#that i literally just put in my notice & came back to south carolina at the beginning of april so i could spend the summer with my hounds

[gobbluthbutagirl]

i don’t know if this is going to be a positive thing to hear or what but i am obsessed with your worlds worst target odyssey and i hope you continue sharing its all insane and incredible. have a good day and stuff

well see the thing is i quit like 4 months ago. so there’s not really anything new to share and there won’t be until i move back to california and pay that beast a visit to see if it’s still standing. but it’s all tagged with “#my job wrapped” if you’re feeling so inclined to take a horrible journey

[princessjungeun]

Hi! I hope you're doing well :) Can I request a Heejin x Reader scenario where reader spends the New Year celebration with LOONA and everyone knows they both have a crush on each other so they try to set them together for a new year's kiss?❤️

Cherry Chapstick: Heejin x Reader

when heejin invited you to celebrate new year’s eve with her at the loona dorm you lowkey panicked. you’ve been there before on multiple occasions and you happened to be friends with some of the girls as well. the problem was that it was new years. any other holiday would have been fine but new years....everyone knows about the infamous new years kiss. and that kiss was the only thing that was bugging you.

see, you liked heejin a lot, you have for a long time but you’re very convinced it’s unrequited. despite the fact that hyunjin told you that heejin liked you too, it was still hard for you to believe. you had even tried to make yourself un-like her by distancing yourself from her.

but that fell through last night when she told you to your face that she knew you were trying to push her away. heejin was the first for you made since you moved from north carolina to south korea for your mother’s job. she was close to you and she didn’t want to lose that. but since heejin wasn’t one to force you to explain yourself, only asking a simple yes or no question:

do you hate me or something?

you were quick to tell her no which prompted her to invite you to the dorm so you could celebrate new year’s with the girls.

all of that leading up to now. you paced around your bedroom trying to figure out what to do. heejin told you to be there at 8 and it was already 6. most people would think that’s plenty of time but they couldn’t be more wrong.

styling your hair alone would take an hour, then picking out your outfit, eating before you go, walking there, and probably getting distracted on the way. all of those leave you with 10 more minutes of standing around before you’d be late.

without wanting to waste too much time you scrolled through your phone looking for a hairstyle. it didn’t take long to find a simple yet cute one, two braids into a high puff. simple enough.

like you expected doing your hair took an hour, although yes the styling part was quick. you somehow allowed yourself to not comb your hair for four days, which lead to a very not fun detangling process. all is well now though because you looked fantastic, the curls are all types of popping.

you got overwhelmed choosing an outfit and ultimately decided on a sweatshirt and black jeans. just as you were putting on your coat your grandmother stopped you, “where you goin lookin all prettied up pum’kin?”

you replied “heejin’s. remember i told you about it last night...you said yes.”

your grandmother onced you over “put on anotha’ layer, you finna get a cold baby cakes...n change ya shoes too.”

checking your phone you saw it was already 7:45 heejin’s dorm is a 20 minute walk away, 15 if you’re fast.

you whined “momma i’m gonna be late, i’ll only be outside for 15 minutes i won’t get sick.”

she came back from around the corner, a scarf, ear muffs, gloves, and your pair of tims in her hand. “see dats what ya ancestors said bout dem diseases n look what happened.”

you sighed deeply “momma-“ she narrowed her eyes at you and just like that you were on the floor changing your shoes.

when you were done you stood up and asked “alright can i go now?”

the older woman asked playfully “tryna leave me so soon?”

you quickly replied “n-no of course not momma i just-“

she laughed and told you “i’m just messin’ wit ya baby doll, go on now. have fun for me aight?”

you hugged her and placed a kiss on her cheek before running out the door.

it started snowing right as you were approaching the dorm building, you thanked lord that it didn’t happen sooner or your hair would have gotten messed up.

you texted heejin that you were outside and she quickly came and got you, leading you up to their dorm.

when you got upstairs the girls were all scattered around the dorm. haseul and kahei were still hanging decorations while gowon was playing on her switch. hyejoo and hyunjin were arguing over some game that they were playing on a laptop. yerim and yeojin were singing their hearts out in karaoke while jungeun was literally rolling on the floor laughing with jiwoo about god knows what. jinsoul was spaced out staring at a wall while sooyoung went to find her headphones to tune out everyone else.

heejin didn’t even get a chance to ask what you wanted to do because yeojin immediately grabbed you to sing a song on the karaoke machine.

the one perk about you being an american was the fact that you were quick to school the girls on all of the classic movies. from mean girls to clueless to white chicks, they’d seen them all. which is exactly why yeojin had no problem singing A Thousand Miles with you in english.

heejin could only laugh from the side as the two of you intentionally butchered the song. she watched as you went by each member to check out what they were doing as well. her heart eyes didn’t go unnoticed either, especially by hyunjin and haseul.

you’d excused yourself to the restroom and that was the time for all of the girls to grill heejin. each of them admitted they saw the way she watched you, they knew she liked you. heejin caved and admitted it to them all, but quickly following up with “but don’t do anything to embarrass me...please. i don’t want to mess up what we have.”

the girls all agreed, but because all they promised was to not embarrass her, they still managed to devise a plan to get you two together.

you returned from the bathroom, all of their eyes went to you and the room fell silent. your furrowed your brow “w-what? did i do something?”

yerim replied quickly “no no of course not! you just...uh”

jiwoo jumped in “you just look so gorgeous! all of us were stunned by your beautiful.”

you felt your cheeks heat up as your ears felt like they were burning red. hyunjin laughed “awwww she’s bLUSHINGGGG!”

heejin slapped her arm and hissed, “stop that!” before pulling you off to the side, back so the two of you were watching the television.

the two of you stayed side by side for the entire night, her arm looped in yours. by now it was 11:30 and the countdown was nearing.

you personally noticed how all the girls would start to mumble, then suddenly stop when you looked at them. not wanting to assume you just brushed it off, telling yourself it was “work stuff” even though you knew damn well it wasn’t anything work related.

both you and heejin were mindlessly scrolling through your phones, she was sitting next to you, half of her body already on your lap with your arm wrapped around her shoulder, holding her close to you.

“i’m bored let’s play a game!” haseul got everyone’s attention from the middle of the room. the rest of the girls agreed, you and heejin included.

“let’s do truth or dare.” hyunjin stated with a small smirk. everyone nodded immediately agreeing with her on the game.

you already knew it was a set up, but you also wanted to see how it played out so you didn’t say anything.

the the time fifteen minutes had passed, hyejoo danced all of Kiss Later, jinsoul ran down the street in her infamous lemon pants, sooyoung and jiwoo swapped clothes, and chaewon successfully made microwave popcorn (it was sooyoung’s dare to allow her to do it without supervision).

it was now your turn and you were starting to regret not telling the girls that you were onto them.

“alright...y/n truth or dare.” sooyoung asked with a smile.

you replied “truth.”

sooyoung laughed and said “is it true that you have a giant crush on heejin?”

your eyes widened and you switched to english quickly, hoping the foreigner card will get you out of this one, “i don’t understand the question...sorry.”

all of the girls excluding heejin and haseul booed you playfully, teasing you lightly sue to the blush on your face.

“alright that’s enough.” haseul quieted her members down so heejin could go next. the leader also got up and went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

“heejinnie truth or dare?” hyunjin wiggled her eyebrows dramatically.

“truth.” heejin answered without hesitation.

“oop sorry nope that’s not an option. you close dare by default settings.” hyunjin smiled.

heejin quickly whined “wha- she cant do that can she do that? haseul unnie! she cheated.”

haseul came back with her glass of water, a fake confused look on her face “sorry i wasn’t here i can’t do anything about it. sorry heekie.”

heejin mumbled “you all suck...” she took a deep breath before asking “fine what do you want me to do?”

hyunjin along with everyone else looked at each other before saying in unison, “kiss y/n at midnight.”

the two of you immediately froze in place, your face went pale as panic coursed through your veins. did she actually find out? who told? maybe hyunjin was right?

before you could decline you felt heejin dragging you to her bedroom, all of the girls giggling and squealing as you left.

you say on her bed, your feet dangling off the edge as heejin laid on her back, her head in your lap.

“sorry...they can be a little- you know how they are.” she spoke softly as she reached for your hand, playing with your fingers as she talked.

you replied “it’s cool...my friends back home were the same way- really i’m not upset or anything.”

a thick silence fell over the two of you as you stared blankly at the window and heejin looked up at you.

she asked “so...?”

you replied “so what?” you laughed a little at the end, humming a second of the song before focusing back on the conversation.

heejin responded “d-do you actually...like me?”

you looked at your feet, “yeah...i do. but it doesn’t matter.”

heejin sat up “why?”

you replied “for starters i cant really speak korean, your job wouldn’t allow me to even be with you, and even if we did the media would tear me apart for being black and you for being queer, you’re busy and i’d just hold you down. i don’t wanna do that to you...”

heejin frowned and opened her arms for you, “why would you say that?”

you mumbled into her chest “cause it’s true.”

heejin pulled you closer and said “you’re wrong...all of it. you’re wrong. your korean improves every single day. my dating ban ended three months ago, i’d protect you from anyone and you know that. plus i couldn’t care less about what they think, half of the group is queer too. if anything you push me to do better.”

you mumbled “really?”

she hummed “mhm”

you brought your hand up to heejin’s running your finger over the prominent tendons in her hand. softly you asked her “do you like me though?”

she let her voice deepen, “of course” she rasped out gently with a smirk creeping onto her face.

pushing her gently you mumbled “you’re such a tease, stop it.”

she lifted your chin with her finger and asked “what if i don’t hmm?”

your breath hitched in your chest for a minute before you replied “then i’ll have to....”

your eyes flickered to the digital clock across the room, 11:55:00 it read.

“you’ll have to what? hmm? cat got your tongue?” she pushed her face closer to yours, biting her lip lightly as her gaze narrowed, her eyes crawling up and down your body.

you let her push you back against the wall behind you gently. her face was centimeters from yours, you stuttered “h-heekie”

heejin ran her pointer finger underneath your chin lightly, “yes princess?”

your mind was cloudy, your couldn’t think about anything but the girl in front of you. words simply were not coming out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried. the best you were able to get out was, “i-”

she asked gently “is this okay baby?”

you resorted to body language instead, snaking and arm around her waist and holding her hand.

heejin held your face in one hand, her thumb tracing your jawline, “tell me yes or no pretty girl.”

you nodded and choked out “y-yes. yes.”

her eyes looked at the clock once more, only two seconds to midnight. she smiled as lifted your chin so her lips met yours.

the second you two pulled away she told you, “happy new year y/n.”

you were still thinking about the feeling of her lips on yours, the way she held you close, and how all of her emo were put into one simple kiss. without thinking you mumbled “your lips taste like cherry chapstick....”

[scandalousfemale]

Ch.1 End of the World As We Know It

Chinese!OC x Kelce

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Zombies were meant for apocalyptic movies and TV shows where one could binge watch for a day and return to their mundane life. But something happened, a lab test went wrong and suddenly the outbreak started. This story takes place exactly three weeks after zombies slowly started to take over the planet. 

Series master list

WC: 3,445

Warnings: this is a zombie apocalypse fic, mentions of zombies, mentions of death, slight mention of ripping of flesh but not much, mentions of weapons!!! Knives!, mention of sewing up a wound, someone got sliced with a knife and needs to be sutured, mentions of fear

A/N: To every single person who has shown interest in this, thank you so much. Whether it’s because you were excited for a Kelce fic or you were excited for (finally) an Asian oc/face claim, just know that your support kept me writing this. I loved every second of writing this first chapter, it’s one of the first, in a while, that came really easily to me and I am so in love with the characters already. Again, thank you so much for your support and your feedback. You all keep me going. Now, please, jump into this AU with caution. Some might not make it out.

It is widely believed that right before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Kaili wondered, sitting in the empty and dark pharmacy by herself, if her cousin was granted that mercy. She can still hear the echoes of Wei’s piercing scream, forever haunted by the thought that maybe she could’ve done something to save her. But she couldn’t have. And there was no way that her death could’ve been peaceful enough to collect a couple of seconds to remind her of a life before this.

Hell, it was hard for Kaili to remember a life before this. The scattered news reports said that this outbreak had started about two or three weeks ago— she’s lost count, that there had been a mistake. The labs were trying to test out a new vaccine, one that could cure people of any potential virus that would have affected the human race and become the next pandemic, but something had gone wrong. Though she didn’t trust the reporters to tell the public much of the truth to begin with, the people have been saying that the virus had begun in New York, where scientists were trying to inject an gene editor into the bloodstream. It was supposed to make the recipient stronger and their immune system more durable for whatever that came their way. In a way, it did. When the first volunteer died, their body carried on living...lunging forward, biting, and passing on the mutant gene to anyone else who had gotten bit. 

That brings us to the problem at hand and why Kaili was trying to silently mourn the loss of her family as her backpack full of first aids and snacks were flushed against the wall behind her. She had seen the news of the outbreak on her campus TV and gotten in the car, headed straight for her family. She was just hoping that they wouldn’t have been freaking out, seeing as it would be easy to panic when all they saw were images of people ripping each other’s face off and they don’t understand the language very well

Kaili is first generation American, stemming from Chinese immigrant parents. They worked so hard to make sure that she never had a want for anything that she truly needed but in doing so, they’ve neglected a lot of their own necessities. When she was smaller, she’d ask them for seconds and they would make sure that she’d be full, even if that meant that she ate their food. Of course, once she caught on, she’d stopped asking, even sometimes putting more on her parents plate than her own. 

The feeling of her heart thumping fast in her chest when she saw her house lingered in her still. The anxiety never really rid itself from her. The images of her parents crouched on the front lawn, devouring her aunt and uncle in law still flashed in her head. She didn’t even have time to cry when her cousin, Wei, jumped into her car and told her that she heard it was safer if they started going down south. As long as they got away from the epicenter that is New York. Both girls didn’t have a chance to grieve their parents until they were out of Maryland and on the way to Florida. 

Of course, they never made it that far. They’d spent a week holed up in an underground parking lot, just processing the information. Looking up the news until their phones ran out of battery. Some days the girls barely spoke to each other, they’d just share a knowing look, a touch that would let the other know that the pain was acknowledged but they wouldn’t speak much of it.

Then, when they started to slowly come out of grief and into self preservation, they started on their trip again. Which wasn’t exactly easy. Of course, cars needed gas and people— the living, needed food and sleep. So, even on their journey, they were forced to stop. Sometimes they’d meet others along the way, especially those who swarmed the grocery stores and took everything that their arms could carry but most times it still felt like a normal day. There were people who believed that it was just an isolated incident in an isolated state.

When they reached South Carolina though, it felt like a ghost town. They’d decided to go to a grocery store and usually they were good at their surroundings but maybe the town just felt too safe. Too...empty. Wei walked in without being careful and the flesh eating monsters heard the bell of the door. They’d swarmed her before she even got the chance to pull out her weapon.

Kaili didn’t like sleeping anymore because of that. She doesn’t even remember screaming at the sight but she must’ve because the attention was suddenly drawn on her. And so she ran to the closest empty shop she could find and she’s been stuck here for the past two days.

She’d cried. A lot. She cried so hard that she became tired but she wouldn’t allow herself to sleep, pulling energy drinks from the fridge from the drug store, not like it helped. It’s funny how trauma has a way of taking care of you against your own wishes. Her body had shut down on her and she fell asleep on her pharmacy’s floor. Even if only for a little bit, she woke up only to sob again, knowing that she wouldn’t exactly get far on her own and even if she did, she wouldn’t really know where she’d end up. 

She had forced herself to stay hydrated and eat, even when she didn’t want to. Even when the look of some consistency of food made her vomit because it reminded her of the flesh that the monsters outside the doors would eat, she knew that she had to keep her energy up for when she was ready to make the move. Needless to say, she was scared. She’d never faced one of these creatures alone before but now, she figured it wouldn’t be as different as when Wei and her used to kill them together. She just doesn’t have anyone watching her back this time.

On the afternoon of the second day in hiding, the sound of glass shattering pulled her out of her self pity and planning. She had quickly crawled and hid behind a medicine cabinet, listening for who’d broken into her sanctuary.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think the entire Charleston has heard you, JJ, can you do that a bit louder?” An annoyed female voice hissed.

Great, Kaili thought to herself, I guess dying by the hands of humans might be better than being ripped to pieces. She’d run into other humans before, some nice and others not but in a deserted town like this where not even one car is in sight, she’d doubt that this group of people were all too friendly. 

“Can you two just shut up and fill the bags?” A gruff male voice spoke before sounds of bottles rattling on top of each other filled the space.

While trying to pay attention to the noise and the people in front of her, she had forgotten to check behind her, used to having Wei be there. A rookie mistake.

“What do we have here?” A blond man spoke from behind her. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen years old, yet his cold eyes told a story only that of someone who’d seen too much can tell. Then again, she supposed they’ve all seen too much at this point.

Before she could even register his words and answer them, she’d pull the knife from the band on her thigh, instinct took over. The boy jolted backwards, knocking over the medicine shelf behind him.

“Whoa, there little lady,” the startled boy shifted his eyes around the room, relaxing when his friends came to stand by him. She was outnumbered and though one to three wasn’t that bad of a fight, she didn’t want to take the risk, especially after seeing the man stood by the blond. He towered all three of them.

“Are you alone?” The female spoke, a softness in her tone that Kaili hasn’t heard since the outbreak had started.

Instinct told her to lie but what was the point? So, she nodded once.

“Do you speak English?” The tall boy asked, which earned him a scowl from Kaili and a scoff from the girl next to him.

“She literally just responded to me when I spoke to her, what kind of a dumb ass question is that, Rafe?”

Okay, so the tall one was called Rafe, that means the blond had to be JJ, Kaili inspected them, eyeing their clothes and their weapons— or lack thereof.

“She’s just staring and I don’t know whether to be turned on or creeped out,” JJ said, caught in the middle of the two glaring at each other. A comedic relief, of course.

“I can speak English,” Kaili said, her voice coming off tense and dry. After all, she hadn’t used it in two days except to sob, and even then, she tried to cry in silence.

“Sorry, we’re so rude,” the female shook her head before she stepped forward as Kaili stepped back, not expecting the sudden movement, but the girl in front of her acted like she didn’t notice. Her smile was warm, her age probably mirroring that of the blond.

“My name’s Kiara,” her hand still outstretched as Kaili switched her blade to her other hand and took it cautiously, “this here is JJ,” she pointed to the blond as he flashed his canine at her in a smile that had a deadly edge to it.

“And that’s Rafe,” she pointed at the tall man who seems to be a little older than the rest of them, maybe a little bit closer to Kaili’s twenty-three. 

“I’m Kaili.”

A beat passed, where no one moved or had said anything and Kaili strapped the blade back to the outside of her thigh, alongside the others.

It was as if the group had seen her for the first time and she wondered what that sight must’ve looked like to them because to her, it would seem like she’s a broken little girl playing dress up. 

“Wait, you know how to fight?” JJ asked, not hiding the shock in his voice had he eyed her weapons. 

“I know how to survive,” she shrugged. She had a small obsession with switchblades when she was younger, that had turned into a throwing knives obsession but when it came to shooting or fist fighting? She was at a loss. 

They eyed her clothes. Black pants with a weapons belt wrapped around her hips and down her thighs. Her black long sleeve shirt was tucked neatly into the waistband. She looked like a mercenary and it was all thanks to Wei. The day of the zombie attack was Wei’s birthday and so she was stuck in her birthday dress for days before the younger girl made it a mission to raid an abandoned store for some new clothes. Something about how it’s not practical fighting in a skirt, no matter what comic book says. She used to laugh at the thought but thinking about it now hurts her. 

“Do you know…” Kiara began to ask before Rafe put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head but she only gave him a desperate glance.

“No,” the boy pulled at her but JJ broke his grasp, standing in between them, as if he was protecting Kiara from a potential threat.

“Do you want him to die?” Kiara grit through her teeth from behind JJ. 

“We don’t know her, do you want to die?” Rafe hissed back. 

“We don’t exactly have a choice.”

And so they continued their whispered argument and Kaili pretended not to hang on to every word, when she'd heard enough, she had responded to the question that hadn’t been asked.

“I know first aid, well, a little more than first aid. My mom is a doctor,” a lump formed in her throat when she realized what she had said, “was a doctor,” she corrected herself.

“Then it’s settled,” Kiara spoke, “we will allow you to join our group if you can help our friend. He’s suffering from a knife wound to his abdomen, it’s deep. He’ll need stitches, maybe. I don’t know. We’ve been using cotton and tape for now but he’s losing blood and color and let's be honest, we don’t know anything about what kind of equipment or medicine we need. So, can you help us?” She said with a desperate tinge in her tone.

Kaili had never been so grateful in her life that she had suffered from wounds before from playing rough until her mother had gotten so upset that she’d learn to dress her own mistakes.

“Depending on how much blood he’s lost and if the wound is infected, I can help,” Kaili responded as she went around the pharmacy, getting everything that she thought she’d needed. After about five minutes, she’d met them at the front of the door with six plastic bags.

“In case someone else gets hurt,” was her explanation for the bags. JJ laughed, muttering something about liking her already as he took some bags off of her hands and they walked out of the shop.

Rafe stalked ahead of them, a gun in his hands, as Kiara fell in line with Kaili.

“Thank you, again for this. I know you don’t know us and you could have said no. So, even if that one,” she nodded at Rafe, “isn’t going to say it, just know that we are grateful.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I don’t even know if I can save your friend,” Kaili’s reply was short but not harsh, as she wasn’t trying to be rude. She just meant to be truthful. 

Rounding the corner, a van came into sight. No scratch that, it can’t even be considered that, it was more like a tour bus.

“Topper and his theatrics,” Kiara explained, as if Kaili would know what a Topper is, when she saw the girl’s eyes widen, “Gretchen Wilson was having a concert when everything had gone down. I guess they all died or something because her bus was left behind, with a full tank of gas and water, I might add.” 

Kaili just nodded, a loss for words as she followed them to the bus and then up the stairs to the inside of this luxury transportation. She couldn’t believe it. She took a quick glance around the space noting the kitchen, beds, tv, and bathroom but the most important thing she noted was that there were more people than the group who came and got her. She expected maybe one extra person, of course, the one who was hurt. Not six more people. Kiara had locked the door behind her and suddenly, Kaili was feeling a little bit less comfortable.

“I thought I told you not to pick up any strays,” a voice called from the driver’s seat. An older looking blond boy with blue eyes had faced her.

“Chill out, Top, she’s here to help,” Kiara defended her as JJ called out from somewhere in the bus, “and she can fight!”

That didn’t stop Topper from eyeing her once more before starting the car up again. Rafe had gone up front to Topper and another male, one who barely gave her a glance.

Finally, a boy appeared from the bathroom, looking disheveled and covered in sweat. Yes, she could see it now. He did lose a bit of blood.

Another boy, she later found out his name was Pope, had laid a towel on the floor for the injured boy, John B, to lay on top of. Introductions were rapid before JJ laid the bags on the floor next to her.

Kaili had put on gloves and when she lifted his shirt, she grimaced at the sight. Someone had decided to wrap duct tape on his wound and she prayed that there was a protective layer between the tape and the injury or else there was a risk that she’d open the wound and start the bleeding all over again if it hadn’t already stopped. Muttering a round of sorry’s she was able to breathe again when she saw that there was, in fact, a cloth in between and that his wound had already begun to clot. 

After advising him to eat some food and take pain relief medicine, she began cleaning out the wound, in which John B had let out a whole plethora of curse words at the girl anyway and even more so when she started suturing the cut. She hadn’t noticed the audience that she had attracted, nor that the bus had stopped again, until she had finally wrapped a flexible gauze around his middle and pulled the gloves from her hand.

Putting all of her used equipment into a plastic cup, she then handed it over to a beaming and smiling Kiara who’d thrown it away for her. Then John B was quickly taken back to the end of the bus, to a bigger bed, by a girl named Sarah who’d thanked her endlessly.

— 

After a nicer round of introductions, except for one, she found out that Rafe was actually related to Sarah and that they both had another sibling in this bus who’s name is Wheezie. She tried not to laugh at that. Sarah was dating John B, who were best friends with JJ, Kiara, and Pope. Pope knew a whole lot about dead bodies and he was always reading up on the news. Then there was Topper, who was the main driver, who was also friends with Rafe and the guy who liked to keep to himself mostly. Though Kiara did mention that the guy, Kelce, isn’t usually like this but that it was hard for him to see siblings who made it out together when he didn’t. Kaili didn’t ask for her to elaborate since it wasn’t Kiara’s pain to share.

She got all of that before they asked her if she wanted to use the shower, which she jumped at the chance to. She couldn’t help but feel a little sad though, that Wei wasn’t here to experience this with her. After a quick wash, rinse, cry, and repeat. She pulled her “I heart North Carolina” over sized T-shirt over the biker shorts she took from a store and willed herself out of the bathroom. Fighting the urge to crawl into her bunk and call it a night when a group of them asked her to join them for a movie night as Kiara fixed up dinner with Topper. 

She looked around this group of people, crammed into a stolen bus and she wondered who they really were, what their story was. They didn’t seem like they’d be friends outside of this situation but honestly she didn’t want to ask and they weren’t very keen in sharing, not that she’d mind because she wasn’t jumping at the chance to talk about her life before this mess either.

“Hey,” the boy who didn’t pay her a single speck of attention all day, sat across the way from her. She’d only nodded to him as a response, unable to turn her gaze back to the DVD now that his was on hers. “I’m Kelce,” he offered his hand to her and unlike earlier, she took it immediately.

“Kaili,” she'd said softly but she was sure he’d already known that, if not for Sarah saying it in between her thank you’s, then because of JJ insisting he was the one who had brought her back for his friend. Speaking of which, JJ had strutted out of the bathroom, shaking his wet hair at both of them, causing them to unlock their hands and gaze from the other. She couldn’t help but laugh at his childish antics. He had dropped to the spot next to her and extended his arm over the edge of the seat behind them as he settled in to watch the movie. Though she tried to get back into the actors on the screen, she couldn’t help but notice that Kelce’s eyes kept coming back to her, like hers did for him. It was as if he wanted to say something to her or maybe he wasn’t comfortable with her intruding into his space.

No, she definitely didn’t know what she was getting into.

tags: @rafecameron​ @millyelliot​ @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar​ @sortagaysortahigh​ @stfukie​ @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless​ @outerbankslut​ @thegreatestofheck​ @starlightstarkey​ @stargazingstarkey​ @anxietyandtacos​ @spideymyluv​ @pogue-writings​ @bedazzledbanks​ @pankowrudeth​ @bricksatanakinswindow​

[huesofblue]

Moving to the Rhythm for a Sweet Victory (Pt. II)

With the basic information all done, we will now move on to the actual analysis of Individual Women’s Rhythmic Gymnastics Match at the 2016 Summer Olympics in Rio, Brazil. It is routine at this point, though sadly it will be the last, that I have to put up the disclaimer for the lingos. Since I am quite unfamiliar to the technical terms of rhythmic gymnastics, they will not be used as much – if any at all – in this review, lest I’ll risk misusing them. However, if there will be any that seems to be misused at any point of this analysis, I apologize in advance for my ignorance. On some cases, said lingos might be used in their literal (and common layman’s) meaning, but on other times, they may outright be used incorrectly. Hence, the disclaimer.

Moving on. For reference, we will be watching the match through this link: https://youtu.be/MaxT2vguGXQ

[all rights reserved to the original owner of the graphic: Olympics]

From the qualifying rounds, each category according to the apparatus had 10 competing athletes who got in and received the chance to show their skills for the gold medal. As per the rule, the top qualifier from the qualifying rounds would go first for each rotation, and the apparatus for said rotation was the hoop. The order of gymnasts was as follows:

Margarita Mamun, Russia;

Marina Durunda, Azerbaijan;

Yana Kudryavtseva, Russia;

Katsiaryna Halkina, Belarus;

Kseniya Moustafaeva, France;

Melitina Staniouta, Belarus;

Carolina Rodriguez, Spain;

Yeon Jae Son, South Korea;

Ganna Rizatdinova, Ukraine; and

Neviana Vladinova, Bulgaria.

As per the set order for the 1st rotation, Margarita Mamun from Russia was up first. As soon as her music began, she started to move so strongly, and not even a whole minute into her routine, she had already executed a variety of skills, including her signature move of back illusion turns. There were definitely a lot of details to her movements – most, if not all, of her body parts were involved in each skill execution in some way, and that in itself is really impressive to watch. Aside from a few movements that didn’t flow quite well into each other, her routine was very well-choreographed, and Mamun had a certain fluidity to her lithe form that resonated well with each move she made. Soon after her routine was the announcement of scores, and her own score was found to have come up to 19.050 points – 9.550 for difficulty, 9.500 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The next gymnast to perform was Marina Durunda, representing Azerbaijan. She began her routine with a graceful, ballet-like series of movements, but unfortunately, a few seconds after it first began had her fumbling a little bit with her hoop. Nonetheless, she continued on with her routine professionally, and still exuded the same feel of grace and fluidity all throughout, even until the end of her routine which she concluded with an amazingly skillful finish. What I liked about her was that she had the smooth flow in transitions to each element that Mamun lacked. Granted that Durunda didn’t quite use her body and had a lot of difficult elements as much as Mamun (and later, the other gymnasts) did, she did make up for that with a poised execution of her routine. Right after the end was the announcement of her scores, and it was found to have come up to 16.950 points – 8.650 for difficulty, 8.300 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem quite pleased with that as well as with her performance; nonetheless, I still think she did a great job.

Right after Durunda was Yana Kudryavtseva, also representing Russia. Her routine seemed to have a slow progression, but it was definitely filled with a variety of skills that I personally think could have worked better had there been more speed. For the first half, she had a few elements that transitioned a bit awkwardly – due to the really short pauses in between each – but her second half was just downright impressive. By that second half, she had chosen more difficult elements to perform, and most of them had transitioned smoothly into each other. After a few more elements, Kudryavtseva brought her routine to such a graceful and fluid ending. Personally, I think she did such a remarkable job at carrying out that choreography with a smoothness that the previous athletes didn’t quite have (due to their faster-paced routines, understandably) and aside from the slight pauses in some of the elements’ transitions (I particularly have a bias towards difficult yet nicely transitioned movements), her routine was near-flawless. Being rewarded for her incredible performance, her score was announced to have come up to 19.225 points – 9.700 for difficulty, 9.525 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The fourth gymnast was Katsiaryna Halkina for Belarus. With quickly progressing elements, she began her routine with a dramatic feel, fitting to her choice of music. She executed some really complex combinations from beginning to end, and there wasn’t a short pause in the transitions in sight. Each of her elements flowed really well into each other, so most of everything was pleasantly smooth to watch, and that made her routine look near-seamless. Said elements were also executed cleanly, and while I think she lacked a bit in execution despite the fluidity coursing through her movements, her routine was still quite incredible and really well-choreographed, eventful but not too much. After the replay of her routine, the announcement of scores came, and Halkina had racked up 17.966 points – 9.000 for difficulty, 8.966 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Following Halkina was France’s representative, Kseniya Moustafaeva. From what I saw with her routine, she definitely incorporated more of a dance-y feel compared to the previous athletes, with a certain grace to her movements that worked well in a neat execution of elements. From start to end, everything just flowed so seamlessly, definitely making up for – what I think – was a lack in difficulty for the elements. I think that Moustafaeva could have done a bit harder skills; maybe a few less of the balancing and spinning-around-a-limb elements, and more of the hoop twist elements among others. Despite that, I think she did a great job at her routine – definitely ending on a high graceful note. With the announcement of her scores, it was found that she had gained 17.700 points – 8.900 for difficulty, 8.800 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The sixth gymnast to take the floor was Melitina Staniouta, another athlete representing Belarus. Beginning her routine with spinning the hoop using her foot, she progressed nicely into her next elements with quick transitions. Speaking of her elements, they were noticeably more difficult (based on my own personal scale) compared to the elements of the previous gymnasts, and not to mention that it was executed in a relatively fast pace. Her catches were really on target, and there was only a slight fumbling with the receiving of some. Nonetheless, her eventful routine was executed in a really polished manner. After the replay of her routine, Staniouta’s score was announced to have come up to 18.125 points – 8.925 for difficulty, 9.200 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties. However, her score was later altered, and it was then 18.200 points – 9.000 for difficulty, still 9.200 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The next competitor was Carolina Rodriguez for Spain. A fan-favorite she was, and she definitely delivered with her routine. Not only were the execution of her difficult elements made easy, there was a sort of fun, lively feel to her that manifested well from her good choreography and the neat accomplishment of elements. I noticed that she also had a particular liking towards multiple consecutive turns, and that liking definitely worked well in her favor because she pulled them off while making them look easy to do. Her grace as a veteran athlete that perseveres for improvement was impressively one of a kind, and that was exuded quite nicely all throughout her routine. After a relatively long period of time waiting for the announcement of her scores (due to Staniouta’s enquiry of her own score), it was found that Rodriguez racked up 17.616 points – 8.750 for difficulty, 8.866 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

After Rodriguez was South Korea’s representative, Yeon Jae Son. With a hoop toss that marked the start of her run, her routine noticeably had a lot of tosses and complex catches that worked well with her execution. Each of her elements flowed well into each other, and there wasn’t any major fumbling with the handling of her hoop, especially since it was announced that she had a bit of difficulty with utilizing the hoop. Her performance had a really majestic feel to it, furthered by the dramatic music playing in the background. With the reputation of being Korea’s face for rhythmic gymnastics intact, her scores were announced to have come up to 18.216 points – 9.150 for difficulty, 9.066 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The 9th rhythmic gymnastics contender was Ganna Rizatdinova, representing Ukraine. She began her routine with consecutive pivots with an immense amount of control, accomplished neatly. And all throughout her run, she displayed a great interpretation of the music with the execution of her elements. Her toss-and-catch elements were well done, but I noticed she had a *really* minute instability with some positions, especially on her transitions, but I liked how she always adjusted herself accordingly to garner more stability. Compared to the other gymnasts, her choice of elements were more difficult, and each of them was complemented well with clean executions. And to conclude her part in the 1st rotation, her score was announced to have been 18.200 points – 9.100 for difficulty, 9.100 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The final performer of the 1st rotation was Neviana Vladinova from Bulgaria. The grace and exquisiteness of her movements were already heavily displayed even from the start of her routine. She had really good transitions, but there were some that I personally thought were a bit hasty and not quite well-moderated, such as when she suddenly quickens up unexpectedly to catch the hoop as it falls. Also, the execution of some elements was inconsistently strong – sometimes it was good, sometimes there was a sort-of buffer before the transition – and that, I think, hindered a little on the fluidity of her routine. I did like her acrobatic elements and her overall performance, and her routine was just nicely and cleanly done. Nevertheless, her score was announced to have been 17.883 points – 9.050 for difficulty, 8.833 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

For the 1st rotation of the competition, the current standings were as follows:

Kudryavtseva: 19.225 points

Mamun: 19.050 points

Son: 18.216 points

Staniouta: 18.200 points

Rizatdinova: 18.200 points

Halkina: 17.966 points

Vladinova: 17.883 points

Moustafaeva: 17.700 points

Rodriguez: 17.616 points

Durunda: 16.950 points

The 2nd rotation (and the others to come) follows the order of performers from the 1st rotation, so the first gymnast to perform their routine with the ball was Margarita Mamun. After a costume change, she was off to begin her ball routine. She started her routine with a series of intricate movements that displayed an immense sense of balance and control over the ball. She progressed nicely through her performance, and at any point of her routine, one could see how in-tune Mamun was with the apparatus, moving as if she was one with the ball in her hands. Personally, I didn’t see anything that could have been improved because it was already so impressive in itself. And fortunately for Mamun, her score was announced to have been a staggering 19.150 points – 9.650 for difficulty, 9.500 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The next contender was Marina Durunda, and just judging on the beginning of her performance, I could tell that there was a lot more movement, more action in her routine compared to Mamun’s. There was definitely a more theatric feel to her routine, but she made her elements work well with the rising background music. She did lose a bit of direction during one of her tosses, but she was able to react quickly and snag it from the side that it was falling on. I would also like to comment on her amazing form whenever she executes her balance scales and pivots, she looks so good especially with the display of balance and control in them. Soon after her performance was the announcement of her scores, and Durunda had racked up 17.541 points – 8.775 for difficulty, 8.766 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

After Durunda was the second Russian representative, Yana Kudryavtseva. Watching her move gracefully across the floor, she had a very accurate interpretation of the music that absolutely displayed her mastery of each of her elements. The way she moved from one element to another was so seamless, and I especially liked her catches because the consequent movement flowed so well from it. Most notably, that element where she spins the ball on her thumb while doing a balance element was just so amazing to see – it was definitely the first I saw of its kind that was pretty satisfying to watch. Thus, her score was announced to be 19.250 points – 9.650 for difficulty, 9.600 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The fourth gymnast on the floor was Katsiaryna Halkina. Beginning so strongly with a smooth, gorgeous rotation, she progressed so prettily into her routine, executing each of her elements with a grace and control that I personally thought was the best from what I’ve seen. Compared to her hoop routine, I could tell that she was more comfortable and more mastered using the ball. Every move she made looked so smooth and seamless that everything worked so well with each other up to the end. For that routine, Halkina had garnered 17.966 points – 9.000 for difficulty, 8.966 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Kseniya Moustafaeva followed after Halkina. Like Halkina, I thought that she was doing better with the ball than she did with the hoop; her routine began with a fierce start, and every element she executed since the beginning resonated well with her dynamic choice of music. She was actually doing quite well through routine, but unfortunately, halfway in it, there was an unfortunate error, in that her ball had gone astray from the direction she planned on projecting it too. And because she momentarily lost control of her apparatus, that was going to cost quite heftily of her score. Nevertheless, she still continued on with her performance, and she was able to conclude her abstractly choreographed routine with a strong end. I really should commend her will to continue and pick herself up after that slight mishap because if that was me, I’d have long given up, and it wouldn’t only be because I have bad eyesight and an equally bad hand-eye coordination. Subsequently, her score was announced, and it had come up to 16.883 points – 8.650 for difficulty, 8.233 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

After Moustafaeva was Melitina Staniouta. One of the things I liked the most about her routine was the really heavy display of gracious fluidity. Each movement was seamless, and the shapes she made with her body were smooth. Her pivots were definitely the elements of hers that I liked so much because they looked so controlled and were so beautifully executed; I’m thinking that they are her strongest elements. Through to the end, Staniouta also had a great connection to her apparatus that was seen in the execution of her whole routine. However, by the end, I’m not quite sure if it was done on purpose, but I did feel a bit of hastiness from her movements as a result of trying to fit her remaining elements into the last bit of the music. That, and I think she was also catching up to the finale of it. Nonetheless, she did a job well done, and she was rewarded for it with a score of 18.250 points = 9.050 for difficulty, 9.200 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

For the seventh gymnast, it was Carolina Rodriguez. Right off the bat, I feel like her routine was one that largely focused on elegance, and she was able to satisfy such focus with her smooth movements and clean executions. Her best elements, I think were her consecutive pivots as well as her balance elements, and the element of hers that never fails to take me in awe was the continuous rotations, specifically at the 1:06:00 timestamp. She had a really consistent maturity all throughout, and she was a performer that was 100% pleasant to witness. Being rewarded for her great performance, Rodriguez had garnered a score of 17.683 points – 8.750 for difficulty, 8.933 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Following Rodriguez was Yeon Jae Son on the floor. With an elegance like no other, she began her routine that, even from the start, displayed her great sense of control over the apparatus. Her balance elements were so controlled, strong and consistent. Her difficult elements were also made to look easy because of that special to do so, and due to how seamless she moved, the end of her routine was surprise – it definitely leaves the audience wanting for more, if my reaction of it was anything to go by. For a beautiful and clean routine, Son’s scores were announced to have come up to 18.266 points – 9.200 for difficulty, 9.066 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The next contender was Ganna Rizatdinova. Her routine began with contemporary dance moves that incorporated the use of the ball. Moving right into her pre-acrobatic elements, the consistency of interpretation was still present, and the shapes she made with her body in every element was just exquisite. Every move she made was just so cleanly executed and seamlessly transitioned, I didn’t find anything that I would have liked her to have done differently. And at the full stop of her routine, I felt through the screen her pride of such a successful routine, and I’m glad she did so well in bringing it to life on the floor. Right after that finish, her score was announced, and Rizatdinova had racked up 18.450 points – 9.250 for difficulty, 9.200 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The tenth and last gymnast to take the floor was Neviana Vladinova. With a fast-pace, her routine began so eventfully. She did so many movements in a short amount of time that I was pleasantly surprised at how cleanly executed each one was. There was a clearer precision in this routine compared to her previous one in the 1st rotation, and all her elements worked well with each other – it definitely helps that she had really good transitions. I especially liked her catch that was out-of-sight; she made a difficult element look so easy, and that is a feat that most would like to have. Her balance elements, at most, were very spot on. I am also impressed at the way she was able to incorporate smooth motions and sharp movements in a balanced manner. With a strong end that was very very slightly behind the music, the announcements of her scores came, and it was found to have come up to 17.750 points – 9.050 for difficulty, 8.700 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

As of the second rotation, the athletes’ total scores were as follows:

Kudryavtseva: 19.225 + 19.250 = 38.475 points

Mamun: 19.050 + 19.150 = 38.200 points

Rizatdinova: 18.200 + 18.450 = 36.650 points

Son: 18.216 + 18.266 = 36.482 points

Staniouta: 18.200 + 18.250= 36.450 points

Halkina: 17.966 + 17.966 = 35.932 points

Vladinova: 17.883 + 17.750 = 35.633 points

Rodriguez: 17.616 + 17.683= 35.299 points

Moustafaeva: 17.700 + 16.883 = 34.583 points

Durunda: 16.950 + 17.541 = 34.491 points

The clubs were up next as the 3rd rotation, and like the previous rotations, Mamun was up to perform first. Right at the beginning of her routine, I felt a little quickened as I watched her and I’m not quite sure if it’s because it was the first clubs routine I’ve ever seen, or if she was actually just slightly off beat to the music and she seemed like she was catching up to the song hastily. Nonetheless, the club movements she executed were very smooth and intricate to see. Nearing halfway her routine, she had begun to perform the more difficult acrobatic, pivot and balance elements, weaving them right after one another seamlessly. All throughout, she displayed a great sense of control and mastery over the clubs; although, I did feel in some parts an underlying hesitance with the way she handled the apparatus. Moreover, the one thing I would have liked to see during it was emotion. While watching, I didn’t feel the interpreted emotion for the performance – I felt like she was just performing for the sake of it, and that was a pity because her previous routines were rich with emotion yet this one seemed a little lacking in that department. Notwithstanding, Mamun was able to rack up another score in the 19s, specifically 19.050 – 9.550 for difficulty, 9.500 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The second contender to the floor was Durunda. Compared to Mamun, I could definitely say that she had a better connection to the clubs throughout her entire performance. Granted that she had less throws and difficult elements than Mamun, Durunda still had a firm handling of the apparatus that Mamun lacked. She did such a great job carrying out such a fast-paced routine. The interpretation was spot on and quirkily fitting to the song. Her pivots, especially, were what I really liked the most because it was the element where I could see she had the most expertise in, and she was able to incorporate the apparatus into that type of element nicely. And rewardingly, her score was announced to have come up to 17.716 points – 8.950 for difficulty, 8.766 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Up next was Kudryavtseva as the third gymnast to perform. With an already smooth start, she was off to execute a really good run. From the first toss, she already exhibited an immense amount of control and mastery over the clubs, moving as if she was one with them and they were an extension of her. Most, if not all, of what she did were pretty seamless, and all the difficult elements a part of her routine were made to look as if they were easy to do. From the way she consistently performed, she was actually well on her way to achieving another near-perfect routine, but unfortunately, she was unable to catch the last throw of the club. Basing on what I had been able to see, I think she just miscalculated the receive of the club – her hand was practically mere inches so close to the club when it was right within her grasp, but she pulled her hand back a little too quickly, thus missing the apparatus entirely. I’m not quite sure as to what she was trying to achieve with that last bit, but sad to say, it costed her a quite hefty sum on her final score for the routine. As a result, her score was announced to have been 17.883 points – 8.700 for difficulty, 9.183 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

As the fourth contender, Halkina took the floor for her routine. Personally, I liked this – the clubs routine – the best out of all her four performances. Not only did it have a really near-perfect execution, but the way she just moves so gracefully along to the music while accomplishing various elements with varying degrees of difficulty – wow, it was just downright awe-grabbing. From what I could see, she didn’t commit any, if there were at all, mistakes all throughout her performance, and every move she made blended well right after each other. TLDR; Halkina’s clubs routine was my favorite. Rewardingly, she had racked up a score of 17.650 points – 8.750 for difficulty, 8.900 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Right after Halkina was Moustafaeva. Like the dynamically artistic gymnast she is, her music began in an upbeat manner that was quickly accompanied by a relatively fast-paced routine. She was actually really doing so well into her performance, but unfortunately, like Kudryavtseva, she too was unable to catch the clubs during one of the throws. It looks to me that she also made a miscalculation in the area where she expected the club to fall right into her hand. Despite that, she continued on with a fighting spirit, moving flexibly as if her mistake earlier mistake hadn’t had happened. And soon, she was able to bring her routine to a partly successful close. After that eventful performance, her score was announced to have come up to 16.916 points – 8.650 for difficulty, 8.266 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Staniouta followed after Halkina not too long after. Even with the seamless and beautiful start + progression into the halfway mark of the routine, she unfortunately had taken the same route as Kudryavtseva and Moustafaeva, in that she too was unable to catch the thrown club. After that mishap, I think she had lost a bit of her fighting spirt, judging by the way her movements had gone slightly sloppy nearing the very end of her routine. But aside from the major drop of the apparatus, I still think she did a great job at executing her choreographed routine for the 3rd rotation. Later, her score was announced, and it was found that she had gained 16.633 points – 8.400 for difficulty, 8.233 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The seventh gymnast to perform was Spain’s Rodriguez. Starting off very fiercely, her movements so far have been very interpretive and fitting to the song. She did her signature consecutive turns so beautifully before largely throwing the clubs behind her and successfully catching them dead center into her hands. She progressed very nicely from then – all her major throws were successful and so were her turns, leaps, and other elements. Because she was performing so strongly in a near-perfect manner, I hadn’t even noticed that I had reached the end of her performance because I was left wanting to see more. It’s safe to say that her clubs routine was also my most favorite out of all four of hers. Accordingly being rewarded for her impressive routine, she had racked up a score of 17.700 points – 8.800 for difficulty, 8.900 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Following Rodriguez was Son from South Korea. All throughout her routine, one could sense how well she was able to control the clubs because every move she made with them was so seamless and impressive. The way she twirls the clubs in her hands were just mesmerizing to watch because you could see its asymmetry from the way she executed the movements so well. All in all, she just really knew her way around the clubs. She had opened her routine so strongly, and also ended it perfectly, racking up a score of 18.300 points – 9.200 for difficulty, 9.100 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Soon after Son was Rizatdinova, taking up the floor for her routine as well. Starting impressively with the pivots, there was already a strong feel to her routine judging from the beginning. All her movements were smooth and well-moderated, and it didn’t seem like she had committed any mistakes at all with the way she moved so gracefully across the floor with a mastery like no other – even her clubs moved symmetrically in mid-air. Her dynamic routine was definitely eventful, and she absolutely brought justice to it with a gorgeous execution. Rewardingly, her score was announced to have come up to 18.450 points – 9.250 for difficulty, 9.200 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The tenth and final gymnast to take the floor was Vladinova. With a back flip accompanied by a single club toss, she was off to a great start of her routine. Her subsequent elements from then were nothing if not very strong and expertly executed. She moved so surely across the expanse of the floor, and one could always feel the sureness in each and every movement she made. An amazing display of balance here, a strong set of pivots there – she was positively on a roll with this routine, and I quite liked her manner of execution with it. After her performance was the announcement of her scores, and it was found to have come up to 18.050 points – 9.150 for difficulty, 8.900 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

With the addition of the scores from the 3rdrotation, the gymnasts’ scores were as follows:

Mamun: 19.050 + 19.150 + 19.050 = 57.250 points

Kudryavtseva: 19.225 + 19.250 + 17.883 = 56.358 points

Rizatdinova: 18.200 + 18.450 + 18.450 = 55.100 points

Son: 18.216 + 18.266 + 18.300 = 54.782 points

Vladinova: 17.883 + 17.750 + 18.050 = 53.683 points

Halkina: 17.966 + 17.966 + 17.650 = 53.582 points

Staniouta: 18.200 + 18.250 + 16.633 = 53.083 points

Rodriguez: 17.616 + 17.683 + 17.700 = 52.999 points

Durunda: 16.950 + 17.541 + 17.716 = 52.207 points

Moustafaeva: 17.700 + 16.883 + 16.916 = 51.499 points

And now the last rotation has come, with the fight getting thicker as to who would snag the medals for this competition. The apparatus to be used for this rotation was the ribbon, and like the previous rotations, Mamun was also going to be performing first. Explosively beginning her routine, she had really good wrist movement judging by the defined shapes that the ribbon made as she moved the stick around. The one element she did that I really loved was the big toss that ended up with her catching it in a split before smoothly transitioning to a balance element. The amount of precision there was absolutely exquisite. Not to mention that she interpreted the music really nicely as well, and her technical elements were nothing short of effortlessly gorgeous – the leaps, turns, balances, the way she manipulates the ribbon according to her calculated movements = everything was just nothing short of incredible. For a routine like hers, it was no brainer she would score a big one, and a big one to score she did because she received a towering 19.233 points – 9.700 for difficulty, 9.533 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Following Mamun was Azerbaijan’s Durunda. Moving precisely dynamically since the beginning, she had progressed quickly into her next elements from the big toss that allowed her to perform multiple skills. Her movements were very sure, and despite the slight fumble of the ribbon going around her neck, she was able to transition right into the fast-paced portion of her routine. Because her ribbon was that of a rainbow, any movement she made with it was defined and visible in a beautiful manner. And to be completely honest, she did a wonderfully impressive job of bringing her ribbon choreo to life on the floor. With the final announcement of her scores, it was found to have come up to a good 17.541 points – 8.775 for difficulty, 8.766 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Up next was the much-awaited Kudryavtseva from Russia. Redeeming herself from her major mistake in the previous rotation, she had brought her all to the last routine. Moving so gracefully and expertly with the ribbon, she looked absolutely ethereal, even through an electronic screen. She had a certain way of moving that was unlike any other, possessing poise and precision and greatly relaying them both in all her movements. With an elegant finish to such a beautiful routine, her scores were announced to have been at 19.250 points – 9.650 for difficulty, 9.600 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Following after Kudryavtseva was Halkina for Belarus. With yet another dynamic choice of a music, her body just began moving accordingly to it as if it was on automatic, producing shapes and forms with the ribbon that was just absolutely stunning to watch. She had a really good grasp on the control and mastery for the apparatus, dancing expertly in tune with the ribbon. Like the dramatic performer she is, she had ended her routine with such a strong finale. Soon after the announcement of her scores came and she had gained a final 17.350 points – 8.650 for difficulty, 8.700 got execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The fifth gymnast to take the floor was Moustafaeva. At an intricately tangling start, her routine was already very expressive and interpretative. Her movements complimented her overall performance well; the execution of skills was seamlessly smooth, and she never failed to paste a smile up on her face all throughout. Not only that, but in my opinion, I think her ribbon routine was the best one out of all four yet. She was able to bring her best A-game for the final routine, and the progression for such a patterned performance was very well-moderated. As her last routine for the final rotation, her score was announced to have been 16.741 points – 8.175 for difficulty, 8.566 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Right after Moustafaeva was Staniouta. Her routine began with fluid motions that transitioned nicely to the next elements. She did have a near-major error with the ribbon almost going out of the boundary, but with quick reflexes, she was able to save it in time. After that, she just noticeably began enjoying the rest of her routine and did all that she could to make it as enjoyable as possible, moving accordingly to the shift in to the fast-paced portion of her routine. Strongly concluding her final routine, the announcement of her scores came, and it was found that she had scored 18.050 points – 8.850 for difficulty, 9.200 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The next gymnast to perform was Rodriguez. Like the performer she is, she had elegantly begun her ribbon routine. Moving with a defined sureness to her body, she performed a variety of elements that had minor skills incorporated into most of them. There was more of an elegant poise to this performance. She was doing really well too, but unfortunately, she had failed to catch the ribbon and dropped it at the moment she was close to receiving it. Maybe the fatigue caused by performing the previous routines had caught up to her, but nonetheless, she didn’t let that error hinder her from carrying out her last routine to the concluding finish. Granted that she would have made near-perfect routines had she not committed that mistake, I still think she put up a pretty decent fight amongst her fellow gymnasts. With the end of her routine came the announcement of her scores, and she had garnered 16.950 – 8.500 for difficulty, 8.500 for execution, and -0.050 for penalties.

Eighth on the list to take the floor for her routine was Son of South Korea. She began her performance with a dignified start, progressing nicely into the creation of patterns with her ribbon and bodily movements. She followed that up with a toss that came before the rest of her elements in the slow-paced portion of her routine. When the fast pace came, she moved graciously accordingly to it with a consistent fluidity that was never lost in any of her performances. With a spicily enticing end to her eventful routine, her scores were announced to have come up to 18.116 points – 9.150 for difficulty, 8.966 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

Right after Son was Ukraine’s Rizatdinova. Starting with a big throw of the ribbon up in the air, she was able to save it gracefully before transitioning to her next planned elements. With the bronze medal riding on this routine, she was visibly giving her all into expressing her performance with her whole being and using as much control, precision and power she can into the delicate art of rhythmic gymnastics. Sliding into the fast-paced portion of her routine, she had never let up on the precision of her movements, always moving with the best forms she can make with her body. With the ribbon tightly in her grasp and flowing artistically along with her, Rizatdinova’s routine had come to a strong successful conclusion. Later, the announcement of her scores came, and it was found that she had gained a great 18.483 points, putting her right into the bronze medal spot – 9.250 for difficulty, 9.233 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

The tenth and final gymnastics performer of the rotation and the competition was Vladinova from Bulgaria. Being tasked with the last routine of that day, she definitely began strongly by interpreting her music well with her body and her ribbon. She definitely utilized a lot of toss skills, and while there was one that wasn’t as successful as the others, the rest of her routine had gone matchingly well to the music. I believe she had quite a difficult routine to do to because it was fast-paced and she had already performed three routines prior to that, but not once would you ever see her slacking off in performing it – truly strengthening her reputation of always performing energetically. At the announcement of her scores, it was found that she had garnered 17.050 points – 8.550 for difficulty, 8.500 for execution, and -0.000 for penalties.

With all four rotations now done and over in the all-around rhythmic gymnastics competition, the scores were tallied, and the final medal awardees were: Margarita Mamun of Russia in 1st place with gold, Yana Kudryavtseva of Russia in 2nd place with silver, and Ganna Rizatdinova of Ukraine in 3rd place with bronze.

Personally, I was never really a fan of rhythmic gymnastics, solely for the reason that I couldn’t quite grasp the competitive nature of it. However, after watching the entire 2:41:55 video of the Individual Women’s Rhythmic Gymnastics Match at the 2016 Summer Olympics in Rio, Brazil, I can safely say that I’ve gained a newfound respect for the sport. I didn’t realize gymnasts would have to compete in an all-around competition using all the apparatuses, and putting myself in their shoes, I was enlightened by how much dedication and hard work that would need in order to attain success, especially if one of the apparatuses was outside of our comfortable area of expertise. Nonetheless, as a spectator and a newfound supporter of rhythmic gymnastics, I commend the athletes for doing the best they could not only in representing their country in one of the biggest international games in the world, but also in living out their passions with the sport itself.

Each of the 10 gymnasts had their own charm and style to their performance which could be seen even in the slightest movements they made across the floor. But the athletes I definitely liked watching the most were – unsurprisingly – the Russians, Mamun and Kudryavtseva. The fact that they are both such skillful athletes who were hardened by life’s obstacles and experiences but were mellow enough to retain fluidity for such gorgeous routines – it just boggles my mind how they couldn’t have both won the gold medal (as was the other athletes who deserved medals of their own too.) But yes, a competition is a competition, yet it was pleasantly heartwarming to see both of them actively supporting each other despite being opponents in the same sport field. At the same time, I am just plainly in awe of their technique, of their flow, of their seamless movements, of their entire routines; and it’s no secret how decorated their careers were, judging by how marginally deserving they were of the spots they managed to win.

With the whole analysis done, that then marks the end of this blog post regarding the Individual Women’s Rhythmic Gymnastics Match at the 2016 Summer Olympics in Rio, Brazil. It’s been a wild ride reviewing numerous sports over the course of 9 weeks, and it’s no brainer that I’ve learned a lot about such sports that I used to be so ignorant to. Nonetheless, I thank whoever is reading this for taking the time to sort through my musings this whole time, and for going along this reviewing journey with me.

That is all for this blog post. Thank you for reading, and I wish you a good day ahead!

[kingofdirtandnothing]

wemultitudinous asked: Even 700 miles away, John's shit at texting back, and their calls are short and infrequent. Hence, an honest to god letter. Or several. “Laurens – since I can’t demand your attention by using you as a pillow, guess I have to use my words to tell you that NY sucks without you. Didn’t really notice until you were gone just how much of my day you are. Pretty fucking rude to wriggle your way into my affections like that, but since you’re already wedged all up in there, I guess I’ll let it slide..."

Jeanine brings him the honest-to-fucking-god bundle of letters up to his room, and John’s torn between about three different shades of embarrassment from ‘my parent’s maid brought me my mail’ to ‘my boyfriend literally sent me like eight letters over Christmas break’. But Jeanine doesn’t seem like she suspects anything, and once John controls that instinct to hide the papers any time his parents come near him, they start ignoring them too. 

It doesn’t hurt that there’s a letter tucked in the middle, a fucking decoy of peak Alexander Hamilton pettiness that talks about finding him a girlfriend while he was down here, and the length of his nose. 

His nose. John chokes on his orange juice at the kitchen table over that one and ends up having to go change his shirt because he gets it all over his sleeve. 

He tells himself that he’s going to be good. Only read one every couple of days, the way they’d probably been written. Or at least the way they would have come in the mail if Alex hadn’t forgotten until the last one to even put them in the mail. 

But he’s full of shit, and apparently a fucking teenage girl because he tucks them between the mattress and the box spring when he isn’t in his room and he lies on his bed and traces the heavy pressure of a pen and Alex’s scrawling handwriting when he’s trying to go to sleep. 

John won’t go home until after the new year. And it’s fucking something, to think of New York as home and South Carolina as some nebulous other place, but he can only deal with so many existential crises in a day. So he picks one, and makes a plan of attack. 

For the first, he goes all out. Gotta make that opening salvo count. John has to go to three different antique stores, which delights his mother to have the company, and he finds it on a spinning rack in the third. Obnoxious. Bright. Gaudy. His mother says ‘oh, that’s...nice, Jack’ and he knows it’s the right one. 

There’s no return address on it, because Alex would have to be blind to not know where it came from. (And it’s not like Alex didn’t have the big house’s address anyway.) John doesn’t even sign it. He slaps a stamp on it, and scribbles across the open space on the back. 

You shouted down a drunk argument in a bar to tell both people they were wrong. And then you danced with Herc. You did the butterfly, because apparently it’s 1995 forever. When we had to pull you out of another argument and onto the street, you looked at me and said ‘I never had a group of friends before. I promise that I’ll make ya’ll proud.’ Ten seconds later, you were chatting up a girl waiting for a cab. 

The next one is postmarked the next day. John Laurens might have surprising patience when it comes to a particular someone, but he’s never been great at delaying satisfaction. And honestly, trawling gas stations for ugly postcards kills time and gets him out of the house, and away from the press of well meaning questions about his career, about his dating life and everything else. There was only so many times that pictures of Lafayette’s basset hound would get him out of trouble.

This one is a little more generic, but a little more local, too. Close to home, so to speak. John’s pen is red today, and there’s spirals in the corner of the postcard where he’s had to lick the end to get it going again. 

First time I got into a fight sober around you, I laid out a guy on Tremont Ave for calling me a faggot. I thought you were going to bail. You got napkins from the taco truck and a water bottle, and you cleaned my hands. You didn’t ask. You just said ‘fuck that guy’ and that was it. Like nothing else mattered. 

The third is postmarked Christmas Eve. They still sneak a phone call that night before his parents have their big party, but John says nothing about the postcards. Alex was a smart kid. He’d figure them out. 

The words on this one are wobbly, blue ink that was held up against a brick wall to do the writing. The outer wall of the post office to be exact. No way in hell was John leaving this written anywhere his parents could see. 

We were at the Boiler Room because the drinks were cheap and Laf and Adri were off again. The guy looked like Idris Elba if you were drunk and it was dark. You fucked him in the bathroom. I went and washed my hands so I could hear you. It wrecked me to know you were as bossy getting fucked as you are any other time.

The last one is delivered on New Year’s eve. A single, cramped line. 

You kissed my hand and all I could think about was that it was somebody else’s skin on your lips. 

John flies in on the afternoon of New Years, hungover as fuck and regretting every life choice that brought him to this point. He drops his bag near the front door, keys in the bowl and kicks his shoes towards the couch. 

And he has every damn intention of going to bed, until he sees a dark head poked out from under Egyptian cotton sheets, knees turned towards the wall. 

There’s one of Alex’s yellow legal pads on the other side of the bed. John flips past page after page of nearly fucking encoded notes to get to a blank page. 

I knew I loved you a long time ago. But those are the times it hit me hardest.

He puts the notebook back down on the bed and pads out into the living room. He could catch a nap on the couch. 

[buzzdixonwriter]

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood [SPOILERICIOUS]

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood is now my favorite Quentin Tarantino movie even though I think a few of his others are better made films.[1] 

But, man, does it ever capture the era and the vibe.  In that sense it's like La Dolce Vita (and in another, like Singin' In The Rain).

I know this era, and I know Los Angeles of the time -- from the Summer of Love in ’67 through the year of unraveling in 1968 to the end of the era in ’69.

And while Hunter S. Thompson’s brilliant Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas marked the official death notice of the Swingin’ Sixties in 1971 (with a few die-hards like the Symbianese Liberation Army literally dying hard in 1974), the truth is 1969 was when it all came to an end.

Nixon won, thanks to his own now well documented treason behavior and to a few million white bigots voting for George Wallace instead of Hubert Humphrey, and (as Thompson himself noted two years later) “with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark -- that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”

Now some of you are saying, “But wait -- how can little Buzzy boy -- a mere lad of 13 summers in 1967 and not yet fully 16 when he finally actually visited Los Angeles for the first time in 1970 – how can he know what Los Angeles was like in that era?”

Ah, for that, my friends, we can thank television.

. . .

For those of you too damn impatient to get into the meat of my review of Once Upon A Time In Hollywood, just skip this block and go to the next one.

I’m gonna pull a Tarantino here and seemingly meander in order to set up what comes next.

Even though I lived in the rural South (Appalachia mostly but with a few years in the Piedmont of North Carolina), we had this invention called television, and on this invention were these shows.

I’m not talking about Shindig! or Hullabaloo or even The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour (though the latter interestingly paralleled in real time the rise and fall of what we now call “The Sixties”).

I’m not even talking about that perennial American Bandstand which started in 1952 and ran a staggering 37 seasons, grinding to a halt only in 1989 at the tail end of the Reagan Era, a pop culture show that lasted long enough for the grandchildren of its initial audience to be watching it when they finally pulled the plug.

No, I’m talking about cheap-ass, under-the-radar syndication efforts like Where The Action Is (itself a spinoff of American Bandstand) and The Lloyd Thaxton Show a Bandstand imitation that relied more on whacky humor, proto-music videos, and local-to-LA pop culture icons.

We’d see these shows (briefly back-to-back during Where The Action Is’ short run) not as cheap entertainment for teens and tweens but rather as a glorious portal into that land of myth and magic:  Southern California.

In particular, Los Angeles.

(It’s not as if nobody ever did this before.  In all its variations from the mid-1950s through Walt’s death in 1966, Walt Disney’s Wonderful World Of Color seemed to make every 4thshow either about Disney Studios or Disneyland itself, thus by extension priming the national pump for interest in Southern California.)

Where The Action Is and The Lloyd Thaxton Show needed to squeeze the most out of their bare minimum budgets, and the cheapest way to fill screen time was to convince some local SoCal / LA attraction to let you shoot footage of young kids (with disposable incomes, one might add) having a good -- no, great time at said attraction while listening / dancing to top forty tunes lip-synched by an astonishing roster of talent.

Look, this was back when TV was big but before it became H*U*G*E.  Successful show biz folks made money but they didn’t make that much money, and popping down for an afternoon to lip-synch your latest release for Lloyd or Dick Clark was a sure way to guarantee a few thousand more sales across the country, a few more paid gigs in the hinterlands, so whyda hell not?

The Monkees tried covering the same territory on prime time, but as popular as that show was (and it stands up well to this day albeit more as an artifact of its time), it felt just too slick, too packaged, too ersatz compared to the scruffiness of Where The Action Is and The Lloyd Thaxton Show.[2]

Add to this almost weekly illustrated news and culture stories of SoCal / LA and the youth movement delivered to even the most remote rural homes via Life, Look, Time, Newsweek, and The Saturday Evening Post, and it was pretty much hard not to be aware of -- and influenced by -- Los Angeles culture in the 1960s.

And if like little Buzzy boy you were interested / intrigued / enthralled by that culture, there was a virtual tsunami of sights and sounds to wallow in, even if you lived 2,467 miles away.

On my first visit to Los Angeles in the summer of 1970, when I had just stepped off the airliner, when I was no further into the city than the gate of the airline terminal, I looked around, took a deep breath, and realized:  I’m home.

. . .

So here’s the plot of Once Upon A Time In Hollywood:  

Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio), a fading TV star, frets over his career.  

Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), his stunt double buddy, tries to boost his spirits.  

Rick lives next door to Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie), a vivacious young actress married to a world famous director.  

Cliff the stunt man bumps into members of a crazy criminal cult.  

Weirdness ensues, but everything ends happily (except for three of the cultists).

A conventional movie would have put points 1, 2, & 3 in Act One, made point 4 part of Act Two but then stretched that act out with a big pointless chase and a few small fights, and finished with point 5 as Act Three.

20 pages / 80 pages / 20 pages

Not our lad Quentin.

A screenwriting guru once observed It's A Wonderful Life has a traditional 3 act structure only it's constructed so act 1 occupies 80% of the picture. Likewise Casino opens with virtually a 45 minute documentary on the casino business so they won't have to stop and explain things as they go along with the main story. 

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood is like that: Two hours to build up to a literal life-or-death moment in order to show that for all their sins and short comings, Rick and Cliff would not merely survive but be worthy of survival.

(Most "assemble the squad" movies have a similar structure only they disguise it by indulging in hijinks along the way viz The Dirty Dozen spending most of their movie just training.)

Points 1, 2, 3, and 4 above are Tarantino’s Act One, and based on the 161 minute running time, I’m guessing it occupies the first 130 pages of the script.

Point 5 is his Act Three, and I’d say 20 pages sounds about right there.

But what about Act Two?

That’s the beauty of this story.

Act Two is about ten minutes long and is told mostly with narration (provided by Kurt Russell, who may or may not be speaking in character as Randy, the stunt director).

The crisis point in Rick and Cliff’s story is not that they’ve intersected with the Manson family, it’s that Rick decides their friendship must end. 

Now, ostensibly this is because Rick’s new Italian wife, Francesca (Lorenza Izzo), wants to cut expenses and move out of his home in Benedict Canyon and into a condo in the San Fernando Valley, a move that we know from Rick’s earlier statements that he would find shameful and a mark of his slide in status , but the unspoken reason may be that the volatile Francesca learned of Cliff’s own troublesome past (see below) and wants nothing to do with him.

So Act One tells us who these two guys are, explains their relationship in part, hints at an elephant neither wants to acknowledge, and carries us to a point where they can no longer continue as once they had.

Act Two consists of the final decisions the two make as part of this friendship, not really wanting to break it off, Cliff clearly hurt by Rick’s abrupt dismissal, yet trying to have one last good time together before parting, ostensibly not forever but…yeah, forever.

Their respective decisions impair their ability to respond to the dangers posed by the trio of killers in Act Three.

. . .

Let’s talk about Rick Dalton for a moment.

Leonardo DiCaprio proves himself to be one of the gutsiest actors of all time, playing a whiny, petulant, rude, brusque, self-involved, over-anxious crybaby of a man…

…and getting us to admire him because despite his myriad character flaws, the sonuvabitch has two things going for him and the first is a fierce dedication to his craft.

A conventional movie would cut the scenes of Rick practicing his Lancer dialog all by himself.

Tarantino realizes the audience needs to experience that in full, because otherwise they won’t appreciate his frustration at blowing his lines during filming the next day.

And when he blows his lines, Rick erupts in a epic full-bore meltdown rage aimed at himself and himself alone.

And this points to the second thing Rick has going for him:  Rick knows when and how to accept help, and is thankful for it.

Without the lengthy scene of him practicing at home (and drinking too much in the process), audiences would dismiss Rick blowing his lines as par for the course.

We need to see Rick make a conscientious effort to prepare for his role, see him screwing up by getting hungover, see him blow his lines, then see him correctly shouldering the blame and taking positive steps to overcome his error and deliver an outstanding performance.

The help that Rick accepts in this scene comes from “Maribella Lancer” a.k.a. Trudi Fraiser (Julia Butters), a child method actress who refuses to break character between takes. (This is one of the most delightful scenes in the film and well worth the price of admission alone.)

Despite a rather awkward-bordering-irritating meeting, “Maribella” / Trudi feels empathy for Rick as he inadvertently confesses his own career anxiety by talking about a pulp Western he’s reading.

That he can accept this empathy from a child stands well in Rick’s favor.  It shows he actually listens to others and accepts their feedback and input.

And it pays off for both of them when Rick not only comes back from his lunch break meltdown all fired up and determined to give an outstanding performance (which he does), but also when we learn he suggested a bit of business for “Maribella” / Trudi that delights both her and the director (Sam Wannamaker, a real life actor and TV director of the era, played in this film by Nicholas Hammond).

And when “Maribella” / Trudi tells Rick that his acting was some of the best she’s ever seen, he’s genuinely moved to tears.

We may shake our heads at some of the stuff he does, but we like this guy.

. . .

Part of the headshaking is due to his relationship with Cliff, his stunt double / majordomo / best friend.

Rick often seems like an arrogant prick with Cliff, seemingly bossing him around, acting like Cliff is at his constant beck and call.

We’re about two thirds of the way into the film when we learn that without Rick to champion him, Cliff would pretty much be persona non grata in Hollywood.

Cliff is known throughout the town (and Hollywood ain’t that big, folks) as a wife killer.

While some (such as Rick) argue he was absolved of any criminal intent, there’s no doubt he deliberately and personally caused the death of his wife, he didn’t merely have an accident that left her dead.

He’s a wife killer.

Most of the people in town assume he got away with murder.

Francesca, despite being an Italian starlet, may have heard the stories from other Americans working in Italy and that is the real reason she laid her foot down re Rick selling his house and abandoning Cliff as his friend.

Hell, even nearly blind old George Spahn (Bruce Dern) holds him in contempt.

Cliff can’t get hired in town unless Rick asks for him to be employed as his stunt double.

Even then he runs into strong pushback, viz Randy the stunt director who is reluctant simply because he doesn’t like the vibe Cliff gives off, and is especially reluctant because his wife, fellow stunt coordinator Janet (Zoë Bell), nurtures an enormous hate-on for Cliff based on the presumption he did indeed murder his wife and get away with it.

Cliff blows his chance of working his way back into Hollywood’s good graces by getting in a fight on the set of The Green Hornet with Bruce Lee (Mike Moh) that caves in the side of Janet’s car.

But what’s crucial in that scene is Lee explaining his refusal to fight: “My hands are registered as lethal weapons. We get into a fight, I accidentally kill you. I go to jail.”

“Anybody accidentally kills anybody in a fight, they go to jail,” says Cliff.  “It’s called manslaughter.”

Sounds like Cliff may know what he’s talking about from personal experience.

When Lee learns Cliff is a wife killer, his reluctance to fight him disappears.

Nobody in Once Upon A Time In Hollywood disputes Cliff killed his wife, they dispute if he got away with murder or not.  In view of his comment on manslaughter to Bruce Lee, the coroner’s verdict may not have been murder or accident but justifiable homicide

We don't know what happened on the boat in the flashback scene with him and his wife (Rebecca Gayheart). 

If she attacked him with a weapon (the spear gun they carried onboard or a knife or a wrench or whatever) and he defended himself from her attack but unintentionally inflicted a lethal injury on her, then both a charge of manslaughter and verdicts of "not proven" or "justifiable self-defense" are possible.

We don't know, and that ambiguity is what makes Once Upon A Time In Hollywood such a morally and ethically complex film.

(When I next see the film, two things I'm keeping tabs on the contents of Rick's store room and when Cliff's various scars appear.)

. . .

And Sharon Tate, the third leg of this triad?

She is depicted in this movie by Margot Robbie as light and as airy and as harmless as dandelion pollen blown on the breeze.  She is a perfect wish fulfillment character, not merely because so many men desire her, but because she appears to live a blissfully stress free, rewarding, and happy life.

This is where real life collides with “reel life” and if you haven’t guessed by now, we’re up to our necks in spoiler territory.

You have been warned.

For audiences half my age, Charles Manson (Damon Herriman) is vaguely known in a Jack the Ripper-ish sort of way (i.e., a really, really bad guy who did some really, really terrible things but just what they don't fully know) while Tate is unjustly forgotten.

The glory of Once Upon A Time In Hollywood is that for however briefly, for however artificially, it lets Sharon Tate come alive again and enjoy the happy ending she deserved.

What is that happy ending?

To be honest, we don’t know.

At the end of the film she meets Rick, recognizes him from his TV shows, and the implication hangs in the air that she’ll introduce him to her husband, Roman Polanski (Rafał Zawierucha) who in real life at this stage of his career had not yet descended to drugging and raping 13 year old girls.

I hope in “reel life” that never happens, just as I would hope that Polanski’s criminal moral failing would never have materialized in the real world had Tate and her unborn child lived.

We just don’t know.

We assume Rick will meet Polanski, and from that meeting his career would shift to A-list motion pictures, and his dreams of success and security would come true.

We just don’t know.

Would Tate herself have gone on to bigger and better roles?

The odds are not in her favor.

As the writer David Gerrold said:  “Hollywood uses up young women as if they're disposable.  It is one of the worst things about the industry.”

Very few female actors of that era enjoyed a sustained shot at A-films, especially if they were regarded primarily as eye candy.

By the time of her murder in real life, Tate had a good role in a minor but good movie nobody saw (Eye Of The Devil), a good role in a major bad movie everybody saw (Valley Of The Dolls), and provided eye candy in three mediocre movies (including The Wrecking Crew, part of the gawdawful Dean Martin “Matt Helm” series[3]).

Her career might well have stalled out as so many other promising young starlets’ careers stalled out.

We’ll never know.

But even a stalled career would be preferable to what really happened to her.

. . .

A lot of people get second chances at the end: The four[4] at the Tate house, for sure, but also Rick (who finally gets to move into Polanski's circle) and Cliff (who has atoned for killing his wife either by accident or a well staged murder).

But y'know who else gets a second chance?

Charles Manson.

Cliff sees Manson at the Tate house but never learns his name. When he visits Spahn Ranch, he hears constant references to "Charlie" but never meets him since Manson has taken the family's children on an outing to Santa Barbara.

He recognizes Tex (Austin Butler) and Susan Atkins (Mikey Madison) and Patricia Krenwinkel (Madisen Beaty; many people mistake her character in this scene for Squeaky Frome, played by Dakota Fanning in an earlier scene) from his visit to the Spahn Ranch, but for all he knows they've come after him for revenge after he beat up Clem (James Landry Hébert) at the ranch. 

Since Cliff was out of the country for 6 months stunt doubling for Rick in Italy, the lapse in time is accounted for: They waited until he returned.

When the hit team doesn't come back and there's no news reports of a mass murder, Manson knows his plan failed and has an opportunity to flee the LA area, either by himself, with a small group of followers, or the entire Family.

If the police do trace Tex and the women back to Spahn Ranch and they do confront Manson on this, Manson can feign innocence.  If they bring up Cliff's visit and fistfight, Manson can say he knew the three were angry over the incident but he never knew they plotted revenge.

With the three would-be killers dead and Linda Kasabian (Maya Hawke) presumably fleeing LA to escape the Family there's no link between Manson and the attack on Rick's house.

Manson is in the clear.  The police consider the matter closed (movie star kills three drug crazed hippies; why look further?) and Manson gets a breather to ponder his next move.

Maybe he realizes how close a call it was.  Maybe he realizes he's got a nice little scam going with the Family.  Maybe he focuses on that and becomes a garden variety cult guru who, with viral marketing, becomes a prominent New Age personality.

Stranger things have happened...

. . .

To be honest, I approached Once Upon A Time In Hollywood with some trepidation when I heard the ending would not synch up with reality.

Tarantino most notably did this before with Inglorious Basterds, but most of his movies occur in the Red Apple universe, so named after a popular brand of tobacco that appears in those films (I can’t remember if Red Apple products appear in Jackie Brown and have not seen either Kill Bill movie).

The Red Apple universe almost-but-not-quite synchs up with ours.

The biggest and most obvious deviations from the norm is Inglorious Basterds, where Tarantino wipes out Hitler and the Nazi high command in a fiery climax later echoed in Once Upon A Time In Hollywood, but Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction suggest a world far more immersed in its own pop culture than we are.

The Hateful 8 is another Red Apple universe film (again specifically referenced in Once Upon A Time In Hollywood) that strongly implies Abraham Lincoln survived the assassination attempt against him and negotiated a post-Civil War peace that saw the Confederate states reunited with the rest of the country much sooner than actually happened but in return saw them agree to full emancipation and equality under the law of all formerly enslaved people.  There's still a lot of racial tension in era of The Hateful 8 but there is also an explicit acknowledgment of equality under the law.

As such, race relations in Tarantino’s films Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, and Once Upon A Time In Hollywood do not synch up with the reality of our own era.

. . . 

On the one hand, there’s not as much carnage in Once Upon A Time In Hollywood as there is in most Tarantino movies.

On the other, there’s just as much only we don’t recognize it for violence because it’s presented in the form of  “play acting”.

It’s not real.

It’s all a movie (or a TV show).

Or so we think.

Even Manson’s own killers debate this point, one of them arguing that all American TV shows “except for I Love Lucy” glorify in murder and violence, so why not visit murder and violence on those promoting it?

Really, what separates the violence of bounty hunter Jake Cahill (a name that’s an amalgam of two John Wayne Westerns:  Big Jake and Cahill, US Marshal) from Rick Dalton playing Jake Cahill from Leonardo DiCaprio playing Rick Dalton playing Jake Cahill from the violence of Leonardo DiCaprio playing Rick Dalton at the “reel life” climax?

And what do we make of Brad Pitt playing Cliff Booth who doubles for Rick Dalton (as played by Leonardo DiCaprio) playing Jake Cahill, especially in the end when Cliff’s under the influence of LSD and isn’t sure if what he’s experiencing is real?

You tell me.

. . .

Tarantino’s flamethrower beats Chekov’s gun

By this I mean if you need a flamethrower in act three, you set it up and pay it off in an entirely different context in act one or two, but you also establish however obliquely that it’s not impossible for it to be present though uncommented on in act three. 

We see Rick Dalton use a flamethrower in a film; we see a flashback and hear him say he practiced long and hard to master the weapon. 

This fits in nicely with Rick’s character, both poking fun at him for not being the tough guy he portrays onscreen yet establish his willingness to learn a dangerous skill if it enhances his performance.

After all, he could always request Cliff, his stunt double, handle the flamethrower in that scene.

Dalton is also established as a person who collects memorabilia about himself, reinforced repeatedly though not always blatantly thru the film (viz Cliff bringing in a huge framed poster of one of Rick’s Italian movies just prior to the climax). 

So when Rick pops out with a fully functional flamethrower at the end, our suspension of disbelief goes, “Yeah, he’d still have that”.  (When I next see the film, I’m paying close attention to the contents of the storage room prior to Cliff fixing the antenna; if we don’t see the flamethrower stored there, Tarantino missed a bet.)

Part of the genius of this film extends to the trailer.  

There is a big honking clue to at least part of the climax when Rick is shown using the flamethrower and the images freeze frames while a title announcing it as Quentin Tarantino’s 9th film is superimposed.  That’s brilliant marketing as it preps audiences for what would otherwise be a deus ex machina before they've even seen the movie.

. . .

re the flamethrower and Cliff’s scars: This is a film that will endure multiple repeat viewings just to catch all the details. There's a shot of Cliff driving down the 134 Freeway that if you aren't a Los Angelino you won't recognize he's driving past Forest Lawn, thus prefiguring the ominous background of the film. 

When Pitt goes to see the elderly George Spahn at the infamous Spahn Ranch, he passes by two photos of Zorro and the Lone Ranger -- both with masks over their eyes -- as Squeaky tells him "He's blind."

The background is filled with posters and billboards and books and magazines and memorabilia, some real, some ersatz.

That being said, I do not think it will age well.

To the degree it skillfully recreates an era, that will be studied.  

But as time puts more and more distance to the actual events, the impact of the film will lessen.

Casablanca loses some impact when we aren’t aware of how vicious the real life Nazis were, but in the context of the story they’re big enough bastards for us to understand why it’s important to stand up to them.

After The Fox is a delightful comedic romp that is hilarious even if you don’t know anything about Italian neo-realism, but if you do know anything about Italian neo-realism It.  Gets.  Even.  FUNNIER!

But you really need to know what happened on August 9, 1969 at 10050 Cielo Drive to fully appreciate what Tarantino hath wrought.

Like 2001:  A Space Odyssey, future generations of viewers will appreciate the skill and artistry employed, but they just won’t get why it makes such an impact today on many viewers.

 Gordon Dickson wrote a classic sci-fi story back in 1962 called “Three Part Puzzle”.  Without spoiling it, it’s safe to say a big hunk of the story’s appeal lays in the efforts of aliens to comprehend why human children are delighted by the old fairy tale of The Three Billy-Goats Gruff.

To the aliens, the story contains a simple, straight forward message:  Wait until your strongest team member arrives before engaging an enemy.

What they don’t understand is the morality behind the story.

To the aliens, goats and trolls are all equal, there is no reason to take delight in the victory of one over another.

But to humans…ah, to humans there’s a far deeper, much more important message than a mere tactical stratagem.

This is the risk Once Upon A Time In Hollywood will face in the future, that audiences as yet unborn will come to see it as a big, goofy buddy action movie in which two friends (and the wife of one and the dog of another) take on a trio of killers, dispatching them in spectacular fashion.

The catharsis may be lost, and in losing that, so will be lost the heart and soul of the film.

Enjoy it now while you can.

  © Buzz Dixon

 [1]  I rank Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, Django Unchained, and The Hateful 8 above it in terms of cinematic quality.

[2]  In real life, for reasons too involved to go into here, Charles Manson actually got a courtesy audition for The Monkees; he was never seriously considered for a role and if I remember correctly, the show had already been cast by that point but the formal announcement had not been made. Nonetheless, if the quantum physics hypothesis of alternate timelines is correct, somewhere there’s a universe where Charlie Manson is a beloved 1960s pop culture icon and people still talk about the infamous Peter Tork murder cult.

[3]  Do yourselves a favor and track down the original Matt Helm novels by Donald Hamilton.  They’re far superior to the crappy movies.

[4]  There were actually five victims that night but Steven Parent, who had been visiting the property's caretaker William Garretson at the property's guest house, was shot in his car as he prepared to drive away. Garretson, apparently under the influence of drugs and / or alcohol, first claimed to have slept through the horrendous attack and was a prime suspect until forensics cleared him.  (Years later he admitted to witnessing part of the attack and doing nothing for reasons he never made clear.)  Tarantino left Parent and Garretson's presence out of the film presumably because it would have been too much of a diversion to explain them if they weren't going to be victims.

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 32 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Apologies for the lateness; this has been one of the longest stretches of days of my life. I’ll elaborate more at the end, I think, but suffice it to say this fic has quite literally changed my life; changed ME, forever. It reopened parts of me I thought had been consigned to the abyss and opened new doors entirely in my soul. It truly has fucking changed me body and soul, as cheesy as that fucking is. So when you read it, know that it comes from the depths of me. Marguerite Foley is based on Mary Beard. Kenzie’s starburst necklace looks like this. Kenzie suggesting FRANKENSTEIN to Anchaly is for a couple reasons; firstly, that I love it as much as she does, and secondly, a gothic horror is my next project, and it’s my nod to myself (haha). Kenzie being astounded at her own writing is how I feel sometimes when I read over any of this fic; “I wrote this???” is usually what I’m thinking. When the muse hits you, she’s no joke. This is Kenzie’s Marchesa dress, this is Duncan’s Alexander McQueen shirt. Crocus looks like this; I’ve been crazy about palominos since I was a child (and horses in general, let’s get real) and knew one of the horses Duncan got for Kenzie was always going to be a palomino. This is the dress Kenzie is wearing on his back, her earpieces are like this. This is the jacket Duncan is wearing in that shot. Kenzie’s birthday dress. Her lingerie. Duncan’s jacket and his shirt. Here are the pomegranate cufflinks (I had to, y’all). Here’s Hannah’s dress. Claire’s dress. Someone put on Hozier’s self-titled album while they’re getting ready because I’ve been listening to it a lot over the past week or so; the songs mentioned are FROM EDEN and IN A WEEK. A reminder that ARIADNE looks like this. There are only two more chapters left after this one; one of which I’ve written; I’ll write the epilogue after I upload Part 33. To those of you who have come so far with me on this incredible journey; thank you.

THREE WEEKS LATER

Kenzie ran out the penthouse door to the elevator, half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich clutched in her left hand, the moonstone glimmering on her finger as she shoved a pair of ballet flats on her feet. It was late afternoon--fuck, already--Anchaly had just rang on the intercom to tell her a special package had arrived. She’d been just about to go back to the study with her sandwich when he’d called; she’d been in the middle of writing a passage she’d been puzzling over. The strange thing about language, she thought, is it’s always trying to explain the inexplicable. And when you’re writing about love, you’re always trying to grasp the intangible.

She wore washed denim overall shorts and a white embroidered crop top--Kenzie noticed one of the strap sleeves had slipped off her shoulder as she skidded into the elevator, hurriedly pressing the foyer button; then she pushed it back up. At her neck was a long golden chain with a gold-and-diamond starburst hanging from it past her breasts--another gift from Duncan a few nights ago. I couldn’t help it, he’d said, his lips against the bottom of her ear as he clasped it around her neck, his breath sweet and heavy, his smell like cedarwood. I saw it and knew it was for you, and everything’s been going so well, the solar is going up without a hitch, the rooftop garden is almost done, the garden house is getting started, Annette’s like a different person, and after our meeting with Claire Underwood last week; and how much she loved you, loved our ideas...it’s my joy to give you things, it’s celebrating all of this, everything, us. Please let me continue to bestow gifts on you, sweet Princess. Kenzie peered at it in the elevator’s mirror, running it through her fingers; squinted at herself, her honey-colored hair falling around her face. Then she took another massive bite of her sandwich.

In addition to everything else, the new board was coming together nicely, too, she knew; Duncan had bought back shares owned by previous members of the board, and they had started from scratch, choosing only women as he’d promised; Momby and Annette were now something akin to friends, which Duncan and Kenzie constantly marveled over, watching them laugh and touch each other’s shoulders affectionately, going on brunch dates and to happy hours; the rest of the team Kenzie and Momby had carefully considered, eventually lighting on several women in prominent scientific fields, especially those with a focus on climate change action, Marguerite Foley, who had won a National Book Award for her new history of Ancient Rome, and two renowned socialist activists, both women of color, one of whom had gained nationwide attention for personally lassoing a confederate statue down from a public square in South Carolina and organizing major white-supremacist opposition protests. When Kenzie had first sat among this group of women in the newly-painted board room (a pleasing cerulean blue with gold borders that reminded her of a deep ocean with a golden shoreline), she had felt her heart swell beyond all words; I felt the Goddess there, she knew. As clearly as if She sat with us. And I knew it was good in Her eyes.

Kenzie had been doing her best to split time between the new board of directors and her book, which seemed to be flowing out of her like it was a river with a strong current. I think staring at the Youth of Bacchus all day doesn’t hurt when it comes to inspiration. Neither does wanting to share what’s in my heart so very, very much. The study had been transformed from Duncan’s work desk to Kenzie’s writing desk; they’d recently had two high-quality photos framed to put on it. One was the Vanity Fair shot of them together, the other, the two of them looking at each other at the Gala; glancing at them throughout the day, Kenzie felt constantly awash in a haze of golden affection, gratitude and deep emotion, and every time she read back on what she’d written, she felt lost in its loveliness, stunned at her own words. I wrote this, she knew, astounded. This came from my own heart, and now everyone will know. They’ll know what this feels like. They’ll feel the love I’ve felt; not just now, but in all the ages past, and the ones to come.

The elevator reached the ground floor and she stepped out, swallowing the rest of her sandwich, licking peanut butter off her finger. She turned to see Anchaly’s feet propped against the counter, his nose buried deep in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey. There was a thick package in brown shipping paper on the countertop beside where his pristine Balmains were crossed over each other; Kenzie smiled.

“Nice shoes, Anchaly, those look really smart on you. And I love that one. Everyone always talks about Jane Austen writing good romance, but they always leave out how fucking funny and observant she was.”

“Hey, Princess.” A few weeks ago, Anchaly had started to call her this; Kenzie knew somehow, innately, that his doing so lacked all pretense. It felt right; natural. Even if he didn’t know, he knew. It was in the air. “Bought them with my first new paycheck. I think they really suit me.” Duncan had promptly raised the salaries of every person employed by Shepherd Unlimited a few days after assuming his role as CEO, as well as extending vacation time and enacting full benefits for every position. Anchaly continued. “And I agree about Ms. Austen. Delightful. Though I will say, this one’s making me want to read a serious gothic novel next, rather than a facetious one.”

“Frankenstein,” Kenzie breathed, eagerly. “It has to be Frankenstein. One of the best books ever written. I love it so much. It’s so heartbreakingly melancholy and so beautiful. Did you know Mary Shelley wrote it when she was only 18?”

“Goodness, no. That’s extraordinary. I’ll make it a point to get a copy, Miss Mackenzie.”

Kenzie nodded at him, grinning approvingly. Anchaly hitched his feet down, handing her the long brown package. She gripped it tightly, fingers white, knowing full well what it was. She couldn’t wait any longer. With the nails of her right hand she ripped along the seam, exposing the object within; it was the new issue of W magazine, and on its cover, she saw, her heart bursting into her mouth with bittersweet savor: us.

On the cover was a stunning photograph of her and Duncan. In it, she wore a beautifully embroidered Marchesa dress; the top had a high collar and embellished black etchings and flowers with cut-out mesh; in the photo the full skirt’s waist was just visible, it’s blooming golden roses peeking towards the bottom of the shot. She was flush to Duncan’s arms; her face dipping up towards the camera, strands of golden hair across her cheek, her lips parted just so, dark plum. Her eyes seemed impossibly deep gold, framed by her lashes, seeming impossibly long; like the photo on the study desk, but even brighter--even greater.  She wondered again vaguely if it was a trick of the camera; knew innately that it wasn’t. You can truly see us here. Who we really are. The cascade of her honey-colored hair dipped back, a waterfall of smooth, waving silk, and a crown of yellow begonias rested on the top of her head. Duncan’s face was also turned to the camera; her forehead rested against the dip of his chin, his full lips open too, just enough to evoke a deep longing in the onlooker, and his russety curls were across his forehead, falling down in artfully tossed, dark waves--akin to the deep gold of her own eyes, his seemed to glow with ethereal blue flame. Sword of the Evening Star, Kenzie thought, pressing her fingers against her mouth. Duncan wore a form-fitting Alexander McQueen black Oxford with a cascading embroidery of white roses along either side of his torso; one of his hands was visible at the top of her arm, his beautiful long fingers, holding her with aching tenderness. The light was sweet and low in the shot; the photocall had been on the White House’s back green with Claire Underwood’s permission, the sunlight falling in the late afternoon to dapple behind them; somehow the photographers had been able to preserve the sense of natural light, and Kenzie was reminded of their two sweet summer evenings at the cabin several weeks ago, could almost smell the drifting, low verdence of the grass that day.

She bit into her lip, breath stolen; the photo evoked a deep sense of romance, a dramatic and stirring sense of tenderness, bordering on gothicism. AT THE ALTAR OF DUCKENZIE, the headline read, printed in swirling script below them, and then, smaller: the breathtaking young gods and their plan to change the world. Kenzie heart thumped against the roof of her mouth now, her senses flooding with the blood the pumped from it fiercely. Fuck. It’s so much more beautiful than I could have imagined. She opened to the editorial inside; there was a five-page-long spread, the inner article with another subtitle; WHEN THE GOD OF WEALTH MET THE GODDESS OF SPRING, THE WORLD SHIFTED…: The new Hades and Persephone sit together in the fading light of the White House lawn, the editorial began, and Duncan Shepherd leans down to kiss her rosy cheek, her, Mackenzie Stone, who took the internet by storm when she abruptly stole his heart only a few short months ago…, the article went on, and Kenzie stopped. Oh god, I can’t possibly read this right now, she thought, feeling the heat rising in her face immediately. Kenz, you’re in the middle of writing. You have to wait.

In one of the photos of the inner spread, the photographers had enlisted the help of a breathtaking creamy palomino stallion; Kenzie sat astride him in a flowing white McQueen dress in delicate lace suns, moons and tiny flower-bursts, tiny white jewels threaded through her hair, huge crescent moon pendants earpieces on either side of her head. Duncan, in a striking long black blazer with cascades of glittering gold embroidery, also McQueen, held firmly to a gold-and-black-leather bridle the horse wore; there was a circlet with dark obsidian stones across his forehead. The horse’s mane was twisted into elegant braids that fell over his large, liquid-dark eyes, and a wreath of dark roses around his neck. Kenzie had loved this horse utterly; immediately, with a fierce adoration that threatened to shatter her into pieces.

“What’s his name,” she’d asked, tearing, touching the sides of his long face later, back on the ground--the horse had stared down at her, lashes blinking languidly. He dipped his head up, fluid, curious, and let out a quiet, curious neigh. His huge eyes fluttered again in some secret language.

“Crocus,” the trainer said, smiling at her, a big, burly man with coppery skin and a dark black beard. “He’s as sweet as honey butter. I’ve never met a stallion so mild. Like he came down from heaven, the holy mount of some lofty angel. Though it seems he’ll soon belong to another angel, from what I’ve been told.”

Kenzie had turned to Duncan, her mouth open. Crocus. Like the yellow flowers in my hair.

“Dunny.”

Duncan had grinned at her, his eyes sparkling, hand coming against his lips. Yes, my angel.

“Dunny.”

“I know your birthday is still a few weeks away, but--Kenzie. He’s yours. And we’ll find him companions, I promise. But I knew he had to be yours. He’s your jewel. I could see it right away. Meant to be, clear as crystal. Like the Mirror, or the flowers, or--oh, Kenz--don’t--”

For Kenzie, of course, had begun to cry, and as her tears poured forth like rain, she’d thrown herself into his arms.

-----

“Everything’s ready for the celebration tonight, Miss Mackenzie. If you are missing anything once the party gets underway, you know you need only call me for assistance. I hope it is truly a wonderful night.”

“Anchaly, honestly, lately--everything is wonderful. I’ve been infinitely blessed.”

“Miss Mackenzie, I beg to say--it is you who are the blessing. Since you came into our lives, it’s like the world was set aflame with the kindest, softest gold. Like…” Anchaly trailed off here, lost in thought, and his fingers came around his chin.

“Miss Stone...it’s like...like coming home.”

Kenzie had come around the desk and hugged the small man; she couldn’t help it, and Anchaly didn’t mind; she could feel his ease, his sense of comfort at her embrace. Thank you, Anchaly, she thought, pushing blushing waves down on him from the top of her head. She felt the man’s shoulders shake against her, and knew that he had been deeply moved, had felt what she had done acutely. Truly a wonderful night, she thought, his words echoing in her mind. Truly a wonderful night, and she knew he was right, knew it was on its way.

As she went back up to the penthouse, the magazine tucked safely under her arm, she thought of the articles they’d done in the Post two weeks before. Ben had been very satisfied to finally publish his piece with Duncan; as Duncan had promised, he had made an immediate donation to GLAAD in the name of the newly organized Shepherd Foundation of Arts and Sciences--in the amount of 2 million dollars, which had caused a ripple amongst the press that was now gaining a serious momentum. The W interview was the first they’d agreed to since Bill’s passing, but several more were lined up in the weeks to come, and they’d had so many press requests, Kenzie had requested that River (now Kenzie’s personal assistant) simply stop answering the phone for a few days. The Post article had been the most extensive regarding Duncan’s initial goals; and in Kenzie’s full-page piece, she’d elucidated on the company’s long-term goals, their hopes for a green future with the implementation of their solar energy and rooftop greenhouse blueprints, and their plans for legislation with Claire Underwood to pass laws enacting green policies in all areas of government. The plans were being met with resounding positivity by the public; Shepherd Unlimited’s stock had closed out at the top of the market for weeks now, and though Kenzie knew it would take time, she also knew eventually their goals would come to pass. And, then, hopefully, no more stock market anyway, she thought. If our goals prevail, Goddess willing, the new world will truly arrive. Not only will I have saved Duncan in this life, we will have saved this world from its own destruction. In the eyes of the Goddess, under Her bright kindness and the strong threads of Fate, all things are possible. I can’t disbelieve; not in light of everything that’s happened. Not in the face of this transcendent reality. When I’m with him, I know--every good thing is possible.

She thought of their garden house, far in the future still, but now taking shape; my garden house, I know, for he’s designing it for me--he’s worked tirelessly with the architect and the builders to make the design perfect, he’s already been going out there every day he can. They’d been told the house, greenhouse and horse barn would take two years from start to finish, all-told, at this juncture; but something electric surrounded the property. When she’d visited it for the first time a week ago, it had felt to Kenzie like the quiet serenity of the black oak circle, but compounded and expanded and made greater, a Thin Place stretched to an extraordinary distance. Like its own little world. Duncan had texted her that day from Westminster, about an hour and a half drive from DC, where the land was, with several accompanying pictures.

Duncan: Kenzie, baby, just look at it. The builders are ahead of schedule already. This won’t take two years. I can feel it. It’s this place. She’s EVERYWHERE here, Kenzie. I love you so much. I can’t wait to see you tonight. I’ll kiss you a thousand times, my sweet Princess of Heaven. 

The accompanying pictures showed the structure of the house already well in place, the plotting of the greenhouse and the barn distinct. Crocus was being kept in a private stable several miles away until the barn was erected; that can’t come soon enough, Kenzie thought, for Duncan had promised they’d find him two companions when the garden house came closer to completion. And I miss him terribly, Kenzie thought. She’d only been able to visit the palomino once since Duncan had purchased him, and she’d burst into tears again, burying her face against his soft haunches. Crocus had made tiny horsey sounds; dipping his long face back and forth, but Kenzie could have sworn he was trying to comfort her. Do you remember me too, beauty? She thought. Did we know each other long ago? But she didn’t need to ask. She knew they had, with a golden certainty. Like Duncan, you’ve always been mine, honey-sweet, nectar wine, my Crocus, mild as the sunflower-colored dawn.

The moonstone ring caught the light in her reflection before she exited the elevator, back on the penthouse floor; Kenzie had relished her day alone, writing through the morning, but now she longed for Duncan; as I always do this time of day, she thought. The ring was like a kiss from his mouth against her finger; this thought pressed against her again and again, a mantra on her heart. A kiss. A kiss forever. A devotion. A promise to me. A symbol of love, as constant as the moon, changing and yet the same, turning against the earth until it too dissolves into something else, and yet even then, somewhere, never gone, just in some other place, some other time. When I look at it, I see the poetry of his mind; the fall of his thoughts, the way they hold me, the way they inspired me, kindled my heart to do the thing I was meant to do, write something truly beautiful, something that would give a piece of this love--as infinite as it is, as ever-growing, ever-expanding--to everyone who touches it. When he conceived this ring from the artistry of his own mind, he was thinking of the love between us, and he was thinking of me; the aspect of my soul. I know it. Every time I see it, I feel it.

The moonstone seemed to swirl, creamy-dark, and the diamonds glittered as she shifted her wrist up to tuck her hair back, slipping her keycard back into the door. She was frustrated to realize how close to the party her writing had skirted; she only had about an hour more to finish the part she was working on, and she’d be cutting it close. Soon the caterers would be arriving, soon Hannah and Georgio would be here for their styling, photographers, Morgan to fit her into her dress, and soon Duncan would be home. Back to work, Kenzie Lou. You know you won’t be able to even think about it once he gets home.

Kenzie went back to the study that had once been Duncan’s--and was now unmistakably hers. The Youth of Bacchus stretched along the entire wall, colossal, endless, staggeringly moving; she moved up to it, as she often did, comparing herself to the life-size figures. Kenzie toed for a moment, the magazine still tucked against her, in the fourth position. Old ballet habits die hard. She pretended to dance with them for a moment; turning her head up like the revelers depicted therein. In life, there is such joy. To be alive at all, and then to find him endlessly. I know now that her benevolence extends over everything. I see Her in every flower, in the shape of his face, in the facets of the moon, one of thousands, one of millions in the structure of her Time. I am Ariadne, thrown into the stars; Mother, I feel you everywhere. I know I’m your beloved.

Kenzie ceased her silent dance, giggling at herself, her own abandon; she switched on the Tiffany lamp beside Duncan’s smooth turntable and returned to the desk, gently setting the magazine down on it beside her Macbook, her Google doc open on the screen. Above where she’d placed the magazine were the two framed photos; the one from Vanity Fair (that day my heart was so heavy, but he held me with so much love and tenderness, his love a healing balm) and the one from the Gala, their faces full of such splendid happiness she often caught herself staring at it, lost in its emotion, its pure joy. There was another photo framed there now, smaller than the other two; the photo of Momby in bell sleeves, grinning in her youth out onto her unseen future. There was a slender velvet box on the other side of her laptop, one Kenzie had tied a satin, burgundy-colored ribbon around. She’d left it there as a reminder to herself to give it to him as soon as he got home; the first part of Duncan’s birthday present was something for him to wear that night. The second part, well--those are for me to wear, she thought. And I’ll make him fucking weak.

She glanced at the magazine cover one more time. I can’t wait to show this to him, she thought. At the altar of Duckenzie...Kenzie thought of that first night, the christening of their true altar; our bed, she thought, over which a dozen bouquets now hang, each of his adornments for me, yellow crocus after he found my beautiful Crocus, begonias after I loved the ones on my crown for the photoshoot so much, but mostly roses, roses in every shade, and these I’ve been gathering as though I would weave the colors of his love with them. Our bedroom, where stands our Mirror, unstuck from time, where we’ve fucked in passionate abandon almost every night since we met, and yet never tire of each other’s delights, never tire of the closeness or the need or the ecstatic connection of us, and never will. She’d worn the black and white lace lingeries on several nights over the past few weeks, let him tie her up half a dozen times, pulled him insistently into the shower for the last three mornings, demanding; they’d fucked on every surface of the penthouse at least twice more since returning from the cabin a few weeks ago, but her favorite place remained their bed; in the dark, in the shadows, with the moon on us, and your eyes made of blue flames, and the greatness of you, Evening Star, my sweet Hades.

Kenzie went back to writing.

-------

Erik was at the door promptly at five-thirty, in a blouse with voluminous iridescent magenta sleeves; Hannah and Georgio were behind him, carrying their styling chairs, bags slung over their shoulders. Morgan arrived right after, in a swirling black cape, long, dark green gloves on her hands.

“Darling,” she cooed, “you will truly look the part of a cosmic Princess tonight, my sweet. One of my favorite works I’ve done to date, bar none. One of my masterpieces.”

“Morgan, everything you make is a masterpiece,” Kenzie said, hopping excitedly at the long clothing rack that was being wheeled in behind the eccentric designer, leaning to kiss Morgan’s cheek.

“As I said, my love. One of.” Morgan kissed her in turn, and floated past her.

Kenzie wondered for a moment where Claire was, then knew; with Harris, of course. She’ll probably show up when he does. Oh my sweet Clairebear. Several caterers slipped in behind Morgan, heading towards the kitchen island with a wheel cart that carried, rather than a cake, Duncan and Kenzie’s alternative choice: two hundred organic, vegan, edible-gold crescent moon cinnamon cupcakes. On the lower shelves of the cart Kenzie could see case after case of delicate hors d'oeuvres, chilly tins of caviar, and ramekins of creme brulee and chocolate mousse. Kenzie peered anxiously into the hallway, which was empty now. Where’s Duncan, she frowned, turning back inside.

“Kenzie, get over here, let’s get started,” Hannah beckoned to her, grinning. Her lipstick was pale lavender today, her hair still the same striking purplish-gray. Her dress was a dusty periwinkle chiffon midi with floral embroidery, long silvery chains with flowers and bird charms hanging from her neck. She looked beautiful; like a fairy lady-in-waiting, come to adorn Kenzie’s hair with flowers again. But not flowers tonight, Kenzie thought. Tonight, I will be the radiance of the night sky.

“Where’s Duncan?” Kenzie said, more to herself than to her hairdresser. Hannah shrugged, patting her on the shoulders, turning her towards the mirrors Erik was setting up in front of them. 

“Did he say he’d be back yet?”

“Well, no, not necessarily--” Kenzie fell into the chair which Hannah had placed on the wide living room carpet, the same spot it had been in for the Gala. “But he knew what time you’d be arriving and he texted me hours ago from the garden house, so he’s probably back in the city by now. One of his birthday presents is something for him to wear, so I wanted to give it to him soon.”

“I’m sure he’ll be along soon, Princess,” Hannah murmured, already working a thin comb through Kenzie’s golden hair, parting it carefully. Kenzie wrinkled her nose at Hannah in the mirror; you too huh. Hannah stopped, squealing; “Oh my god, the ring, Kenzie, holy shit!”

Kenzie had made an Instagram post the day after Duncan had given it to her on Momby’s deck, her hand elegantly poised up to the sunlight over their bed, moonstone and diamonds glittering, the flowers she’d pinned along the headboard visible in the backdrop. Three weeks later, the picture had garnered over 10 million likes, which simply seemed impossible to Kenzie. The paps had started calling them Prince Duncan and Princess Mackenzie in articles; as if we really are royalty. Well--as if they know.

“Duncan designed it himself,” Kenzie smiled, her mind once again drifting to Duncan’s other presents she had for tonight. Oh baby. Gonna make you howl for me. Hannah continued to fawn over the ring, tsking as she clutched Kenzie’s fingers, staring down at it. “Lovely, fuck, wow, the most beautiful ring I have ever seen, like a full moon surrounded by stars.”

“I think that’s what he was thinking of, honestly,” and Kenzie’s smile widened, her teeth peeking free from her lips, turning her head up. “He calls me moonbeam sometimes.”

“Oh, Princess.” Hannah straightened her head back to stare into the mirror, shaking her own lavender tresses. “I can’t wait to style your pretty head for that wedding. God, I might just faint from the loveliness of all of it. I might just fucking scream.” Morgan was fussing to their left over the cloth bag that held Kenzie’s dress; she glanced up at the Bouguereau prints along the wall, forgetting the dress for a moment to coo softly at them.

“Oh, how divine, Bouguereau. The academic painters are highly underrated if you ask me. Our Duncan is quite the romantic at heart, isn’t he?”

“He really is, Morgan. Deep in his soul.” Kenzie’s heart clenched as she spoke. My Hades, serious, sensitive, sweet as evening.

“I doubt you would have given him another glance if he wasn’t,” Hannah added, using a curling iron to twist Kenzie’s hair into even waves. “You can see into people’s hearts, I knew it the moment I saw you.” On the fold-out drawer beside her Kenzie could see beautiful golden headband with starburst embellishments from end to end, a particularly large one in the middle made of blue sapphires with gold trim. Me and Duncan. My gold surrounding his blue.

“Oh Hannah, I love that,” Kenzie murmured, gesturing to it without moving her head this time, trying not to annoy her hairdresser too much.

“It made me think of you and Duncan immediately,” Hannah said in a quiet voice, and Kenzie could feel her emotion--feel the quavering adoration there. She sent golden energy out from her body over Hannah. Sweet lavender-tinted soul.

Someone had put music on; a soothing guitar line and lilting chorus drifted through the room, and Kenzie felt her own energy, her own desire for the evening, fill the cracks in the space, between the sound;

Honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror, long ago

Kenzie heard the front door open a little later amid the bustle now shaking the penthouse; she turned and saw the beloved, familiar crown of Duncan’s autumnal curls, the striking outline of his profile, and yelped, slipping deftly out of Hannah’s grip, running in several quick bounds into his arms--his blueness fell over her, sucking her breath away. Duncan laughed into her hair and Kenzie’s heart soared up to the ceiling with the sound, her body suddenly afire with him; home, home, home, you’re home and so I’m home now, too, the respite of him flowing, instantly, utterly, into her veins. Through the halo of her arms at his neck and the sweet, musky smell of him, Kenzie noticed two men behind him carrying a very large, rectangular object covered in packing paper; Duncan turned to them with her still clutched against him, and nodded to them.

“In the bedroom, please, thanks guys--” and then he buried his face against her again as they moved past, and Kenzie sighed, everything else, everyone melting away into nothing with the feel of him.

“Fuck, baby, I missed you today--”

“I fucking missed you--”

He kissed her with a fierce hunger that stopped all entreaty--she felt his fingers (loveliest of all to me, beloved) drift against the back of her head, holding her achingly against his mouth, his arm tucking her tightly to him, her face hovering over his. His thoughts were an endless plea: kiss me, kiss me Kenzie, please just kiss me--

“Baby,” she broke away, hovering so her whisper fell on the wetness she’d left on his mouth, “what was in that package?”

Duncan grinned; the smile of the gods. Like the sun. More beautiful to me than any star.

“Come on. Open it now. I want you to see. I want us to look at it alone--just me and you. Angel baby.” He lowered her to earth (would that I’d never have to come down from the height of your arms, Prince), and his fingers came again, the desperation to touch her seeping from him into her, to press to each side of her face, his forehead leaning down to her in an adoring embrace that left her breathless. Kenzie stared up into his sapphiric eyes; she could feel her mouth hovering open at his beauty, felt lost in the delicate cock of his chin; they marveled at one another in silence for a quiet, extended moment. Your delight to me is endless, Duncan, your beauty to me above all other beauties.

I’ll never tire of your face, Kenzie, which I would know, even in death, even in the void, as the face of the other half of my Soul.

He gently let go of her, and Kenzie finally noticed everyone in the room gaping at them openly; both she and Duncan looked away from the collective stares, shyly. Many people openly gazed at them this way these days; it seemed it simply couldn’t be helped. Duncan had started to call it their sheen; it was as if with their union they had opened a kind of doorway, one through which the tiniest sliver of their divine light poured forth. Like Claire had said: the light a moth flies into. Kenzie often felt frozen under the power of it over the past few weeks; the fell swoop of stunned amazement they caused together was endlessly strange, and it charged her body again and again with a frantic glow that often threatened to overwhelm her, as if a battery within her was being recharged with immense power. At these times, after the moments where their sheen was witnessed, their powers were super-charged for awhile; she could hear every tiny nuance of Duncan’s thoughts, which both thrilled her and stole her breath away. It was beyond words; it was more like the tiny cadence of a melody, too fragile to explain even to herself. She found, in this charged state, that she could transmutate across further and further distances, conjure fires with an ease that astounded her. The sway she could hold now over the paps constantly outside the high-rise now was extraordinary; Harris and her entourage were scarcely needed, as the paps would remain calm and Kenzie unaccosted as she held them under her powers. Duncan could do the same--the sheen both astounded the world to them, and protected them.

In that state, I see everything; the shades of him, the brightness and the darkness too. The throng of every thread She wove into him, when she created him, the perfect other half of me. Without him, I would cease. Without me, he would disappear. She wove it that way--I see that I’ve been blessed beyond all others in this way. We were the first; the very first time she melded two souls, and her work was majesty. It was us. We were the first of all true love.

Duncan led her past the people in the penthouse--out of the noisy quiet of their stares, the bleeding music (we lay here for years or for hours, your hand in my hand...), and into the soothing cocoon of their bedroom, closing the door behind her, still holding her hand. The men had set the long object wrapped in paper against the far wall--the empty wall, Kenzie realized. The blank wall where we vowed to put something beautiful.

“Kenzie.”

He turned to her, reaching for her other hand, blue eyes burning like low coals.

“Baby--I’m so happy. It’s yours forever now. It’s so beautiful, it’s--please, Kenzie--know that to me, it’s always you. I will always see your face in it. Whenever I look at it, I’ll only see you.”

“Dunny, what is it?”

He only smiled again, leading her to the papered object. She watched his deep breath, her fingers coming up to press to her lips.

“Open it, Duncan. Open it for me.”

Duncan’s eyes flashed at her; summer lightning in a storm. Then he gave her a little nod, a heart-stopping, teasing smile, then he turned, a long, black-clad shadow (as ever) leaning to the corner of the paper where it lifted free of its glue, and with his long fingers grasped and tore it--as he did, Kenzie glimpsed a swath of wine-red and lilac, the shape of a pair of bent knees on a raised dais. Duncan threw the swath of paper aside and grasped her under her arms; led her close to the painting (for that’s what it is--it’s a painting) and brought her hands down to the dip of the paper that remained. Rip it away, baby, look at it, look at how perfect it is. More perfect than I could have imagined. Use your power to reveal it.

Kenzie did as he said; gestured softly, her fingers curving; the paper ripped up in a swift movement that exposed, suddenly, the sweet, upturned face of a maiden in repose, one of her breasts free, her body clad in wine-red silk painted on canvas. Kenzie’s body tingled, her senses flush with emotion, suddenly--she tore the rest of the paper away from the painting, widening her fingers, shifting the space--and then, overcome with its reveal, kneeled in front of it, holding her breath, eyes wide.

“Baby.”

“It’s called Ariadne. She was the wife of Dionysus; Bacchus, like--you know--”

“Like The Youth of Bacchus.”

She lifted her face up to where he stood, hands in her lap, her body hunched towards the loveliness of it; Duncan came down to her, kneeling beside her, reaching for her hands.

“He loved her. She was his wife--he gave her a crown made of stars. When she died, he threw it into the sky, so she would always be remembered.”

“Like Star of Heaven.”  Kenzie felt the tears on her cheeks.

“Yes, Kenzie. You. My star of heaven.”

“Duncan. It’s--” And she lifted her fingers to his cheeks, cupping his face, running her thumbs along the stubble with a deep, abiding relief. He turned his mouth into her palm; closed his eyes, kissed her long and longingly.

“I knew as soon as I saw that it was going up for auction. I knew. Kenz, you’ll see soon, the garden house, it’s--it’s coming to life. She’s speeding it along. I can feel her there. She’s in every shadow and every corner. The Veil there, it’s so thin, sometimes I think I can see colors from that other place, that heavenly place--all the builders feel it too, I can tell, they work tirelessly, and never seem to get weary, and they sing as they work, as if they know it’s a holy place, and to me it sounds like hymns to you, it all reminds me of you--it’s going to be our safe haven, baby, our secret place away from all of this. It’s going to be what you’ve dreamed about. I can see the dream being pulled out of our minds and into the world.”

I could see your dream, and I’ve made it real. Just as you are the dream I’d hoped for, on the other side of time.

Kenzie turned back to Ariadne, a trembling finger reaching out to it to trace, hovering, along the cascade of her red robe, the printed fur of the leopard that lounged at her feet, the dusky sky behind her. A crown made of stars. Like the one I’ll wear tonight, in your honor, my Prince. In our honor.

She buried herself in his arms, sighing, his shape immediately overwhelming her. Even when Hannah knocked impatiently a few minutes later, the clock marching on to when the party was set to begin, they still hovered against each other, gazing at each other in a repose they ached not to break, Kenzie’s eyes roving over Ariadne, which she knew she would study carefully in time. The long day was over--even in the center of this party, she knew, they’d only see and feel each other, thank blessed Fate.

For it’s us, together--the greatest of all Her majesties.

----------

Duncan was in the chair across from her, pouring over the W magazine spread, his hand on his chin, a dancing light behind his eyes. Hannah was working product through his hair, but Duncan didn’t seem to register her administration at all; he was staring intently at the photo of Kenzie atop Crocus with a concentration that bordered on obsession, and Kenzie could feel his thoughts, ardently reaching towards her. Only a few months until our wedding, beloved, but I want to marry you right now, I want everyone to know you are my greatest joy. His hand reached across to her from the chair, eyes glancing to her. He had changed from the clothing he’d worn out to the garden house and to retrieve the painting from Stapleton Antiques, a black short-sleeved button down and comfortable chinos; now he wore an elegant, long-cut Givenchy blazer that reached his knees, an embroidered Oxford underneath. Something glimmered at the wrists of his sleeves; the first of Kenzie’s gifts.

“To Hades, from your Persephone,” she’d whispered as she’d passed him the velvet box a little while ago in the study. Inside were a pair of cufflinks shaped like two halves of a ripe pomegranate, with dark red garnets representing the inner seeds, sterling silver for the skins. “I’ve eaten the seeds and I’ve chosen to stay with you forever, my sweet Duncan. Happy birthday.”

“Oh, Kenz,” and his smile was melting her heart again, dripping down her ribs. “Put them on me, please? Fuck, they’re lovely.” Kenzie had gently lifted them one at the time from the box, attaching them to the cuffs of his Givenchy coat as he drifted his fingers through her hair. “I have something else for you,” Kenzie whispered up to him in their last moment of solitude. “But it’s something I’m wearing for you. For later. When we’re alone.”

“Kenzie.” His mouth crushed against hers as she finished attaching the second cufflink; his tongue fell against her and she gasped against him, his longing palpable, a heady taste from him. His long fingers came to her throat, thumb pressing up towards her chin. “I’m ready to call this whole thing off. I want you right now.”

Kenzie had pulled away from him; she felt the reluctance in his fingers as he let go of her. You want me right there, I know, right up against your hand, your mouth. Just wait a little longer, you know the wait makes it sweeter, you know it does…

“Nothing could make you sweeter, Mackenzie Shepherd,” he’d whispered, the burning in his eyes threatening to set her aflame. “I want you alone.”

“Behave, Mr. Shepherd, or you won’t get your other presents.” Kenzie drifted a hand down from her neck, between her breasts and against the mound between her legs. She watched Duncan throw his head back, his adam’s apple bobbing; saw the wetness in his gaze for her, felt in his thoughts his desire to press his mouth to where her hand rested.

“I have to get dressed now,” she’d whispered, and Duncan had bitten into his lip, his fingers now toying with the cufflinks. “Time for your Ariadne to wear her stars.”

The dress Morgan had created for her was delicately intricate. It had a bodice of embroidered gold that dipped low over her breasts, and open sleeves made of black, sheer tulle with golden starbursts woven across their surface, concentrations of them at the crooks of her elbows and along the edges. A full, sheer black tulle skirt fell beyond the bodice; embroidered into it were dozens of golden constellations from the night sky, and her legs were visible through the transparent fabric behind them, a black bodysuit built into lower part of the gold bodice to cover her groin. Kenzie loved how marvelously comfortable it was in its beauty; she stood from the styling chair now as Duncan watched her, finished with her preparations, and twirled in a wide circle under his gaze, grinning to him as people rushed around them. Kenzie knew a hundred more would be arriving soon; she leaned down to his ear, whispering as his hand came against her waist. “Next year, we’re doing our birthday party alone, baby. Just the two of us.” Duncan moaned a little against her cheek; his curls brushed her lips as he nodded. Yes, Kenzie. Yes. Just me and you. I grow so tired of these parties. When the garden house is built and we’ve set everything in motion, then we’ll rest alone, in each other’s arms.

Momby and Annette arrived soon after, both wearing striking black; Annette in custom-tailored Diane von Furstenberg that fell to the floor, Momby in a black pantsuit with the medusa earrings Annette had gifted her; she’d been really warming to her role on the Shepherd Unlimited board, and it made Kenzie smile to see the deepening bond that seemed to be growing between their mothers after all the strife of years gone by. Claire and Harris came just as a slew of other guests were beginning to stream into the penthouse; Harris in a striking velvet blazer that Kenzie knew immediately must have been Claire’s doing. Claire wore a beautiful, flowing mauve v-neck gown, with a banded waist and a heavenly cascading skirt to her feet. Kenzie crushed her friend in her arms, breathing in her soft smell, sensing her happiness.

Kenzie and Duncan were keeping the bedroom door locked for this party, having agreed it was too sacred a space to them to let the prying eyes of the guests and photographers into it. Every tidbit of information about their lives was now being unearthed to the public, it seemed--or at least mine, Kenzie thought. Duncan’s used to all the scrutiny, but I’m not used to my old high school photos spreading like wildfire on Instagram, which had happened several times recently. A mountain of gold-wrapped gifts had begun to accumulate on the cherrywood dining table in the far room; Kenzie watched Duncan move elegantly among their guests, politician and celebrity alike, with an ease that made her feel weak. He was always meant to be this person; wonderfully gentle, staggering in his beauty now because it shines out from within. I watched Claire Underwood’s face this time, when we met with her together; she saw the sheen of us too, and her heart was changed towards him. Now he can will things into this world, can sway the hearts of people like I can, can calm them, can heal them. He’s doing it now, I can see it.

She clutched him with nervous elation as the guests had gathered around them to toast to their mutual birthdays--Duncan had dipped a hand down around the bottom of her waist, holding her close as he raised his champagne flute into the air; the raised voices of a hundred people around them singing out happy birthday were drowned in the rushing of her ears, the fervor of her thoughts for him, and as he had longed for her in the study, anxious for the time to pass, now she was longing for him, for their own private celebration. Throughout the rest of the night, Kenzie found her thoughts constantly drifting onto Ariadne, wishing she could steal away to the bedroom to study it, memorize its strokes. Goddess, I can’t believe it’s mine. I’ll always see your face in it, he said. I’ll only see you. She knew it would look down on them through many passionate nights to come; knew it would bless them, her soft face turned to the sky, full of contentment, in the nimbus of evening. She’ll watch over us tonight, won’t she, when I finally have him in my arms.

Kenzie realized, as the night wore slowly on, that her power, her sheen, was slowly working on the guests; they drifted, as if in a dream, back out into the night. The penthouse had begun to empty in a quiet, unassuming way, the chatter of small-talk dissipating, the music quieting supernaturally. The moon was back to a waxing gibbous as the weeks had worn on; back to almost being full, reminding her of the Gala and its strangeness, the full moon staring down on them. The ring of protection she’d felt from it that night also seemed present on this evening, kindling her powers up. In the dress she felt closer to her true self than ever; as close as she had ever been to this High Princess she now knew resided in her, even more than the gold dress she’d worn for the Gala. She could see Duncan recognizing it in her too, could see him registering the way she had begun to silently, soothingly end the party. He stared at her from where Nike rested by the picture window, a glass of red wine dangling from between the crook of his fingers, a small smile playing around his mouth. Just watching you work, my love. I love to watch you use your powers. How easy it all comes to you. Your destiny so clearly in motion. His position reminded her of the first time she’d seen him, gazing out with longing and boredom into the night, another long-gone wine glass held in his hand on the balcony, another long-gone smile having played on the corners of his mouth.

But not gone, not really, Kenzie knew. Alive forever in my heart and my memory, and alive in the part of time that never ends. Alive forever because there is no time, not really, not for us. She made us that way; so we’d live beyond time, and in every time we would endure.

She watched Claire lean up to kiss Harris’ mouth as they slipped out the door--Claire glanced at her and blew a kiss then, seeming to either not know or not care at the impulse to leave so fast, and Kenzie smiled at her. Deep in her heart, Claire has always known who I was. That’s what drew her to me so long ago, she was the moth, I was the flame that would always warm her. And in return she’s given me such light from her soul. I don’t know why I deserved her, but to see her infinite joy lately has been a joy to me. She deserves every good thing. Madeline and Annette slid away next, talking with each other animatedly, Annette bursting into laughter over something Madeline said (they are always laughing together now--Annette, who didn’t laugh for so long, and my sweet and silly Momby, my Momby who is so strong and so beautiful); Kenzie didn’t mind that they didn’t even look up to her and Duncan. She could feel the strength of her own spell, like a strong wave, a tide that was inexplicable in its mighty demand. She could feel the intensity of Duncan’s gaze mounting, the wonderment in it.

This is the strongest thing like it I’ve ever felt from you, Kenzie, he thought. This is magnificent.

I want you. I want everyone to leave.

Erik was the last to leave; he had champagne flutes in either hand, and he raised them together, throwing his head back.

“To the new world, my exalted darlings!” he crowed, then drank both off in succession; and then in a whirl of magenta sleeve, the big black penthouse door snapped shut behind him, and they were finally alone.

Duncan paused, setting his glass beside Nike carefully. You give me honey, give me honey, honey, honey, honey...Kenzie heard the entreaty of his prayer, the lilt of it, drifting like autumn leaves in the swathe of his thoughts. I will toil for her throughout every age, give myself to her in agonizing piousness, if she would but touch me again, I would suffer any pain, for her touch soothes any ill away like healing rain...my Princess of Stars. My Queen of Roses.

“Come to me,” she whispered. Duncan did--he closed the space between them with a weary swiftness that broke over her like a gust of jasmine-scented wind. His hands came down her neck, immediate, needy; he towered over her, but she knew, as I knew that first night at the first touch from him, the touch he begged to give me, and I consented, that he was hers utterly, hers to command, and he would obey anything she asked, obey her with complete devotion, kiss the bottoms of her feet if she asked him to, kiss every inch of her until the sun rose after the long night.

“Kiss me, beloved,” and she felt his fingers pulling the starry headband gently from her scented hair, the better to bury himself against her--he dropped it to the floor, its sapphires winking up, forgotten by them both; the press of his darkness was so luxuriant to Kenzie in this moment she wanted to wail. His mouth stopped any sound, though; stopped the furious pounding of her heart, the nerves she suddenly felt, knowing she could command him despite all his marvelous beauty, her perception of his power. You are more powerful than I, he told her. I worship you above myself, above all others, above everything, even above the Goddess Herself, and She has forgiven me, She has accepted my perfect love for you as a tribute to Her, and in Her eyes, it is good. She is not a jealous being; from her heart is benevolence, the recognition of all that is well and lovely. She’s deemed us the best of these things, Princess Exultant. So fuck me; tell me to fuck you. I’m yours to command in all worship.

“Undress me,” she breathed into him, and Duncan’s hands found the crevices of her dress, the delicate zipper at her back; he yanked it down with hands that seemed to burn, and as it fell away his eyes rolled back to behold what she wore beneath it; it was another exquisite lingerie, this one rose-gold and so fragile it seemed to be made of the gossamer strands of a spider’s silk--there were tiny white bows on either strap and in the center of the bra between Kenzie’s breasts, and more on the panties. The top of the suspender at her waist were dipped into unique panels, the panties entirely sheer but for a small swath of fabric over the lips of her sex. The white straps of the suspender dipped over her thighs to sheer stockings. The starry dress fell to the floor (falling stars, us falling to earth so long ago) and Duncan’s hand pressed up, roughly, to the space between her legs, lifted her into his mouth again as he did.

“I have one more thing for you,” she hummed against him, and he moaned into her; she could feel the hardness between his legs through his dark ensemble as she brought her fingers against him, could see the flushing in his beautiful cheeks. “Let’s go in our bedroom, Dunny. Let’s look in our Mirror and fuck. I’m gonna tie you up again. But in the bed this time.”

“Baby,” he cried against her, and she stepped back, making him come to her, stepping out of the dress in the same golden strapped heels she’d worn the night they met, knowing he would notice them again. She turned, her hair falling down her back to the top of her ass, and knew he’d see the back of the panties, too; totally sheer. For him.

“Come on, Prince Duncan, I’m gonna rip your fucking clothes off,” she said, and then Kenzie laughed; she thought of her Ariadne in repose as it came into view, thought of Bacchus in the next room, its figures in rapture. Come to me, come to me, she weaved her spell, and he was pressing against her, the warmth at his crotch making her eyes flutter closed as his lips fell on her ear, and he sucked.

She turned into him, her body folding so small against him, and she insistently began to undress him; the Givenchy coat fluttered to the floor, the snap of his belt rang out, and he was gasping against her, astounded at her need, fixated by it. Soon he was utterly naked, and Kenzie pushed him roughly onto the bed, staring openly at the strain of his thick erection.

“Don’t you dare fucking move, baby. You’re not allowed.”

“Uh huh, Kenzie. I won’t.”

She went to the closet where she’s carefully hid his last present; grasped it in her fingers, the hardness and largeness of it making warmth pool in her belly. She grasped the velvet rope, too; and when she brought them out she eagerly watched Duncan’s cock jump with anticipation.

“Happy birthday, baby,” she whispered. “I’m gonna tie you up now. And then I’m gonna use my new plug on myself. It’s a lot bigger than the other one...look at how big it is. I’m gonna push this big plug into my tiny little ass and then you’re gonna eat my little cunt--and then I’m gonna ride you hard, and fuck you senseless.”

She held it up to him and a tiny, strangled sound escaped from Duncan’s throat; oh fuck me, he thought. Kenzie, angel, fucking fuck me.

She came to the edge of the bed, setting both objects down on it gently; Duncan’s fingers curled at her toes as she lifted one of her feet to undo the straps at her ankle, then the other. Then she climbed on top of him, straddling him, gripping him under his chin harshly for a moment, hissing as he tried to put his arms up around her; Duncan stopped and lowered them, swallowing; she could feel that he knew what she wanted. His submission. I want you to be mine only in this moment. Watch me tie you up in the Mirror, baby. Watch.

As Kenzie lifted his well-formed arms up to the slats of the headboard, the blooming flowers stretched above them, throwing down clouds of deep scent. Duncan’s aching blue eyes drifted to their reflection; she heard him groan again at the shape of her in the rosy-sheened lingerie, and felt his wonder at their loveliness together as she began to twist the ribbon around his wrists, anchoring him to the bed.

As she finished, reaching for the coconut oil they always kept on the nightstand now, Duncan strained against the ropes, dipping his thighs up to try to keep the pressure of her against him, desperate to touch her.

“Shhh, baby, be calm. Don’t get too excited yet,” Kenzie whispered, letting her face fall close to him and her breath drift over him. Duncan leaned up, trying to kiss her; she leaned away, eliciting another sound of terrible frustration from him. She dipped her hand into the oil, and first she leaned behind where she was sitting on his belly, to the aching length of his cock--she slathered the oil over it, tightening her grip, and Duncan let out a cry that stirred wild warmth through her body. Then she let go of him, lifting off him, pulling the sheer panties away, and turned on him so her back was facing him from her newly-straddled position, her sex pressing gently against the length of his cock. She watched his face over her shoulder as his eyes went hazy on her; as they gazed at her sliding the wetness of the oil over the pucker of her ass, then gripping the larger plug in two fingers, wetting it too.

“You want me to fuck myself with this, huh, baby?”

Duncan groaned, his head falling back on the pillow, his eyes fluttering wildly, neck bobbing as if in terrible thirst. “Fucking god, Kenzie, yes, holy fuck, I can’t--”

“Duncan, breathe.”

Duncan sucked in a shuddering breath; let it out. His cock strained; Kenzie didn’t touch it, only let her hand hover near.

“Dunny, ask me. You have to ask me.” Kenzie tossed her hair and grinned at him.

“Kenzie, please, will you fuck yourself with that plug? Fucking please, oh fuck, please, angel--”

Kenzie moaned in anticipation as she pressed the tip of the head against her ass; then, in a harsh determination, forced the large plug inside the wetness she’d made there; she cried up into the ceiling, her head falling back immediately with the immensity of its pressure, and then she slid up to him, her ass still facing him, until she knew she’d reached his chin.

“Tell me to sit on your face, baby,” she whispered now, staring at him through their reflection in the mirror.

“Kenzie, holy--sit on my fucking face, baby--” His eyes were wild with need, his mouth shivering; Kenzie lifted her hips and fell on him, and his tongue immediately pressed to her sweetest, most sensitive spot.

“Love for all time,” Kenzie murmured, “look into my eyes, most beloved,” and Duncan’s eyes (every storm, every sky, every piece of heaven, every notion of god) were in hers as her body hovered against his mouth, through the iridescent surface of the Mirror, which Kenzie knew glowed with the hints of that golden Sphere which once was hers, a Sphere she couldn’t imagine the shape of, but knew as innately as she knew her own heart, her own skin. The plug was so heavy and so harsh against her she couldn’t stop herself from crying out again and again; she leaned down, gripping the base of Duncan’s cock, keeping him terribly hard as he sucked on her; then she lifted away from him and he gasped. “No, Kenzie, come back to me--”

“Shhh. It’s time for us to fuck, baby. When we fuck, it’s fucking holy.”

Kenzie slid down, letting the wetness between her legs leave a trail on Duncan’s torso, down his belly--then, staring at him, his achingly beautiful mouth damp with her cunt, she ground down onto his cock, as hard as she had ever felt, and bucked her hips, her ass still facing him so he could see the plug, this one with a jewel of dark blue, deep inside her.

“As you are mine,” she cried softly, “I am yours, and heaven sees it, and knows it, and we are holy to her, beloved, fuck--” Kenzie felt her hair falling against her back, shivering-soft, felt the heat of his skin as she gripped his thighs, bearing down on him--their eyes met again in the Mirror, his mouth stretched open in silent adoration of her, and Kenzie knew, with a fervent and absolute knowledge, that they were bright in the eyes of heaven; that their divinity was absolute, and all their work would be good unto this world from here on.

“Kenzie, how I love you, have loved you, how I worship you--”

But the truth of him was in his mind, the fall of his thoughts inside his worship of her, and she knew that, had always known, had always felt that the truth of his beauty was there, within, wordless, a language that could never be spoken aloud, and oh Goddess, what a blessing that I can see it--his fairness in the sight of heaven is the beauty of his soul, as quiet, as profound, as infinite as an evening star. And so you called him that; and as I saw him in that aspect, he was mine.

[anotherdirtylaferte]

- Tales from Highway 61 - The Embrace - Etrefal - OC -

Highway 61 was beautiful this time of night. It was 9:03 PM.

Flying through this tunnel of trees and asphalt at speeds over sixty miles an hour was an incredible rush. Everything seemed to be so close to the car and flew by quickly, in a blur. If you have ever driven Highway 61, in South Carolina, you know what I mean. I quickly glanced down at my phone and thumbed to the next track on Pandora.

Midi Matilda began to play.

I looked back up; the road took a quick right curve and then straightened out again. The windows of the emerald green Mustang were rolled down and the crisp night air swirled around in the cabin. The car’s bright beams blared ahead on the road, casting fleeting shadows in the edges of my vision.

I was driving seventy-four miles per hour.

A cigarette burned slowly between the forefingers of my left hand. The chemical aroma and nicotine made me feel light-headed. My exhales whisped and danced around me before finally blowing out of the car.

I lowered my hand and glanced down to flick the cigarette in the ash-tray.

You know that feeling you get, when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and all of a sudden you’re on alert? You know, like when someone stares at you intensely...

Well, that sensation hit me like a sack of bricks.

I looked back up at the road.

I had to fiercely jerk the wheel to the left to avoid running through what appeared to be a group of about seven people huddled in the middle of the two-laned highway. I quickly jerked the wheel back to the right.

I over-corrected. Shit.

The car fishtailed and I entered a spin. The car and I went around three times. I became nauseous. Then, the trunk of the car came to rest gently, almost like in a movie, against a small tree.

I sat still for a few seconds, both hands still on the wheel. The acrid smoke and stench from burning rubber was dissipating from the road and could be seen in the beams of the headlights. I sat perpendicular to the road.

I unhooked the seat belt and stepped out of the car and onto the grass. I looked over to where the group had been and they were still there. They stood in a close group, swaying from side to side, almost as though one entity. There was a low musical sound coming from where they stood.

I keeled over and threw up. The uncomfortable waves of nausea made it hard to focus momentarily. None of the figures paid me any attention and continued to sway without pause. I wiped away at my mouth with the back of my hand.

I reached into the door compartment of the car and removed my Gerber tactical knife and placed it into the small of my back, under my shirt. It wasn't much, but it made me feel a bit safer knowing that I had a slight method of defense.

Then, cautiously, I made my way over to the group.

XXX

At a distance of about fifteen feet from the group, a sweet and sour aroma entered my nose.

At first is was a warm, honey-suckle scent; but then, it turned to a foul, sulfur-copper smell. The closer I got to the group, the stronger the waves of smell became. It was a layering of foul, sweet-sour, citrus that overpowered my sense of smell. A headache began dully in the lower back of my head.

I was now just about three feet from the group of figures.

I could clearly count them now. There were eight figures in total. They were all dressed in dark blue or purple robes; it was hard to tell in the very dim light. Each figure had the hoods to their robes pulled up so their faces were hidden in complete shadow.

Other than the unnerving swaying (perpendicular to the road, I noticed), almost dream-like musical notes coming from the group, and the strange aromas that were definitely coming from these beings; there was only one other thing that stood out to me…

Their height.

Each figure was exactly the same height.

My heart was racing and warning alarms were going off in my head. My hair was standing on edge. Something here just wasn’t right, other than the obvious situation.

“Hey, are you all alright? Holy hell, you guys came out of nowhere!” My breathing was heavy. The figures remained huddled together, swaying, humming, and ignoring me.

“What are you doing in the middle of the damn road?!” I asked, my voice rising in volume. The figures were not phased. They continued with their mantra. The smells were overwhelming.

“Are any of you listening? All of us could have gotten seriously injured.” I took the final step towards the group and reached out for the nearest cloaked figure.

Two realizations hit me hard and at the same time.

The cloak I had grabbed onto was ice cold.

There was nothing solid beneath the cloak.

Bad move Nick.

The entire group of cloaked figures stopped swaying. Each one turned to face me. The musical chiming stopped.

With the sudden silence, I was alarmed with how loud the crickets sounded. Moments later, they too, stopped making noise.

I let go of the incredibly light cloak and it fell to my side, whisping to the ground, like a leaf from a tree.

A low humming began from the group. The very air around me seemed to be vibrating and the temperature seemed to rise. I took a quick step back. The humming grew louder and the vibrating grew in intensity. I stumbled backwards, and regained my footing. My insides were vibrating. I took another step away from the group. Warm liquid ran from my nose. Licking my top lip, I could taste a metallic taste. I brought my hand up to my face and it came back wet and red.

My nose was bleeding.

The vibrations continued to get stronger and the humming continued to get louder. It was so loud now that it seemed to be shaking the very Earth I was standing upon. It was unbearable. The vibrations were so intense now that my teeth were chattering in my mouth, even as I held my jaw tight.

My joints began to ache.

The cloaked figures were motionless. I knew they were focused upon me and I knew they were doing this. My clothes were now sticky with sweat.

Enough was enough!

I put my right hand on the knife handle in my lower back and with my left hand I reached out and grabbed hold of the next nearest cloak. The cloak was made of a material unknown to me. It was as though grabbing through a cold steam. I was thoroughly unnerved by the lack of substance beneath the hood.

I ripped back the hood and my mouth flew open in shock.

There was nothing there!

Where the head should have been there was only a dull gray, mucous-like membrane. It reminded me of a jellyfish membrane without the tentacles.

And it was completely transparent!!

I stumbled back in disgust and fell on my butt.

The hooded figures advanced upon me.

Stumbling back to my feet, I tried to turn and run back to the car, just a few yards away. But I couldn’t seem to get my footing! I kept slipping and tripping and I probably looked like a buffoon. 'Come on Nick!' I was thinking that if I could just get to my car, I would be alright. I cursed between my teeth.

Damn, I felt clumsy.

The vibrations were now to a point where I was having difficulty thinking clearly. Blood was now a steady drip from my nose. My tongue felt swollen and thick in my mouth. Breathing was becoming difficult, each inhale feeling like a weight upon my chest, as though wet cement was being poured over me.

The hooded entities were almost upon me.

The very air around us was shimmering as though with heat.

I was losing feeling in my arms and legs, as though a steady anesthesia was being applied to my limbs. The humming had grown to painful levels. I could feel every hair on my body standing up as though I was very close to a live wire. My skin felt as though it was crawling and my joints were like hot coals in my body. The stinging sweat in my eyes was a dull nuisance compared to the rest of my body.

I completely collapsed. My legs gave out and I felt as though a large weight had been placed upon me and I was now struggling to breathe.

With all of the energy that I could muster, I let out a yell.

There was no sound, at least none that could be heard over the humming.

My shoulder got ice-cold. Struggling to look back, I saw that one of the figures had latched onto me. Again, I tried to scream out, and I choked on my own sounds. My tongue was a gag.

The membrane upon me was beyond freezing. Almost as though a liquid form of dry-ice, I could easily feel it burning my skin through my clothing.

I tried to strike out, to do anything to help my current situation. But my efforts were beyond futile.

All of the figures were upon me.

My clothes provided no protection as my body was plunged into a feeling of being in liquid fire. Every inch of my skin was in excruciating pain.

The figures were no longer blobs, it felt as though they were coming together, forming to my body. I was frozen in place as this membrane made its way over every inch, nook, and cranny of my body.

I could not move.

I felt wet. My blood felt like rivers of ice. And my body felt on fire.

The eight entities had molded into one singular membrane upon me and I could barely feel it as it moved towards my mouth. My mind was foggy and I felt an unnerving level of drowsiness encroach upon me. I could only imagine how I would look to a passerby, if any ever came by to see.

'Oh God! What if no one comes by?' My mind was going to some dark places.

I panicked. I tried to reach deep into my being and stoke the fear, to try to get some adrenaline pumping. There was no affect.

I flailed as hard as I could, I turned this way and that, and I kicked and punched and tried to scream. Nothing happened.

I was completely immobile.

The membrane entered me.

There was literally nothing I could do but lay here on the ground and hope this wasn’t the end. As the entity wrapped itself around my tongue, I could feel the undulations as it pulled itself deeper and deeper into me. It gripped onto my tongue, like an ice-cold hand, and helped itself to my body. I was expecting to start choking, but no gagging came. It felt like a bad case of post-nasal drip.

I felt so incredibly vulnerable... so incredibly violated...

I could taste the goop as it crawled down my throat. It was a mixture of a sweet honey and diesel taste. Every single part of this scenario was uncomfortable. I could FEEL the membrane as it entered my nose, dripped down into my ears, and covered my eyes.

The night around me drifted away into dark and black nothing.

I was absolutely terrified. My body was completely numb, yet I could feel that I was still on the ground. I could not see. This gift, this ability to simply see... had definitely been taken for granted. I hadn't even fully lost my vision before the horrific and utterly devastating realization crushed me.

This was my world now. This cold, dark place was now home. It was now just me, my thoughts, whatever hell I was currently in, AND the dark. Oh this cold and endless dark went on forever. I just knew, with no doubt, that this dark was endless, ageless.

The darkness knew all... at least it knew everything about me. It crept into my mind and I could feel it searching for a weakness, for a way to completely take me...

To make me its own.

For what seemed years, I was completely blind, and yet, I was seeing SOMETHING. Just out of my direct vision, in this godforsaken blackness... I could feel ITS presence. Just moments into the blindness, a new, queer sensation came over me. Either I was going crazy, or I could swear I could hear a soft vibrating not far from me. Every so often, I could hear ever-so-faint TINKTINKTINKING of what may have been claws on glass.

I could never tell. Only one thing was clear.

I knew I wasn't alone here.

I was CERTAIN of this.

The dark around me gained a palpable, almost crowded feeling. I wasn't seeing with my eyes, those were incapacitated by the goop eons ago. I was more seeing with my mind, ugh, that sounds so crazy!

A dark, foreboding form kept just out of my vision. I would stare into the black void and the form was always just in my periphery. It was damned irritating! I could FEEL this monstrosity just a few feet from me. I could feel it looking at me, watching me, waiting for something.

Waiting for me to give up.

Waiting for me to give in.

The hours... months... years went by. The blackness never wavered.

A spine chilling PLINKING sound began, as though marbles being dropped into a metal pan half full with water. I'd heard this before; when my world collapsed around me… years ago, when everything had gone black; but this was different. This was closer.

I heard it coming from all directions at once. Primal fear grabbed hold of me and I was frozen to my core. I felt as though a long, clawed finger, too long to be human, was being dragged along the exterior of my psyche.

"You ready to have some fun, my pet?" a wet, hiss-like whisper sounded IN my mind. An involuntary shudder traversed my entire being.

I blacked out within the darkness. I have no idea how long I lay there on the ground. I am thoroughly surprised that no other cars drove by. Or maybe they did...

As though a burning hot brand was placed at the base of my skull, a lightning-hot bolt shot down my spine. Again, I tried to scream out in pain, but again, nothing happened. I still couldn't really see.

I felt my toes being moved around, but I was not moving them. I could feel my fingers digging into the gravel beneath me and stretching about. I was also not doing this. The black was gone but I felt like I was trying to see through thick bubble wrap.

I tried to take control of my body, but my legs and arms were moving on their own as though by remote control.

A sickening realization came over me.

I was a passenger in my own body!

XXX

My body got up off the ground and dusted itself off, then clapped out its hands. My hands came up to my face and clawed at my eyes. As though removing duct tape from my eyes, a sticky mucous-like crust was peeled away. The night was cold against them. Everything around me seemed brighter than before. Wow, I could see everything so well, and so detailed.

No matter how hard I tried, I could not gather the reigns to myself. My head turned from side to side, looking, taking in my surroundings. I looked up, stretching to crack my back, and could see stars through the tree canopy. My mouth muttered something about the Orion’s Belt constellation and then let out a blood-chilling howl. This was the most feline CAWL I had ever heard. There was absolutely no way that I was capable of making THAT sound. I became silent and still for a few moments, as though whatever creature had taken over my body was listening for something. I moved towards my Mustang.

I could smell the night around me. I could hear the leaves in the trees rustling against one another. I could feel the night-time coolness upon my face. It was as though all of my senses were kicked into overdrive. There was a soft, almost unnoticeable, vibration coming from the inside of my body. I walked up to my car and ducking down, briskly got into the driver’s seat.

My mouth muttered a few words that almost sounded like I was trying to remember how “this contraption works.” The inhuman mental claws raked around my mind. They tore and rendered my thoughts. They ripped into my memories. Then they stopped once they got what they needed from my battered psyche.

My arm reached up and adjusted the rear-view mirror.

I caught my reflection and my soul crumbled.

My eyes were a deep green and my pupils were deep, black, vertical slits… just like a cat.

The car door was slammed shut and we, my body and I, pulled back onto Highway 61. We were heading towards Summerville.

The speedometer showed we were going eighty-seven miles per hour. I know I have a lead foot, but we were just being reckless now. We were moving way too fast down this dark and windy road.

My head tilted towards the rear-view mirror again.

“You’re probably scared out of your insignificant human mind, huh?” The voice that spoke was not mine. It was thick and fluid like molasses and surprisingly disarming. The twinkle in those cat-like eyes was as cold as ice, full of malice, and seemed to dare for me to challenge. “Well, nevertheless," it continued, "I only need your mortal vessel for a few of your Earth hours, maybe less; we shall see how complicated this gets.” Those feline eyes stared directly into the mirror; stared directly into my soul, as though making sure I was listening, “For your sake, pray to Jupiter that this is quick and not complicated.”

A sickly cackle left my mouth and my arm flicked to the radio-

‘-cats in the cradle, and the silver spoon - little boy blue and the man in the moon-’ Harry Chapin sang. My hand shot back down to the volume knob with uncanny speed and cranked the volume to the max.

My deceivingly smooth voice sang out into the night.

To be continued…

[uomo-accattivante]

On 21 August 2017, the Great American Eclipse caused a diagonal swathe of darkness to fall across the United States from Charleston, South Carolina on the East Coast to Lincoln City, Oregon on the West. In Manhattan, which was several hundred miles outside the path of totality, a gentle gloom fell over the city. Yet still office workers emptied out onto the pavements, wearing special paper glasses if they had been organised; holding up their phones and blinking nervously if they hadn’t. Despite promises that it was to be lit up for the occasion, there was no discernible twinkle from the Empire State Building; on Fifth Avenue, the darkened glass façade of Trump Tower grew a little dimmer. In Central Park Zoo, where children and tourists brandished pinhole cameras made from cereal boxes, Betty, a grizzly bear, seized the opportunity to take an unscrutinised dip.

Across the East River in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, Oscar Isaac, a 38-year-old Guatemalan-American actor and one of the profession’s most talented, dynamic and versatile recent prospects, was, like Betty, feeling too much in the sun. It was his day off from playing Hamlet in an acclaimed production at the Public Theater in Manhattan and he was at home on vocal rest. He kept a vague eye on the sky from the balcony of the one-bedroom apartment he shares — until their imminent move to a leafier part of Brooklyn — with his wife, the Danish documentary film-maker Elvira Lind, their Boston Terrier French Bulldog-cross Moby (also called a “Frenchton”, though not by him), and more recently, and to Moby’s initial consternation, their four-month-old son, Eugene.

Plus, he’s seen this kind of thing before. “I was in Guatemala in 1992 when there was a full solar eclipse,” he says the next day, sitting at a table in the restaurant of a fashionably austere hotel near his Williamsburg apartment, dressed in dark T-shirt and jeans and looking — amazingly, given his current theatrical and parental commitments — decidedly fresh. “The animals went crazy; across the whole city you could hear the dogs howling.” Isaac happened to be in Central America, he’ll mention later, because Hurricane Andrew had ripped the roof off the family home in Miami, Florida, while he and his mother, uncle, siblings and cousins huddled inside under couches and cushions. So yes, within the spectrum of Oscar Isaac’s experiences, the Great American Eclipse is no biggie.

Yet there is another upcoming celestial event that will have a reasonably significant impact on Isaac’s life. On 15 December, Star Wars: The Last Jedi will be released in cinemas, which, if you bought a ticket to Star Wars: The Force Awakens — and helped it gross more than $2bn worldwide — you’ll know is a pretty big deal. You’ll also know that Isaac plays Poe Dameron, a hunky, wise-cracking X-wing fighter pilot for the Resistance who became one of the most popular characters of writer-director JJ Abram’s reboot of the franchise thanks to Isaac’s charismatic performance and deadpan delivery (see his “Who talks first?” exchange with Vader-lite baddie Kylo Ren: one of the film’s only comedic beats).

And if you did see Star Wars: The Force Awakens you’ll know that, due to some major father-son conflict, there’s now an opening for a loveable, rogueish, leather-jacket-wearing hero… “Heeeeeh!” says Isaac, Fonzie-style, when I say as much. “Well, there could be, but I think what [The Last Jedi director] Rian [Johnson] did was make it less about filling a slot and more about what the story needs. The fact is now that the Resistance has been whittled to just a handful of people, they’re running for their lives, and Leia is grooming me — him — to be a leader of the Resistance, as opposed to a dashing, rogue hero.”

While he says he has “not that much more, but a little more to do” in this film, he can at least be assured he survives it; he starts filming Episode IX early next year.

If Poe seems like one of the new Star Wars firmament now — alongside John Boyega’s Finn, Daisy Ridley’s Rey and Poe’s spherical robot sidekick BB-8 — it’s only because Isaac willed it. Abrams had originally planned to kill Poe off, but when he met Isaac to discuss him taking the part, Isaac expressed some reservations. “I said that I wasn’t sure because I had already done that role in other movies where you kind of set it up for the main people and then you die spectacularly,” he remembers. “What’s funny is that [producer] Kathleen Kennedy was in the room and she was like, ‘Yeah, you did that for us in Bourne!’” (Sure enough, in 2012’s Bourne Legacy, Jeremy Renner’s character, Aaron Cross, steps out of an Alaskan log cabin while Isaac’s character, Outcome Agent 3, stays inside; a few seconds later the cabin is obliterated by a missile fired from a passing drone.)

This ability to back himself — judiciously and, one can imagine after meeting him, with no small amount of steely charm — seems to have served Isaac well so far. It’s what also saw him through the casting process for his breakthrough role in Joel and Ethan Coen’s 2014 film Inside Llewyn Davis, about a struggling folk singer in Sixties New York, partly based on the memoir of nearly-was musician Dave Van Ronk. Isaac, an accomplished musician himself, got wind that the Coens were casting and pestered his agent and manager to send over a tape, eventually landing himself an audition.

“I knew it was based on Dave Van Ronk and I looked nothing like him,” says Isaac. “He was a 6ft 5in, 300lb Swede and I was coming in there like… ‘Oh man.’” But then he noticed that the casting execs had with them a picture of the singer-songwriter Ray LaMontagne. “Suddenly, I got some confidence because he’s small and dark so I said to the casting director, ‘Oh cool, is that a reference?’ And they were like, 'No, he just came in here and he killed it.’” Isaac throws his head back and laughs. “They literally said, 'He killed it.’ It was so good!”

In the end it was Isaac who killed it in Inside Llewyn Davis, with a performance that was funny, sad, cantankerous and moving. The film was nominated for two Oscars and three Golden Globes, one of them for Isaac in the category of: “Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture — comedy or musical” (he lost to Leonardo DiCaprio for The Wolf of Wall Street). No cigar that time, but in 2016 he won a Golden Globe for his turn as a doomed mayor in David Simon’s HBO drama, Show Me a Hero. This year, and with peculiar hillbilly affectation, Vanity Fair proclaimed Isaac “the best dang actor of his generation”. It is not much of a stretch to imagine that, some day very soon, Isaac may become the first Oscar since Hammerstein to win the award whose name he shares. Certainly, the stars seem ready to align.

Of course, life stories do not run as neatly as all that and Isaac’s could have gone quite differently. He was born Óscar Isaac Hernández Estrada in Guatemala City, to which his father, Óscar, now a pulmonologist, had moved from Washington DC in order to attend medical school (having escaped to the States from Cuba just before the revolution) and where he met Isaac’s mother, Eugenia. Five months after Isaac was born, the family — also including an older sister, Nicole, and later joined by a younger brother, Michael — moved to America in order for Óscar Senior to complete his residencies: first to Baltimore, then New Orleans, eventually settling in Miami when Isaac was six.

Miami didn’t sit entirely right with him. “The Latin culture is so strong which was really nice,” he says, “but you had to drive everywhere, and it’s also strangely quite conservative. Money is valued, and nice cars and clothes, and what you look like, and that can get sort of tedious.” Still it was there, aged 11, that he took to the stage for the first time. The Christian middle school he attended put on performances in which the kids would mime to songs telling loosely biblical stories, including one in which Jesus and the Devil take part in a boxing match in heaven (note the word “loosely”). For that one, Isaac played the Devil. In another, he played Jesus calling Lazarus from the grave. “So yeah,” he laughs, “I’ve got the full range!’

He enjoyed the mixture of the attention and the “extreme nature of putting yourself out there in front of a bunch of people”, plus it gave him some release from stresses at home: his parents were separating and his mother became ill. His school failed to see these as sufficiently mitigating factors for Isaac’s subsequent wayward behaviour and, following an incident with a fire extinguisher, he was expelled. “It wasn’t that bad. They wanted me out of there. I was very happy to go.”

Following his parents’ divorce, he moved with his mother to Palm Beach, Florida, where he enrolled at a public high school. “It was glorious, I loved it,” says Isaac. “I loved it so much. I could walk to the beach every day, and go to this wild school where I became friends with so many different kinds of people. I met these guys who lived in the trailer parks in Boynton Beach and started a band, and my mom and my little brother would come and spy on me to see if I was doing drugs or anything, and I never was.”

Never?

“No, because I didn’t drink till I was, like, 24. Even though I stopped being religious, I liked the individuality of being the guy who didn’t do that stuff. Maybe it was the observer part of me… I liked being a little bit detached, and I wasn’t interested in doing something that was going to make me lose control.”

When he was 14, Isaac and his band-mates played at a talent show. They chose to perform 'Rape Me’ by Nirvana. “I remember singing to the parents, 'Rape meeee!’” Isaac laughs so hard he gives a little snort. “Yeah,” he says, composing himself again, “we didn’t win.” But something stuck and Isaac ended up being in a series of ska-punk outfits, first Paperface, then The Worms and later The Blinking Underdogs who, legend has it, would go on to support Green Day. “Supported… Ha! It was a festival…” says Isaac. “But hey, we played the same day, at the same festival, within a few hours of each other.” (On YouTube you can find a clip from 2001 of The Blinking Underdogs performing in a battle of the bands contest at somewhere called Spanky’s. Isaac is wearing a 'New York City’ T-shirt and brandishing a wine-coloured Flying V electric guitar.)

Still, Isaac’s path was uncertain. At one point he thought about joining the Marines. “The sax player in my band had grown up in a military family so we were like, 'Hey, let’s work out and get all ripped and be badasses!’” he says. “I was like, 'Yeah, I’ll do combat photography!’ My dad was really against it. He said, 'Clinton’s just going to make up a war for you guys to go to,’ so I had to have the recruiters come all the way down to Miami where my dad was living and they convinced him to let me join. I did the exam, I took the oath, but then we had gotten the money together to record an album with The Worms. I decided I’d join the Reserves instead. I said I wanted to do combat photography. They said, 'We don’t do that in the Reserves, but we can give you anti-tank?’ Ha! I was like, 'it’s a liiiiiittle different to what I was thinking…’”

Even when he started doing a few professional theatre gigs in Miami he was still toying with the idea of a music career, until one day, while in New York playing a young Fidel Castro in an off-Broadway production of Rogelio Martinez’s play, When it’s Cocktail Time in Cuba, he happened to pass by renowned performing arts school Juilliard. On a whim, he asked for an audition. He was told the deadline had passed. He insisted. They gave him a form. He filled it in and brought it back the next day. They post-dated it. He got in. And the rest is history. Only it wasn’t.

“In the second year they would do cuts,” Isaac says. “If you don’t do better they kick you out. All the acting teachers wanted me on probation, because they didn’t think I was trying hard enough.” Not for the first or last time, he held his ground. “It was just to spur me to do better I think, but I definitely argued.”

He stayed for the full course at Juilliard, though it was a challenge, not only because he’d relaxed his own non-drinking rule but also because he was maintaining a long-distance relationship with a girlfriend back in Florida. “For me, the twenties were the more difficult part of life. Four years is just… masochistic. We were a particularly close group but still, it’s really intense.” (Among his fellow students at the time were the actress Jessica Chastain, with whom he starred in the 2014 mob drama A Most Violent Year, and Sam Gold, his director in Hamlet.) He says he broadly kept it together: “I was never a mess, I just had a lot of confusion.” He got himself an agent in the graduation scrum, and soon started picking up work: a Law & Order here, a Shakespeare in the Park there; even, in 2006, a biblical story to rival his early efforts, playing Joseph in The Nativity Story (the first film to hold its premiere at the Vatican, no less).

By the time he enrolled at Juilliard he had already dropped “Hernández” and started going by Oscar Isaac, his two first given names. And for good reason. “When I was in Miami, there were a couple of other Oscar Hernándezes I would see at auditions. All [casting directors] would see me for was 'the gangster’ or whatever, so I was like, 'Well, let me see if this helps.’ I remember there was a casting director down there because [Men in Black director] Barry Sonnenfeld was doing a movie; she said, 'Let’s bring in this Oscar Isaac,’ and he was like, 'No no no! I just want Cubans!’ I saw Barry Sonnenfeld a couple of years ago and I told him that story — 'I don’t want a Jew, I want a Cuban!’”

Perhaps it’s a sad indictment of the entertainment industry that a Latino actor can’t expect a fair run at parts without erasing some of the ethnic signifiers in his own name, but on a personal basis at least, Isaac’s diverse role roster speaks to the canniness of his decision. He has played an English king in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood(2010), a Russian security guard in Madonna’s Edward-and-Mrs-Simpson drama W.E. (2011), an Armenian medical student in Terry George’s The Promise (2017) and — yes, Barry — a small, dark American Jew channelling a large blond Swede.

But then, of course, there are roles he’s played where ethnicity was all but irrelevant and talent was everything. Carey Mulligan’s ex-con husband Standard in Nicolas Winding Refn’s Drive in 2011 (another contender for his “spectacular deaths” series); mysterious technocrat Nathan Bateman in the beautifully poised sci-fi Ex Machina (2014) written and directed by Alex Garland (with whom he has also shot Annihilation — dashing between different sound stages at Pinewood while shooting The Last Jedi — which is due out next year). Or this month’s Suburbicon, a neat black comedy directed by George Clooney from an ancient Coen brothers script, in which Isaac cameos as a claims investigator looking into some dodgy paperwork filed by Julianne Moore and Matt Damon, and lights up every one of his brief scenes.

Isaac is a very modern kind of actor: one who shows range and versatility without being bland; who is handsome with his dark, intense eyes, heavy brows and thick curls, but not so freakishly handsome that it is distracting; who shows a casual disregard for the significance of celebrity and keeps his family, including his father, who remarried and had another son and daughter, close. It’s a testament to his skill that when he takes on a character, be it English royal or Greenwich Village pauper, it feels like — with the possible exception of Ray LaMontagne — it could never have been anyone else.

Today, though, he’s a Danish prince. To say that Isaac’s turn in Hamlet has caused a frenzy in New York would be something of an understatement. Certainly, it’s a sell-out. The Sunday before we meet, Al Pacino had been in. So scarce are tickets that Isaac’s own publicist says she’s unlikely to be able to get me one, and as soon as our interview is over I hightail it to the Public Theater to queue up to be put on the waiting list for returns for tonight’s performance. (I am seventh in line, and in my shameless desperation I tell the woman in front of me that I’ve flown over from London just to interview Isaac in the hope that she might let me jump the queue. She ponders it for a nanosecond, before another woman behind me starts talking about how her day job involves painting pictures of chimpanzees, and I lose the crowd.)

Clearly, Hamlet is occupying a great deal of Isaac’s available brain space right now, and not just the fact that he’s had to memorise approximately 1,500 lines. “Even tonight it’s different, what the play means to me,” he says. “It’s almost like a religious text, because it has the ambiguity of the Bible where you can look at one line and it can mean so many different things depending on how you meditate on it. Even when I have a night where I feel not particularly connected emotionally, it can still teach me. I’ll say a line and I’ll say, 'Ah, that’s good advice, Shakespeare, thank you.’”

Hamlet resonates with Isaac for reasons that he would never have foreseen or have wished for. While playing a young man mourning the untimely death of his father, Isaac was himself a young man mourning the untimely death of his mother, who died in February after an illness. Doing the play became a way to process his loss.

“It’s almost like this is the only framework where you can give expression to such intense emotions. Otherwise anywhere else is pretty inappropriate, unless you’re just in a room screaming to yourself,” he says. “This play is a beautiful morality tale about how to get through grief; to experience it every night for the last four months has definitely been cathartic but also educational; it has given structure to something that felt so overwhelming.”

In March, a month after Eugenia died, Isaac and Lind married, and then in April Eugene, named in remembrance of his late grandmother, was born. I ask Isaac about the shift in perspective that happens when you become a parent; whether he felt his own focus switch from being a son to being a father.

“It happened in a very dramatic way,” he says. “In a matter of three months my mother passed and my son was born, so that transition was very alive, to the point where I was telling my mom, 'I think you’re going to see him on the way out, tell him to listen to me as much as he can…’” He gives another laugh, but flat this time. “It was really tough because for me she was the only true example of unconditional love. It’s painful to know that that won’t exist for me anymore, other than me giving it to him. So now this isn’t happening” — he raises his arms towards the ceiling, gesturing a flow coming down towards him — “but now it goes this way” — he brings his arms down, making the same gesture, but flowing from him to the floor.

Does performing Hamlet, however pertinent its themes, ever feel like a way of refracting his own experiences, rather than feeling them in their rawest form?

“Yeah it is,” he says, “I’m sure when it’s over I don’t know how those things will live.” He pauses. “I’m a little bit… I don’t know if 'concerned’ is the right word, but as there’s only two weeks left of doing it, I’m curious to see what’s on the other end, when there’s no place to put it all.”

It’s a thoughtful, honest answer; one that doesn’t shy away from the emotional complexities of what he’s experiencing and is still to face, but admits to his own ignorance of what comes next. Because, although Isaac is clearly dedicated to his current lot, he has also suffered enough slings and arrows to know where self-determination has its limits.

What he does know is happening on the other end of Hamlet is “disconnection”, also known as a holiday, and he plans to travel with Lind to Maine where her documentary, Bobbi Jene, is screening at a film festival. Then he will fly to Buenos Aires for a couple of months filming Operation Finale, a drama about the 1960 Israeli capture of Adolf Eichmann which Isaac is producing and in which he also stars as Mossad agent Peter Malkin, with Eichmann played by Sir Ben Kingsley. At some point after that he will get sucked into the vortex of promotion for Star Wars: The Last Jedi, of which today’s interview is an early glimmer.

But before that, he will unlock the immaculate black bicycle that he had chained up outside the hotel and disappear back into Brooklyn. Later, he will take the subway to Manhattan an hour-and-a-half or so before curtain. To get himself ready, and if the mood takes him, he will listen to Venezuelan musician Arca’s self-titled album or Sufjan Stevens’ Carrie and Lowell, light a candle, and look at a picture of his mother that he keeps in his dressing room.

Then, just before seven o'clock, he will make his way to the stage where, for the next four hours, he will make the packed house believe he is thinking Hamlet’s thoughts for the very first time, and strut around in his underpants feigning madness, and — for reasons that make a lot more sense if you’re there which, thanks to a last-minute phone-call from the office of someone whose name I never did catch, I was — stab a lasagna. And then at the end of Act V, when Hamlet lies dead, and as lightning staggers across the night sky outside the theatre, finally bringing the promised drama to the Manhattan skyline, the audience, as one, will rise.

Fashion by Allan Kennedy. Star Wars: The Last Jedi is out on 15 December. The December issue of Esquire is out now.

###

[essieincinci]

So here's a fun fact. Apparently Hertz doesn't let you rent a car with a debit card unless your credit score is high enough. Idk how high. Higher than mine. And they won't let you split the payment onto two cards, or put the payment on one card and the 100% REFUNDABLE DEPOSIT on the other.

Which is why I'm driving daebo's Chevrolet Silverado to South Carolina and back. Me. I drive a small car. Very small. Not a truck. I also very rarely drive on the highway.

So that's been an adventure.

(Actually hasn't been bad. Benefits of traveling on a weekday nowhere near a holiday.) (More cops on the highway than I have ever seen in the 30 years I've been making this trip tho.)

The tire pressure light came on and when I got out to put another RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF MONEY into the gas tank, I noticed the tire was low. Not flat. Just noticeably low.

I put air in it.

I got back in the truck.

I got back on the highway.

AND THEN I LOST MY SHIT.

I had a panic attack so bad my hand cramped into claws and I couldn't stretch them out again. Like. What is that? Why? Why essie? EVERYTHING WAS FINE!

Which I spent the next hour telling myself. Breathe in. "I am fine." Breathe out. "Its just a panic attack." Breathe in. "Everything is fine." Breathe out. "The tires are fine."

0/10 do not recommend.

When I got feeling back in my hands enough I called daebo and he talked me down a little, and I kept pulling over at every exit to check the tire.

It was fine.

That was exhausting and of course I didn't sleep last night and I still have the plague, which is obviously a direct non-stop flight to migraine town.

Which is why I am in a hotel room somewhere in Tennessee and not 7 hours into a 12 hour drive.

I asked the very nice older lady at the front desk if she knew anyone who could help me with the tires. For once mama being, well, my mama came in handy. It definitely made a good sob story, and it has the benefit of even being true. (My accent was embellished. Slightly. This is Tennessee after all.)

She sent me down the street to a garage that wouldn't have been out of place in a 1950s agricultural sit com. There were literally cats on the hot tin roof.

But the very nice gentleman, between spitting tobacco, checked my tire pressure, filled them with air (correctly), and even filled up the spare.

God bless.

Mom seems to be slightly more on board today, too, so *crosses fingers*.

[auburnfamilynews]

Kevin C Cox

On the road at 11AM. How confident are we?

Once again, most of us took Auburn against the number last week and failed miserably. The Tigers still came out with a victory, but it wasn’t exactly anything to write home about.

This week features a road trip to Columbia, SC. Auburn has never lost to the Gamecocks since they joined the SEC 28 years ago, and the 2010 team dropped South Carolina twice on the way to a national championship. How will the 2020 team fare?

Auburn (-3) @ South Carolina (O/U 51.5)

SP+ Pick: Auburn -6; under (48)

I’m honestly not sure what to think here. On the one hand, Auburn is the significantly more talented team in this matchup. Despite how last week’s game went down, the offense clearly showed progress in both the passing and ground game, and the defense will hopefully be getting some healthy bodies back (Big Kat, Simpson) to bolster their ranks.

However, just judging by production, things favor Carolina. The Gamecocks lead Auburn in all four yards per attempt categories (Offensive Passing and Rushing YPA, Defensive Passing and Rushing YPA). South Carolina has been slightly more productive at turning Red Zone chances into points (90% vs Auburn’s 80%), and the two teams are roughly identical on 3rd down on offense (40%). However, Carolina’s defense is vastly better than Auburn’s on 3rd Down, allowing a conversion rate of just 19% to Auburn’s 56%. Obviously none of those numbers account for opponents, but I’d say South Carolina has played an equally hard schedule at this point, with Tennessee, Florida, and Vanderbilt so far.

What does it all mean? Who knows. Predicting Auburn football is a futile exercise at this point. 30-21 Tigers on the back of Tank Bigsby, who becomes Auburn’s first 200 yard back since Kerryon Johnson’s 204 yard day against Ole Miss in 2017. (Auburn wins and covers; under by the hook)

—Ryan S Sterritt

I saw a good portion of both of South Carolina’s first two games, and one thing stood out in both. They just like to play big dumb football. While their run defense has been solid, the passing defense has left a little to be desired. Meanwhile, Auburn’s had a similar issue on that side of the ball, but there’s cause for hope! Last week’s struggles can directly be related to the thin lineup we had due to injuries. Offensively, we only played 15 guys. Fifteen! Both sides of the ball were getting a little banged up, and they’re not going to get much of a break this weekend with a pretty physical South Carolina run game.

While Muschamp hasn’t really made a serious mark in Columbia yet, he’s got two legitimate weapons in Kevin Harris (326 yds, 5.8 ypc, 4TDs) and Shi Smith (26 catches, 271 yds, 2 TDs), but not a whole lot outside of that. Colin Hill’s a walk-on, but he won the job in fall camp and he’s been pretty solid. Man, I don’t know. I have no idea. This year is so weird anyway, so I’m taking Auburn to win. Josh Dub has an interesting theory about post-Vanderbilt games for teams, and South Carolina played them this past weekend. We’ve got them right where we want them. Tigers get it done, 33-20. (Auburn wins and covers; over)

—Jack Condon

I have a theory. The Vanderbilt Effect. pretty much the opposite of the Bama Effect from a few years ago. Used to, you’d get so beat up playing Alabama, you typically play worse the following week. Regarding Vanderbilt: Basically, every team that plays Vanderbilt one week plays worse the next because they’re used to soft competition.

A&M scrapes by Vandy week 1, gets stomped by Alabama week 2 (Alabama covered)

LSU glides by Vandy week 2, gets lulled to sleep, loses to Mizzou week 3 (Mizzou covered)

Folks, who played Vanderbilt in week 3? That’s right, the fighting Will Muschamps.

Is there any statistical evidence of this? nope, not beyond what I just wrote. Who cares. Saturday will be a get right game for Auburn. Things will start to click for the offense and the defense.

Auburn 37 South Carolina 13 (Auburn wins and covers; under)

—Josh W

This is a pivotal game for the Tigers. Granted, you could say that about literally every game this season considering the all SEC schedule but I think this game has the biggest chance of indicating the trajectory of the rest of the year. Lose this game and Auburn is staring at 3-7/4-6 in the face. Win in a close one and the 6-4 finish continues to look the most likely. But, maybe just maybe, if Auburn can get their sh** together and put together four quarters of quality football resulting in a convincing victory we can start to dream of 8-2 again.

Unfortunately, I don’t really like this matchup for Auburn. Defensively, South Carolina has a talented front four that can be disruptive and will likely challenge this Auburn offensive line more than Arkansas last week. Offensively, new Gamecock offensive coordinator Mike Bobo likes to attack defenses in a way that has worked well against the Tigers this season. The #1 receiver is Shi Smith who operates mostly out of the slot. The #2 is tight end Nick Muse while #3 & #4 are running backs. Arkansas shredded Auburn’s defense, specifically on 3rd down, with their tight end and running back. Auburn struggled to slow down UGA slot WR Kearis Jackson two weekends ago. The Tigers need to find a pass rush so they don’t have to rely on blitzing to get pressure and can keep those linebackers back to cover those backs sneaking out of the backfield or tight ends leaking downfield.

For Auburn to win, I think they must take a step forward in one of these 3 areas:

1.) Downfield passing game 2.) 3rd Down Defense 3.) Redzone offense

If Auburn is noticeably better in any of these 3 areas they will win this football. Take a big step forward in most if not all and the Tigers will win in a blowout injecting some much needed positivity into this program.

My homer heart believes it happens and we head into a trip to Oxford next week excited about a Tiger offense coming alive. The realist brain tells me this is going to be a heartbreaker Auburn loses late. So I am going to split the difference and say the Tigers 3rd down defense steps up while the offense continues to flounder but does enough to get it done. AU gets some stops and generates enough big plays offensively from the trio of Seth/Schwartz/Tank they escape Columbia with a much needed W.

Auburn 27 South Carolina 23 (Auburn wins and covers; under)

—AUNerd

Welp, it almost worked last weekend, so let’s try it again.

On paper, Auburn is more talented than South Carolina. The Gamecocks have looked good....alrigh....ok, better than expected on offense with Collin Hill and his spaghetti knee. I am waiting for it to explode because of that SEC defensive pressure...BUT.....who knows if that will happen till the Cocks are exposed to the Dawgs.

I just don’t have a good feeling this weekend. Something tells me this is Muschamp’s chance to show that the program is getting better...all be it as slow as possible. On the other hand, Auburn is getting a ton of talent back, namely Big Kat...so that will help. I expect the offense to struggle and the defense to look better, but if Carolina has a lead late, I don’t expect the offense to be able to come through on the road like they did last week.

28-24 Cocks (South Carolina wins outright; over)

—Drew Mac

Admittedly I have been extremely hard on this program. I’m not happy with the lack of development of the offensive line for 3+ years, our inability to see a quarterback actually improve year over year for the better part of the last 30 years, targeting only 2 receivers for the most part in the various versions of this offense for the last 3-4 years, and not having your best running back start from day 1 in several years of this era. And sure, this defense has been banged up. I’ll die on the hill of defending these defensive coaches for 2020 thanks to carrying the water for this program for 4 years.

What we saw last week was one of the more inexplicable last 30 seconds of a game we’ve ever had, which is quite a statement. We had no business being in that position, then had no business winning the game, but still somehow did enough clutch things to actually win the game. And the most incredible part of it? None of it surprised me, especially winning. Why? Because Gus Malzahn doesn’t lose to teams he should beat. If Auburn has the talent advantage, no matter how truly weird it may look, Auburn usually wins. Which brings us to Saturday…

We’re going to win this game because we’re not (yet) a bad football team. We’re most definitely a deficient football team at the line of scrimmage. We’ve also been a banged up football team. That part looks set to improve. And to their credit, the offense line looked improved (I know, not saying much) on the ground last Saturday, and showed in the Kentucky game that they can be competent against the lower to middle pack of the SEC, which is essentially looking like 12 of the 14 teams this year.

Essentially I expect a rock fight Saturday between 2 coaches who may have the writing on the wall in 13 months. Then again in our case, who knows year to year anymore? But the levee hasn’t broken yet and I don’t think it will Saturday because for as hard as we all are on Gus Malzahn, his players have never quit on him or his staff. This isn’t a team that is hopeless like 08 or 12 was. We knew after 3 weeks in both years that we were dead. In 2015 we thought we were dead and yet somehow that team got to .500 in the regular season with absolutely nothing a quarterback in November. Maybe this year is more in line with 2015. Maybe this group will start to click as they get healthier. And maybe, just maybe they’re better than they’ve looked and a month of actual football with less COVID issues and getting players healthy will show that this is potentially a 7-8 win football team in 2020.

Again, time will only tell, but I ain’t picking a damn South Carolina team that tied us in 1932 and beat us last in 1933. That’s their history of success against us. Auburn doesn’t lose to this team. And if they do, then “Cryin’ won’t help ya, prayin’ won’t do you no good…when the levee breaks, Mama you got to move.”

Auburn 27 South Carolina 23 (Auburn wins and covers; under)

—Josh Black

Auburn is finally going to be close to full strength on defense and is playing a team that dares you to do as dumb of stuff as it does. If Auburn plays a sloppy gross game it will lose to South Carolina because they didn’t adopt sloppy gross games, they were born in them.

Auburn is going to win this game. There’s too much talent at auburn’s skill positions that eventually someone is going to break out and have a big game. This is that week for someone and I hope it is Tank.

Auburn 40 Scar 20 (Auburn wins and covers; over)

—Son of Crow

Auburn makes their first trip to Columbia since 2011 on Saturday which shows the ridiculousness of what is the SEC scheduling model. Auburn has not lost to South Carolina since 1933, the only time the Gamecocks have defeated the Tigers.

It sounds like we should have a much better idea of what the offensive line will look like the rest of the season after the game on Saturday but the Tigers were able to establish the run last week against Arkansas.

Tank Bigsby has been a godsend this year and I look for him to have a big game again this weekend. Hopefully the defense will get a bit healthier and the Tigers are able to take care of business.

Auburn 34 South Carolina 20 (Auburn wins and covers; over)

—Dr Will

Auburn is running out of time to bounce back from that Week 2 loss to Georgia. This has to be the game where they start putting things together. We saw the running game get going last week, and I’d like to see more of that this week. You have to think Muschamp is putting a little extra emphasis on this one so the Tigers could be in a for a nasty one, but I still have to believe they’ll get things together against a team they vastly out talent. I look for Bo to improve and for Tank to fully emerge as this offense’s feature back.

Auburn 27 - South Carolina 16 (Auburn wins and covers; under)

—AU Chief

I just don’t have a good feeling about this game at all. This Auburn team has shown me zero reason why I should be confident in them winning on the road against an SEC team. Auburn should have a coaching edge in this one, given who is on the other sideline, but I just can’t get all of the poor redzone mistakes (both coaching and execution) and five straight Arkansas scoring drives out of my head. This South Carolina team has more talent than Arkansas, and they’re playing at home. Each week is different, and Auburn will be a different team if they have a healthy Seth Williams and a few more healthy members of the defensive backfield, but until we know that we have both of those things, I’m out on this one. I hope I’m wrong, but I said in the post-Arkansas recap that we’re going to lose this game. I’ll stick to my guns. South Carolina 19, Auburn 16 (South Carolina wins outright; under).

—AU Jonesy

from College and Magnolia - All Posts https://www.collegeandmagnolia.com/2020/10/17/21519783/staff-picks-south-carolina-vs-14-auburn

[shotgunmoose]

Dystopia 🏳️‍🌈

{The memory comes so clearly now, as I’m laying in the grass, sun warm on my skin. This, this was what my soul told me home felt like. My true home.

But this was nothing like it was that day, the day my favorite uncle died.

A storm wracked my body, tears ushering like tropical rain fall. Heavy sobs heaving a slender body against the cool metal frame of my bed, wracking it against the wall like thunder.  

He wasn't biologically my uncle, but brother to my step mom. Who I fought every step of the way, hormones wracking my pubescent body. But, they were the only other family I knew. 

Except my mom, orphaned at the tender age of thirteen as Damion Creed, by an abusive father. 

An orphan now known as Daisy Creed. 

Now lets get complicated.....

Blurry eyes lifted, meeting those of my mom’s, but not hers. This was not someone I knew, these eyes were like honey, not hazel brown. Her stance more imperial and bold. A deep male voice met my ears as she sat on the floor beside me. “Hello, Calista, my name is John.”

A conversation ensued, explaining to me how the personalities were formed; and why. Triggering another memory, myself at eight years old and my brother almost four. She had only just started her transition. All I remember is her yelling as my brother and I tucked away in the gap between the refrigerator and the stove. Eventually Pearl who later became our step mom came to save the day.

We were just children, we didn’t understand, but now; now I was old enough. 

That was Eric, who was made to hold the anger. Imagine being a young child never allowed to express yourself. 

Daisy for example was the “worker”, and was created when the body was put to plowing a field at age nine. This made no sense to me. How, how can a nine year old plow a field? She was not a large child, and only 5′9 now.  

Penny was created to feel no pain when the body was tied, stripped and beat with whip’s. If she cried.... she got beat more. 

Kim was created to enjoy the sexual abuse, which started soon as she was brought home from the hospital. 

I had to hold back the flood that threatened to stream from my eyes. How could anyone I’m related to be such a monster?  

I had noticed things, but brushed them off. This was my mom and she loved me, nothing could be wrong or bad about her. She was my hero. 

There was already a storm raging in my body, now a war raged in my head. Anger, sorrow, loss. 

First was anger, anger that I was missing out on a father figure, anger that it had caused me so much torment in school. Being told daily I was stupid, ugly, dumb. No one would ever love a freak like me. Anger that my mother had been abused so severely. Psychically, emotionally, sexually. Is that why most of the alters were female, Why my dad was lost? 

Sorrow at the extreme lengths she needed to go in order to survive. No one should have to endure those types of behaviors, can you imagine the severity one must have to experience to literally break off a piece of your mind?

Loss, not only did I lose my uncle, but now I found out I /literally/ lost my dad. Daisy was not Damion wanting to be Daisy. Daisy was just another part of my mom’s spirit. A fractured broken bit that only wanted to love me. 

I had about a million questions and all of them could never be answered, For he left as quickly as he came.

“You understand yes? I must go now.”

~ But wait..... where’s my dad? Is he lost in there somewhere, will I ever meet him?~

I didn’t get to ask, there was a blink and a gentle shake. My mom was sitting before me once more, compassionate hazel eyes and warm hugs.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This memory triggers an array of emotions for me. Deep waves of love, love for the beauty of her uniqueness. The way she taught me to love without boundaries or judgement. To see different as beautiful not scary, to embrace it not deny it.

Laced with ribbons of self loathing for being so mundane, there was nothing special about me. 

Though these feelings drove my creativity, which later in life blossomed into love as well, self love that I lacked for so long.  

Lacking because people can not accept that which they do not understand, refusing to learn about what frightens them. To obstinate to step up and change the world.

It may slowly be changing today, but back then? These things were not okay, not in the rural areas of South Carolina. 

My mom was a courageous multifaceted goddess, she rose above what others taught and told her. Found the love with in herself, broke the cycle of abuse and inspired me into who I am today. 

I had to find my inner goddess and set her free too. This was the beginning of my journey.}

[hopeishappinessff]

Chapter 46

My trembling fingers clutched onto the sleeve of Chris’s hoodie as I stood beside him with my head meshed against his shoulder. Though we arrived at the airport only a mere few minutes before we were supposed to, we were still much too early to board our flight. The longer we waited for our flight number to be called, the more miserable I started to feel. The moment Chris and I left his apartment to meet up with everyone at my house, fatigue hit me like a ton of bricks, my body started to ache from head to toe, and nausea suddenly overwhelmed me… by the time we reached the airport my condition only continued to deteriorate. Most of everyone’s parents, as well as my aunt, came along to the airport to see us off. As we made our way through the security line, my aunt stood off to the side with everyone else with pure apprehension and concern etched all over her face. Because she was a registered nurse, she was more worried about my condition for the trip and she begged me to just stay back with her. I quickly declined her suggestion though and let her know that I would be fine. “Babe,” I could feel Chris shifting beside me, but I kept my head glued to his delightfully comfortable arm with my eyes shut, “Baby, your aunt is calling you.” “Hmm.” I hummed as I opened my eyes just barely, instantly cringing at the awful discomfort in my throat as well as the bright lights making it nearly impossible for me to fully open my eyes.  “Your aunt… she’s trying to get your attention over there.” He gently nudged his shoulder up to get me to raise my head and I did, only after wrapping an arm around his lower back to keep myself steady.  With a low groan and a cough, I sniffled and attempted to straighten my posture as best as I could. I didn’t want her to see the utter pain that I felt and become even more worried. Chris held onto me protectively as he walked me over to my aunt and I prayed that she wouldn’t notice the obvious limp in my stride that had absolutely nothing to do with my sudden illness. Once we reached her at the end of the security line, Chris stood protectively at my side, gripping onto my side gently to keep me up. “Sy’Diyah, honey I’m telling you, if you’re not feeling well then you should just stay here and let me take you to the ER.” She fussed as politely as she could. With a sigh, I smiled weakly and pushed against Chris in an effort to stand on my own so she could see that I was fine “Auntie, I’m alright… really.” She stared at me with furrowed brows and shook her head at my blatant stubbornness “Okay, but as soon as that plane lands I want you to get some fluids in your system and take that medicine I gave you alright?” Before we even entered the airport, she’d handed me about three different bottles of prescription medication and I couldn’t help but laugh at her when she did… if she couldn’t get me to stay back in Richmond with her, she was going to do everything in her power to guarantee I was prepared wherever we were going.  “Alright Auntie, I will.” As we stood there listening to her explain each medication and the doses to take of each, a voice rang through the loud speakers informing us that it was now time to board our flight. “Chris, baby… can you do me a huge favor and make sure she takes everything like the instructions say? And please make sure she gets plenty of fluids in her system. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I know you’ll take care of my baby.” She said as she watched me nuzzle my face against his chest.  Chris smiled at her and nodded respectfully as he tightened his grip on my waist “Yes ma’am, I’ll take good care of her.” “Thank you sweetheart,” She stepped forward to swoop the two of us into a gentle hug then turned her attention to me, “I hope you get better baby. If need be, you just stay put in bed when you get there until you get to feeling better okay. Don’t get anywhere and try to overdo yourself.”  I nodded obediently and after bidding everyone adieu, I held onto Chris as we finally turned to move through the security line and make our way to our terminal to board our plane.  -- I was more thankful than ever the moment I was able to plant my bottom in my seat and curl up beside Chris. I wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in the hoodie he’d taken off for me and sleep until we landed. I hadn’t paid much attention to any of the announcements back in the airport, so I still had no idea exactly where we were going, and I didn’t have a chance to ask since I’d fallen asleep almost as soon as we took off.  A short while later, I slowly pried my eyes open and stretched my aching limbs as far as I could in the limited space.  “You alright babe?” I peered over to my left to see Chris staring at me with his head laid back against his headrest. I nodded and winced immediately at the pain that shot through the back of my neck and the looming headache that I could in the center of my forehead.  “The captain just came on a minute ago and said we’re about to land... we have a layover,” He explained as he ran a hand over his drowsy face, “In one of the Carolina's I think.”  I sighed and shut my eyes… I didn’t want him to know it, but I literally felt like I was dying right there beside him. The aching had increased terribly in my entire body and I wanted to simply sit there and cry.  I was startled by the feeling of his arm snaking around my midsection and I opened my eyes to glance at him, only to see him smiling sheepishly at me “You forgot to put your seatbelt back on.” I smiled and waited for him to buckle me up and thanked him before leaning against him and resting my head on his shoulder. Just as I was about to close my eyes and allow sleep to claim me again, the plane began to shake aggressively and I gasped and instantly gripped onto Chris’s arm. He chuckled and with my eyes squeezed shut, I buried my face in his arm. “It’s alright babe, just a little turbulence.” He spoke soothingly. Within the next few minutes, the turbulence got a little worse, then subsided, then got worse all over again. The remainder of the ride seemed to follow that same pattern until we hit one final bump… the landing strip. A few minutes later, the plane came to a complete halt and the captain’s voice rang out through the cabin to inform us that we’d safely landed in South Carolina.  Everyone stood and the moment I did, a sudden surge of dizziness and nausea struck me like a freight train and I used Chris’s back to keep balanced until we could cross out into the isle. The longer we stood there, the more everything around me seemed to spin and I quickly pushed my hands into his back to get him to go. “What you rushing for?” He asked, peering back over his shoulder at me with a smirk. I stared up at him desperately as I continued to push my hands against his back “I think I’m gonna throw up.” His smirk quickly faded into a deep scowl and he immediately swung around to face forward. “Excuse me!” He was frantic in his efforts to get us out into the isle now, but the line of people already standing there seemed to be moving along at a snail’s pace.  “Sir! Excuse me!. My girl is about to throw up and unless you want it all over you, can you please excuse me?” He hollered at some innocent man who then took off as quick as he could down the walkway.  I attempted to laugh, but only ended up with a hand slapped over my mouth… I could feel the bile rising in my throat and if Chris didn’t get me to a bathroom in a few seconds, his back would ultimately end up being my target. He managed to get everyone’s attention in front of us with that last comment and before I knew it, he reached back to grip my hand and flew forward down the aisle toward the small bathroom in the front. “Excuse me sir, I’m going to have to ask you to slow down. You could easily injure…” One of the flight attendants stood right at the end of the row blocking us and Chris was forced to slow his pace so he wouldn’t run into her. “Ma’am, open the door.” He demanded breathlessly.  “Excuse me.” “Open the door!” He yelled, pointing hysterically toward the bathroom door that she stood directly in front of. The attendant looked hastily from him to the door with an uneasy expression on her pale face. Once we were only about five feet away from her, Chris stopped suddenly and yanked me around in front of him and the moment she took one look at me and the hand plastered over my mouth, she snatched the door open and hurdled out of the way. Chris pushed me through the door and if the lady would have swung it open just one second later, it would have been too late… I landed on my knees in front of the toilet and everything I’d eaten for breakfast came spewing out.  Chris eased into the space behind me after speaking shortly with the sympathetic attendant then shut the door and stood behind me, reaching forward to rub my back as I continued to vomit to the point that I could barely breathe. He kneeled beside me to pull the loose strands of hair back from my face and gently caressed my back. After several minutes of coughing and clinching my stomach muscles until nothing was left to come out, I pulled my face back from the toilet and wiped away a few stray tears.  “You okay?” Chris asked quietly as he continued to rub my back. I nodded and reached up to flush the toilet before I ended up vomiting again just from the sight. He leaned over me and pulled a wad of tissue from the roll on the wall then carefully dabbed it on and around my lips. I felt like a child with the way he handled me so delicately and that thought alone brought about a fresh batch of tears. He moved me back away from the toilet and pulled the lid of it down before lifting me to sit on it and kneeling down in front of me. “Baby, don’t cry. It’s okay.” I’d never heard him speak so compassionately and for whatever reason that left me bawling even harder. He ran his hands up and down the front of my thighs in such a soothing manner and seconds later, we both raised our gazes to the small door as the flight attendant from earlier appeared in the doorway.  She smiled tenderly at Chris and raised her eyes to meet mine “Sweetie, are you alright?” Using the sleeve of Chris’s hoodie that I wore to wipe my eyes, I nodded and began to push myself up from the toilet. I was weaker now than before I threw up and the moment I made a move toward Chris, gravity stopped me right in my tracks and he swiftly swooped into place before I toppled over.  “Come on sweetheart.” The attendant stuck her hand out to grasp mine and together, both she and Chris guided me out of the bathroom and off the empty plane. -- If it wasn’t for the McDonald’s just down the hall from our terminal, I was quite positive I would have passed out. Chris got me settled in one of the cushioned seats between Destani and Nalay before rushing off to the fast food restaurant to get me a full meal without evening bothering to ask what I wanted. I rested my right elbow on the armrest attached to my chair and propped my head up on my hand, closing my eyes once I was halfway comfortable.  “Sy, you okay?” I cracked my eyes open just barely and lifted my head to see Tameka crouching down in front of me staring up at me, along with Nalay and Destani who awaited my response.  “I’m fine.” I mumbled.  “What the hell happened? It’s like, one minute we were across the aisle from you and Chris and everything seemed normal then the next thing I knew Chris was yelling and pushing past all those people in front of ya’ll.” Destani said with a frown. “I think I just got nauseous from the plane ride… I ended up throwing up.” I explained. Destani and Nalay exchanged worried glances and Nalay quickly faced me, resting a hand against my forehead.  “You’re kind of warm… I really hope you’re not getting the flu.” She said. “I hope not.” I retorted quietly as the brim of my eyes began to tingle. I blinked rapidly to force the random onslaught of tears to remain at bay and released a frustrated sigh as I thought about how emotional I’d been all day.  Chris walked back over to us a few minutes later with a McDonald's bag in one hand and cup holder with two cups in it in the other. Destani spotted him and without question, she stood from her seat allowing him space to sit beside me.  “I got you nuggets with sweet & sour and barbecue sauce, a medium fry with no salt, and a vanilla milkshake to help soothe your throat. I got you an apple pie too, just in case you don’t get full.” He explained as he plucked each item from the bag. I smiled and thanked him as the girl’s ooh’d and aww’d at his gracious behavior, leaving his cheeks rosy red.  “Aww Chris, this girl makes you such a big ol teddy bear.” Tameka said, reaching over to playfully pinch his right cheek.  He flinched back away from her so she couldn’t get ahold of him and pulled his fitted further down on his head “Whatever Meka.” “How long do we have to stay here?” Destani asked. Chris took a moment to glance down at his watch and twisted his lips to one side as he looked back up at her “For about an hour or so, I think.” “Oh great.” She mumbled sarcastically then moved over to the row of chairs across from us where she plopped down beside Rashad.  While we sat waiting to board our next flight, and even with a sore throat, I ended up devouring everything that Chris had in that bag for me. From the nuggets to the apple pie… it was all gone in a short amount of time and much to my surprise, I didn’t feel nearly as weak and nauseous as I felt when we got off the plane. As everyone sat around us talking quietly amongst themselves, Chris sat silently beside me and eyed me carefully as I ate.  “I’m fine now Chris.” I said, glancing over at him with a sly smile as I placed all my trash back into the McDonald’s bag.  “You sure?” He asked softly, “Did you get full? You want me to get you something else?” I’m full… I don’t need anything else.” I giggled with a shake of my head.  “Alright. Let me get your trash… I think they’re about to board us in a little while.” He stood and stretched then took the McDonald’s bag from my grasp before walking to the nearest trash bin to dispose of it. Just as he’d predicted, a voice rang out over the intercom to inform us that we could finally board the plane. Just before we left the airport back in Richmond, I handed off all the medicine that my aunt had given me to Chris and as everyone gathered their belongings around us now, he made it a point to pull one of the bottles from his bag and he dumped one of the tablets into the palm of his hand. I frowned at the sight of it and he only laughed at my expense “Baby you have to take it if you wanna feel better.” “But I feel better now though,” I fibbed, “I don’t want to take that.”  “I know you don’t feel weak anymore, because you got a chance to eat. But that didn’t do anything for the rest of your symptoms… I bet you still aching, ain’t you?” I stared at him and rolled my eyes… I hadn't told him anything about any of my other symptoms, but I couldn’t even bring myself to argue with him.  He gazed down at me with a smirk and I sighed “Fine, I’ll take it when we get back on the plane.” “Good.” He stated triumphantly. He grabbed his carry-on bag that held my medicine in one hand and my hand with the other then led me to the line for us to board the next plane.  -- Only about an hour and a half later, we finally landed for the last time. I stretched and yawned and with the combination of sitting in my seat for so long and the one pill I’d taken beginning to wear off, I could feel the aching coming back full force… I wanted nothing more than to climb into a bed soon and sleep. My body felt like I’d been beaten all over and I could feel the waterworks creeping upon me as I stood behind Chris in agonizing discomfort.  “Babe, you alright?” He asked, glancing back at me as he guided us along the narrow aisle.  “I’m fine.” I mumbled. Truthfully, I wasn’t anywhere near fine, but I knew if I told him that he would hold up the entire line just to turn around and check on me. "Here," He stuck a hand back and I instantly reached down to grab ahold of it, "Just squeeze my hand if you feel like you just don't wanna walk anymore okay."  I nodded my head, though he couldn’t see me since he’d already turned to face forward, and continued to move along behind him. Once we reached the door to exit the plane, I glanced back to make sure everyone from the group was keeping up with us. The moment I turned to face forward, I unintentionally squeezed Chris's hand and ended up running right into his back.  He hastily swung around and stared down at me with concern all over his face "What's wrong? What happened? You starting to feel worse... you want me to carry you?"  "No, no…” I laughed with a shake of my head, “I'm okay. I’m sorry… I didn't mean to do that." He silently stared at me for a moment then sighed and gently lifted his left hand to caress my face "You sure you alright? I don't want you to pass out or something because you feeling worse and you don’t wanna tell me." "I'm okay Chris, really." I assured him. His face contorted into that of relief and he smiled then leaned forward to press his lips against my forehead. He turned to face forward and we continued to trek through the jet bridge to the terminal. I took that time to look around to take in my surroundings and was completely amazed. Though it was creeping well into the evening hours, the hustle and bustle of so many people trying to get their belongings from the baggage claim and the excitement of the atmosphere left me biting back a grin. My smile only grew broader as I finally caught on to the voice over the loud speaker, welcoming us to the Orlando International Airport.  "I can't even believe we're finally out of Richmond and in Florida right now!" Destani exclaimed eagerly as we now stood outside, waiting for the boys to load up our arranged SUV’s with our luggage. On our way out to the loading area, Chris explained that he and the boys would take a trip to Enterprise in the morning to pick up our actual rental trucks. But for right now Destani, Rashad, Chris, and I all climbed into the first truck, leaving Nalay, Tameka, Dontay, and BJ to load up in the second vehicle. Without question, Rashad hopped into the front seat with the driver to leave me space in the backseat with Chris who I immediately curled up beside and drifted off to sleep. A short ride later, I awoke to the feeling of Chris gently nudging me and I pried my eyes open and slowly looked up at him. "We're here." He whispered.  I nodded and yawned, making sure to move back away from his face as I did so, and waited for him to open the door and let me out.  "Shit, my nigga Chris… where the hell you got us shacking up at homeboy!” Destani exclaimed stridently as she hopped down out of the car. He only laughed and turned to face me once he too stepped out onto the pavement.  "You gone stay in there all night?" Chris asked, sticking his head back into the open door and peering in at me. I smirked and quickly yet carefully made my way toward his open door. The moment my feet hit the ground, I stretched my aching arms high above my head and gasped as I laid my eyes on the sight before me. The hotel was like nothing I’d ever seen before. It stood high and magnificent in all its glowing glory and I gawked up at it like a kid in a candy store.  I was at such a loss for words and so captivated by the beauty of our accommodations, that I failed to notice that Chris had stepped into place behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.  “You like it?” He whispered, resting his chin lightly against my right shoulder.  “I love it,” I exclaimed, turning in his grasp to hug his midsection, “I would kiss you right now to show my appreciation, but… you know…” “You think I care about that?” He chuckled softly, leaning forward to press his lips against mine anyway.  “Will ya’ll niggas quit caking and come on so we can check in?” Dontay said as he walked past us.  “Fuck you Don.” Chris laughed. “Nah man, you just wait til Sy starts feeling better for that...” He retorted. I gasped and turned around to see him snickering as he walked away from us. With a playful roll of my eyes, I walked along with Chris to the back of the truck to retrieve our bags from the trunk. Once we got all of our belongings out, Chris and the boys each pulled out their wallets to pay both of the drivers and I couldn’t help but notice the wad of cash Chris plucked from his back pocket. I watched as he handed over his half and slipped the money back into his pocket before turning to me and reaching for my hand.  An older woman with the warmest smile greeted us once we reached the immaculate front desk. Chris stepped up to talk to her and within the next ten minutes, he’d gotten us all checked in to the penthouse suite on the highest floor of the hotel. Once we were loaded on the elevator, we headed up to our floor and I was surprised to say the least when the elevator doors slid open, revealing only one suite on the entire floor. With a key in hand, Chris let us into the massive suite that greatly resembled a two-story condo.  “Yooooo, this shit is ridiculous man! I got dibs on the biggest room in here!” Rashad shouted excitedly as we all lingered in the middle of the living room  “Actually, me and Sy got dibs on that hoe.” Chris stated calmly as he moved toward the stairs off in the corner of room. “What you mean ya’ll got dibs on it… I just called it.”  “And I believe I already put the most money down on this whole thing, therefore my lady and I get first pick… and I’m picking the king suite, fit for a king and his queen,” He smiled and with an arrogant wink, he turned to face me, “Come on baby.” I could only shake my head and laugh at the look of sheer shame plastered on Rashad's face as I followed closely behind Chris into his suite fit for a king.  -- I curled into the fetal position on my side of the luxury bed and yawned for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. For whatever reason, I was fighting to keep my eyes open rather than giving in to my body’s desire to simply sleep. While I lie there struggling, Chris was in the bathroom taking a shower and the sound of the water was lulling me closer and closer to an inevitable slumber. Eventually I began to surrender to my drowsy nature, but not before Chris exited the hot bathroom with a haze of steam trailing along behind him. I pried my eyes open and watched him closely as he made his way to his suitcase and pulled out a pair of boxers, basketball shorts, and white footies.  I couldn’t tear my eyes off him as he straightened his posture and dropped his towel… unintentionally giving me a full view everything that I so dearly adored about him. Once he was dressed, he climbed into the bed behind me and slid over to press his chest directly against my back. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me back to him then gently pressed his lips against the back of my neck. I smirked and snuggled my head further into my pillow, drifting off to sleep only a few minutes later with his arms cradling me like a baby.  In the wee hours of the morning, I awoke abruptly and sprung from the bed in a cold sweat that left me trembling in the cool air. I made a mad dash for the bathroom and just barely made it to the toilet in time to ram my face into the mercifully open seat and throw up everything I’d eaten earlier at the airport. After everything went flying out of my mouth and there was nothing left to give, I began to wheeze violently. The muscles in my stomach clinched so painfully, I could feel the hot tears forming in the corners of my eyes and I didn’t even bother to stop them. Shifting into the role of my own personal Superman for about the millionth time since we’d left home, Chris swooped into the doorway of the bathroom looking absolutely drained.  “Baby, you alright?” He asked as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Though I’d been fibbing to him all day about my wellbeing, this time I couldn’t bring myself to lie… I was rapidly losing to whatever this was that was taking over my body and I didn’t even have the energy to deny it. I rested my head against the cool porcelain of the toilet seat after reaching up to flush it and continued to sob like a baby. He stood there staring at me for a few prolonged seconds, making me feel awfully insecure as I sat hunched at the toilet in a disheveled mess. He finally turned and walked away, leaving me sad and helpless. I assumed he’d gotten fed up with me and my illness and I couldn’t even blame him for that, so I made a move to get my own self up from the floor, but reality quickly struck that I was much weaker than I’d imagined and I slumped right back into a heap on the floor. I decided to just stay put for a while, even if I had to spend the night right there on the bathroom floor, to avoid passing out from trying to stand up.  After carefully crawling away from the tile around the toilet, I stretched my body across the length of the plush carpet that covered the remainder of the oversized restroom. The space was nearly the size of a bedroom and the only tile on the entire floor was placed neatly right around the toilet, so instead of freezing to death there, I figured my body could use the warmth of the carpet. It didn’t take long for that very material to warm me up and within minutes it started to feel like someone had turned the thermostat up dramatically in the room. Before I knew it, I swore I could feel sweat forming along the brim of my hairline. That alone had me bunching my camisole beneath my armpits, leaving me half naked in a pair of polka dot boyshorts.  After I’d gotten a bit more comfortable right there on the floor, Chris returned to the bathroom carrying two pillows and a spare blanket from the closet in our room. He walked over to me and I could feel him staring down at me, but I paid him no mind as I continued to focus on thoughts of a nice big pool in an effort to keep my suddenly overheated body cool. He crouched down beside me and placed one of the pillows in his hands down beside my head. “Sit up for a minute.” He spoke softly. I tried my best to push up into an upright position, but the task was daunting due to my weakened limbs. When I finally created enough space between my head and the floor, he slid the pillow under my head and I plopped down on it with a sigh of relief.  “I’ll be right back okay.” He said. I nodded and closed my eyes as he stood and exited the bathroom for a second time. He came back a few minutes later and I parted my lids to see him kneeling in front of me with one of the bottles of medicine from my aunt in one hand and a cup with ice and a can of sprite balanced in the other.  I instantly frowned at the sight of the medicine and he chuckled softly “Babe you have to take it.”  My frown deepened and I shook my head “I’m okay now Chris.” “Yeah, but in a few hours you’ll probably be running to the toilet again. You may as well take it so you can get some rest.” He reasoned.  I was beyond prepared to argue against him, but I also knew just how bad I craved sleep, so I decided to save my argument and do as he said. I hadn’t realized it until he handed over a small plastic cup, but the medication was liquid and it was probably the worst tasting thing that’d ever slithered down my throat. He laughed aloud as he watched me down the horrid stuff then gave me a minute to digest it straight while he popped the sprite can open. He poured half of it into the cup and lifted it to my lips bringing me instant relief. Though my throat still felt raw and ached terribly, the cool sensation washed down the bile coating the inside of my throat and instantly settled my quivering stomach.  Once I’d had enough, he sat it off to the side then scooped up the blanket from the floor and spread it to its full length then tossed it over us.  “I’m hot.” I mumbled. He smirked and pulled my half of the blanket down, revealing my nearly naked body once more. Though I was sure I looked like I was on my death bed, that didn’t stop his eyes from taking in every inch of my perspiring body and I snickered inwardly as I watched him watch me then finally closed my eyes. Just as I began to find an ounce of comfort, the shirt that was still raised up under my arms became entirely too annoying, so I leaned over onto my side and pulled the moist fabric completely off. I felt completely at ease in only my bra and panties and once I found a decent position, I tossed a leg over Chris’s and snuggling up against him.  “So you just gone use my leg as a pillow huh?” He chuckled. I nodded and nuzzled up as close to him as I could get, feeling even better the moment he turned onto his side and pulled me close to his bare chest.  “I’m taking you to a hospital in the morning, okay.” He spoke lowly after a few moments of silence.  “Why?”  “Because you’re sick Hope… you’re really sick and I can’t handle seeing you hurting like this. The only way you’re gonna get better is if you let me take you to the hospital so we can see what’s going on with you.” The way he grazed the tips of his fingers through my hair made it hard for me to keep my eyes open, but I fought to stay awake and listen to what he had to say.  “I think it’s just a little virus or something, but if you insist… fine.”  “Yes I insist, so don’t try to fight me on it in the morning. If I have to tie your little ass down in the car, I will.” He teased. “Whatever.” I giggled, nudging him in the chin with my head. I could feel him smiling as he moved to press his lips against my forehead and I wrapped an arm around his midsection and clung to him until we both eventually allowed sleep to claim us right on the bathroom floor. 

[wutbju]

And BJU’s white-centric narrative as Alice Greczyn identified did not stay in their high school curriculum. 

On February 2, 2012, Bob Jones University “celebrated” Black History Month with a special Vespers. African American Junior Meagan Jones was one of the performers along with graduate student David Bean.

Notice that Stephen Jones is the actual hero of the story for Black History.

Here’s the script. Read it for yourself.

::music::

Hi. I'm Dave Bean. You are the wonderful, wide-awake audience. We are in Rodeheaver Auditorium. This is Vespers. And. . . . and, and, and, and, and, and. . . . this is a dream. Okay? We are all in a dream. Right now. Together. About Vespers. And we can't wake up. Okay? Okay? Hello? Okay.

Remember this is a dream. And in the dream version of Vespers you the audience can respond to what I am saying on stage, okay? Let's try this again.

Hi. I'm David Bean. Now you respond with "Hi, we're the audience."

Hi, we're the audience.

You guys catch on quick.

Now try this: This is a dream. Go!

This is a dream.

I'm so proud of you guys.

Let's get a light change. It's about time, don't you think?

There are a few things you should know about Dream Vespers

One -- I talk to the theatre and it responds.

Two -- Place and time periods are very, very, very, very fluid.

And three -- Everybody up here on stage is going to use their real names to protect the not-so-innocent.

::laughter::

So. the first thing I see in my Vespers dream is the Administration asking us to cast in such a way so as to accurately represent the male to female ratio on campus.

::laughter:: ::stomping::

So naturally, it's myself and six female students.

::laughter:: ::applause::

In the dream version of Vespers, all the female cast members say "Right" a lot. Right?

RIGHT!

This would normally be cool. RIGHT! Yes, thank you. Dream vesper all female cast members just be quiet for a moment.

Right. ::laughter::

Like I said this would normally be cool, but I'm currently in a very serious relationship when I'm not asleep and dreaming i'm in Vespers with six female cast members. ::laughter::

So the fact that I'm in a Vespers right now with six female cast members proves that this must be a strange Vespers dream. Right? . . . DON'T answer that.

And then the next thing I discover in my dream is that I can walk by someone, anyone, and I can read them literally like a book.

::female scream::

Not like that. ::laughter::  . . . It's kinda like that story where the guy [garbled] the girl and he can just brush someone's sleeve or touch their arm and he suddenly sees everything that's happening in their life [sic].

LIGHTS!

And in this dream, I can do that. I can. It's happening right now. I can walk by you or you or maybe you, and I can take your [garbled] and whoosh put it on stage like this:

I sure hope i don't get another mushy couple in front of me like last time.

::laughter::

I always wondered during these things how those couples hold hands in the dark.

::laughter::

But this is a dream, right? I mean, nobody thinks things like this in a real Vespers.

::laughter::

I've got to keep moving, and suddenly there are these two girls . . . and suddenly . . . . I see, I hear woosh

What is it?

I'm scared. Sometimes at night I just wonder if it's all real. Like is God real? Is what we believe real? I've been taking this Cults class? And we're learning about [interference]. . . . How do we know that they aren't real?

It comes down to faith. God saves us, and we fight to believe that.

And those moments when I do feel like God is helping me, all is right. And then there are moments when I feel so dark and evil, and I think about the things that I would do. And I'm like, where is this coming from? Like if the Holy Spirit lives inside of me, then why is He letting me think these things? Sometimes I wonder if I'm even saved. What if I'm not saved?

I'm sure there's nobody here tonight who's thinking anything like that, right? I mean, this is a dream. And then, oh I forgot -- the back of the auditorium. I forgot about the back of auditorium. Hey, people in the back, are you still with me? Are you still awake?

::yes yes yes yes:: ::no::

Lights! Lights! Oh, get me some light!!! ::laughter::

Hey, you know, Cast! I need your help. Oh! I should mention that all six female cast members will play multiple roles tonight by indicating the changes with a single costume piece as a kind of visual synecdoche. Do that! [garbled] You awake? You alright? You alright? Hey! Hey! Are you holding hands?

::laughter:: ::applause::

But we're in a Vespers Dream. But there is going to be something very, very important in it. We're going to ask some of life's most important questions tonight. And I can guarantee you that how to hold hands in the dark is not one of those questions.

::laughter::

Nor is it an answer.

::laughter::

Okay, okay. So, somewhere, someone in the back

Oh Dave, what about the back of the balcony? ::laughter::

If there's a chaperone in the back of the balcony, shout hello.

Hello. Hello. Hello ::laughter::

Everyone's safe. Good. Now there's someone in the back of the main floor, back there, there's a girl. I can hear her thoughts from even here. And WATCH!

The doctor came out and talked to my dad with a clipboard. All my dad could do was hang his head. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look on him. I couldn't say anything. All i could do is just pray. I just prayed.

This is a dream, right? Isn't it?

Have you guys ever really, really considered the people sitting right around you? I doubt I have. Except for this dream. When it comes to Vespers, I usually just walk in here quietly, sit down, go "shhh," or complain about the "shhh," But I guarantee you, that there's someone here tonight maybe even in the same row as you who is carrying a burden you can't even imagine.

::giggle:: ::stomping:: ::giggle:: ::music::

Hi. I'm Dave Bean. You are the wonderful, wide-awake audience. We are in Rodeheaver Auditorium. This is Vespers. And this is a dream. Okay now, dreams are circular.

::laughter::

And then suddenly out of nowhere random people and places and events just fly in. They just appear, right? Kind of like this presentation from an actual Vespers in 1966

::laughter::

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee ::cellphone rings::

Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,  

::student in audience answers the phone::

Hey? Oh hey. ::laughter:: ::phone chatter::

Excuse me, sir. Sir? SIR? I said stop. We are trying to have a Vespers program. What are you doing on that strange noise making device.

::walking:: ::loud boom:: ::raucous laughter::

One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,  

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

::loud wind::

End.

Imagine these bird like shadows are not visually [garbled] changes.

::laughter::. birds tweeting.

We're moving forwards or backwards in time.

Ah, 1970s, NO! Wait, wait, wait . . . Hold, hold! In the shadows. LIGHTS! Ah. Sorry. There's a guy on the second row who didn't want to sit this close, but was ushered into the unwanted seat. And now he's asleep.

And this is a dream. So I threw something at him. It's a dream, you can fly right?

Thunder! Lightning! Rain!

::rain noises::

Listen -- I know you guys probably don't want to be here right now. If I'm honest, I used to feel the same way about Vespers on a Thursday night. There's a lot of other things you could be doing right now. Papers, projects . . . . who's gotta test tomorrow? ::laughter:: I know. But maybe, maybe this Dream Vespers will be so strange, so unexpected, that you'll actually listen to the message? I hope you will. I really do.

Hey -- we found seven girls awake. Oo [garbled].

::laughter::

It's just a strange dream. Come on let's all give this person a hand. ::applause::

Instead of allowing us all to slip blissfully into the catatonic state known as the willing suspension of disbelief, I'm shattering the Fourth Wall to shock you into awe.

Lights! Birds! Now because this is a dream all sorts of random things just fly in!

::jet noise::

A jet. Or a jungle. ::jungle noises:: Birds in palm trees, toucans laughing at us as they eat grapes, coconuts plunging to the earth around us, and then suddenly, suddenly. . . .

Bam! ::silence:: We're at Camp of the WILDS. ::hoots and applause:: Or Northland. ::hoots and applause::

Then suddenly the dream shifts again. It changes. And it's South Carolina. 1862. The American Civil War is here. WIth us. In our dream. Oh boy.

::gun fire. cannon fire. battle noises::

::laughter:: ::chatter:: ::laughter::

::battle sounds::

::laughter:: ::piano music::

::crickets::

::woman moaning:: "COMFORT YE!!!"

::laughter::

[Isaiah 40:1]Comfort ye my people, saith your God.

::crying::

[Isaiah 40:2]Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned. . . .

[Isaiah 40:8]The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever.

::crying::

This is a grief so intense the grief can only be expressed through a poetic Scripture passage. We all should connect for we are all facing death. Everyone of us here tonight is dying. Slowly. In some way. A person on B-3. Double-A, 1-5, Row B. All of us.

It's a lot easier to believe that you are like the grass that grows and withers and is dying when you are lying on a battlefield, blood seeping out of a hot wound. A lot of blood shed here today.

::crickets chirping:

Wonder what he thought as he died. . . .

[Isaiah 40:12]Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, and meted out heaven with the span, and comprehended the dust of the earth in a measure, and weighed the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance?

This is from the book of Isaiah, chapter 40 which is Messianic. That is to say it's about the coming of the promised Messiah, our new hope, THE only hope.

[Isaiah 40:22]that stretcheth out the heavens as a curtain, and spreadeth them out as a tent to dwell in:

[Isaiah 40:23][[That bringeth]] who maketh the princes to nothing; he maketh the judges of the earth as vanity.

You should rest.

[Isaiah 40:26]Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who hath created these things,

The next part of the dream is coming, and it's very hard.

[Isaiah 40:4]The crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain:

[Isaiah 40:5]And the glory of the LORD shall be revealed,

[mezzo-soprano singing]

We are climbing Jacob's ladder. We are climbing Jacob's ladder. We are climbing Jacob's ladder, Soldiers of the cross. Sinner, do you love my Jesus? Sinner, do you love my Jesus? Sinner, do you love my Jesus?

African spirituals are beautiful, aren't they? Almost makes the whole slavery thing worth it all.

::uncomfortable shifting in audience::

I shouldn't succumb to bitterness and sarcasm.

It's alright.

::laughter::

Hello, I'm Mary. [spoken in a caricature of a slave accent] The proverbial slave. And this? Is a dream. Now my character is stuck in the 1860s, and when she sings these spirituals they are desperate cries for freedom. Now Mary has actually heard some of y'all say, "Oh I can't wait to graduate." "I can't wait to go ahead 'cause then I'll be free." You act as if you have chains about your feet as if you live on a plantation." But you can run with out the sound of gunfire and ___ dogs behind you. And you can speak your mind without the whip at your back splitting your skin. And your children aren't sold away from you. I know what slavery means. [sigh]

But I believe that God sees His children in chains all across the South. And I believe that the Book says the crooked will be made straight and the rough places plain. But now nothing is as horrible as the enslavement of the human soul. You see we all -- black and white -- we all were born wearing chains. And Jesus saved me from those chains. I confess with my mouth that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. and I call upon His name and His name alone will save me.

And although I'm serving these Confederate soldiers who are so brave to find the true meaning of slavery. . . . I'm sorry. The Book says not to let bitterness spring up. Jesus help me.

Keep going.

And although I'm serving these confederate soldiers as a slave, picking up their dead bodies, blood running down my hands, I believe that the crooked will be made straight. And although my character won't see it -- she'll die on the side of the road from dysentery -- her great grandson will try to enroll at white colleges all across South Carolina, including BJU, and turn away because the chains of slavery run deep. But he will believe that the Gospel will redeem all of this, and that one day he will see it with his own eyes. And although she won't see it, her great great great granddaughter will see it. She will stand on Rodeheaver Auditorium stage and testify that the Gospel is working in this place. Yes. Yes! Right here. Right now. All of us -- black and white -- together in Rodeheaver Auditorium can see it and can praise God because the Gospel? is being shone abroad in our hearts.

And if my character could leave the 1860s, she would log on to www.bju.edu

::laughter::

And she would read the words written by Stephen Jones, and I quote:

For almost two centuries American Christianity, including BJU in its early stages, was characterized by the segregationist ethos of American culture. Consequently, for far too long, we allowed institutional policies regarding race to be shaped more directly by that ethos than by the principles and precepts of the Scriptures. [[This sentence was absent from what the performer read: We conformed to the culture rather than providing a clear Christian counterpoint to it.]]

In so doing, we failed to accurately represent the Lord and to fulfill the commandment to love others as ourselves. For these failures we are profoundly sorry.

End quote.

This, my fellow students -- for we are BJU -- is the Gospel at work.

[sung] We are climbing Jacob's ladder. Come on, why don't you sing it with me? We are climbing Jacob's ladder. We are climbing Jacob's ladder. We are climbing Jacob's ladder, Soldiers of the cross.

Wow. I didn't expect that message. I didn't expect anything. But this is Dream Vespers. And I'd love to sit here and ponder some of these things that we've just heard. But the dream keeps moving.

[lilanae-blog]

WE FINALLY AREN’T BROKE AS SHIT.  This has been the literal worst couple months of my life so lemme unload it all here for anyone who noticed I haven’t been on. So first, our roommates told us the day before last month’s rent was due they were leaving early and only paying for the first eleven days, going as far as to calculate it by day and then split it in half, so they had $400 to pay for rent and we had something like $1200 to find on our own PLUS late fees because they paid us late and we didn’t have it all because we expected to be paying way less than that. Plus the bills came in, which they said they’d still pay half of but never did (it’s okay now, you’ll find out why later).  So then I find out our move in deposit to our new place never calculated in the first month’s rent or anything (I thought we’d have until actual first month to pay but it was the prorate for the remaining two weeks of october). So instead of $600 we would need something like $1400.  The guy at the leasing office, luckily, is an absolute angel (i asked before if he got commission, he doesn’t, so seriously he had no real incentive to go this far for us) and he managed to talk his manager into letting us take our first month free they ere offering, apply it to our deposits, and pay the difference so it went down to $400.  Mind you through all of this my husband JUST found a job (not his fault, I fucked up his resume and didn’t realize it until later), and hadn’t gotten his first paycheck yet.  So i take the leftover money I saved from the deposit, get us a moving fan to move our shit out (only $20 so really not that bad but I still overdrafted). I did most of the packing and moving by myself because my husband’s energy was shutting the fuck down after all of this and I don’t blame him. Get our stuff moved in. Day after I come home from work and found my cat passed away in the middle of the night and we hadn’t realized it. We knew it was coming, he had cancer and hadn’t been doing well the last month. Part of me hates myself for not taking him to a vet but everyone who’s seen him since said it wouldn’t have made a difference, just made it take slightly longer. I also hate myself because I feel like my stress killed him. Right after is where miracles start happening though. My husband, the fucking amazing man that he is, took care of everything, got our friends to drive him with Simon to the animal hospital. When he got back (I hung out in the apartment’s office with my dog for a couple hours, I couldn’t be there alone) he tells me he didn’t have enough for the cremation service and that one of our roommates, who works there, paid for the entire thing, paying for the better package so I could have a pawprint. I still can’t believe it and it’s why I’m not gonna mention to them ever again about the bills (i caught up on them so it’s fine).  So then after this our next worry was first month’s rent for November. First problem is they don’t let you pay in installments here like my last place, meaning my husband and I have to go to my bank, deposit his money into my account (which sucks because he gets paid on a debit card so atm fees) and then get a check to drop off instead of being able to pay online (once we get ahead a little in savings I’ll be able to pay online again but this sucked). We also didn’t have the full amount because his paycard was having issues getting activated (First they put his birthday in wrong, then he couldnt long in, then it just plain wasn’t working yet. It’s fine now, finally).  But then he gets his first accurate check and he gets paid what I do every week, what I make in two. Fucking breath of fresh fucking air.  Then we remember his Nana is visiting us from south carolina. We pick her up no problem, week goes by okay but i feel like garbage because we literally have no money to spare to take her out anywhere or do anything so she ends up paying (She kinda insisted on it too though but still feels shitty). She helped us unpack a lot though because we had not unpacked a lot (most of what WAS done I did because my husband was still shutting down). But the first day she’s here our dog jumped off my husband’s stomach Normally this wouldn’t be a big deal but he has gastroschesis, meaning he’s missing a foot of his digestional tract and most of his stomach muscles. We legitimately spent four days worrying he was going to die (He refused to go to a hospital because of the costs but agreed if he felt it was serious enough he would go).  Luckily he’s fine now but he lost about a week of work. Then one of the people in our family we lent money to said he was sending us a check for $500 (lent him quite a bit). I was floored and so relieved because that mant that as of today we are fully paid on our first month’s rent plus $160 of late fees. Everything’s fine, and we even have some money leftover to have a headstart on bills.  Even though my husband lost a week of wages, we should still have more than enough for next month and be on track to being secure. Thank god for our friends who helped us. 

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

To Beard or Not to Beard

I hadn’t seen my face in 50 years. 

My children have never seen it. 

Since I was 22, I’ve had that full beard. It started as a bet. Everybody else dropped out after a month. Not me, I’m as stubborn as I am secretive.

Aside from the bet, I’m not sure why I grew it. I was the youngest of the guys in the bet so maybe I was trying to look older. Maybe I was trying to make it easier to buy beer. Can’t say for sure. All I know is that it came in and it stayed.

Turned out I was as good at growing a beard as I was at blowing smoke rings. At 22, it’s good to be good at anything. The beard outlasted the rings by thirty years. I smoke Black and Mild Cigars now just to blow the rings and I’m still good at that. I can blow smoke rings through smoke rings like the giant Camel Man did from the billboard mounted on the Claridge Hotel on Broadway between 43rd and 44th Street that used to blow smoke rings over Time Square.

That poster disappeared long before my beard did but not before Camelman spent a few years blowing smoke ringsider adult bookshops and peep shows.

My beard disappeared yesterday. None of my children were around but my wife was.

We’ve moved down here to Carolina, along way from Gotham. The weather is so hot that the lizards are turning colors on the front porches. Maybe the heat had something to do with the disappearance. Maybe i thought it would be cooler both literally and figuratively.

Nobody knows me around here anyways.

I don’t know.

It just happened.

Maybe it was because my beard trimmer decided to die halfway through my usual trim. I picked up the razor that my wife uses on her legs and started to rub it across my face. It felt kinda good. Kinda cool.

I went into the shower and kept dragging the blade across my face as remaining the whiskers went down the drain.

No mess.

No mirror during the shave.

Naked, I stepped out of the shower. I didn’t realize exactly how naked I was until I looked into the bathroom mirror.

I got the first glimpse of my full face in half a century.

It looked all right. No big thing.

I toweled off. I put on my clothes.

I walked into the living room where my wife was watching teevee.

I stepped directly in front of the teevee. She always accuses me of being an attention whore and I always deny it.

She says that I’m in denial.

I say I deny what isn’t true etc.

I was looking for her attention at that moment.

She had never seen my naked face before. I had kept it a secret.

She noticed.

“that’s a nice change”, she said and went back to her viewing.

I didn’t know how to respond so I just said “good.”

I’d been through a lot of stages with my beard

Single guy,  married guy, father, divorced guy, single guy, remarried guy, father, stepfather, teaching guy, retired guy, cancer guy...you name it.

Beards have come and gone and come again in fashion. I was a constant. I’ve been stereotyped both positively and negatively because of my beard. It came in handy at Dead concerts when strangers were passing joints around or when a hockey team was going into the playoffs. Not so handy when I would run into beard haters who thought beards were for bums, beatniks, hippies, ARTsy fartsys, sick son of a bitches from hell hole trailers in South Carolina and a whole range of hater paranoia.

After awhile, I forgot I had a beard until I would see a picture of myself and realize that my beard was my outstanding feature.

In describing or trying to identify me a witness might say: “he had a beard.”

If I was an extra in a movie, i’d be ‘guy with beard’ and that’s why I would have been hired in the first place because casting was in a hurry and needed a ‘guy with beard’ immediately.

Later that night, I went to the mirror and took a closer look.

I looked ‘younger’ without the beard.

The younger underneath looked startlingly older than the under looked the last time that I saw it.

I looked younger and older.

I looked weird and naked.

My face was a little less tan where my stash and beard used to be.

For all those years, I had set my ‘under” face in a certain way. I never moved it much and the beginning of puppet mouth had set in for shits and giggles.

My wife noticed that, of course, and pointed it out to me

And now I notice it and it’s all that I can see.

Howdy Fuckin’ Doody.

When we told Mary, our daughter in Boston about the change, she seemed startled. This was her reply.

“If you don’t like it, you can grow it back.”

I don’t know if I like it or not.

I was starting to look kinda writers with the beard. My friend Cal even went so far as Hemmingwayish. Now I looked more Doodyish.

And so naked as to seem almost profane.

Barefaced

Darefaced

Glarefaced

Unhairfaced

Nairfaced

Terrorfaced

Way O’er Faced.

Plus, I hadn’t felt stubble on my cheek or chin forever.

I ran my hand across my chin as I went to bed that night.

I felt the stubble.

It felt good.

My wife had never rubbed my cheek that carried five hours worth of fresh stubble.

I said, “Hey Honey, rub my cheek.”

She said

“I’m too tired.

I’ll rub it tomorrow.”

And tomorrow, I would once again be faced with the dilemma, the daily question that faced and all men’s faces  almost every day. : To beard or not to beard.