness and tension within the crowd, starting at the poster which they had been specifically instructed not to brutally desecrate by no other than Crimson himself. However, they also knew that the crafty pegasus would not leave it untouched for long. The dark red pony in question stepped over to the soapbox, sitting on his haunches with his chest puffed out. His eyes were dark and sunken as ever, but there was a glimmer of pride and deviance within them too. He opened a prepared sheet of paper and cleared his throat, grasping the ecstatic attention of his listeners. “I would like to start off by thanking everypony for attending this meeting, especially under such short notice, but I declare this a matter of emergency. As you may have noticed, military presence has increased within our borders in the past few months, which is obviously a reason for concern―But it wouldn’t be so problematic if it wasn’t for the plague that they bring with them―Nationalism!!” Crimson gave a quick gesture to the poster behind him, riling murmurs and cries of affirmation from the crowd. “What you see here is the tyranny of the equestrian aristocracy! To many, it is no more than a frail piece of paper. But we, as the enlightened and intelligent ponies we are, know that it is so much more. My moral is that the pen is mightier than the sword, and this extends to a picture that speaks a thousand words. Be it a thousand and one words of celestial corruption and militant authority!” Crimson violently stomped his hoof against the podium, initiating more whinnies and shouts. He waited patiently for the crowd to cease, preparing for an obligatory remark. “Now, my animosity towards Celestia does not necessarily extend to the other princesses, her devout subjects, nor the blindly following, and I obviously harbor no contempt towards those who are simply unaware. However, I can say that the first three are the willing pawns of Celestia’s every bidding! However, I would be remiss if I did not clarify that I revere Princess Luna, and I do not believe she is a pawn nor an ecstatic aide to her sister’s reign. She only does not resist because she is trapped in the guilt that her sister has has bestowed upon her. I also don’t deny Twilight Sparkle as a heroine, a luminary and the paragon of unity and friendship. And Cadence…well, I don’t believe I need to state my opinion on that airheaded sparkling celebrity…On the other hoof, the honorary ‘Princesses’ Twilight and Cadence, and their extended aristocratic families combined represent all that is reprehensible with Celestia’s reign, including her sloth, her gluttony and her incompetence! They are the perfect plastic pawns in Celestia’s games. They are shining public icons, used to preach the alleged solidarity and morality of Equestria! What’s worse, the great and powerful Celestia sends them to solve her problems! What deity would allow the gods of chaos, the dreaded changelings, and abominations from Tartarus itself to wreak havoc on our country, and send her neurotic, monumentally less powerful slave to fix her own faults? And what if these were manifestations of her own magic, as a means of oppression?” The crowd was riled up, shouting and waving their hooves aggressively. And there was still one last note. Crimson took a breath. “In conclusion, I have a little treat for all of you. I’ve instructed you not to desecrate this lovely, lovely poster, but I’m sure you all knew that I would never leave such a thing standing proudly on the walls of our town for very long.” Crimson turned around and tore the poster clean off the wall and held it up. The crowd was practically snapping at it, as if Crimson was holding a slab of meat over a pit of manticores. He hushed the crowd and puffed his chest out. “DISOBEY.” He threw it into the mud. Every pony in the crowd went at it like a feral animal, grabbing each corner and ripping it at the seams, stomping on Celestia’s ominous muzzle into the disgusting brown mud, saturating it and making the frail poster just that much easier to tear apart. Crimson’s usually cold maw curled into a smirk. He shouted with an undertone of malcontented laughter―DISOBEY!! CRUSH IT!! DESTROY IT!! The desecration persisted for several minutes. Crimson caught his breath and stepped off the stand, looking back at the very happy crowd with a sense of pride. The horde eventually dispersed with adrenaline to fuel a day of proletariat’s labor. The poster laid in the mud in literal shreds, but left just barely recognizable to proudly display the desecration of Celestia’s image. Crimson’s younger sister, Emerald Paint was waiting at the end of the alleyway. A bouncy green pegasus who didn’t quite understand Crimson’s near-obsessive immersion in political discord. She was a painter instead of a writer―A painter who secretly wished to paint the revolution with strokes of blood instead of the written word. “Shit, when did you become so inspirational?” “Shut the hell up. It took me two fucking hours to write.” Crimson opened his satchel and grabbed a flask, taking a quick swill of the sweet nectar that fueled his anger and creativity. “Does it look like I give a shit? Anyways, it’s insane how you made destroying that poster seem so important. I mean, it looked like fun…” “Symbolism. One of the greatest literary strategies. It’s kind of like burning an effigy or some books, although it doesn’t quite have the same effect as tearing the thing itself to shreds and leaving it to rot in the mud.” “The fuck you talking about? Why wouldn’t you just destroy the real thing?” Crimson shot a sarcastic glance at his internally violent sister. “I don’t think that’s a very…realistic…solution, Emerald. Besides, I’d much rather have Celestia rot in Tartarus for eternity next to the monsters she created.” “Do you really think this is gonna end peacefully?” Emerald cocked her head. Crimson sighed and averted his eyes. “Well, not exactly…Regardless of how it ends, Celestia and her pawns can’t condemn us for rebelling when she has been slaughtering, imprisoning, and banishing for centuries, if not millennia?” Emerald shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t feel like it’s worth it. Talking doesn’t get anything done, plus you can’t just beat Celestia!” Crimson huffed and narrowed his eyes, taking another aggressive swill of vodka. “How could you say that?! Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘The pen is mightier than the sword?” “I don’t fucking know. I’m going home, going to work to make MONEY, unlike you.” Emerald said snarkily, flipping her hair and trotted away. “Journalism is a noble and well-paying profession!! And bartending is just to pay the bills!” Crimson growled and flipped his sister off with his wing. He was glad that the rest of the town didn’t share the same ironically bourgeois sentiment. He would show her. … Crimson sat as his desk, continuing on his endeavour to create the perfect combinations of letters that would convince the most stubborn sheep to awaken from their comatose states under the shades of fascism. “That is a great fucking sentence.” Crimson mumbled. Thank Celes- Thank god sheep were too stupid to read and too weak to be of any use to the revolution (He thought with gratuitous disregard of his own hypocrisy). Stamping the last word with his typewriter, Crimson fell back in his seat. The town was on his side, and with the beautiful ink on paper, many others would trot alongside him. But where to go next? Los Pegasus was close, but going into a such a big city with Hoofington’s small population was, well, a really bad idea. Revolutions don’t start overnight. It must be slow, methodical, covert… But it would happen. That was for certain.

[evilkillerpoptarts]

I don’t know if very many people here know about me, and why I have so very many axes to grind, especially about private colleges, organized religion and their direct intersection with Old White Dudes with Too Much Money.  

Once upon a time, a bright-eyed young Poptart was sent off to college.  Now, I had wanted to go to Michigan State University, which was only about 45 minutes from home, and I had a full ride!  But my parents were worried that it would overwhelm me due to my bipolar disorder, and wanted me to go to a Christian school.  I was raised Wesleyan, so off to Indiana Wesleyan University I schlepped, because my parents’ church owns part of it (this I did not learn until my senior year and suddenly Everything Made So Much Sense.)  I more or less lived under a rock up until then, having lived in an extremely white, extremely middle-class town, and had an extremely white, extremely middle-class education.  Shockingly, IWU is also extremely white and middle-class.  But I had an internet connection!  And I started to forge friendships, REAL friendships the likes of which I hadn’t had in high school, or ever, really, with a diverse group of people, and my understanding of the world and my faith was constantly stretched.  As time went on, these began to tug in opposite directions.

I wanted to be an elementary teacher, so I happily chugged along in the education program.  All was going okay until my junior year, when I told a professor I was bipolar.  This resulted in my suspension from the program, because “bipolar people kill kids.” I had one semester to prove I was “stable” or I couldn’t come back.  I had to withdraw from a 3 credit hour class, but in order to maintain my scholarships- and I did NOT have a free ride to IWU, I NEEDED THOSE- I had to have 30 credit hours/year.  I ended up taking an ‘overload’ of 18 credit hours the next semester in a desperate bid to keep my scholarships.

Remember that whole bipolar thing? Yeah.  I was not on anything approximating the right medication, and I’d been getting steadily worse throughout college.  This semester pushed me to my breaking point, and I ended up admitting myself to the hospital.

Obviously I was not allowed back into the education program, as they smugly were able to use my hospitalization as proof that I was “unstable.”  I’m fine with being kicked out now, as I later found out that students they couldn’t find “unstable” were just torpedoed by the program instead and the department just wouldn’t give them an endorsement, which basically means their $80k diploma is worthless.  As I had put myself in the hospital rather than hurting myself, the school couldn’t kick me out, but they were looking for any excuse to do so.

Thus began The Year Poptarts Hated Everything, aka my senior year.  I was on the road to recovery, my dreams had been crushed, the school was making it pretty damn obvious they were trying to find a reason to kick me out, and I was PISSED. I had already paid $60k, I was GETTING my goddamn diploma.  As it was a Christian school I had a TON of credits in religious studies that wouldn’t transfer anywhere, so I was looking at two or three more years at another school.  I switched to psychology and took a bunch of random classes so I could graduate in one year with a similarly useless degree of “General Studies, Psych Concentration” because in order to get the actual psychology diploma I had to stick around for yet another year (at $20k+) for a whopping six credit hours, one of which could not be taken concurrently with the other five.  

So anyway, Salty Poptarts was Hella Salty. I will never forget the row I got into in one class.  I had been on a tangent about the whitewashing and malewashing of history, and a fellow classmate- another woman- said “well if women had done anything, they’d BE in the history books.”

Dear friends, that was when my brain just... snapped.  I sowed chaos, and it was BEAUTIFUL.  I learned later that I had a truly unhinged grin on my face as I slowly but brutally destroyed so many of the WASPy ideals of that college.  My professor tried to stop me, but I was a force of chaos and destruction and I was so, so angry.  I tore into anything and everything that my classmates held sacred.

This was in 2005.  The war in Iraq was being recognized as Not A Good Thing by the rest of America but not at IWU!  Nope, we love us some troops!  I started in on Dubya and the war and another female classmate stood up, sobbing.

“If you don’t support George Bush, you don’t support the troops!”

My brother was in Iraq.  My baby brother.  Was stationed in Iraq, folks.

I stood up as well.  “My brother is over there.  I support our troops not being sent to DIE.”

For some reason, people stopped talking after that, and I quietly sat back down and let the absolutely flabbergasted professor resume the class.  I don’t remember what it was actually about.  I just remember feeling insufferably smug about it and I became a terrifying creature of myth and legend around campus.  People started to leave me alone- but, yet again, this was not enough to kick me out, however the deans tried, so I remained- and they begrudgingly allowed me to graduate because I jumped through all of their goddamn hoops, but I sowed chaos in my wake and they hated me for it.  I made people ask questions and think things that were not allowed on campus.  I rabble-roused and carried on in the general direction of anyone who would listen.  I refused to go to the mandatory Chapel services 3x/week, instead doing approved volunteer work instead.  When my volunteer work was rejected because working with inner-city youth had been taken off the approved volunteer work list mid-semester, and I was forced to listen to hours of chapel tapes instead, it only fueled my anger. My junior year damn near killed me and my senior year was terrible, but looking back at how much I scared those Old White Dudes with Too Much Money?  

I wish I’d done more.

The real kicker, though?  After all that, and how reluctantly they handed over my diploma, after I’d graduated and been gone a year or so, I got a letter.

Dear Alumni, won’t you help us reach a new generation of youth for Christ by sending us a charitable donation?

I sort of feel bad for the poor person who answered the phone when I called, but I did demand to speak with the head of the Department of Alumni Affairs to properly voice my displeasure that they contacted me.  I am now on their “do not contact EVER” list and yet, every now and then, I get a letter…

Dear Alumni, won’t you help us reach a new generation of youth for Christ by sending us a charitable donation?

The head of the Department of Alumni Affairs does not like me.  I’m fine with that.  I don’t like them much, either.

[hoenursey]

You said ask if you want and i hope it's not imposing, still loved someone you shouldn't? what's the story there?

[clearlybeardedcheckplease]

NurseyDex Friendship

Ok, I love these two as mushy saps but that’s unrealistic, so what’s the part of their relationship outside of fighting, roasts, and lovey dovey gross shit.

It starts when Nursey goes stiff in one of the classes they take. At this point they still don’t really get along, but Dex can’t fight someone who won’t fight back, and someone so collected as Nursey being thrown off, it’s bad

So Dex switches seats with the LAX bro next to him in exchange for a slice of pie, since people are defensive over their seats.

Nursey notices, and as soon as Chad leaves, Dex immediately is like, “What The Literal Fuck Happened and Do I Need To Fight Someone.”

Nursey is actually alright it’s just that he’s bad at the subject and he gets ye olde Anxiety so Dex is like, I will mcfucking tutor you I just can’t take you acting like this please let me help

Nursey is reluctant because he isn’t one for being helped, but he’d like to stay on the team, and Dex is pretty smart in his own right, not to mention he has an insane work ethic.

So then they start to tutor each other for varying subjects, not without chirping, but now Dex can roast Nursey without the guilt of him being unokay

So moving foward from mutual respect and stuff, the tutoring is what brings them down a bit from arguing to friendly anger/ roasts/ arguments.  It’s also how they become casual, asking about each other’s day

But they’re still not friends, so how?

Well Chowder is still a mutual friend they love, and he’s such a good guy, and so energetic,but sometimes people who are so outgoing can be too much for others and in comes Under Cover Chowder Defense League so like, this is where they start casually texting outside of important shit, this includes a pie blacklist if they overhear any shit being talked, roasts of any new blacklist member, and just sharing their mutual love of Chowder this could totally be the start of polyfrogs getting together

The UCCDL becomes a group chat with Bitty, half the volleyball team, and Tango

But sometimes they’d just bitch about people when this first became a thing and the league chat is not the place, so this where they start to be  casual friends, great when together, and they def talk, but don’t necessarily seek each other out

So again more how

The answer, Haus Game Night, all d man pairs and liney pairs must be a team.  Ollie and Wicks are drift compatible ass kickers at Mario Party

Ransom and Holster will kick your ass at Mario Kart

Bitty and Jack run a mean just dance duo

Chowder and Lardo pair together since they have no one to latch on to, and well, board games are banned, but cards aren’t. yet. Don’t challenge their card game skills

And nursey and dex literally must compete the fuck together, so their new goal, FUCK UP EVERYONE. Which would be hard, if they both weren’t dirty players, which they are

They end up being great at kareoke, and lip sync battles, since Nursey is artsy fartsy, but Dex has EMOTION (Carly Rae Jepsen 2015), so they work well together

Holster stops Ransom to be like, bro why can’t we sing like that to each other.  Why don’t you sing with me?

Ransom probs said, Bro if I sing with you then I don’t get to focus on your beautiful voice.

During Haus Game Night they get to be strong casual friends, so how do we hit BFF Mode

It’s summer and Nursey doesn’t really feel like hanging out with old friends, so he sometimes drives to Buffalo to see Holster(They are friends and he canonically respects Holtzy ok)

But halfway through summer Holster leaves for The Falls to be with the bro of his life Ransom

And Holster is just like, go see Dex why not, and so He and Dex coordinate a way to hang out

Dex is Near Like Eddington (Shout Out, You know who you are)

The Halfway point that I was given was Andover. And I’m sorry but um, WTF my laptop knew ok

So yea, Andover becomes their Niagara Falls.

Which is hilarious because at one point Shitty is like, you don’t know what those assholes were like sweet sweet Dexy

To which him and Nursey chuckle

When they get back they connect even better on ice, and Holster feels so goddamn proud

Unfortunately now if Nursey is about to get checked REAL hard and Dx is close enough he will literally take it.  He is practising with Bitty to get faster because he will help keep pucks away from Chowder, and people off of Nursey so help him

Nursey gets really good at knowing when he’s about to get checked and also starts to try to one up his speed so he can show Dex he can get himself out of the way in time, seriously STOP IT

But he’s touched, on the inside

They balance each other, when Dex needs to chill, when Nursey needs to FEEL, 

When Dex needs to dream more, and Nursey needs to pull his head out of his ass.  

When they both need to check each other’s privilege. 

Nursey who has learned to be tactful and careful and cautious, and Dex who cuts to the chase. 

Dex who gives in actions and time like it’s nothing, and Nursey who gives physical affection and random small gifts, who doesn’t share his heartfelt poetry lightly but shares with Dex

They share childhood movies, and stories, Dex will send Nursey photos of things he’s fixed or built when he’s proud, Nursey sends pics of his poetry, albeit it’s hard to read since Nursey totes writes small guys

The two roast each other’s music taste, but will always have the other dj for them

During family weekend Nursey’s parents can’t come down because they need to be in town waiting for a client to get in, so he’s just going to go

But then Dex’s family can’t come, so Nursey takes Dex home to cheer him up to keep him company in case his moms are way busier than they said since that always happens

No one says anything about it when they get back because they know it bummed Dex and Nursey out, and really this is good for them

But Dex loved Nursey’s moms, and loved New York, and Nursey really loved showing him all the things he never got to show anyone else, not the kids at Andover, not the prep school kids he was with before that, not even the rest of the team, not even girlfriends or boyfriends.  Nursey has never had a chance to bring people into his home, into his life so fully, to have them help him, and know when he’s upset, and know his coffee order

Nursey starts the Dex poetry at this point, but it really is platonic

Also yes, fanon change, Dex meets Nursey’s family first

After Hausgiving when everyone goes home for actual Thanksgiving Nursey’s moms are out of town, so Dex takes him home

The Poindexters love Nursey. Dex canonically has one brother, but ALL  the nearby family comes by, regardless of how extended it is. Everyone brings in spouses or BFFs or just friends without a home to go to, it’s super normal.

Nursey and Dex become each others best friends, by senior year they are Ransom and Holster level. They show Hockey Shit to people, but they have their own shit Bylaws and Crap.

Best Friend Sundaes come back, but they are a three way between Chowder, Nursey, and Dex

So really, if you ship NurseyDex and stuff, this kind of leads up to it, so really it’s not unsurprising/ borderline concerning.  They can still argue, and roast and chirp, but there has to be something to take the true bite out of their words so they can really love in a healthy manner, the crushing could start earlier in the timeline and all, but like love is also friendship, and most fics don’t focus on them being friends, now I love them being in love, but I’m selfish and want both so here, both.

[thesinglesjukebox]

JAY ELECTRONICA FT. JAY-Z & TRAVIS SCOTT - THE BLINDING

[5.67]

Jay Kay from Jamiroquai reportedly "busy"...

Andy Hutchins: People who have writing credits on "The Blinding": Jay Electronica, Jay-Z, PartyNextDoor, Travis Scott, Swizz Beatz, Hit-Boy, AraabMuzik. Of those, the last three have production credits. Really unsure why a meeting of the minds such as this -- or the greater one responsible for A Written Testimony -- produced a song most notable for a steam hiss and a 50-year-old rapper sounding much younger and more urgent than his 43-year-old contemporary! But Jay Elec's pose throughout his debut album is nigh repose: He treads a lot of the same ground he always did, and raps as the same infinitely self-assured kufi-wearer he's always been, only so much time has passed since he first commanded the stage that he now sounds like a throwback to his own talk of the Anunnaki, and stuff like "Don't he know I stay up for Fallon late nights?" sounds like a pathetic excuse even when it's followed breaths later by honesty about his fears of failing to meet his own hype. It's Jay Electronica; he is what he was and will be. More interesting is his elder's electric performance, the lion in winter wanting to show he can still hunt, but doing so via cameos that make him affirmatively a supporting actor. I suppose no amount of talent in the group can prevent the group project from sounding rushed when it was, even if the rush came at the end of 13 years, but the inertness of beats like "The Blinding" is most of what makes what could have been an unforgettable classic a fine album, but one that will still be forgotten. [5]

Leonel Manzanares de la Rosa: There's always been this aura of mystery, of "hermit saint coming down from the clouds" in Jay Elec's persona. We always thought that, once his long-awaited full length comes out, the Earth would shatter. We weren't right, but in the face of impending doom, his prophecy comes out just as holy, although it does lose a lot of power by hiding behind Jay-Z, the High Priest of Black Neoliberalism. [7]

Alfred Soto: Jay Electronica's raps aren't up to his beats, but with near-peak Jay-Z and hanging-in-there Travis Scott offering crucial support "The Blinding" realizes its ambitions. As for that beat, the hydraulic press hiss complements the unexpected clarity of a performer who can remark, "When I look inside the mirror/all I see are flaws." [7]

Edward Okulicz: If this came out in 2006, it would probably have sounded incredibly arresting and fresh. In 2020, it feels like overly buzzy, clumpy, cluttered beats have been done. Worse, they're getting in the way of some sharp Jay-Z bars. If you can tune the buzz out, which is easier on parts of the verses, and focus on the interjayplay, this is short, sharp and bracing. But there's too much going on that it occasionally hurts to hear. [6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: One of the more cluttered sub-three-minute tracks I've heard in a while -- by the time you get Jay Electronica's riveting second verse, you've already received Swizz Beats doing his schtick, Travis Scott crooning, and a half-baked set of traded bars between the two Jays lined up around the word "sir." It's a Jay Electronica song that's great when it's a Jay Electronica song, but it's just tiring the rest of the time. [5]

Jackie Powell: "The Blinding" is a song of multiple chapters. The introduction, the exchanges between Electronica and Hova, Travis Scott's hook, the 25-second outro which includes an expansion on a piano rhythm that enters the track earlier, but is underneath it all at around a minute and thirty in. I'll break it down chapter by chapter. Chapter 1: The abrasive and unsettling inception. The complexity of the production, especially in the boisterous and unimpressive kickoff (sorry Fantano), is the result of too many cooks in the kitchen. I usually drool for any bassline or bass loop, but these sounds overwhelm rather than excite. Chapter 2: Jay Electronica and Jay-Z have a chemistry that is pure and undeniable. It's powerful in verse one (overshadowed by the bass) but then in verse two, there's a softness and a vulnerability. But in both verses, they enunciate. What a novel concept? There's nostalgia in the clarity of the flow. Chapter 3: Travis Scott's hook doesn't add anything that I don't receive in the verses. It feels overproduced and uninspired. The extra echo tacked on to Scott's final word. "Sun" sounds like "Suuuuuuhhhhnnnnn." Lastly, Chapter 4: the New Orleanian piano finally takes center stage for ten seconds to conclude. It's gorgeous but underdeveloped and I would have rather had it as a lede, even if it's a worthy kicker. The issue I have with "The Blinding", though, is how its brilliance is overshadowed by how perplexing its moments of mediocrity are. The writing is substantive, a bit religious (by the way, this loses a point because of an anti-Semitic reference made on another cut on the album) and introspective. Jay Electronica's inner critic speaks to him at the end of the second verse. But then a smooth hi-hat introduced at 1:39 can't shine. It doesn't have enough time to do so. Is the title ironic, maybe? Are these super producers, Swizz and Hit-Boy, a bit blind to the concept that less is more? Yep. [5]

Oliver Maier: Totally aimless, simultaneously overworked and underthought. Blown-out noise rap beats are no longer provocative enough to be inherently exciting, and the two Jays seem to be constantly building up to a point that never arrives. As a B-plot, Travis Scott provides what might be his feeblest feature to date, which is a real achievement. [3]

Ryo Miyauchi: The first verse almost hands you that Watch the Throne sequel some die-hards on KanyeToThe still clamor for, except Jay Elec stands as Hov's better foil. The beat is crunchy boom-bap in the style of that faux-brostep breakdown of "Paris" courtesy of the same architect, and the two Jays trade bars about third-eye conspiracies while Travis Scott sings a heavily Auto-Tuned hymn. They somehow run out of steam come the second, though, with Hov peacing out early, but not before dropping a Kate Bush pun. [5]

Jonathan Bradley: Next August will see the ten-year anniversary of Watch the Throne, and Jay-Z's presence on Jay Electronica's eternally deferred debut draws a thread connecting these two albums: one an imperial show of force that now marks a time and a relationship lost to history, the other a coronation that happened because it had to, even though it seemed like its moment had itself been lost to history. On "The Blinding," Jay and Jay lack the easy interplay built by friendship and interpersonal warmth that Kanye and Jay displayed on Throne, but their connection is real, productive, and mutually beneficial. Hov exhibits the good side of his aging self's predilection for meticulous and fussy couplets, using the epistrophe of "I named my son Sir, so you gotta call my son sir/He already knighted" to call back to his one-time imaginings of fatherhood on Throne's "New Day." Couplets like "The gift that keeps giving like babushka/Kush crushed up in the studio; rolling Kate Bush up" are a reminder of how wide-ranging and inventive he can be. But wide-ranging and inventive are qualities Jay Electronica has long been able to claim for himself; Hov's role here -- which, in a show of humility, is uncredited! -- is to bestow his decades-long pedigree and affirm that Electronica still has the lyrical heft to warrant his presence. And the headline attraction does hold his own. Jay Electronica's style combines dense traditionalist lyricism with earthy New Orleans imagery and -- most resonantly -- murmurs of political conspiracy and invocations of Abrahamic and Afrocentric syncretism. The last of these qualities gives his work an air of mysticism that intimates intellect and is somewhat bullshit, but is effective in suggesting that his words might obscure psychedelic depths. So, yes, Jay Electronica is a "stowed-away captive a long way home from Zion," "the return of the lost-and-found tribe of Shabazz," "the return of the Mahdi," but his best lyric winks at his circuitous path to the present day: "Extra, extra!; it's Mr. Headlines/Who signed every contract and missed the deadlines." Incorrigible. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[magpiewritingthing]

grab a new lifeline / 1

Chapter: 1; they do not shred him

Series: traditionalist wesen, remixed

Overall Summary: Now that Rolan’'s got one foot in the proverbial door, he’s on the slow(, slow, realllly slow) path to forging a friendship -- or at least an acquaintenceship -- with Monroe The Blutbad. Wesen dynamics will be changing, baby!

Not that the Bauerschwein’s ever taken other factors into consideration, ever. Such as: traditional Wesen; his own housemates being their unpredictable selves; a Grimm, who is also a cop; a serial killer; Monroe’s other friends, both present and past.

Oh, and his Purely Hypothetical Crush blowing up into something a little too real. Life’s a shin-kicker like that.

Chapter Summary: Roland comes home from his walk in the woods, and comes to a revelation about his brief (and awkward) encounter with a Blutbad. His housemates are less than impressed. And a body is found.

Warnings: mention of domestic violence and child abuse (in the past) in the latter half of this chapter; mention of murder

Other notes: i am... winging this; also, i also took liberties with the multiple variation of Taureus-Armenta and my latin is like practically nonexistant but lmao :’); also-also, mild innuendo and sex jokes

The breath is still rattling out of him when he gets home, stumbling up the front porch with now-wobbly legs. Angel, while sitting in such a way on the porch rocker that’ll likely give his back grief later, gives him a funny look. Probably because Roland can't keep the goofy-ass smile off his face for a more than three seconds.

“What’s got ya?” Angel asks before Roland has a chance to escape inside and hide in his bedroom.

“Nothin’,” he mumbles at the door, out of reflex. No reason for it, other than the creeping sensation that he should be embarrassed. Because the whole thing’s ridiculous, he knows, but— “No it’s just—” He stumbles, licking his lips and huffing: getting his thoughts clear. “I… met someone.” He jerks his head in the general direction of where they'd met. “In the woods.”

Which he probably shouldn’t’ve said because now Angel’s got that look on his face. “Ohhhhh?” he drawls, left forefinger tucked into the junction between finger and thumb, right forefinger poised. “You mean like—” Right pointer, meet left vacuum; please get to know each other intimately. “‘Cooling off’ with the luckiest—”

Angel doesn’t get much further than that before Roland thumps his shoulder, and even though he laughs, it hurts like Hell because Roland for sure has razors in his knuckles and the hammering force of… mmm, yeah, a hammer. “No, not like that, you asshole!” Roland isn’t laughing, but he is grinning, cheeks and ears pinker at the suggestion. “You’re fuckin’ nasty, A.”

“Virgin.”

“Pervert.”

Angel tuts, wagging his finger in Roland’s face. “Touché, mon frère; you got me there.” They both laugh at that, too: their own little rhyming joke. And, at least in Roland’s eyes, it’s an affirmation of affection, even when they get in each other’s faces. He’s come to cherish it, quietly, and all the other small phrases and actions, because Angel is hardly ever… honest with himself, never full-on affectionate or willing to settle down for a heart-to-heart when things flare up. Like an argument over what would be the best way to approach an interview or questionnaire or no you should totally go for this vs. no i can’t—

“Earth to Roly-Poly!”

“Yeah.” He slaps his friend’s arm out of his face. “Fuck off, man.”

“You fuck off; I’m chillin’.” Then, contrary, “Who’d you meet out there if you weren’t getting’ it oooon?” Complete with awful, cheesy hip movements. Why’re they friends again?

Now Roland is self-conscious. Again. Because what if Angel freaks out over a Blutbad, even if he doesn't know where they live? “It— uh… Blutbad.”

When his friend’s eyebrows drop into a concerned frown (he doesn't ever do outright fear, too wrapped up in preserving his self-image), so does Roland’s stomach. “I mean I’m alive, so it’s not bad—”

“How.” Rising out of the rocker, he looms over Roland by a full head. Grasping the sides of Roland's face, he asks, “How’re you alive, man?” And although this concern is touching (to the point of being embarrassing because jeez, it’s like he’s never been hugged as a child), he can only blurt out, dumbly, “Wieder.”

“… Ah.” The relief settles over Angel’s face, relaxing it into the usual smile (or near enough, the momentary concern still lingering), dimples deepening. He lets go of Roland’s face. “Veggie-friendly wolfman.”

“Yeah. Rabbit-friendly, too. Cutesy sorta…” He shrugs, eyes to the side because Monroe flashes in his head again: Monroe holding the rabbit; Monroe in woge; Monroe in a more comfortable stance; Monroe walking towards him; Monroe walking away. “… thing.”

The smile turns into a cheeky grin, as though knowing. “Is he?”

“Awhh, dude, no—”

“Have you got like, a thing for dudes who can kill you? Is that your thing?”

“Fuckin’… maybe!”

“Awh, baby virgin has a death-wish crush on a veggie wolfman!”

“I do not!”

Before they can argue any more – Roland’s face growing pinker by the second and Angel’s grin growing wide enough to encompass his face – Winona’s car pulls up. It’s just after half-past seven, and only now are Kenna and Winona coming home. One would think a teacher and administrative assistant would be home sooner than that. “You’re late for dinner!” Angel calls, nudging past Roland to go inside.

“Incredible,” Kenna mutters, “the house hasn’t burned down.”

“It’s probably microwave meals, let’s be honest,” Roland joins in.

“Fuck y’all,” is the welcoming indignant noise to all three as the file in the front door and towards the kitchen/dining room.

“Fuck me running a marathon, I’m starving,” Winona says, immediately swinging open the pantry door and squinting at tins upon tins of beans, corn, baby carrots, baby potatoes, and garden peas. “We got anything else?”

“Pizza,” Angel says as he cranks the oven on.

“Fuck’s sake—”

“Couldn’t be assed buying anything else today so we’re gobbling on shit. Again.”

Further half-hearted squabbling over food washes over Roland as he begs silently for Angel not to bring up the topic of Monroe up anytime soon. Or at all. Neither prayer seems at all likely – having lived a year and six months with the other man, Roland knows what to expect by now – but it never harms to at least try. Kenna, for her part, is quiet. Tired from another day of kids and keeping them engaged, he supposes. He’s not asked yet, and can't find a way that doesn't come off as right-out odd, but he hopes the kids like her as much as she enjoys teaching them.

“So, anyway,” Angel starts, and yes Roland knew it was inevitable but he’s rolling his eyes anyway, praying that Angel is only leading into this with that teasing vibe only to swerve onto something completely different— but he doesn’t. Natch. “Didja hear about Roly’s iddy-diddy crush?”

Winona leans back, mock-gasping, “No!” while Kenna leans forward, elbows on the table, asking, “Really? Aww.”

“Yep – on a Blutbad.”

The girls choke; Winona bangs the table and shakes her head while Kenna splutters, “what! what! are you shitting me! what!” At least it’s perked her up a bit; makes her look lively and less likely to fall face-first and full-asleep into her food.

Then Angel has the gall to be placating, and Roland can only muster up so much energy to glare at him. Panache: Angel’s got it in spades. “Now, now, ladies, it’s A-OK – the dude’s Wieder. Veggie reform.”

Both women scoff; Winona slaps the table again, and Kenna mutters, “Fucking Hell, but a Blutbad? Roly, honey… really?” Her eyebrows scrunch together in her confusion, and she only turns her head when Winona excuses herself from the table. “’m tired, g’night, y’all, Blutbad-fuckers and none alike.” A garbled chorus blesses her winddown-to-actual-bedtime way (“G’night babe.” “I'm not even—” “Nighty-night, lamb.”), and she waves as she trudges upstairs to her and Kenna's bedroom, either to read or translate a book.

Dishes are cleaned and dried and put away, and the remaining three perform their own winddown rituals: Kenna scampers up to one half of the attic, having claimed the eastern half of it as her “study” room (the other half belongs to Leopoldo); Roland drags out his sketchbook from his bedside drawer, along with pencils and pens, and sets to doodling on the fold-out couch he’s got squashed in one corner of his boxy bedroom; Angel watches a How It's Made episode, and he almost considers calling the others down, because they all share a casual interest in this sort of thing, but as it is, he's settled down and far too comfy to move.

Angel considers ignoring the knocking at the door, too, even when they call out that it’s the police, and it is rather urgent. Now, not that his friends have much of a clue, but the memory of a blue boy’s (or blue girl’s) knock is ingrained into his memory – father and mother being the reason that they came in the first place, upsetting and scaring the neighbours (and him) with all sorts of noises. It doesn’t bother him at present, not just because he’s done nothing wrong (might’ve… broke a girl’s heart, once or twice or thrice, but he’s always smoothed it out before) (and not recently, anyway), but because he has nothing to fear. He could probably charm the pants off any person if he were actually human, he’s sure.

Still, there’s no need to irritate, so with great reluctance he heaves himself up off the sofa (that’ll probably end up in the basement in five years’ time), and heads towards the door, noting Roland’s hesitant presence at the top of the stairs before he hides behind the wall again. Nothing to think of, as Roland likes being ‘sneaky’ and an eavesdropper, so when Angel opens the door, he’s not expecting much of anything. Probably the only thing that's ‘urgent’ is that there’s been another string of robberies.

“Evenin’, y’all. What can I do you for?” Off the bat, it sounds ridiculous to hear from his own mouth, but he liked the idea of it rolling off of his tongue so easily. Just some chipper dude enjoying the last dregs of the evening before tuckering off to bed to fetch his sleep before the long work day ahead of him.

At least, as chipper as he can be considering the cop in front of him is a Grimm.

Cold blue, then cold darkness, infinite, stretching long like visible neurons and only his face, his real face is staring back and it is like that old Nietzsche saying, isn’t it?

The cop barely reacts, his face only steeling with realisation. Angel’s only vaguely aware of Roland trotting down the stairs (thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump) when the cop – Detective Burkhardt – tells him there’s been a suspicious death in the woods. His partner, Detective Griffin, stands a few feet behind him.

“Oh,” is Angel’s empty reply as he slides in to fill the frame of the front door, trying to block Roland from seeing the Grimm at their door, and keep the Grimm from knowing that there’s more than one Wesen living in the house. They’re all of the harmless variety anyway, so even if he weren't a cop, he’d have no business messing with them. Yet the panic doesn’t leave, only intensifying with the gasp and strangled, “Oh, shit.” At least Roland’s trying to keep his shit under wraps, even if he is now visible and motionlessly panicking under the Grimm’s eye.

Burkhardt, for his part, is acting professionally while the two of them freak out. “Have either of you heard or seen anything?” They both answer in the negative. When Griffin asks how long they’ve been home (suspect list suspect list suspect list), Angel says that he was home since four in the afternoon after finishing up some handywork in the inner city. Roland struggles to remember when he came home.

“I think it was a bit before Kenna and Winni, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Angel agrees, “you came back from…” He spares Burkhardt a glance, “From the woods after your walk.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Roland bites his lip, and adds, mouth running a thousand miles a minute, “I took a walk earlier after we’d gone over some job applications.”

“We?” Burkhardt repeats. Behind him, Griffin shifts his stance, glancing at his partner; the tone was perhaps too sharp for just a simple door-to-door inquiry.

Roland squeezes into the frame, gesturing helplessly at his friend. “He helped me because I get stressed out when going through paperwork.”

Both Wesen are now sure they’ve fallen into the trap of over-explaining themselves: methinks the suspect doth protest too much. In any case, Burkhardt isn’t giving anything away.

“Alright, so what time did you leave, Mr…?”

“Uh, Hoffmann.” Pause, glance at Angel. “Roland.” Clears his throat. “Uh, I think it was… was it around four?”

“No, that’s when I came back, dot-on. You and me went over that paperwork and questionnaire stuff and you went and cleared your head about… five? Ish?”

Another quick look at the Grimm; not a thing from him.

“So yeah, and you came back about seven thirty – wow, you were gone long.”

This time, a trickle of interest on both of the detectives’ faces, and Roland panics.

“I was just walking, man,” he protests, shuffling a quarter-inch further into the house, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Was there anyone else you bumped into who looked suspicious?” Griffin asks, his tone more casual than his partner’s.

“No—” Roland shrugs and frowns. “No-one I thought was suspicious.” A sort-of lie: Monroe The Blutbad sticks out, but… he let the rabbit go. He let the frigging rabbit go, and for fuck’s sake the dude’s Wieder. “I just met one guy in the woods.” He tries for joviality: “I think he’s more the rabbit person than a killer, though.” Of course, it falls flat.

Griffin nods slowly, as if deciding that it’s time to call it a night before Burkhardt can ask any more questions, which is just as well because if he asks anything about their other housemates, there’d be chaos: Winona would break down blubbering under the scrutiny of a police officer even when innocent, and Kenna would stonewall them at every turn; Leo and Elham might be more cooperative, wary as they might be (being no better than the girls, really); Charalampos and Sophia would… well, they might be better with the police, but only if it weren’t posed as some sort of challenge, because they were must stubborn (natch, as Taureus-Armentum).

“Alright, if there’s anything else,” Griffin reaches forward with a number on plain card, “call us.”

“Will do,” is Roland's automatic answer.

Once the two detectives leave, the door is locked and the ground floor is double-checked to make sure the windows and back door are also closed and locked; their other friends have their own keys, so they’ll be able to get in without struggle. The looming promise – “There’ll be someone to come and take your statements tomorrow morning.” – leaves a bad taste in Roland’s mouth.

“Who died?”

Kenna hangs back on the stairs, Winona staying on the landing; it’s likely that she barricaded the bedroom if she ever looked out of the window and saw the cop car, or even so much as heard the word police when they first knocked.

“Dunno,” Angel says, and he instantly sounds more like his usual self – less strung-out, more so-laid-back-he's-horizontal. “We didn't ask, and they just said it was a suspicious death.”

“One of ‘em was a Grimm,” Roland blurts out, and Kenna swears while Winona moans lowly and sags against the wall.

“Oh fuck me fucking sideways, then.”

“Babe,” Winona whines, half-hiccuping, half trying to laugh.

“TMI, hon,” Angel says. Again, lightheartedness falls flat, and dies.

The panicked buzz over the ‘suspicious death’ and the new knowledge of a Grimm blankets them as they retire to bed. The promise of someone on the police force coming over tomorrow to take their statements feels more like a threat, something to trip them up and wrangle a confession out of them.

But it’s not the police, or the death of a person yet unknown, that take precedence in Roland's mind once he’s pulled the covers over his body. It’s the woged face of Monroe The Blutbad, and a rabbit in his hands. More than the panicked dread over the next morning that’s threatening to drag his body into a sleepless, restless night, his head is light with stupid, optimistic hope.

Wieder Wieder Wieder Wieder Wieder--

He dreams of teeth. They do not shred him.

[ultralifehackerguru-blog]

New Post has been published on http://www.lifehacker.guru/tough-love-forgetting-names-finding-friends-and-falling-in-love/

Tough Love: Forgetting Names, Finding Friends, and Falling in Love

You’ve got problems, I’ve got advice. This advice isn’t sugar-coated—in fact, it’s sugar-free, and may even be a little bitter. Welcome to Tough Love.

This week we have a forgetful politician, someone in search of friends, and an older man who’s unsure about his new relationship.

Keep in mind, I’m not a therapist or any other kind of professional—just a guy who’s willing to tell it like it is. I simply want to give you the tools you need to enrich your damn lives. If for whatever reason you don’t like my advice, feel free to file a formal complaint here. Now then, let’s get on with it.

So, This Person Can’t Remember Anyone’s Name

Dear Patrick,

I simply cannot remember people’s names for the first, like, eight times that I meet them. I know that I should take a moment, repeat their name, and try to think of something about them that stands out so that I make that neural connection, but when I’m in social situations like that, my adrenaline spikes and I don’t even hear the name!

It’s driving me crazy and I’m starting to get more involved in local politics, so this is actually causing major problems. My strategy now is to follow-up by finding that person on Facebook and adding them to my network so that I see their name more often but this seems goofy. What should I do?

Sincerely,

Forgetful Francine

Hey… you:

The reason people forget names is complicated. The names you hear when you’re meeting someone goes right into your brain’s short-term memory, but it needs to move into long-term memory for you to recall it later on. If you don’t make a concerted effort to move it from short-term to long-term quickly, you’re screwed.

You’re on the right track repeating their name, making visual connections, and doing the creepy Facebook thing, but if that’s not enough, it could be a much bigger issue. Either it’s social pressure getting to you as you suggest, or, more likely, you don’t hear the names because you’re not actively listening for them. When you meet someone, you subconsciously make the interaction more about you than about them. It could be because you’re nervous and too worried about how people will perceive you, or it could be that you’re too caught up in your own routine of how you introduce yourself, or it could be because you don’t think meeting that person will matter in the long run. After all, we meet tons of people in our life that we never meet again, right? But you’ve met some of these people EIGHT TIMES…

So, it’s not really about what tricks will work for you at this point—those are just triage—it’s about rethinking the way you meet people. It’s not a memory game where the goal is to match the names with the faces. These are real people, with real life experiences and stories to tell. Find a way to be more interested in everybody you meet. Only then, Francine (see, don’t you feel more connected to me when I remember your name?), will you be able to make those connections and get those names moved from short-term to long-term storage. You probably don’t know these people’s names because you don’t make an effort to know them.

This Loner Is Tired of Hanging Out With Just Their Dog

Dear Patrick,

I had a cancer scare a while back and it made me realize that I don’t have friends. Like, people who would drive me to chemo, or help me plan my own funeral and promise me to look after my dog if I die and shit. I’m in my mid-30s, I freelance from home, I’m a loner and I like dogs. How do I friend?

Sincerely,

Lonely Lassie

Hey Lonely Lassie:

I’ve never understood why people ask this question as if there are official methods for acquiring friends—like they just haven’t been given the secret details. There’s not a friend store, and there are no step-by-step instructions. Think back to when you were a kid. School and whatnot made things a little easier, right? But what would always lead to friendships? LIKING THE SAME STUFF.

Yes, real friendship should go deeper than that, but in the beginning, friendship is almost exclusively about having similar interests and points of view. So, you need to go find people that meet those very basic requirements. Now I know, I know, you want me to tell you WHERE you’re supposed to go. Fine. I’ll break this down for you, Lassie.

You like dogs. That’s perfect! Take your dogs somewhere. Lots of other people like dogs too. Hit up dog parks, hang around pet stores, take your dogs walking in places where other people walk their dogs. When I take my girlfriend’s dog out walking I can’t get other dog walkers to leave me the hell alone. But here’s the kicker! You have to make the first move. You WILL NOT meet people just going about your business, hoping someone sees you the one time your out of the house each week, thinking “Gee whiz, they seem interesting! Hi!” Talk to people, make an effort. Those weird hairy toddlers everyone’s pulling around are barking, pooping ice breakers.

You want friends? Try to make some. The operative word here is MAKE, Lassie. As in takes time and effort. People are always afraid to put themselves out there because they’re afraid they’ll look like a loser for not having any friends, but that doesn’t make any sense! Trying to meet people doesn’t make you a loser. Not trying and complaining about it does.

This Widower Isn’t Sure How to Approach His New Relationship

Dear Patrick,

I am 74. My wife passed away last May. We had been married almost 50 years. Recently, I met a very nice lady and we have been seeing each other regularly for some months. It is pretty intense.

At my age, does it make any sense to even think about another long term relationship? If so, does it make more sense to marry, or just be together?

Sincerely,

Sweatin’ It to the Oldies

Hey Sweatin’:

You met a nice lady. Great! You’re seeing each other regularly. Excellent! And it’s intense. Fantastic! Sounds like you have a good thing going there. I don’t know you very well, Sweatin’, but life is short and you’re running out of time. Why should you spend one minute of it being unhappy? If this woman makes you happy, and you want to keep it going, then I don’t see what should stop you. You’re older, fine, but that doesn’t mean you should hold back how you feel. If that means jumping into a long term relationship, then go for it man.

Does marriage make sense for you guys? I don’t know, does marriage really make sense to begin with? Again, Sweatin’, just do what feels right. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. There’s no actual rule that says you have to be married to love each other and be together. It’s very common these days for couples to be together and devoted without being married. Then again, marriage does give you an excuse to go on an awesome honeymoon vacation…

Quickies

Because I just don’t have the time or patience for all of you…

JohnW asks:

Should I get an electric mower to replace my gas powered one? If so which do you recommend?

Well John, unless you get one that’s cordless—which is more expensive—it will be kind of like vacuuming your yard. Lame. And how are you supposed to wake the whole neighborhood up on Saturday morning with a far-quieter electric engine? That said, electric mowers are much better now than when they were introduced. If your gas powered one is getting old and you can find a good deal, go for it. It’s good for the planet or penguins or one of those things I think. Go cordless, though! People seem to like the Greenworks models.

Junker23 asks:

I need to find somewhere new to live and work. Aside from teaching 6 months in Thailand last year, I’ve been in Boston for forever.

There are too many places; decide for me, please?

Scottsdale, Arizona. So hot right now.

Snorp asks:

Should I buy a hot tub? I want to be hot and submerged in water every day but I don’t fit in my bathtub.

Hot tubs are awesome. All of my instincts are telling me to say “Yes, spend the money you fool, you could die at any second.” But! I have a few questions for you… First, do you have anyone in your life you can use it with? If not, get a bigger tub instead. Roman-style. Second, do you have a place to put it? Hot tubs are quite large. I know this because I’ve sat in over three of them. Third, are you willing to take care of it? They actually require a lot of upkeep, which is actually really annoying and so not relaxing. And lastly, do you live near me so I can also use your hot tub whenever I please? If not, probably not worth it, you know?

Dividing by Zero says:

I’m currently pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering but can’t bring myself to study much/care about it. Math is the main problem.

You don’t like math, huh? If you’re just getting started with your degree, you have several years of math to look forward to, including linear algebra, physics, differential equations, multiple levels of calculus, and vector calculus. So, what’s the real issue? Do you just not like math? Or are you merely struggling with it?

If you just don’t like math but you’re capable of doing it, you can suck it up and power through. In the end, you won’t be doing a ton of complicated equations at work anyway. If you’re just struggling with the coursework, find a tutor. Maybe you’ll care about math a bit more when you understand it. If it’s both, you should probably rethink your major. Math is essential to engineering. You need to know it. And to know it, you kind of need to care about it.

That’s it for this week, but I still have plenty of blunt, honest advice bottled up inside. Tell me, what’s troubling you? Is work getting you down? Are you having problems with a friend or a coworker? Is your love life going through a rough patch? Do you just feel lost in life, like you have no direction? Tell me, and maybe I can help. I probably won’t make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but sometimes what you need is some tough love. Ask away in the comments below, or email me at the address you see at the bottom of the page (please include “ADVICE” in the subject line). ‘Til next time, figure things out for yourself.

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