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cal-puddies · 3 years

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You'll See me in Hindsight // Calum Hood

hello friends. I hope you are here to enjoy the first part of Even if it's Just Pretend, a three part series featuring the Calum Hood. I've been working on this for months. like probably since late July early august. and It's a lot of angst and smut (because what else would you expect!) @kindahoping4forever who is forever my partner in things did these graphics and helped me clean up the grammar. 🦦🦦💕💕

Warnings: This part is mostly just angst and a lil bit of smut.

Word count: 5382

Cass & Crystal’s Masterlist

Let us know what you think!

March 26th.

If you could do the whole day over again, you probably would.

Logically, you knew that even if you could go back and make different choices, it wouldn’t change the outcome.

You take a sip of the drink you’re holding. You know he’s gonna be here, he has to be. Ashton finally found someone to spend his life with. You were around for so much of their relationship, you ended up becoming quite close with both Ash and Lyric.

In fact, when you’d tried to opt out of the wedding shower, you were told it was required since you were, of course, the maid of honor. When you made eye contact to ask if Cal would be the best man, you just got a slight nod, indicating that yes, he would be.

You take a sip and you hear his giggle above everything else and it’s like suddenly the air is knocked out of your lungs. He still knocks the breath out of you, like when he walks in the room, all the air leaves. It’s far from an ego thing, people just can’t help but love him.

Everyone’s Baby, that’s what you used to say to him. No one ever stayed mad at him and everyone loved having him around. He just drew that kind of attention. It’s what makes it hard for you to stay mad at him. Even as he missed another date, even as you broke up… you couldn’t stay mad.

He did his best but it just wasn’t enough to meet your needs.

You sit on the couch with your laptop and a glass of wine. Cal’s hoodie engulfs your body as you lounge. You'd practically begged him to be early or at the very least on time so that you could watch a movie and spend some time together but he’s already an hour and a half later than he said he’d be.

You hear his key in the door and he breezes through, kissing you on the forehead, “Hey gorgeous… I know… but you know how Ash gets about getting things perfect while the vibe is good.” He plops next to you.

“Yeah… I get it,” you nod, leaving it at that for now. “Um, I was just looking at the calendar, do you think you can update with any stuff you guys have? I have days off I need to burn and I’d like to spend them with you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll sync it right now, while I go change.” He leans over to press a kiss to your lips.

“Cal, it’s already pretty late and I have shit I have to do in the morning. I’m not gonna make it through a movie,” you admit.

“I know… I’m so sorry, babe. With Lyric outta town, Ash didn’t want to go home and be alone, so he basically kept us all hostage.”

You take a deep breath. “We just don’t get time together anymore. I don’t remember it being this hard. This… whatever this conversation is... is the longest we’ve been awake in the house together since I can remember.”

“Love.” Cal waits until you meet his eyes. “We’ll make time. I promise.”

“Yeah… when we can pencil in time to pencil each other in.” You sigh. “I miss when we were in pen, Cal.” You look at him for what feels like both a lifetime and only seconds all at once. “I’m just… I’m gonna go to bed. I’m tired.”

Cal surprises you by crawling into bed next to you instead of staying up. He rests his arm over your waist but judging by his breathing and the amount of movement, he’s having as much trouble sleeping as you are.

You’re a zombie when you finally get out of bed, little bits of fitful sleep are all you’d managed. You text your boss that you’ll be late. You make a pot of coffee, grab your laptop and sit at the dining table.

Cal comes out about 40 minutes later. He kisses the top of your head and grabs a cup of coffee. He makes toast for both of you and you silently eat together. You have the urge to cry but you hold it in.

“You’re home late,” he mentions.

“Um, I didn’t think I should leave without us at least seeing each other… instead of me just seeing you sleep,” you shrug, shutting the laptop and turning toward him.

He lets out a humorless laugh, “I wasn’t really doing that last night.”

“I know… me either.”

“I know.”

You stay silent for another few minutes before Cal grabs your hands. You watch him admire them, like he's trying to memorize them. He turns them over, rubs over them, feels each of your fingers and cups them in his, bringing them to his lips to kiss.

“This isn’t working, is it?” You ask, voice cracking as you chew your lip, trying to stop the tears.

Cal looks at you and you can tell he’s fighting back his own tears. “I don’t think so,” he admits, taking a couple deep breaths. “But I love you so, so much,” he emphasizes, letting his tears fall.

You sigh, “I know. I love you.”

“I don’t know when… when we stopped putting us in pen… but I know I thought that loving each other would take us through it, till we got back to that point… but I don’t know if it’s coming… and it’s not fair to keep you always waiting on me.” Cal hangs his head, his tears hit your hands where he holds them in his lap.

“I don’t want this,” you whisper, not trusting your voice.

Cal tugs your hands and pulls you into his lap, holding you tight to his body. “I don’t either… but…”

“Don’t say it, Cal, I know.” You cling to him.

You can still feel the soft kisses, the way the two of you made love for the last time, his hands memorizing your body, his mouth doing the same to yours. His last “I love you” as he walked you to your car, and the last look as he tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed you for the last time, saying he’d stay with Ash until you found a place.

Cal makes his way around the room, greeting everyone as if this party was for him. It makes you smile to see him so extroverted among his friends.

“And you,” he says, stopping in front of you. “It’s really good to see you.” A soft smile crosses his face but you see conflict in his eyes, not knowing if he should hug you or not.

“It’s good to see you.” You reach over and touch his arm. “You look good.”

He rolls his eyes. “Ash made me dress up.” He reaches for your hand and does the thing he used to, where he’d feel all over it, rub his thumb over both sides, and gently pull each of your fingers between his. It calmed anxiety for the both of you.

“I get that… Lyric picked my dress,” you chuckle, fanning out the skirt a little.

“You look incredible.” He stops for a moment to take you in. “Can you believe these two are gonna do this?!” He asks, finally dropping your hand, realizing it might be a little weird. “I mean we were there for the proposal but I guess I never realized it’d finally get here.” He turns so you're both looking out among the rest of the party.

“I guess I just kinda figured they’d be perpetually engaged until Crystal annoyed them enough to start planning a wedding and then Ash would get frustrated and just take Lyric to the courthouse.”

“Yeah…” He nods. “I kinda always thought we’d elope,” he mentions with a shrug, looking over at you.

You clench your jaw and let out a tense laugh, “That definitely seems like something we would have done...” There’s a beat before you hold up your empty glass. “Uhh… I’m gonna go get another drink.” You need to get away and fast, because that hurt, like a punch to the stomach.

You get your drink and start to make your own rounds, acutely aware of where Calum is at all times. Those four months apart haven't healed anything for you yet and if it had, that comment he just made would’ve torn off any scab that had formed.

Lyric can tell immediately that something is off when you approach her and it’s written on her face. Ash intercepts you in a bear hug. “There’s the maid of honor!” He teases, “Saw you and the best man getting a little cozy.”

“Yeah… then my ex said he always thought we’d elope.”

A pained expression crosses both Ash and Lyric’s faces at the same time. “He really said that, huh?” Lyric squeezes your arm sympathetically.

“And I ran away.”

“I’m sorry babe,” Ash says, squeezing your other arm.

“It’s not like we could avoid each other forever, especially with you two lovebirds getting married,” you sing-song. Ash gets another pained expression and you shake your head. “Don’t say it, Ash. I know everyone thought Cal and I would too. But this is about you guys!” You squeeze Lyric’s hand.

A couple hours pass and then the party is winding down. Ash and Lyric had asked the wedding party to stop by their place afterwards for drinks and to discuss some plans, so you gather your things, preparing to head over there.

Cal comes up to you. “Hey, can I catch a ride? I came with the happy couple and I want them to have this moment a bit longer.”

“Of course.” You smile.

As the two of you head for the door, Cal rests his hand on your lower back. You don’t say anything because it’s always been comfortable, even before the two of you were dating, back when Lyric had just introduced you.

“Hey… I probably owe you an apology. I said too much earlier… I just…”

You interrupt him. “It’s OK, handsome. We haven’t really seen each other since everything and I guess we haven’t really adjusted how we speak to each other.”

Cal sighs quietly, “I don’t want to have to adjust how I talk to you.” You bite your lip and pretend you didn’t hear him because the only response you have toward it wouldn’t be fair of you to say to him right now. He asks, “You want me to drive? I know you hate the hills at night.”

“Sure.” You hand him the keys and he opens the passenger side door for you.

When you stop at a red light, you watch him as his hand starts to reach over to rest on your thigh and then he stops himself, flexing his fingers before putting them back on the steering wheel. “Habit,” he explains.

“Yeah I know… I’ve watched from the backseat while you put your hand on Ash’s thigh,” you laugh.

“He does have really nice, strong thighs.” He plays along, saying it flirtatiously and slowly, emphasizing nice and strong.

You both laugh. “So do you, Cal… I know that all too well.” You wink when he glances at you and some of the tension dissipates.

“They want destination stag parties, have they told you? Same destination. Ash wants to be able to go to bed with her.” He shrugs. “I was thinking Vegas.”

“Yeah, we had lunch last week. I don’t think Vegas will be that fun for Ash… maybe somewhere we can go and spend some time out on the water or something. Plenty to do together and separate, you know?”

“Oh yeah… you always think things through more. We should get a meal and talk about it. Or you can come by, we can make dinner…”

“What, like a date?” You tease.

“Yeah, OK… that’s fair,” he nods, chuckling. “We’ll do lunch then.”

“Cal, it’s fine, I know how you are with public outings, I’ll come to the house. I miss Little Man anyway.”

“Duke’ll be so excited to see you.” Cal puts your car in park and then smiles over at you. “Just let me know what works.”

———————

Cal feels nervous. His hands shake slightly as he tries to clean up the house a bit and at the last minute, he decides he needs to change. You show up in the middle of that, letting yourself in.

Cal walks out, buttoning up his shirt, “Hey, you’re here!”

“Yeah, sorry, I let myself in.”

“It’s fine, I should’ve guessed you would.” He smiles.

“I still like that shirt,” you smile back.

“Thank you.” He leans in to kiss your cheek. “You look… amazing.”

You glance around. “Tried to do a quick clean up?” You tease.

“You can tell?”

“I know your tells.” You laugh, pointing toward a small pile of stuff on a shelf that doesn’t belong. Cal feels even more nervous as he sheepishly shrugs. “It’s why we usually hired someone to come in, we both do shit like that.” You chuckle and Cal relaxes, letting out a small giggle.

Cal orders dinner, pours you a glass of wine and the two of you sit on the couch and start discussing the upcoming trip, laughing about the shenanigans that you’ve experienced on past group vacations.

He grabs his MacBook so you guys can start looking things over and pricing them out. He can’t help but stare at you while you make decisions between hotels and AirBnBs, lake versus ocean, the kind of nightlife you want available in balance with daytime activities.

He loves you like this, totally in your element and getting excited about something. He watches your eyes light up when something catches your attention. Without much thought he rests his hand on your thigh and his heart skips a beat for a moment while you kind of stare at it. You rest your hand on top of his and wrap your fingers around his, giving it a little squeeze.

He moves in a little closer and rests his chin on your shoulder so he can see what you're so fascinated with. He feels you hold your breath and considers what that might mean. He hopes you miss him because he definitely misses you. He’s thought about you everyday for months.

He relaxes when you finally breathe. You squeeze his hand again and Cal pulls his chin off your shoulder so you can turn your head to look at him. He sees the questions in your eyes but he seizes the opportunity and gently pushes the hair off your face. He tucks his fingers under your chin to pull you in for a kiss. You’re hesitant at first and slowly kiss back but he waits you out until you melt into him. But when his hand slips into your hair, you pull back.

He knows immediately that you’re upset. Your nostrils flare and you huff out a breath.

“What? Did I read that wrong?”

“No… but we can’t do this. We’ve made promises to our friends, the bride and groom, that we’d be chill and not complicate this.”

Cal nods. “It’s complicated whether they want it to be or not, babe. Because at the end of the day we’re not done… or at least, I don’t think we are. And it’s my goal to get back to you and be good enough for you.”

“Calum.” You sigh. “You are good enough for me… we just… need to work on ourselves a bit.” You shrug. “Figure out how we work together now… in the beginning we did all our growing together and then things really started taking off for you guys so we started growing more separate than together. And now… well, we have to figure ourselves out before we try to jam the pieces back together.”

“But you want to get back together?” He clarifies.

“Yes…. No? …Maybe? You’re all I’ve known for four years... What am I supposed to do, stop wanting you all together? Stop loving you? I don’t think that’s possible.”

“It’s my goal to get back to you.” He reiterates, grabbing your hand, gently rubbing his thumb across the skin.

Your eyes soften as they meet his and you cup his cheek. “I want nothing more but I don’t want to rush it… and I don’t want it to get in the way of what we’re doing for Lyric and Ash.”

Cal chews his lip. He wants to argue and have this out now. He wants his life to go back to normal and to have you back home with him. He misses your laugh, your smell, and your little whines. He misses the way you take up space in his bed and the way you touch him. Your presence was beyond reassuring for him. You know his soul.

But you’re headstrong, stubborn, and loyal to a fault. There’s no way you’re gonna let this go that easily. So he decides to wait.

———————

Cal wraps his arm around your waist as you all head toward the next bar. Ashton and Lyric are already heading back to the hotel, anticipating the following island day being hot and exhausting. With the guests of honor gone, you and Cal both feel the shared responsibility to take care of everyone.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Cal asks.

“Please, no,” you laugh. “I want to enjoy tomorrow and if I get drunk tonight I’m going to be miserable.”

“Water it is.”

“Hey, you don’t have to join me.”

“And leave you to wrangle slutty, drunk Luke? I don’t think so.”

Luke does get drunk and everyone gets easily annoyed. Once that happens, the night quickly ends. Cal gets in a car with half the people and sends you off with the other half in a separate car. You see people onto the elevator and get them going to their respective floors and you wait for Cal in the lobby. You're not sure why… but with as much time as you’ve spent with him lately, it just felt right.

“Hey,” he greets, ushering people, including you, onto the elevator. He asks you quietly, “You wanna stay up with me?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Once everyone is safely in their rooms, Cal walks you to his, just three doors down from yours. He lets you in, turns on a lamp and leads you out to the balcony. “Tonight was… wild,” he laughs.

“Uh… yeah… can you imagine us all being on a boat, stuck on an island tomorrow?”

He smiles over at you. “Oh no… this was a bad idea…”

“Well… it’s what the bride and groom wanted,” you shrug, biting your lip.

Cal reaches over and pushes the hair off your face, putting the two of you in yet another trance. He gently cups your chin and then his lips are on yours. He pulls you in, tight against his chest, and deepens the kiss. You let him.

He still makes all the right moves, just like his timing and curious hands were made only for your body. It’s easy for you to melt into him - it’s familiar yet it’s been long enough that it almost feels new.

You push against his chest and he immediately pulls back. He rushes out, “Shit, I’m so sorry… it’s just…”

“Fine… it’s fine… just let me get my bearings for a second.” You hum, smiling at him, grabbing onto his arms so he won’t pull away. You take a deep breath as you look at Calum and then you’re on your toes, kissing him again. His hands slide down to your ass; he squeezes and picks you up, your legs wrap around his waist and he moves you both to the bed. You remember how being with him like this was one of the greatest feelings in the world. And it’s feeling like that still proves to be true.

He looks focused as he gently yanks the shorts you’re wearing off your hips. His eyebrows knit together as his eyes find yours. You reach and cup his chin, nodding to let him know it’s OK. “I’ve missed the way you taste,” he murmurs.

“I’ve missed this.”

His eyes are back on yours. “Me too, Darlin’,” he hums. “C’mere.” He pulls you up for another kiss and this time the two of you peel the rest of the clothing off each other. When Cal’s shirt comes off, you take a moment to admire him and the tattoos, appreciating the new ones and how his body has been responding to working out. He chuckles, “Get a good look, little one?”

“Sorry,” you say, blushing. “Been a minute since I’ve seen anyone naked, let alone you and this bod I've always loved.”

“Ash is looking great naked… ya know, Luke’s been looking good too,” he jokes and you know it’s to make you feel better and also to answer a question you were afraid to ask. “But you? Gorgeous as always.” You blush harder and Cal leans in to kiss your cheek. “I always felt so lucky to be the man that got to see you like this… and what’s coming next.”

He scoops his arm around your back and repositions you on the bed, making room for him to lay on his stomach between your legs. He takes his time kissing on your thighs, his thumbs slowly pulling your lips apart, and you shudder when his hot breath hits your sensitive skin. You sigh, “Please, handsome.”

“Relax for me… it’s me, babe. We’ve been here,” he reminds you.

And it does seem to help: your legs relax over his shoulders and your fingers thread into his hair. “Yeah,” you nod.

“I know it’s been awhile, love. For me too. We can take this slow,” he promises.

His tongue almost feels foreign as it slicks through your folds. You used to know what to anticipate but it seems it’s either been too long or you're too keyed up because when his lips wrap around your clit to suck, you see stars and your body tenses in an almost painful way. Cal pulls off, letting his tongue caress over your clit while his hands try to comfort you and coax you into relaxing.

He changes his technique after seeing that it’s clearly too much for you. He switches over to the technique where he basically just makes out with your pussy. It’s still unmistakably intimate but not quite as intense. Your body relaxes into his embrace, thankful to be with someone who knows you so well. Not that you’ve even thought about being with anyone since Cal.

You look down at him and see he’s looking up at you. Your breathing picks up at the sight - you get lost in his warm, brown eyes. Your fingers tighten in his hair and he tightens his grip on you, keeping you close and anchored to him.

“Oh… Caaaal,” you moan, back arching off the bed.

“That’s my girl,” he coos.

You know he loves when you’re vocal and you can’t help but chant his name. Stringing it out like a melody, decorated with the occasional “fuck” and “please, baby”. Calum’s tongue presses into your entrance and you tense up, orgasm sneaking up on you. He licks you through it and then kisses up your belly to your mouth, and the resulting kiss you share is so slow yet needy. You pull him against you, needing to feel the weight of him and his familiar warmth.

“You want more?” He asks, pushing himself up to get a look at you. And you know just from looking at him that he’s prepared to give you anything you want.

You nod, biting your lip, “Want you.”

He nods, “Want you too.” He thinks for a minute. “I don’t have any condoms… I wasn’t expecting to…”

“I still have my IUD… it’s OK.” You rub your hands over his chest.

“Baby…” he starts.

“I mean it, Calum, it’s OK, we still can,” you reassure him.

He seems to think on it a little longer. “OK… but…” He rolls the two of you onto your sides, facing each other, pulling your leg so your thigh is over his hip. “Like this.”

He’s so hard. You can feel his stiff cock between your bodies but he doesn’t seem to be in any sort of rush. He’s letting his fingers trail over your skin all while he captures your lips in a slow, passionate kiss. His lips move down to your neck as he gently palms your breasts, tweaking your nipples. You trail your hand down his stomach, wondering if he’s waiting for you to take the lead.

“It’s been 8 months, love, and a long ass tour, let me take my time,” he insists, and you can’t help but let him. He gropes your ass and pulls you impossibly close before checking in. “You ready?”

You nod, bracing yourself. He pushes his head in, stopping to gauge your reaction. You bite your lip but keep eye contact and he gives you a few shallow thrusts, causing you to moan.

He slides all the way in and then stops, letting each of you adjust. He tilts your chin up for a kiss. “Still feels like you’re made for me,” he groans.

“Yeah… yeah… feels good,” you moan, nodding at him.

Calum kisses you softly, which is fine because you want to remember every second of this; the way he feels and all his sounds, the way his chest moves as he starts to breathe heavier, thrusting into you like he’s trying to savor the way it feels as well.

He cums first, squeezing your ass tight as he holds you on him, moaning out for you.

You barely have time to fully comprehend him pulling out before he’s pushing two fingers in to finish you off. Always a gentleman in bed. It didn’t matter though, all you really wanted was to be close to him again.

Your second orgasm causes your body to shake and it seems Cal anticipates that, squeezing you tight to his body before pulling his fingers out. He rocks you, whispering, “I’ve got you,” like a mantra, like if he says it enough, he’ll convince you both it’s true for more than this moment.

After a quick bathroom break to clean up, the two of you are back in bed. Cal’s on his back and you’re laying with your arms crossed over his stomach and chest, head resting on top looking at him. The sheet covers your naked lower halves. Cal’s fingers draw patterns into your skin as he tells you funny stories from tour.

You both quiet down from a fit of giggles and his tone turns serious. “Can I ask you something? Probably gonna be tough to discuss,” he admits. You nod, noting it’s 4AM and you both need to be down at breakfast in four hours. He checks the clock too and shrugs, “Maybe we should sleep.” You gently pinch him so he knows to ask his question. He goes for it. “Do you think, if I’d have come home on time that night, we’d still be together?”

You don’t know why you were expecting anything but that question. You sigh, “Honestly? No. I think if you’d come home on time it just would have prolonged it a little bit? Like if it wasn’t then then it would have probably been in the next couple weeks. I don’t think we’d have made it through tour.” He takes a deep breath and you watch him. That wasn’t the answer he expected. “I think we needed it, honestly. Like, I’m to blame too. And I wanted it to be all your fault. I never would have admitted that.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, flattening his hand on your back to rub it.

“I knew where you were. If I really wanted to spend time with you, I could have texted you and come to the studio, like the other girls do. I could have made time to be with you too, instead of expecting you to do it all. I think part of me just wanted to see you put me first, which was dumb. I knew from the day we met that music would always be your number one and I operated fine knowing that. But the times I forgot that or wanted something different, that’s when I stopped being a good partner to you. Do I think that you could have come home on time? Absolutely. But it just furthers my point that we’re both to blame. We both stopped prioritizing each other where we used to. I needed to be away from you to know that,” you say quietly.

“You’ve thought about this. A lot.”

“I’ve had plenty of time to, in case we ever had this exact conversation. Never really saw it happening like this, though,” you chuckle.

“Are you gonna regret this?” He chews his lip, which tells you he’s now feeling insecure about having done this with you.

You give him a soft smile and lean up to kiss him, cupping his face.“No. It’s always worth it to be the center of your world for a minute.” You make it sound definite so he doesn’t keep worrying about it.

“Last thing and we can move on, I swear... d’you think you’re ready to get back together?”

You don’t hesitate to answer. “It’s a conversation I’m more than open to having. You?”

“Of course… I’ve been thinking about nobody but you for 8 months. How we both cried and I held you and how if something hurt so bad, how could it be right? Wondering if the pain was the right thing.” He gently pets your hair. “How hurt you looked both that night and in the morning. But then I always think... ‘Is it just because I was comfortable? Do I really want you or will a series of warm bodies do?’ And I always, always came back to you. No one’s ever gonna compare to you. You hit this very high standard thanks to my mom and Mali. A world tour away, not having you to call when I needed someone…”

“You could have called anyone,” you point out lightly.

“Oh I did, called half the people in my contacts at some point during tour but you’re the only one I actually wanted or needed to hear from. And I didn’t. And I couldn't ask that of you because I knew how’d it’d live with you.” He sighs. “So suffice it to say, yes, I have thought about getting back together and getting you back is very high on my list of things to do. But I think it’s gonna take more than a night together. We obviously need to talk through some things…”

You put your hand over his mouth so he’ll stop talking and you shift so you’re on your knees, face to face with him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Bubba,” you softly say, running your hand through his curls. “Let’s make it through this wedding. None of the spotlight should be taken from Lyric and Ash. Then we can talk about it.”

Cal pulls you into another kiss. “Does that mean this can’t happen anymore?”

“I think we should feel it out, like we did tonight. I don’t want to put any more pressure on either of us.” You lay back down next to him, your head sharing his pillow.

He turns his head and cups your face for a kiss. “You’re welcome in my bed whenever you want. Here or back home.” He watches your eyes, making sure you understand the depth of his invitation. You give him a little nod and a barely whispered ‘OK’ before sharing another gentle kiss, allowing you to relish in the very distinct feeling of his lips on yours.

The topic is changed and you and Cal cuddle in further together, giggling and talking until the sun comes up, when you both declare you need the 45 minutes of sleep before you have to get ready for the day. You curl into him and he wraps around you protectively.

#calum hood #calum smut #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos smut #even if it's just pretend #eiijp #you'll see me in hindsight #title credit to one ms swift #we love her #wildest dreams #cass #smut #calum

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irondad-not-ironsad · 3 years

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but all I really want is you

Summary: Gilbert tells a white lie. Anne run's and he doesn't go after her. After a few weeks, he receives a letter from her.

Author's Note: This story happens in the same world as my other fic "till the morning light" but you don't need to have read that to understand this one. Title is also from the Other Side of the Door, by Taylor Swift. This is probably the angstiest thing I've ever written, so hopefully it's not horrible. As always, comments are much appareciated

"I said 'leave', but all I really want is you to stand outside my window throwing pebbles screaming 'I'm in love with you.'"- Taylor Swift, The Other Side of the Door

In hindsight, Gilbert can see where he screwed up. College was done for the summer, and he was meant to meet Anne outside of her last class. Since his ferry had arrived about an hour before that time, he decided to take a stroll through town. The last person he had expected to see was Winifred Rose, who he knew had taken up residence in Paris. Initially, he tried to avoid eye contact but when she noticed him and began making her way in his direction he realized there would be no avoiding this awkward conversation.

"Ms. Rose, nice to see you." Gilbert was unsure how etiquette would call for him to behave here.

"Please Gilbert, we know eachother to well for such formalities. Besides, it is Mrs. Blanchet now."

Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief hearing this. It was clear that Winnie was happy and had moved on.

"Congratulations'

"Thank you. We have decided to return to Charlottetown for the time being, as it'll do us well to have my parents near to help out." at this, she placed a hand on her stomach, and only know did he realize that while it had probably only been few months, she was clearly with child.

"Now you must come to tea with me so we can catch up. I ran into your Anne the day I left for Paris and I simply must now how that turned out. If it worked out how I hope it did, I do believe I deserve most of the credit, as she informed me that you had told her nothing at that point."

Chuckling, Gilbert was glad to see that it seemed she wanted to remain friends. Leading her to the café, he began to tell her all about Anne.

There seemed to be some irony in the fact that he got so distracted gushing about Anne, that he was late to meet her. He ended up going to her boarding house once he realized she was not waiting outside of the building she'd had class in. With all the other girls there, he didn't want to bring up who he had been with so he simply said he was hungry after his long trip and had stopped to eat. Luckily, Anne only teasingly chided him for his rudeness, before planting a hello kiss on his cheek. Gilbert had visited both Charlottetown and Avonlea a few times over the course of the school year, and the couple had got to spend a glorious two weeks together for Christmas. They naturally still got into small arguments, after all, they were still Anne and Gilbert, but after the first fight they had had as a couple, they made it a point to always talk things through before saying goodnight. As nice as the following morning had been, Gilbert's back was sore for days after he slept on her front porch.

The Cuthbert family was having dinner at the Blythe-Lacroix home that evening, and it was going quite well. That is, until Mrs. Lynde entered unannounced with the glint her eye that Gilbert knew meant she had some gossip she was dying to reveal. She, of course, had some excuse or another for stopping by, but Gilbert couldn't pay attention after looked at him in such a way that he immediately knew that what she had to say would be getting him in trouble.

"Oh Gilbert, how is Miss Rose doing?" Gilbert choked on his water a bit at this, and as he recovered and replied.

"What do you mean, Ms. Lynde? Winnifred is in Paris."

"That's what I thought to, my dear. But I ran into Mrs. Gillis just a little while ago, and she heard from Mrs. Andrews, who heard from her daughter Jane, who heard from Josie Pye that Gilbert had tea with Miss Rose this afternoon."

"Ah, yes… uh, she seems to be doing quite well, but she's actually-"

"Gilbert, can I have a word with you outside?"

And that is how Gilbert found himself standing on his front porch being shouted at. In the back of his mind he thought that everyone inside could most certainly hear her, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he was getting quite frustrated himself.

"Why can't you just trust me? I ended things with Winifred, because I love you! I don't know what more I'm supposed to do to prove it to you!"

"How am I meant to trust you when you lie to me? If you had simply told me the truth in the first place, I wouldn't have care. But don't worry, you needn't worry about proving anything to me anymore." With that, she turned and ran.

"Anne, wait! Please, I don't want to fight."

Anne seemed to pause, and for a moment Gilbert thought his words had gotten through to her. But then, she shook her head and continued to walk away. He found himself frozen in place for an instant, before making to go after her. He was stopped abruptly as he felt a hand wrap around his arm.

"I think it's best you give Queen Anne some time to cool off." and with that, his brother pulled him back into the house. It seems that during the fight, the Cuthberts had prepared to leave. Marilla only gave a polite thanks and goodbye, but as she left her brother lingered for a moment.

"I, uh, I'm certain the two of you will work things out. You always have before." With that, he gave Gilbert a sympathetic smile and followed his sister.

The next morning, Gilbert went to Green Gables. Marilla immediately invited him in in her usual polite manner.

"I assume you’re here for Anne?" Gilbert nodded, and the older woman continued. "She's still up in her room, no doubt sulking." With that, she walked to the staircase and raised her voice slightly. "Anne, Gilbert is here to see you."

Gilbert could hear her walk to top of the stairs, but he resisted the urge to immediatley go to her.

"Tell him to leave!"

At this, Gilbert looked to Marilla pleadingly.

"I am sorry, but you heard the girl. I'm sure she'll come find you when she's ready to talk."

Gilbert decided the best course of action was to listen to what everyone was telling him and leave her alone. When two weeks went by and she still had not come around, he assumed she was really done with him. She had stopped even coming to see Delly, which truly shocked Gilbert. Even before they were a couple, Anne was always stopping by for visits with her.

It seems that the old saying is true, that absence makes the heart grow fonder. All Gilbert can seem to think about while he attempts to give her time are all the pleasant memories he had with her. He had been in love with her ever since he was whacked by her slate, though he didn't realize it immediatley. He had very little hope of her feeling the same for a very long time, and one would think that would make him love her less, but instead his feelings only grew. He remembers the first time he felt real hope that she could love him in return, when they danced together in the old school house. Of course, he had made a mess of things then by brining Winifred to the dance. Remembering how badly he had messed up before, he found himself believing that if she still loved him after that, she could forgive him for this. Despite the difficulties associated with a long distance courtship, the past few months had been some of the best of his life, and that was in large part due to her. His brother often called him a sap for how mushy he could be with her, but he couldn't help but shower her with affection when he had hoped for so long to have the oppurtunity to. Mrs. Lynde would say the way he behaved was improper, but he couldn't bring himself to care. So long as it made Anne smile, he could handle a few snide remarks. He knew they'd spent more than a few weeks apart when at college, but something about knowing she was only a short walk away made him miss her more than he ever had before.

Just as Gilbert was beginning to lose hope, he came home from the store to find a letter on the kitchen table addressed to him in handwriting he would know anywhere. Hazel tried to stop him as he headed to his room to read it, saying she needed to talk to him but he brushed her off. He may have been a bit rude, but he was so glad to hear from Anne he couldn't bring himself to care.

Dear Gilbert,

In the heat of our fight, I ran away, and since then I have been rather cold to you. If I haven't made it clear, I was quite angry with you. I'll admit, it may have been a little childish of me to refuse to see you the day after, but I was afraid of my own temper. You see, I was so mad I thought I might've done something idiotic like end things between us. I'm honestly no longer sure which made me more upset, your little white lie or that you didn't chase after me when I left. It's silly, I know, for me to ask you to leave me be and then be sad when you do. But I've come to realize that all I really want is you, though my pride has not allowed me to say it until now. In all honestly, I have been hoping that you'd appear outside my window, throwing pebbles and professing your love. That is to say, after everything I must confess I am still scandalously in love with you.

With love and forgiveness,

Your Anne with an E

As soon as he was able to convince himself that what he had read was real, he ran out the backdoor and took of for Green Gables, only stopping to gather a few pebbles. The joy Gilbert felt in that moment reminded him of the excitement he had felt months ago on the train when Diana had told him that Anne loved him. Once he reached Green Gables, he raced to the side of the house where he knew Anne's window was and began tossing the pebbles. It took three tries for the window to open, but Gilbert was shocked when it wasn't Anne who opened it.

"Diana? Is Anne there?" The girl seemed to need a moment to compose herself before responding.

"Come inside. Bash is downstairs, he can tell you." With that, he could've sworn he saw her wipe away a tear before closing the window.

Upon entering the kitchen, he meant to ask Bash why he was there, but open seeing his face it only confirmed his suspicion that something bad had happened.

"Has something happened to Matthew?" Gilbert knew he had been having health issues lately, and his heart broke at the thought of Anne losing her father.

"No, he's with Elijah. He took Matthew to fetch-"

"Oh no, is it Marilla? I know she isn't exactly young, but she seemed to be in such good health."

"Gilbert, why don't you sit down." Not knowing what to say, he silently took a seat at the kitchen table.

"Anne had scarlet fever-"

"Had? So she's recovered, right? Can I see her?" Bash came and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, leaving the boy more confused.

"Gilbert… she didn't make it." At this, Gilbert jumped to his feet.

"No, your wrong! That's not possible… I just got her letter. She's fine! She has to be!"

"I'm sorry Gilbert, I should've stayed home and told you myself, but I didn't know Diana was here and did not want Marilla to be alone. In my hurry, I must've left the letter on the kitchen table. Matthew found it in her room and assumed she'd want you to have it."

Gilbert did not know how to react to this. He had, of course, known loss in his life, but this felt different. When he lost his father, he had known it was coming and was able to say to him all the things he needed to say. Now, he would never get a chance to apologize to Anne, to tell her he loves her and to beg her forgiveness. He fell back into his seat and dropped his head into his hands. He felt her letter in his pocket as if it burned hi, and soon enough he was gasping for breath, with tears falling from his face onto the table. Bash tried to murmur words of comfort, but Gilbert couldn't process them. Rather, as he wept he only had one thought: Anne was gone and nothing would every be okay again.

"So babe if you know everything, tell me why you couldn't see when I left I wanted you to chase after me." -Taylor Swift, The Other Side of the Door

#shirbert #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #anne x gilbert #renew anne with an e #diana barry #cuthberts

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transparenttriumphzombie · 3 years

Photo

Christine Jorgensen (May 30, 1926 – May 3, 1989) was an American transgender woman who was the first person to become widely known in the United States for having sex reassignment surgery. Jorgensen grew up in the Bronx, New York City. Shortly after graduating from high school in 1945, she was drafted into the U.S. Army during World War II. After her military service, she attended several schools and worked; it is during this time she learned about sex reassignment surgery. Jorgensen traveled to Europe, and in Copenhagen, Denmark, obtained special permission to undergo a series of operations beginning in 1952.

She returned to the United States in the early 1950s and her transition was the subject of a New York Daily News front-page story. She became an instant celebrity, known for her directness and polished wit, and used the platform to advocate for transgender people. She also worked as an actress and nightclub entertainer and recorded several songs. Jorgensen often lectured on the experience of being transgender and published an autobiography in 1967.

Jorgensen was the second child of carpenter and contractor George William Jorgensen, Sr., and his wife Florence Davis Hansen, and given a male name at birth. She was raised in the Belmont neighborhood of the Bronx, New York City. She later described herself as having been a "frail, blond, introverted little boy who ran from fistfights and rough-and-tumble games".

Jorgensen graduated from Christopher Columbus High School in 1945 and was soon drafted into the U.S. Army at the age of 19. After being discharged from the Army, she attended Mohawk Valley Community College in Utica, New York,[5] the Progressive School of Photography in New Haven, Connecticut, and the Manhattan Medical and Dental Assistant School in New York City. She also worked briefly for Pathé News.

Returning to New York after military service, and increasingly concerned over, as one obituary later called it, a "lack of male physical development", Christine Jorgensen heard about sex reassignment surgery. She began taking estrogen in the form of ethinylestradiol and started researching the surgery with the help of Joseph Angelo, the husband of a classmate at the Manhattan Medical and Dental Assistant School. Jorgensen intended to go to Sweden, where the only doctors in the world who then performed the surgery were located. During a stopover in Copenhagen to visit relatives, she met Christian Hamburger, a Danish endocrinologist and specialist in rehabilitative hormonal therapy. Jorgensen stayed in Denmark and underwent hormone replacement therapy under Hamburger's direction. She chose the name Christine in honor of Hamburger.

She obtained special permission from the Danish Minister of Justice to undergo a series of operations in that country. On September 24, 1951, surgeons at Gentofte Hospital in Copenhagen performed an orchiectomy on Jorgensen. In a letter to friends on October 8, 1951, she referred to how the surgery affected her:

As you can see by the enclosed photos, taken just before the operation, I have changed a great deal. But it is the other changes that are so much more important. Remember the shy, miserable person who left America? Well, that person is no more and, as you can see, I'm in marvelous spirits.

In November 1952, doctors at Copenhagen University Hospital performed a penectomy. In Jorgensen's words, "My second operation, as the previous one, was not such a major work of surgery as it may imply."

She returned to the United States and eventually obtained a vaginoplasty when the procedure became available there. The vaginoplasty was performed under the direction of Angelo, with Harry Benjamin as a medical adviser. Later, in the preface of Jorgensen's autobiography, Harry Benjamin gave her credit for the advancement of his studies. He wrote, "Indeed Christine, without you, probably none of this would have happened; the grant, my publications, lectures, etc."

The New York Daily News ran a front-page story on December 1, 1952, under the headline "Ex-GI Becomes Blonde Beauty", announcing (incorrectly) that Jorgensen had become the recipient of the first "sex change". This type of surgery had previously been performed by German doctors in the late 1920s and early 1930s. Dorchen Richter and Danish artist Lili Elbe, both patients of Magnus Hirschfeld at the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft in Berlin, were known recipients of such operations in 1930–31.

After her surgeries, Jorgensen originally stated that she wanted a quiet life of her own design, but once returning to the United States, the only way she could manage to earn a living was by making public appearances. Jorgensen was an instant celebrity when she returned to New York in February 1953. A large crowd of journalists met her as she came off her flight, and despite the Danish royal family being on the same flight, they were largely ignored in favor of her. Soon after her arrival, she launched a successful nightclub act and appeared on TV, radio, and theatrical productions. The first of a five-part authorized account of her story was written by Jorgensen herself in a February 1953 issue of The American Weekly, titled "The Story of My Life" and in 1967, she published her autobiography, Christine Jorgensen: A Personal Autobiography, which sold almost 450 thousand copies.

The publicity following her transition and gender reassignment surgery became "a model for other transsexuals for decades. She was a tireless lecturer on the subject of transsexuality, pleading for understanding from a public that all too often wanted to see transsexuals as freaks or perverts ... Ms Jorgensen's poise, charm, and wit won the hearts of millions." However, over time the press was much less fascinated by her and started to scrutinize her much more harshly. She was often asked by print medias if she would pose nude in their publications.

Knox and Jorgensen after being denied a marriage license, April 1959. After her vaginoplasty, Jorgensen planned to marry labor union statistician John Traub, but the engagement was called off. In 1959 she announced her engagement to typist Howard J. Knox in Massapequa Park, New York, where her father had built her a house after her reassignment surgery. However, the couple was unable to obtain a marriage license because Jorgensen's birth certificate listed her as male. In a report about the broken engagement, The New York Times reported that Knox had lost his job in Washington, D.C., when his engagement to Jorgensen became known.

After her parents died, Jorgensen moved to California in 1967. She left behind the ranch home built by her father in Massapequa and settled at the Chateau Marmont in Los Angeles, California, for a period of time. It was also during this same year that Jorgensen published her autobiography, Christine Jorgensen: A Personal Autobiography, which chronicled her life experiences as a transsexual and included her own personal perspectives on major events in her life.

During the 1970s and 1980s, Jorgensen toured university campuses and other venues to speak about her experiences. She was known for her directness and polished wit. She once demanded an apology from Vice President Spiro T. Agnew when he called Charles Goodell "the Christine Jorgensen of the Republican Party". (Agnew refused her request.)

Jorgensen also worked as an actress and nightclub entertainer and recorded several songs. In summer stock, she played Madame Rosepettle in the play Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma's Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feelin' So Sad. In her nightclub act, she sang several songs, including "I Enjoy Being a Girl", in which, at the end, she made a quick change into a Wonder Woman costume. She later recalled that Warner Communications, owners of the Wonder Woman character's copyright, demanded that she stop using the character; she did so, and instead used a new character of her own invention, Superwoman, who was marked by the inclusion of a large letter S on her cape. Jorgensen continued her act, performing at Freddy's Supper Club on the Upper East Side of Manhattan until at least 1982, when she performed twice in the Hollywood area: once at the Backlot Theatre, adjacent to the discothèque Studio One, and later at The Frog Pond restaurant. This performance was recorded and has been made available as an album on iTunes. In 1984, Jorgensen returned to Copenhagen to perform her show and was featured in Teit Ritzau's Danish transsexual documentary film Paradiset er ikke til salg (Paradise Is Not for Sale). Jorgensen was the first and only known trans woman to perform at Oscar's Delmonico Restaurant in downtown New York, for which owners Oscar and Mario Tucci received criticism.

She died of bladder and lung cancer in 1989, four weeks short of her 63rd birthday. Her ashes were scattered off Dana Point, California.

Jorgensen's highly publicized transition helped bring to light gender identity and shaped a new culture of more inclusive ideas about the subject. As a transgender spokesperson and public figure, Jorgensen influenced other transgender people to change their sex on birth certificates and to change their names. Jorgensen saw herself as a founding member in what became known as the "sexual revolution". Jorgensen stated in a Los Angeles Times interview, "I am very proud now, looking back, that I was on that street corner 36 years ago when a movement started. It was the sexual revolution that was going to start with or without me. We may not have started it, but we gave it a good swift kick in the pants."

In 2012 Jorgensen was inducted into the Legacy Walk, an outdoor public display which celebrates LGBT history and people.

In 2014, Jorgensen was one of the inaugural honorees in the Rainbow Honor Walk, a walk of fame in San Francisco's Castro neighborhood noting LGBTQ people who have "made significant contributions in their fields".

In June 2019, Jorgensen was one of the inaugural 50 American "pioneers, trailblazers, and heroes" included on the National LGBTQ Wall of Honor within the Stonewall National Monument (SNM) in New York City's Stonewall Inn. The SNM is the first U.S. national monument dedicated to LGBTQ rights and history, and the wall's unveiling was timed to take place during the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots.

Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan, during his earlier career as a calypso singer under the name The Charmer, recorded a song about Jorgensen, "Is She Is or Is She Ain't" (The title is a play on the 1940s Louis Jordan song, "Is You Is or Is You Ain't My Baby".)

Chuck Renslow and Dom Orejudos founded Kris Studios, a male physique photography studio that took photos for gay magazines they published, which was named in part to honor Jorgensen.

Posters for the Ed Wood film Glen or Glenda (1953), also known as I Changed My Sex and I Led Two Lives, publicize the movie as being based on Jorgensen's life. Originally producer George Weiss made her some offers to appear in the film, but these were turned down. Jorgenson is mentioned in connection with Glen in Tim Burton's biopic Ed Wood (1994), but Jorgenson is not depicted as a character.

The Christine Jorgensen Story, a fictionalized biopic based on Jorgensen's memoir, premiered in 1970. John Hansen played Jorgensen as an adult, while Trent Lehman played her at age seven.

In Christine Jorgensen Reveals, a stage performance at the 2005 Edinburgh Festival Fringe, Jorgensen was portrayed by Bradford Louryk. To critical acclaim, Louryk dressed as Jorgensen and performed to a recorded interview with her during the 1950s while video of Rob Grace as comically inept interviewer Nipsey Russell played on a nearby black-and-white television set. The show went on to win Best Aspect of Production at the 2006 Dublin Gay Theatre Festival, and it ran Off-Broadway at New World Stages in January 2006. The LP was reissued on CD by Repeat The Beat Records in 2005.

Transgender historian and critical theorist Susan Stryker directed and produced an experimental documentary film about Jorgensen, titled Christine in the Cutting Room. In 2010 she also presented a lecture at Yale University titled "Christine in the Cutting Room: Christine Jorgensen's Transsexual Celebrity and Cinematic Embodiment". Both works examine embodiment vis-à-vis cinema.

The 2016 book Andy Warhol was a Hoarder: Inside the Minds of History's Great Personalities, by journalist Claudia Kalb, devotes a chapter to Jorgensen's story, using her as an example of gender dysphoria and the process of gender transition in its earliest days.

Jorgensen, Christine (1967). Christine Jorgensen: A Personal Autobiography. New York, New York: Bantam Books. ISBN 978-1-57344-100-1.

#trans history #transgender woman #transgender #trans pride #postop transwomen #1950s #transisbeautiful #transwoman

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tomhiddleslove · 5 years

Text

The screen and stage star is making his Broadway debut as the bottled-up husband wearing a “mask of control” in Harold Pinter’s romantic triangle.

[ By Laura Collins-Hughes

Aug. 21, 2019, 5:00 a.m. ET ]

Tom Hiddleston was posing for a portrait, and the face he showed the camera wasn’t entirely his own.

That had been his idea, to slip for a few moments into the character he��s playing on Broadway, in Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal”: Robert, the cheated-on husband and backstabbed best friend whose coolly proper facade is the carapace containing a crumbling man. And when Mr. Hiddleston became him, the change was instantaneous: the guarded stillness of his body, the chill reserve in his gray-blue eyes.

“It’s interesting,” Mr. Hiddleston said after a while, analyzing Robert’s expression from the inside. “It gives less away.” A pause, and then his own smile flickered back, its pleasure undisguised. “O.K.,” Mr. Hiddleston announced, himself again, “it’s not Robert anymore.”

It was late on a muggy August morning, one day before the show’s first preview at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theater, and Mr. Hiddleston — the classically trained British actor best known for playing the winsomely chaotic villain Loki, god of mischief and brother of Thor, in the Marvel film franchise — had been in New York for less than a week.

He’ll be here all autumn for the limited run of the production, a hit in London earlier this year, but he wasn’t going to pretend that he’d settled in. “I literally have never sat in this room before,” he’d said at the top of the photo shoot, in his cramped auxiliary dressing room, next door to the similarly tiny one he had been occupying.

He’d had nothing to do with the space’s camera-ready décor. So there was no use making a metaphor of the handsome clock with its hands stopped at 12 (“Betrayal” is famous for its reverse chronology; far more apt if the clock had run backward), or of the compact stack of pristine books that looked like journals, with pretty covers and presumably empty pages: a bit off-brand for Mr. Hiddleston, who at 38 has a model-perfect exterior with quite a lot inscribed inside.

Take the matter-of-fact way he said, in explaining that he’d first encountered Pinter’s work when he studied for his A-levels in English literature, theater, Latin and Greek: “It was a real tossup between French and Spanish or Latin and Greek. I thought, I can always speak French and Spanish, I can’t always read Latin and Greek, so I’ll study that and I’ll speak the other two.”

Though, to be fair, he only said that because I’d teased him slightly about the Latin and Greek, and I’d teased him — not a recommended journalistic technique — because he was so disarmingly good-humored and resolutely down to earth, chatting away as he waited for the photographer to set up a shot. It didn’t seem like it would ruffle him. He laughed, actually.

From a one-night reading to Broadway

In this country, Mr. Hiddleston is mainly a screen star, known also for playing Jonathan Pine in the John le Carré series “The Night Manager” on AMC. There are plans, too, for him to bring Loki to Disney’s streaming service in a stand-alone series.

But at home in London, he has amassed some impressive Shakespearean credits, including the title roles in Kenneth Branagh’s “Hamlet” and Josie Rourke’s “Coriolanus,” and a turn as Cassio in Michael Grandage’s “Othello” — a production that Pinter, saw some months before he died in 2008. That was the year Mr. Hiddleston won a best newcomer Olivier Award for Cheek by Jowl’s “Cymbeline.”

Jamie Lloyd’s “Betrayal,” which has a staging to match the spareness of Pinter’s language and a roiling well of squelched emotion to feed its comedy, is Mr. Hiddleston’s Broadway debut. Likewise for his co-stars, Zawe Ashton (of Netflix’s “Velvet Buzzsaw”), who plays Emma, Robert’s wife; and Charlie Cox (of Netflix’s “Daredevil”), who plays Emma’s lover, Jerry, Robert’s oldest friend.

Beginning at what appears to be the end of Robert and Emma’s marriage, after her yearslong affair with Jerry has sputtered to a stop, it’s a drama of cascading double-crosses. First staged by Peter Hall in London in 1978 — and in 1980 on Broadway, where it starred Roy Scheider, Blythe Danner and Raul Julia — it rewinds through time to the sozzled evening when Emma and Jerry overstep the line.

The most recent Broadway revival was just six years ago, directed by Mike Nichols and starring Daniel Craig as Robert, Rachel Weisz as Emma and Rafe Spall as Jerry. It might seem too soon for another, let alone one with sexiness to spare — except that Mr. Lloyd’s production is also marked by a palpable hauntedness and a profound sense of loss.

Reviewing the London staging in The New York Times, Matt Wolf called it “a benchmark achievement for everyone involved,” showing the play “in a revealing, even radical, new light.” Michael Billington, in The Guardian, called Mr. Hiddleston’s performance “superb.”

What’s curious is that Mr. Hiddleston, so good at bad boys, isn’t playing Jerry, the more glamorous role: the cad, the pursuer, the best man who goes after the bride. But Mr. Lloyd said that casting him that way was never part of their discussions.

Last fall, when Mr. Lloyd persuaded Mr. Hiddleston to read a scene with Ms. Ashton for a one-night gala celebration of Pinter in London, part of the season-long Pinter at the Pinter series, there was no grand plan. Having asked Mr. Hiddleston about a possible collaboration for years, since “just before he became ridiculously famous,” Mr. Lloyd said, this was the first time he got a yes.

“I just really admired his craft of acting, the precision of his acting, as well as his real emotional depth and his real wit,” Mr. Lloyd said. “And he’s turned into what I think is the epitome of a great Pinter actor. Because if you’re in a Pinter play, you have to dig really deep and connect to terrible loss or excruciating pain, often massive volcanic emotion, and then you have to bottle it all up. You have to suppress it all.”

This, he added, is what Mr. Hiddleston does in “Betrayal,” where characters’ meaning is found between and behind the words, not inside them.

“Some of the pain that he’s created in Robert, it’s just unbearable, and yet he always keeps a lid on it,” Mr. Lloyd said.

The scene Mr. Hiddleston and Ms. Ashton read at the gala appears at the midpoint of “Betrayal”: Robert and Emma on vacation in Venice, at a moment that leaves their marriage with permanent damage. Within days, Mr. Hiddleston told Mr. Lloyd that he was on board for a full production.

‘What remains private’

Photos taken, back in the faintly more lived-in of his Broadway dressing rooms, Mr. Hiddleston opened the window to let in some Midtown air — and when you’re as tall as he is, 6 feet 2 inches, opening it from the top of the window frame is easy enough to do. Then, making himself an espresso with his countertop machine, he sat down to talk at length.

“I’m always curious about the presentation of a character’s external persona versus the interior,“ he said. “What remains private, hidden, concealed, protected, and what does the character allow to be seen? We all have a very complex internal world, and not all of that is on display in our external reality.”

He can tick off the ways that various characters of his conceal what’s inside: Loki, with all that rage and vulnerability “tucked away”; the ultra-proper spy Jonathan Pine, in “The Night Manager,” “hiding behind his politeness”; Robert, a lonely man wearing “a mask of control” that renders him “confident, powerful, polished,” at least as far as any onlookers can tell.

In “Betrayal,” each of the three principals has an enormous amount to hide from the people who are meant to be their closest intimates. It’s a play about power and manipulation, duplicity and misplaced trust, and what’s so threatening about it is the very ordinariness of its privileged milieu. This snug little world that once seemed so safe and ideal — the happiest of families, the oldest of friends — has long since fallen apart.

But to Mr. Hiddleston, Pinter’s drama contains two themes just as significant as betrayal: isolation and loneliness.

“The sadness in the play — it’s not only sadness; because it’s Pinter, there’s wit and levity as well — but if there is sadness in the play,” he said, “I think it comes from the fact that these betrayals render Robert, Emma and Jerry more alone than they were before.”

Trust and self-protection

One-on-one, Mr. Hiddleston was more cautious than he’d been during the photo shoot, surrounded then by a gaggle of people affiliated with the show. Still, when I asked him about betrayal, lowercase, he went straight to the condition it violates.

“To trust is a profound commitment, and to trust is to make oneself vulnerable,” he said, fidgeting with a red rubber band and choosing his words with care. “It’s such an optimistic act, because you’re putting your faith in the hands of someone or something which you expect to remain constant, even if the circumstances change.”

“I’m disappearing down a rabbit hole here,” he said, “but I think about it a lot. I think about certainty and uncertainty. Trust is a way of managing uncertainty. It’s a way of finding security in saying, ‘Perhaps all of this is uncertain, but I trust you.’ Or, ‘I trust this.’ And there’s a lot of uncertainty in the world at the moment, so it becomes harder to trust, I suppose.”

An interview itself is an act of trust, albeit often a wary one. And there was one stipulated no-go zone in this encounter, a condition mentioned by a publicist only after I’d arrived: No talk of Taylor Swift, with whom Mr. Hiddleston had a brief, intense, headline-generating romance that, post-breakup, she evidently spun into song lyrics.

That was three years ago, and I hadn’t been planning to bring her up; given the context of the play, though, make of that prohibition what you will. Mr. Hiddleston, who once had a tendency to pour his heart out to reporters, knows that he can’t stop you.

“It’s not possible, and nor should it be possible, to control what anyone thinks about you,” he said. “Especially if it’s not based in any, um —” he gave a soft, joyless laugh — “if it’s not based in any reality.”

That’s something he’s learned about navigating fame — about being put on a pedestal that’s then kicked out from under him. He knows now “to let go of the energy that comes toward me, be it good or bad,” he said. “Because naturally in the early days I took responsibility for it.”

“And yes, I’m protective about my internal world now in probably a different way,” he added, his tone as restrained as his words. He took a beat, and so much went unsaid in what he said next: “That’s because I didn’t realize it needed protecting before.”

Even so, he doesn’t give the impression of having closed himself off. When something genuinely made him laugh, he smiled a smile that cracked his face wide open.

And the way he treated the people around him at work — with a fundamental respect, regardless of rank, and no whiff of flattery — made him seem sincere about what he called “staying true to the part of myself that’s quite simple, that’s quite ordinary.”

That investment in his ordinariness, as he put it, is a hedge against the destabilizing trappings of fame, but it doubles as a way of protecting his craft.

It’s also of a piece with his insistence that vulnerability is a necessary risk to take, at least sometimes.

“If you go through life without connecting to people,” he asked, “how much could you call that a life?”

#tom hiddleston #hiddles #twhiddleston #the new york times #Betrayal #harold pinter play #Betrayal Broadway #bernard b jacobs theater #August 21 2019 #Devin Yalkin #tom hiddleston interview #loki #tom hiddleston portrait #black and white photography #new york city #link to original article in source

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penmansparadise · 5 years

Text

Billy Hargrove Imagine Request - Songbird

*I DON’T OWN ANY GIFS POSTED* *CREDIT TO ALL GIF OWNERS*

Here it is, the imagine requested by @hargroveswift !! I cannot tell you how much I enjoy writing for his character. This was an imagine requested from my Tumblr. So, I mentioned two really AMAZING songs in this one. One is "Lay It Down" by Ratt, my personal fav Ratt song, and "Songbird" by Fleetwood Mac, also my fav song by them. Yes, the Fleetwood Mac song has some significance because it is the title of this piece. Take a listen to both while you read, or not, but you should definitely check them out. This was your first request and I hope you really like it!!! Enjoy everyone!!! Xx.

Warnings: Mild language (literally its one word, but still)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Choir!Reader

_______________________________________________________________________

You watched him stand with confidence as he told his story. His shoulders rolled back, puffing his chest out just slightly. His arms made a large gesture causing the crowd of people around him to erupt with laughter. You didn’t know what he was saying, you never did, and you probably never would.

Billy Hargrove was the King of Hawkins, and notoriously known as the town flirt. He was beautiful, funny, and way out of your league. Billy was a part of the “cool kids,” and you, with the lack of a better description, were a part of the “band and choir geeks.” You hated labels, but you knew the one that was given to you was accurate. Although you weren’t welcome in Billy’s clique, that didn’t stop you from crushing on him and crushing hard. From the moment he moved to Hawkins, you fell head-over-heels. You loved his cool car and the way he drove way too fast in the parking lot. You liked the way he ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame his messy curls. You couldn’t get enough of him. Everything about Billy was perfect, but you would never tell him that. Instead, for months, you settled on loving him from a distance and keeping your dignity. Things drastically changed one day after choir practice.

You and your duet partner, Sarah, walked out of the school building and headed toward the parking lot.

“So, I was thinking of asking Ms. Harold if we can change the key. I think F sharp Minor would fit us better, you know?”

You fixed your backpack and slowly nodded and hummed a little in the new key.

“It is easier to hit the notes in that key.”

The two of you laughed in unison before Sarah veered away from you.

“I’ll ask her. See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You gave her a wave goodbye and walked to your car. The sad piece of metal sat perfectly in the parking spot. Opening the squeaky door, you threw your bag in the passenger seat and hopped in. You stuck the key in the ignition and gave it a turn, but nothing happened.

“Oh, please not now,” you begged your 1973 Chevy Nova. Rubbing the dashboard, you gave the key another turn.

“Come on, baby, work!”

The engine clicked a couple of times before going quiet again. You let out an annoyed grunt and turned the key once more. The same clicking noise filled your ears, followed by a puff of smoke coming from under your hood. Your eyes widened before you jumped out of the car. You looked at your smoking car and grabbed your head in disbelief.

“Great, I just set my car on fire. Awesome job, Y/N. Seriously, way to go.”

As you stared at the smoke creeping out the sides of your closed hood, you heard someone approach you. When you turned around, your chest clenched.

“Need some help?” Billy asked, throwing the butt of his cigarette onto the pavement in front of him.

Your mouth fell agape as you took him in. He was wearing a white shirt that clung tightly to his chest, a jean jacket that hung loosely around his torso, and jeans that hugged him in all the right places. You opened and closed your mouth like a fish thirsty for water. He had never been that close to you, let alone said anything to you. His eyebrows rose in question and anticipation. You shook your head before speaking.

“I, uh, it’s, uh, my…my car. It’s, um, the engine,” you fumbled lamely over your words.

A red hue rose to your cheeks as you failed to complete a coherent sentence. Billy let out a light chuckle before tugging at his jacket just like you loved.

“Let me take a look.”

He popped the latch on the hood, and, as he lifted it, smoke billowed out around him. Waving his hand in front of him, Billy let out a stream of coughs. Once the smoke subsided, he leaned forward. Your eyes traveled the full length of his body, and your heart began to jump in your chest. He was even more beautiful up close. His skin was smooth and tanned to perfection. With the sun beating down on him, tiny hints of gold shined in his hair. You could tell he worked out from the way his jacket tightened around his arms. Your stomach did flips as you drank in every inch of his God-like image. The sound of his voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“Well,” he said, taking a step back from your car, “your engine is shot. There’s no way this thing is running without going up in flames.”

Your face fell at his words. You stared at your broken car and let out a huff of frustration.

“Great,” you said mostly to yourself.

Billy took a step toward you and motioned toward his car.

“Do you need a ride?”

Excitement and nervousness blanketed you. You could feel your whole body heat up at the question.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to have to go out of your way.”

Billy let out a breathy laugh,

“It’s really not a big deal. This town isn’t that big.”

You watched as he moved past you and grabbed your stuff from your car. He began walking toward his car without you.

“You coming?” He asked with a light chuckle.

A blush rose to your cheeks again before you quickly fell in step next to him.

Billy’s car was almost as perfect as him. It took every ounce of you not to admire it. You cleared your throat as Billy tossed your things into the front seat.

“Thanks for giving me a lift. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Billy held the door open for you to climb into the passenger seat.

“You’re welcome, and I know.”

He shut the door and leaned onto the open window.

“I’m Billy, by the way.”

“I know,” you said with a playful grin.

Billy let out a light laugh,

“Glad we’re acquainted,” he said before hopping into the car himself.

The drive was quiet at first until Billy, with a swift flick, turned on the radio. Ratt’s “Lay It Down” started blasting through the speakers. You watched as he bopped around and hummed along to the music. Unconsciously, your head began to nod along to the beat. Before you knew it, you were singing the song quietly under your breath. Every now and then, you could see Billy turn to look at you, but you kept your eyes fixed on the road ahead.

When the song finished, Billy turned the radio down and looked to you with curious eyes.

“What were you doing at the school after hours?”

“Choir practice,” you said without moving your gaze, “I’m a singer.”

From your peripherals, you could see Billy nod his head slowly.

“Hm,” he began, “Y/N, the Rockstar. I can see it.”

You shook your head but didn’t say anything in return. The silence settled on the two of you again but didn’t last very long. Billy, not missing a beat, spoke again.

“Sing something for me.”

Your head swiftly turned toward him.

“I’m sorry?”

He laughed a little at your reaction but quickly regained his composure.

“If you’re aspiring to be a Rockstar, you need to be good at singing. So, let me hear it.”

You let out a huff at his cockiness but didn’t refrain from throwing it back at him.

“I already know I’m good, Billy.”

Billy narrowed his eyes at you and scoffed.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

The air around the two of you went still for a moment as Billy waited. You closed your eyes and let out a breath before finally giving in. The lyrics to “Songbird” by Fleetwood Mac flowed effortlessly from you. The song was way out of Billy’s repertoire of music, but you didn’t care. You hit each note and run with ease. Your eyes were closed, and your body swayed as you serenaded Billy. Just as you were finishing the last lyric, Billy pulled his car to a stop. You opened your eyes to see Billy staring at you openmouthed. Heat climbed up to your face, and you quickly looked away. You brushed your hair behind your ears in an attempt to calm your nervous hands.

“Well, am I good?”

“Y/N,” Billy said in a whisper, “you’re way better than good.”

You gave a soft “Thank you,” before gathering your things and getting out. As you were walking up your driveway, Billy’s booming voice stopped you.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at 7.”

“What?” You asked, dumbfounded.

Billy leaned a little farther into the passenger seat. You could see the cocky grin playing on his lips.

“You’re going to need a ride to school. I’ll be here at 7, so don’t make me wait!”

He gave a playful honk before peeling out of your driveway and disappearing down the street.

The next morning, Billy showed up exactly at seven and took you to school. From that day forward, he was your permanent ride. Even after your car was fixed, he insisted on driving you everywhere. You didn’t argue, though, you kind of liked the extra time with him. It was only a few months later when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

After that, Billy started meeting you in the hall and walking you to class. Every day, he waited for you after the bell would ring. He would even sit outside the choir room and listen to your practices. When practice ended, he would give you continuous praise.

“Baby, you sounded amazing! I loved it when you did that thing where you started at this note way up here and then went all the way to this note way down here.”

“It’s called a run, Billy.”

“Well, it sounded great! You always sound great, baby.”

Billy began to attend every choir concert and was very supportive. Being dressed up in a concert hall was not his usual playing field. He would often clap or hoot at the wrong time earning dirty looks from those around him. From the stage, you could see him beaming in his seat. After each concert, he would be waiting for you with a kiss and a bouquet.

“You sounded so good, baby. There was this guy next to me who literally started crying during your solo.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t just irritated that you kept clapping during it?”

Your relationship was playful and different. No one ever expected Billy to end up with the quiet choir girl, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. You loved your badass, silly, and confident boyfriend.

One night while you were lying in bed, you heard a tapping come from your window. You looked at the clock to see that it was after 10 o’clock. A wave of anxiety surged through your body as you stood up and moved toward your window. With shaky hands, you pulled the curtain aside to find Billy. He was leaning against your window lazily. The light from your room cast shadows on his face making it look badly bruised. When you opened your window, you realized that it was not shadows. Billy looked up from his feet, and you saw the black and blue marks strewn across his face. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, and his usual confident stance was gone. His shoulders were slumped, making him look smaller than you had ever seen him. Your heart fell in your chest at the sight of your broken boyfriend.

“Billy,” you whispered before pulling him into your room.

As you closed your window, he sat down on the edge of your bed. You could see a few tears fall down his face as he sat there. You moved to his side and took his large hand and gave it a squeeze.

“What happened, Billy? Did you get in a fight or something?”

He let out a sad laugh,

“Yeah, something like that.”

His voice was thick with sadness and tears. You brushed your free hand over the black and blue marks on his face. He winced a little under your touch making you sick to your stomach.

“Billy,” you began, “what really happened?”

His eyes were fixed on the white carpet filling your room. You could feel his body tense next to you.

“Baby, you can tell me anything. I want to help you, but I need to know what happened.”

Billy was silent for another minute before he finally cracked. He let out a shaky breath as more tears traced down his cheeks.

“It’s my dad,” he said, “he gets angry sometimes.”

You felt nauseous but didn’t say anything. You wiped the tears from his face and encouraged him to go on.

“It’s not the first time he’s done this. He’s been…beating me…since I was a kid. I can’t remember a time when he didn’t hit me out of rage.”

You could feel tears welling in your own eyes, but you swallowed them back.

“Billy, why didn’t you say anything before?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he shook his head and dropped it again.

“Have you told anyone? Your step-mom? Hopper? Anyone?”

The silence that you received was all you needed to know the answer was “No.” You sat next to him in your quiet room before he completely broke down. Soft sobs racked his body as tears poured from his eyes. You pulled him into a warm embrace before lying down with him. With his head on your chest, he melted into your arms. Your fingers raked through his hair, letting each strand curl around your digits.

After a few minutes, he finally calmed down. The only sounds that filled your room were the sounds of both you and his breathing in harmony. You shut your eyes and listened to the soft music.

“Y/N?” Billy asked, interrupting the song.

“Yes?”

“Can you sing that song to me?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What song?”

“The one you sang in the car the very first time we met.”

A small smile came to your lips before you started singing “Songbird” softly to him. When you finished, you thought he was sound asleep. You shut your eyes and began to drift when Billy spoke.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered into the still air.

You planted a slow and soft kiss onto his messy hair.

“I love you too, Billy. Like never before.”

He let out a long breath before the two of you finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms.

#Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove fanfic #dacre montgomery #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagines #stranger things season 2 fanfiction #stranger things season 2 imagines #stranger things season 2 fanfic #stranger things season 2 #stranger things season 2 imagine

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insanityclause · 5 years

Link

Tom Hiddleston was posing for a portrait, and the face he showed the camera wasn’t entirely his own.

That had been his idea, to slip for a few moments into the character he’s playing on Broadway, in Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal”: Robert, the cheated-on husband and backstabbed best friend whose coolly proper facade is the carapace containing a crumbling man. And when Mr. Hiddleston became him, the change was instantaneous: the guarded stillness of his body, the chill reserve in his gray-blue eyes.

From a one-night reading to Broadway

This, he added, is what Mr. Hiddleston does in “Betrayal,” where characters’ meaning is found between and behind the words, not inside them.

“Some of the pain that he’s created in Robert, it’s just unbearable, and yet he always keeps a lid on it,” Mr. Lloyd said.

‘What remains private’

But to Mr. Hiddleston, Pinter’s drama contains two themes just as significant as betrayal: isolation and loneliness.

Trust and self-protection

Even so, he doesn’t give the impression of having closed himself off. When something genuinely made him laugh, he smiled a smile that cracked his face wide open.

That investment in his ordinariness, as he put it, is a hedge against the destabilizing trappings of fame, but it doubles as a way of protecting his craft.

It’s also of a piece with his insistence that vulnerability is a necessary risk to take, at least sometimes.

“If you go through life without connecting to people,” he asked, “how much could you call that a life?”

#betrayal (play)#Tom Hiddleston

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maryxglz · 5 years

Link

Tom Hiddleston was posing for a portrait, and the face he showed the camera wasn’t entirely his own.

From a one-night reading to Broadway

This, he added, is what Mr. Hiddleston does in “Betrayal,” where characters’ meaning is found between and behind the words, not inside them.

“Some of the pain that he’s created in Robert, it’s just unbearable, and yet he always keeps a lid on it,” Mr. Lloyd said.

‘What remains private’

But to Mr. Hiddleston, Pinter’s drama contains two themes just as significant as betrayal: isolation and loneliness.

Trust and self-protection

Even so, he doesn’t give the impression of having closed himself off. When something genuinely made him laugh, he smiled a smile that cracked his face wide open.

That investment in his ordinariness, as he put it, is a hedge against the destabilizing trappings of fame, but it doubles as a way of protecting his craft.

It’s also of a piece with his insistence that vulnerability is a necessary risk to take, at least sometimes.

“If you go through life without connecting to people,” he asked, “how much could you call that a life?”

#tom hiddleston #betrayal #betrayal broadway #harold pinter #bernard b jacobs theatre #theatre #broadway #jamie lloyd #zawe ashton #charlie cox #the new york times

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rikumorimachisgirl · 5 years

Note

Can you do Kiro and MC? #94

Hello! This is the first time I'm doing this, so I hope I do this justice. Here you go.

Title: The Bet

Characters: Kiro x Reader

Word count: 585

Prompt: I bet I can make you scream my name

Today marked your first month together as a couple, and Kiro pulled all the stops so you could celebrate together.

'You don't have to worry about anything. I'll make sure to prepare all your favorite food and we'll watch all your favorite movies all night long, ' he promised days before. True enough, the charming superstar cooked a meal that would give the owner of Souvenir a run for his money - everything from the good old-fashioned burgers he painstakingly flipped to the vanilla pudding he recreated from memory was decadent.

After dinner, the two of you moved to the living room with your cups of pudding and champagne glasses. "I rented Mornings at Tiffany's for tonight, " he beamed, as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close.

"We're gonna watch this movie, right?" Your lips broke into a teasing smile as you settled in his embrace.

"That we are, Ms. Chips, " he said, crossing his heart solemnly and you smiled when you heard his term of endearment.

"I bet you won't be able to keep your hands off me, " you replied casually.

"I- I… I'll try."

And try he did - for a good two minutes or so - for as soon as the opening credits started rolling, his fingers started unbuttoning your silk top and his lips connected with yours. Lost in his kisses, you had no idea when his hands replaced your bra, as he palmed your breasts roughly and you tried to suppress another moan, as his lips trailed down your neck and sucked at a particularly sensitive spot near your collarbone.

"Does my Ms. Chips want more, " he asked, his eyes gleaming in triumph, knowing he now had the upper hand. As he looked upon your flushed face and swollen lips, there was absolutely no doubt that his bed was where you would be headed next.

You took a few deep breaths to steady your racing heart. You gotta admit, your boyfriend is a love machine, but you aren't about to let him win just yet.

"Actually, " you started, as you pushed him away and sat up. "It'd be a shame if we didn't watch this film, it's a classic, you know."

Your determination to play hard-to-get only turned him on even more, and he found your attempt to ignore the feather-light strokes he made up and down your side too cute.

He leaned forward. "So does this mean that playtime is over?" His voice was husky against your ear.

"Yes, " you replied, without sparing him a glance.

"That's too bad, Miss Chips, " he whispered, sending shivers down your spine as his lips touched the shell of your ear, while he continued to draw patterns up and down your side. "I bet I can make you scream my name."

You gulp, knowing for sure that if he decided to claim your lips once more, that you would give him everything he wants and more. He stopped teasing you abruptly, and you drew a sharp breath. 'This was it, ' you thought silently as you braced yourself for his attack. He shifted in his seat, and your heartbeat quickened. Suddenly, he reached for the pudding and ate the last scoop in one swift motion, much to your surprise.

"Kiroooooo!"

He smirked and pulled you in his arms once again. "Told you I could, " he said before sealing your lips with his once more.

He tasted of vanilla pudding, and sinful promises, and you could've sworn you screamed his name a few more times throughout the night.

#anon asks #answered #kiro x mc #kiro x reader #mr love kiro #mr love queen's choice #mlqc #mlqc kiro

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foreverwayward · 5 years

Text

“Wayward Hearts” Season 3 Chapter 10: Jus In Bello

Summary: After the Devil’s Gate had been opened that fateful night in the graveyard, the hunters are forced to face a new war. Countless demons now run rampant, hungry for blood and power. It’ll take everything the three have to survive when darkness once again knocks on their door. But, with only a year before Dean’s deal comes due, Sam and Riley will stop at nothing to save him; to save their family.

Masterlist

Word Count: 11,581 (Yup. It’s long)

Content Warning: language and violence

DISCLAIMER: any words or phrases in bold in the story are not my own and are credited to the writers of Supernatural.

**GIFS ARE NOT MY OWN**

In Monument, Colorado, the door of a beautiful hotel room quietly opened. As it swung inward, Sam, Riley, and Dean went in with their guns at the ready. Riley shut the entrance behind them as they spread out.

They then nodded to each other that it was clear and began their search.

The white carpet seemed like new with elegant décor filling the room. Beautiful, and clearly expensive, silk bedding was left unmade. Ivory furniture lightened up the space giving it an airy feel that was nothing like the cheap motel rooms the family was used to.

Sam went to the large, white armoire to check its contents along with the safe inside. He came up empty as Dean rummaged through the dresser drawers and Riley checked out the bathroom.

“Any sign of it?” Dean asked as he continued to dig through the bureau.

“Nothing.” The younger brother stood from his kneeled position with a sigh. “Are you sure this is Richard’s room?”

As Dean went through the piles of folded clothes, he found a small leather-bound book. The hunter opened it seeing names, titles of priceless items, and transactions.

Dean flicked through the ledger until a photograph fell onto the floor. He knelt to pick it up as his face fell into a deadpan. Lifting a photo up in front of him, Dean’s tongue pressed into his bottom lip with frustration. “Oh, yeah.” He turned the picture in Sam’s direction. “I’d say so.” It was a photo of Riley that Dean had taken of her sitting on the Impala’s hood.

“Thought I’d lost this.” Dean nodded with a condescending chuckle. “God, I hate that guy.”

“Bathroom’s clean.” Riley tucked her gun into the waistband of her jeans as Dean put the picture into his jacket pocket. “I dunno, guys. I got a bad feeling.”

Suddenly, the phone rang; it was sitting on the bed almost as if it had been waiting for them.

The three shared a look before Dean walked to the phone. Sam shook his head with the sickening feeling that trouble was on the other end of that call. But Dean picked up the handle of the rotary phone and answered it cautiously.

“Dean…?” a deep and familiar voice asked. “You there, old friend?”

Dean had forgotten how irritated he would get just hearing Richard’s voice. “Dick. Where are you?”

“Two states away by now.” The sound of passing traffic echoed through the line.

“Where?”

“Where’s our usual quippy banter? I miss it. Any chance I can speak to Ms. Munroe?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t fuckin’ think so and I want it back, Dick...now.”

“Your little pistol, you mean? Sorry, I can’t at the moment.”

“You understand how many people are gonna die if you do this?”

“What exactly is it that you think I plan to do with it?”

“Take the only weapon we have against an army of demons and sell it to the highest bidder.”

There was a pause and Richard’s tone grew serious. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know I’m gonna stop you.”

“Tough words for a guy who can’t even find me.”

“Oh, I’ll find you. You know why? Because I have absolutely nothing better to do than to track your ass down.” Dean couldn’t help but smile to himself mischievously.

“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re about to be quite occupied.”

Realizing they were in trouble as Richard continued to talk, Dean shot a worried look at his partners.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t take precautions? Send Riley my regards.”

As the call ended, a loud crash came from the door as police officers burst into the hotel room, practically breaking the door off its hinges. Their guns were drawn and immediately aimed at the three hunters. “Hands in the air!”

Sam, Dean, and Riley raised their hands above their heads in surrender with disappointment on their faces. They had been set up.

Another officer shouted, “down on your knees!”

“That son of a bitch,” Dean seethed through his gritted teeth.

“Turn around! Now!” More backup filed in as they grabbed the Winchesters and Riley before forcing them to lie down on the floor. “Sam and Dean Winchester, Riley Munroe, you have the right to remain silent.” From their low view on the ground, a pair of shoes came closer. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney and have an attorney present during any questioning.”

Their Miranda rights continued to be read as they peered up at the figure above them. It was Agent Victor Henriksen, the FBI agent whose sole focus had been finding the hunters for over a year.

“If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you at government expense.“

With a pleased expression, Henriksen met their gaze. “Hi guys…it’s been a while.”

Sam, Dean, and Riley looked at each other with worry. Dean closed his eyes and laid his head down on the floor as he conceded to the arrest.

They had been on the run for too long and the law had finally caught up to them.

------

The police station bullpen was nothing of note, not unlike most small towns’ precincts. Exposed brick made up the walls with state and country flags in the corner.

A meek, young, Asian American girl sat at her secretary’s desk. Nancy was in her early twenties and beautiful with a long braid hanging over her shoulder. Her modesty was obvious and she seemed almost intimidated as Henriksen walked into the police station.

The phones rang as the agent walked around the front desk. He was still in his bulletproof vest over his work attire with a matching FBI jacket. With his radio in his hand, he marched in with an authoritative energy showing he was the one in charge.

Two officers in uniform were waiting for him and one asked, “so, did you get them?”

“Where is everyone?” Henriksen barked. “I asked for all your men.”

Sheriff Melvin Dodd sighed. “And you got them. They went with you on the raid.”

“Four men? That’s all?”

“Everyone I could drum up with an hour’s notice. We’re a small town, Agent Henriksen.”

Unsatisfied with the sheriff’s response, the agent dropped his things and headed for the holding cells as the two followed quickly behind. In the first cell was a sleeping and disheveled man laid flat on his stomach. “What’s he in for?”

The second officer, Phil Amici, spoke up from behind the sheriff. “Uh--drunk and disorderly.”

“Keys,” Victor demanded with hand out and waited. “Now.”

Amici gave his superior a swift glimpse before handing over his keys. The agent wasted no time as he unlocked the cell and slid it open.

“What are you doing?”

Henriksen pat the prisoner on the back, waking him from his sleep. “It is your lucky night, sir. You are free to go.”

“What the hell are you doing?” the Sheriff questioned in disbelief.

The small-town officers’ words seemed to go in one ear and out the other as the agent took the man out of his cell and gave him to Amici.

“Agent Henriksen,” Melvin started with a stern tone. “You can’t just release my prisoners.” Henriksen walked away and the sheriff called out for him.

“Look, I get it...you’re Mayberry P.D.”

“Excuse me?”

“And this isn’t how I’d do it if I had my choice. But a tip’s a tip and we had to move fast.”

“Look, Agent, this ain’t my first rodeo.”

With all three of the men back in the main bullpen, the agent turned back to Amici and Dodd. “You’ve never been to a rodeo like this before. You have any idea who we’re about to bring in here?”

“Yeah, a couple of fugitives.”

“The most dangerous criminals you’ve ever laid your eyeballs on. Think Hannibal Lecter, a woman crazy enough to be his girl, and his half-wit little brother. Do you know what these three do for kicks? Dig up graves and mutilate corpses. They’re not just killers, Sheriff. They’re Satan-worshipping, nutbag killers.”

As Henriksen went on, Nancy sat nearby and overheard it all. She grew nervous and held tightly to the cross pendant hanging from her neck.

“So, work with me here. I’ll get them out your hair and on their way to Supermax and you’ll be home in enough time to watch the farm report.”

Sheriff Dodd nodded, trying to contain his frustration with the way he was being ordered around. “However we can help.”

“Those men of yours...post them at the exits.”

“Yes, sir.”

Henriksen lifted his walkie and held the side button as he spoke into it. “Reidy? Bring them in.” The agent looked at an anxious Nancy and told her, “I guess we’re ready as we’re gonna be.”

The double doors to the station opened as the Sam and Dean were led in by law enforcement. They were shackled at their wrists and ankles with the brothers tethered together.

Riley was guided in behind them in similar bindings. The metal at their feet clinked as they struggled to take steps with the chains weighing them down.

Dean’s gaze landed on the small bullpen where Nancy, Agent Henriksen, and the other two officers stood and watched them come in.

“Why all the sourpusses?” Dean smiled.

As Sam and Riley looked at the young secretary, she felt the worry in the air. Nancy was terrified and took the rosary from her desk to squeeze in her hand. Riley’s face grew soft and she tried to comfort the poor girl as best she could.

Agent Reidy took the older brother’s arm roughly to take them to their cells and Dean stumbled slightly at the pull. “Hey! Hey! Watch the merchandise!”

Nancy’s eyes followed them as they walked on.

“Don’t be scared, Nancy,” Riley said sweetly. The young woman watched as Riley softly smiled at her before being drug into the back and disappearing around the corner.

Sam and Dean were brought to their cell still in their shackles. The door was rolled closed and locked behind them before they turned to see Riley being led to the separate cell across from them.

Riley scoffed. “Oh, what? Because I’m a girl I gotta be separated?” she snarked. “That’s sexist!” Her words echoed through the concrete space as the officers ignored her remarks, leaving the hunters alone.

The walls had red, stenciled words on the cement wall. ‘NO TOUCHING, NO SPITTING, NO SHOUTING’.

As silence found them, Dean went for the bed and Sam towards the iron bars that surrounded them. They had forgotten about the chain that bound them together and nearly fell at the strain, having to catch themselves on whatever they could.

“Dean, come on!” Sam snapped in frustration.

“Alright, alright. Sit?” The older brother motioned toward the bed and Sam nodded in agreeance. They awkwardly walked around each other struggling to deal with the chains before finding a place to sit.

“Hey, sweetheart, you good?” Dean’s eyes went to Riley and waited for a response.

Riley sat on her own barely padded bed as her shackles clanged together. “Just awesome.”

A devilish grin grew on Dean’s face as he looked her over. “Why is that a good look for you?”

“Dean, we’re going to prison. Now is not the time to get into your jailhouse bondage fantasies.”

He cocked his head with an understanding expression. “Fair. So, how we gonna Houdini out of this one?”

“Good question.” Sam sighed heavily with no answer as he stared at the bars.

-----

Back in the main office, Agent Henriksen made a phone call as he loosened his bulletproof vest. His supervisor on the other line had the agent biting his tongue as he was warned again and again not to lose Riley and the Winchesters. Henriksen’s idea to take them on an armored bus up to max was tossed aside and the supervising agent would be coming to pick the fugitives up by helicopter.

Henriksen took a deep breath to calm himself as he hung up the receiver. He turned to Melvin to address him. “There’s a chopper on its way.”

“But we don’t have a helicopter pad.”

“Then clear the goddamn parking lot,” the agent bit back before walking back to the holding cells. His eyes were locked on Dean as Henriksen stood in the way of their only way to freedom. With his hand holding the bars, he watched the defeated brothers closely. “You know what I’m trying to decide?”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t know. What? Whether ‘Cialis’ will help you with your little condition?”

“What to have for dinner tonight.” Sam and Riley looked at Henriksen as he went on. “Steak or lobster--what the hell? Surf and turf.” A cynical grin and a wry laugh came from Dean. “I got a lot to celebrate. I mean, after all, seeing you three in chains…”

“You kinky son of a bitch. We don’t swing that way. Besides, that lovely lady over there has already reminded me that this is neither the time or place, so keep it in your pants.” Dean clicked his tongue as he mocked him. “Tsk tsk. And here I thought you were a professional.”

“Now, that’s funny,” he replied with no expression.

“You know, I wouldn’t bust out the melted butter just yet. Couldn’t catch us at the bank, couldn’t keep us in that jail...” Dean shrugged condescendingly.

Victor nodded in agreeance. “You’re right--I fucked up. I underestimated you. I didn’t count on you being that smart, but now I’m ready.”

“Yeah, ready to lose us again?”

“Ready like a court order to keep you in a Super-maximum prison in Nevada till trial. Ready like isolation in a soundproof, windowless cell, that between you and me…probably unconstitutional.”

Riley, Sam, and Dean realized how serious Henriksen was and even Dean went quiet.

“How’s that for ready?” When none of his prisoners responded, the agent went on. “Take a good look at Sam--you two will never see each other again. And Riley over there--your girl? She’ll be long gone--your whole little family torn apart for good.” All three stared back at him disconcerted. Henriksen was going to make sure their lives were over. “Aw. Where’s that smug smile, Dean? I want to see it.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief and chuckled to himself. “You got the wrong guys.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. You fight monsters. Sorry, Dean. Truth is, your daddy brainwashed you with all that fuckin’ devil talk and no doubt touched you in a bad place. That’s all. That’s reality.”

With anger in his eyes, Sam sat up next to his brother as they bore holes into Henriksen with their glare.

“Why don’t you shut your mouth?” Dean told him gruffly.

“Well, guess what? Life sucks, get a helmet. ‘Cause everybody’s got a goddamn sob story. But not everybody becomes a cold-blooded killer.” Satisfied with finally being able to shut Dean up, Victor shot him a stern look before turning to Riley. “You know, I definitely underestimated you, Ms. Munroe.”

Riley leaned onto her thighs and rested her chained hands. “Well, I’m flattered.”

“I don’t get you. I mean I know your dad lead you down just as fucked up of a road as Sam and Dean’s, but you’re a pretty girl--smart.” Henriksen pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the Winchesters and his face scrunched playfully. “How did you get mixed up with those two?”

“Just lucky I guess,” she shrugged.

“It’s a shame you had to fall for a monster instead of a real man. You could have had a bright future.”

“Look, as much as I appreciate your need to dissect my life choices--and I say this with all the respect in the world...nobody asked you.”

Her tight-lipped smile made Victor scoff to himself.

The sound of a helicopter approaching caught their attention as Henriksen looked at his watch before tapping it with a pleased grin. “Mm. It’s surf and turf time.”

Sam, Dean, and Riley watched the agent leave, their brave faces falling with him finally gone. Dean dragged his palm down his face as the tension in the holding cell grew.

The three were running out of time, and the thought of losing each other was more terrifying to them than the idea of a lifetime spent rotting in prison.

Their solitude didn’t last long before another man strode in. He was in a sharp blue suit and tie with his badge on his belt. Sam and Dean had played the role of feds long enough to know who the stranger was.

He closed the large metal door separating the office to the holding cell and Dean stood up to get a good look at him.

“Sam and Dean Winchester.” The man smiled, delighted with the situation before twisting only enough to get a quick study of the woman behind him. “And Riley Munroe. I’m Deputy Director Steven Groves. This is a pleasure.”

With an annoyed expression, Dean grumbled, “well, glad one of us feels that way.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you three to come out of the woodwork.”

“Wait…” Riley started as her face grew concerned and her eyes widened.

She was cut off when Agent Groves drew his gun and shot Dean in the left shoulder. He grunted at the impact as his blood sprayed the wall. Dean fell back onto the bed while Sam jumped up to grapple with Steven through the bars.

“Dean!” Riley shouted as her hands gripped tightly to the bars and fought against them, desperate to get to him.

Several more shots were fired from the agent's gun, narrowly missing the older brother. The sound of bullets ricocheted off the walls as they were fired from the weapon.

Sam roared as he struggled against the man trying to kill them. When he finally had a firm grip on Steven, the hunter held his arm in place and his angry stare found the agent’s face.

The brown irises that glared back Sam shifted into an obsidian black.

Riley began an exorcism in Latin, her rage rising out of control. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…” Her prayer caused the demon’s head to violently whip from side to side in an unholy and monstrous manner.

Sam joined in as they continued to recite in unison. “...omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.”

The evil creature bared its teeth and snarled. “Sorry, I've gotta cut this short. It’s gonna be a long night, kiddos.”

A gut-wrenching cry ripped from the vessel’s throat as black smoke shot from his mouth. As the agent’s body shook, the demon flew through the air and disappeared into the ceiling air vent.

With nothing left in him to stay standing, Groves collapsed to the ground, leaving the gun in Sam’s hands.

Sheriff Melvin, Agent Henriksen, the FBI supervisor Agent Reidy, and other officers rushed in with their guns drawn only to see the injured director on the floor and Sam with his weapon.

“Aright, put the gun down!” Melvin shouted.

Sam put his hands out showing he meant them no harm and pleaded for them to understand. “Wait. Okay. Wait!”

“He shot him!” Panicked officers yelled back and forth in the heated moment.

“I didn’t shoot him, okay. I didn’t shoot anyone!”

The brothers went to their knees, still calling out over the loud voices that they were innocent.

Dean clutched at his still bleeding wound and roared, “the bastard shot me!”

“Stop!” Riley cried while still trapped in her own cell. “Stop! He didn’t do it!”

“Get on your knees, now!” Voices overlapped as chaos ensued.

Sam’s heart began to beat out of control and he cast his eyes down in submission. “Okay, okay, okay. Don’t shoot. Please. Look--here. Here.” Moving slowly, Sam placed the gun on the ground and slid it underneath the bars. “Look, we didn’t shoot him. Check the body, there’s no blood. We did not kill him. Go ahead, check him.”

Reidy checked Steven’s pulse and then looked him over. “Vic, there’s no bullet wound.”

The emotionally charged room pulsed through Riley as her abilities drowned her in the weight of it all. “Oh, my god,” she growled angrily as her cuffed hands ran through her hair before clenching it in her fists. “The guy’s probably been dead for months. I’ll repeat myself, they didn’t do anything to him!”

With his gun still pointed at the brothers, Henriksen shifted his grip. “Talk or I shoot.”

“You’re not gonna believe any of us, anyway!”

Sam paused and weighed their options before looking back at the agent. “He was possessed.”

“Possessed? Right,” Victor replied incredulously. “Fire up the chopper! We’re taking them out of here now.”

“Yeah! Do that!” With his hand holding tight to his gunshot wound, Dean knew their best chance of survival was to get out of that station. It didn’t matter where they were headed, as long as his family was safe.

“Backup should already be here. I’m gonna go check it out.” Reidy nodded to Henriksen before hurrying outside.

As he opened the front doors, the agent discovered the bodies of two officers. Their throats had been slit brutally nearly to decapitation. Blood pooled around their still-warm corpses on the concrete where they had been slain.

Reidy’s breath grew ragged with panic as clouds from the cold air swelled in front of his mouth. He hesitantly went to the chopper that had come to evacuate them. Another two agents and the pilot were all dead.

“They’re dead,” he uttered into his walkie. The fear in his voice was evident as it trembled with his every word. “I think they’re all dead.”

A massive explosion erupted from the helicopter. Agent Reidy cried out as the blast threw through the air and onto the asphalt with a hard thud.

Victor's voice was still calling to him through his radio. “What the hell was that? Reidy? Reidy?!”

Groaning in pain and coughing to catch his breath, Reidy sat up to see the chopper still ablaze. A large cut across his cheek dripped fresh blood down his face.

The sound of approaching footsteps came from behind Reidy. He turned to see one of the fallen officers back on his feet looking down at him with empty black eyes.

Reidy screamed in agony as the possessed deputy’s fist tore into the agent’s chest. His ribs crunched at the impact as his mouth hung open in shock.

The demon twisted its hold and ripped through his chest before Reidy’s body fell to the ground.

Sam, Dean, and Riley waited alone in the holding cells after the officers had all ran out to help.

Every light in the station suddenly went out and the sound of whirring electronics powered down. It went silent with the night moon serving as the only light through the small window. Only a handful of backup lights flickered on and the hunters stood to their feet knowing the worst was yet to come.

“Oh, that can’t be good,” Dean said to himself.

Sam gathered a long ream of thing toilet paper and held it to Dean’s still bleeding shoulder. As his older brother grunted at the contact, Sam remained unmoved as he continued to apply pressure. “Alright, don’t be such a wuss.”

With a heavy sigh and nowhere to go, Riley returned to her spot on the bed. “Sam, how’s he lookin’?”

“I don’t think it’s too bad. The bullet went clean through. Just gotta get the bleeding to stop.”

Riley closed her eyes and took long, slow breaths to calm herself. Coupled with her own fear and worry, she had to calm herself. They were in for a long night, and Riley knew she had to get her abilities under control. Death was in the air and its presence challenged the air in her lungs.

“What’s the plan? Hmm?” Henriksen barked at the hunters as he charged back into the holding cell. “Fuckin’ kill everyone in the station, bust you three out?”

Dean’s hand had replaced Sam’s as he held the cheap tissue in place. Confusion fell over him as he stared back at the agent. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your psycho friends. I’m talking about a goddamn blood bath.”

“Okay, I promise you--whoever’s out there? Is not here to help us.”

Sam lowered his voice to plead with the agent. “Look, you got to believe us. Everyone here is in terrible danger.”

“You think?”

“Why don’t you let us out of here so we can save your asses?” Dean snapped back.

“From what?” Victor paused while Sam and Dean looked away. “You gonna say ‘demons’?” He spun and stared Riley down as she refused to meet his glare.

In his frustration, Henriksen raised his gun and pointed it to the ceiling, his finger aching at the trigger as he spoke through his gritted teeth. “Don’t you fucking dare say ‘demons’. Let me tell you something...you should be a lot more scared of me.” Shaking his head, the agent walked away, his gun still in his hanging hand.

“Dean?” Riley called softly. “You okay?” She was feeling the pain of Dean’s gunshot wound and fought to not let it show. The last thing he needed was to worry about her.

Dean peeled back the pad of toilet paper revealing a large bloodstain seeping through before chucking it away to the side. “I’ll live,” Dean sighed. “You know, that’s if we actually get out of here alive. So, either of you got a plan?”

Sam examined the exit wound on the back of Dean’s shoulder and his brother grimaced in pain.

As Riley still struggled with her overwhelming empathy, she looked up feeling a new presence in the room. She saw Nancy peeking her head around the corner outside the bars.

“Hi…” the hunter said sweetly. The scared girl began to back away and Riley put up her hands. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you. But, please--” Riley looked back at Sam and Dean and bit her lip anxiously. “We need your help. It’s Nancy...right?”

The secretary stayed silent unsure of what to say or do.

“Nancy, my boyfriend--he’s been shot. I can tell from here that it’s really bad and he needs help. Is there a towel you can get for my brother Sam so he can stop the bleeding?”

Still uncertain and clearly afraid, Nancy’s timid eyes looked back at the hunter.

“I promise...we’re not the bad guys.”

When Riley couldn’t get a response from the girl, she closed her eyes and focused, hoping to hone in on her abilities. After not using them for so long, Riley would need to find a way to control them once again.

She reached out to Nancy telepathically and tried to calm her nerves. Riley could feel the girl’s utter terror and she trembled briefly at the feeling. It had been so long since Riley had tried to ease someone’s pain, but she couldn’t stand leaving Nancy in that state.

Riley opened her eyes as she watched the girl’s body relax ever so slightly. Nancy sighed in a moment of relief and a small, almost unnoticeable smile curled at one side of her lips. She then spun on her heel and left.

“It was a nice try, sweetheart,” Dean told her.

Sam let out a heavy breath and turned around to see Nancy had come back with a clean white towel. “Thank you,” he said gently.

Nancy slowly inched towards the boys, carefully.

“It's okay.” Sam held out his handcuffed hands. The girl nervously put the towel inside the bars as Sam smiled at her; she returned the gesture before the hunter grabbed her arm and drug her against the bars.

Nancy screamed at the top of her lungs and an officer rushed in with his rifle.

“Let her go! Let her go!”

Doing as he was told, Sam released her as Nancy backed away, terrified.

The officer pointed his weapon at Sam. “Try something again--get shot. And not in the arm.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded.

Still rattled and scared, Nancy left with her coworker as he escorted her out.

Dean hit Sam in the arm angrily. “What the fuck was that?”

From the other cell, Riley smirked knowing exactly what her brother had done. Sam held up Nancy’s rosary that he had stolen from her in the tussle. The couple chuckled softly to themselves.

------

Dean, Sam, and Riley were unsure how much time had passed since they had heard anything. There was no way out and all they could do was wait.

Laying on her back with her knees bent, Riley stared at the ceiling as she fiddled with her hands. Her mind was racing and she tried to ground herself as much as possible.

In the other cell, Dean was still pressing the towel into his wound as he sat on the bed with Sam who scoffed. “We’re like sitting ducks in here.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean agreed. “Would it kill these cops to bring us a fuckin’ snack?!” He raised his voice to a yell hoping the officers would hear him.

Riley sat up on her bed and scooted back to lean against the wall. “Guys, we have no clue how many there are. I mean, they could be anybody and just waltz right in here.”

“It's kind of wild, right? I mean it’s like they’re coming for us--they’ve never done that before.” Dean smirked, pleased with his train of thought. “It’s like we got a contract on us. Think it’s because we’re so awesome? I think it’s ‘cause we’re so awesome.” He smiled again before it quickly faded after seeing Sam’s unamused expression.

“You might be right, Dean. It’s ‘cause we’re awesome.” As Riley shot him a playful look, Dean laughed under his breath.

Scratching his nose, Dean signaled for Riley to read his mind just as he used to. “I’m gonna get us outta here, okay?”

She nodded as she acknowledged his thoughts with a smile.

Riley’s focus shifted as Sheriff Dodd came in with his keys in hand.

He went to the brothers’ cell and unlocked the bar door; it clicked loudly as it came undone.

The two shared a worried glance before Dean looked back at Dodd. “Well, howdy, there, Sheriff,” he joked with a forced southern accent as the cell door was opened.

Sheriff Dodd walked in and stared at the brothers. The two grew increasingly worried as Riley hurried to the locked door of her cage. “It’s time to go, boys.”

“Uh...you know what?” Knowing Riley was right, Dean played it cool as he and Sam stepped back as the Sheriff blocked them in. “We’re--we're just comfy right here. But, thank you.”

The sound of footsteps had everyone turn to see Henriksen had walked in. He was standing behind Melvin with a stern expression. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“There’s a SWAT facility in Boulder. We’re not just gonna sit around here and wait to die. We’re gonna make a run for it.”

Hoping she could still get Dean to hear her, Riley whispered into his thoughts. “Something’s not right.”

The agent’s head barely turned with the corner of his sight set on Riley. A hidden curl of his lip sent a chill up her spine.

“Guys…” As the brothers peered over to her, Riley’s heart began to race. “...that’s not Henriksen.”

Without hesitation, Victor lifted his weapon and didn’t flinch as he fired a bullet into Dobb’s head. Blood splattered behind the Sheriff as he fell back against the bars and his body slumped to the floor.

Dean and Sam leaped in to grapple with the agent as they each went for one of his arms. The older brother disarmed him and aided Sam in shoving the man’s face into the toilet.

In the bowl waited the rosary Sam had stolen; it was now holy water.

Henriksen’s eyes went stark black as the blessed toilet water burned his face and he screamed in pain as bubbles escaped his mouth.

Sam began to recite the Latin exorcism prayer, pulling the agent’s head out from moment to moment to allow the trapped man inside to breathe.

Steam poured from Victor’s face as the holy water burned the demon and it seethed.

Officer Amici ran around the corner responding to the sounds with his rifle ready and aimed.

“Stay back!” Dean ordered as he pointed the agent’s gun back at him.

Again, Sam dunked the creature into the water and continued to pray. The demon yelled in agony but the hunter wouldn’t relent.

“Hurry up!”

As Sam held tightly to the vessel’s collar, he jerked him back out.

The monster’s black eyes only aided the malevolent smirk that still sat on its face. “It’s too late. I already called them. They’re already coming.”

Before the demon could be drowned in holy water again, Henriksen howled out as black smoke shot out of his mouth and up into the air. His body twitched and tears formed at his eyes as the evil entity ripped itself from his body before disappearing into the vents above them.

Victor fell to the floor as Sam slinked to down as well, breathing heavily from the struggle.

They all waited for the agent to respond before he regained consciousness and began to cough as he tried to catch his breath.

“Henriksen! Hey. Is that you in there?” Sam asked shakily.

Getting up while still shaking and in shock, Victor slowly pulled himself up to sit on the bed. “I…I shot the Sheriff.”

A thought came to Dean and he smiled proudly. “But you didn't shoot the deputy.” Sam glared at his brother in disbelief at his poor timing.

“Five minutes ago, I was fine, and then…”

“Let me guess. Some nasty black smoke fucked itself into your throat?”

Henriksen’s eyes darted back and forth as he tried to come to terms with what had just happened and he nodded.

“You were possessed,” Sam interjected. “That’s what it feels like--now you know.”

Handing back over Henriksen’s gun to him, Dean said, “I owe the biggest ‘I told you so’ ever.”

It was then that the agent knew he had been wrong all along, that Sam, Dean, and Riley had been telling the truth from the beginning. Demons were real, all of it was real.

He stood to his feet, water still dripping from his face. “Officer Amici. Keys…” When the officer obliged, Victor immediately unlocked the heavy chains that hung from the brothers and they fell to the floor with a loud clang. “Alright, so, how do we survive?”

“Um, hello?” Riley called out still locked up and shackled. She held up her restraints and her face appeared slightly annoyed. “You start by getting me the fuck outta here.”

------

The night lingered on with everyone still trapped in the station. Even with the large clock on the wall, time passed differently, sometimes painstakingly slow and other times rushed as if they had no time left at all.

A spray paint can rattled as Sam shook it while he continued to draw a large devil’s trap on the floor. All the while, Dean went over the floor plans of the police station. Two traps had been drawn at the entrances at the exits as they plotted their plan.

Finally, with access to medical equipment, Riley tended to Dean’s wound. She had cleaned it thoroughly and wrapped a bandage around his shoulder before taping it in place. “Better?”

“Well, I still got shot,” Dean teased. “But, sure...better.”

With a playful glare, Riley shook her head at his sarcasm.

The only remaining officers, Henriksen and Amici, walked in as they prepared guns for the coming battle. ”Well, that’s nice. It’s not gonna do much good,” Dean told them.

With skepticism, Phil replied, “we got an arsenal here.”

“You don’t poke a bear with BB gun. That’s just gonna piss it off.”

Henriksen worked to loosen the tie around his neck. “What do you need?”

“We need salt.” Riley collected the rest of the med kit before closing it back up. “We’re gonna need a lot of salt.”

“There’s road salt in the storeroom,” Nancy added from off to the side. She stepped in closer from out of the shadows as Dean nodded.

“Perfect. We need salt at every window and every door.” At Dean’s command, Henriksen and Phil left to retrieve everything from storage. His focus returned to the soft-spoken girl nearby. “How you holdin’ up, Nancy?”

“Okay,” she paused. “When I was little, I would come home from the church and start to talk about the devil. My parents would tell me to stop being so literal. I guess I showed them, huh?”

Phil found his way back to the bullpen with large bags of salt and Dean looked back at him. “Hey, where's my car?”

“Impound lot out back.”

“Okay.”

“Wait,” Amici said as his arm reached out to stop the hunter. “You’re not going out there?”

“Yeah, I got to get something out of my trunk.”

Riley stood from her seat and threw her jacket back on that she had taken off while aiding Dean. “I’m coming with you.”

“Like hell you are.”

She scoffed. “Since when have you ever been able to tell me what to do, Winchester?”

------

After getting the keys from the officer, Riley and Dean ran out to the backlot. A chain-link fence with large ‘NO TRESPASSING’ signs had been locked to keep the confiscated vehicles safe. Dean made quick work of removing the lock as Riley kept a lookout.

The hinges of the gate squeaked as they hurried inside. Riley watched Dean’s back for any movement before following him to the Impala’s trunk.

As Dean hurried to gather their equipment and stuff it into his duffle bag, the lights of the gas station across the street began to flicker.

A dark and eerie feeling sat in Riley’s gut and she swallowed hard as the wind changed and started to blow her hair behind her. “Dean, something’s coming.”

From around the gas station came a thick, massive cloud of black smoke interspersed with lightning. Glass shattered as it plowed through, breaking anything in its path.

“Scratch that...something’s here. We gotta go!”

Dean’s breath quickened as he grabbed dreamcatcher-like amulets and added them to his bag of weapons. He slammed the trunk shut as leaves around the couple flew out of control as gusts of wind whisked around them.

With a shotgun in his hand and his duffel bag on his shoulder, Dean looked back at the evil force barreling toward them. “Go, go, go!” Dean shouted as he grabbed Riley’s hand. The two went into a full sprint running as fast as their legs could carry them back towards the police station. “Come on!”

Completely out of breath as they reached safety, Dean threw the double doors open and drug Riley in tow. He slammed them shut behind and reclaimed Riley’s hand as they ran down the hallway.

At the top of his lungs, Dean screamed out to the others. “They’re coming! Hurry!”

Nancy continued to line the windows with salt as black smoke hit the pane in front of her face. She screamed in terror and hurried back into the main office. The rest of the survivors joined her as Dean tossed his shotgun to Sam.

The lights buzzed and flickered almost violently as a loud bang came from outside. Thick smoke struck the building with a thud and surrounded them, blocking out any remaining light from outside.

The evil cloud engulfed the building as dust rained down from the ceiling while it quaked. Everything around them rumbled and shook as if the station itself was alive. The sound of deafening pounding came from the doors and windows as the powerful smoke demanded entrance.

It suddenly went quiet as the blanket of darkness seemed to disappear.

“Everybody okay?” Sam asked as he peered out the windows from where he stood.

Henriksen sighed. “Define ‘okay’.”

Grabbing the arsenal bag, Riley pulled out a small pouch. She opened it up as her fingers dug in and pulled out necklaces. They were strung on strands of leather with a symbol of protection dangling in the front. “Here, everyone needs to put one on, alright? They’ll keep you safe. You can’t get possessed if you’re wearing it.”

As Nancy put hers on and pulled her hair out from underneath, the symbol laid over the silver cross on her own chain. “What about you guys?”

Dean and Sam pulled back their shirts to reveal the top of the left side of their chest. The protective emblem that Bobby had shown them had been tattooed into their skin. It was in black ink depicting a pentagram surrounded by a ring of what looked to be flames.

When the others turned to Riley, she huffed and moved her jacket to the side as she lifted her shirt. She tugged the fabric up high enough to show her lower ribcage. The same black symbol had been etched into her.

“Smart,” Henriksen told them with a look of approval. “How long you had those?”

Sam straightened up his shirt before uttering, “not long enough.” He swallowed hard as his eyes flickered up to Riley.

They shared a look remembering what they had gone through when Meg had taken over Sam.

Though her brother could only recall fragments, Riley remembered every moment. From time to time that night would haunt her, vividly, but it was a secret she intended to carry to her grave.

While Nany shuffled through the items on her desk, she slowly lifted her head when she noticed movement from outside the window. A large crowd of people had filed in front of the station in wait.

“Hey, that’s Jenna Rubner,” Nancy said, recognizing an old friend.

The woman had long red hair, her eyes black as an empty hole. Officers that had once lied dead in front of the entrance, stood drenched in their blood, their throats still slit open.

Joining her at the window, Sam surveyed the situation. “That’s not Jenna anymore.”

“That’s where all that black demon smoke went?”

“Looks like.”

------

Dean and Victor sat alone in one of the offices as they readied their weapons. It was quiet and it was the first time the two had ever been alone.

“Shotgun shells full of salt,” Henriksen chuckled to himself as he loaded the rounds into a shotgun.

“Whatever works.”

“Fighting off monsters with condiments.” Taking off his tie, the agent sighed before resuming his task. “So...turns out demons are real.”

“FYI,” Dean started as he peered up at him from his seat on a nearby chair. “Ghosts are real too. So are werewolves, vampires, changelings, even evil fuckin’ clowns that eat people.”

“Okay then.”

“If it makes you feel better, Bigfoot’s a hoax.” The hunter gave a tight-lipped smile with that same look of ‘I told you so’ that he felt so comfortable shoving in Henriksen’s face.

“It doesn’t.” Loading shells into a belt to pack as much ammo as possible, he asked, “how many demons?”

“Total? No clue...a lot.”

Victor’s face fell as he took a brief moment to think to himself. “You know what my job is?”

“You mean besides locking up the good guys?” Dean cocked his weapon and walked over to his new ally. “I have no idea.”

“My job is boring, it’s frustrating. You work three years for one goddamn break, and then maybe you can save...a few people--maybe. That’s the payoff. I’ve been busting my ass for fifteen years to nail a handful of guys and all this while, there’s something off in the corner so big. So, yeah…sign me up for that big, frosty mug of wasting my fucking life.”

Dean’s expression went softer. “You didn't know.”

“Now I do.” Henriksen paused as he collected more rounds for them to keep working. “What’s out there? Can you guys beat it? Can you win?”

“Honestly? I think the world’s gonna end bloody. But it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight. We do have choices. I choose to go down swingin’.”

“What about Riley?”

Looking back at the agent, Dean’s brow hooked. “What about her?”

“Well, you got more to go home to than just your brother. You got more to lose.”

“Yeah,” the hunter nodded solemnly. “What about you? You rockin’ the white picket fence?”

“Mm-mm. An empty apartment and a string of angry ex-wives. So, I gotta ask...how does that work for you guys doing all of this?”

“Honestly?” Dean grimaced realizing he never had to answer that question before. “I guess it just does. Ya know, I never imagined being the kind of guy that would ever involved with anyone. I mean, what we do? Getting attached to people doesn’t usually end with anything but blood. But, with her?” Peering through the window into the bullpen, Dean watched Riley comfort Nancy and smiled to himself. “Man, she’s somethin’ else. She’s not just ‘some girl’, ya know? Riley’s my partner, she’s family.”

A loud crash came from nearby and Dean and Henriksen ran into an office across the way. Immediately behind them, Riley and Sam hurried in to help.

The small room’s high window had been shattered and the line of salt was broken. They all stopped at the door with their weapons ready only to see a blonde woman had found her way inside. She was caught in the red devil’s trap painted on the ground with a cut bleeding at her brow line. It was Ruby.

Henriksen pointed his rifle at her. “How do we kill her?”

“We don’t,” Sam said as he lowered the agent’s gun.

“She’s a demon.”

“She’s here to help us.”

Riley rolled her eyes as she and Dean dropped their aim. “So the bitch says.” she feigned a dramatic ‘fuck you’ expression at Ruby.

The demon remained trapped by the window, breathing heavily after the fight to get in.

Sighing in exasperation, Dean leaned in to whisper into Riley’s ear. “Right there with ya, sweetheart.”

“Are you gonna let me out?” Ruby asked as Sam walked in her direction.

He knelt down and scratched at the devil’s trap on the floor with his knife, creating a break in the seal.

“And they say chivalry’s dead. Does anyone have a fucking breath mint? Some guts splattered in my mouth while I was killing my way in here.” Ruby marched past everyone and into the main office as they turned to follow her while Sam stayed behind to fix the salt line at the shattered window.

As Dean caught up to the demon, he knew she could give them the answers they needed. “How many are out there?”

“Thirty at least,” Ruby answered as she leaned against a desk to look back at Dean. “That’s so far.”

“Oh, good. Thirty. Thirty hit men all gunning for us. Who sent them?”

Ruby focused her attention on Sam with a cocked head with a shocked face. “You didn’t tell Dean? Did you even tell Riley?” Dean and Riley turned to Sam, perplexed. “Oh, I’m surprised.”

“Tell us what?”

“There’s a big new up and comer--real pied piper.”

With her arms crossed over her chest, Riley shook her head before reaching up to run a hand through her hair. “Who’s the new guy then?”

“Her. Her name is Lilith. And she really, really wants Sam’s intestines on a stick. ‘Cause she sees him as competition. I know she’s just as desperate, if not more so, to get her hands on Riley.” Ruby’s eyes bore into the hunter as she looked her over. “You’re not just competition, you’re the one she wants. With you, Lilith’s got a weapon like nothing else. But, if she can’t have you, her first priority is gonna be to eat you alive before you can go against her.”

Dean scrunched his face in anger as he turned to his brother. “You knew about this?” When Sam didn’t answer and he hung his head, his brother scoffed. “Well, gee, Sam. Is there anything else we should know?!”

“How about you all have your little family meeting later? We’ll need the Colt.” The room went still with the hunters knowing they had lost their most powerful weapon and Ruby snapped at them. “Where’s the Colt?”

Finally having something to say, Sam uttered, “it got stolen.”

“I’m sorry, I must have blood in my ear. I thought I just heard you say that you three were fucking stupid enough to let the Colt get grabbed out of your clumsy, idiotic hands.” Pushing herself up, Ruby gritted her teeth as she looked away from them. “Fan-fucking-tastic. This is just peachy…”

“Ruby…”

She raised her hand to stop him from speaking. “Shut the fuck up.” Ruby clenched her jaw as she quickly thought their options over. “Fine. Since I don’t see that there’s no other any option, there’s one other way I know how to get you out of here alive. I know a spell. It’ll vaporize every goddamn demon in a one-mile radius...myself included. So, you let the Colt out of your sight and now I have to die. So, next time, be more careful. How’s that for a dying wish?”

With his gun still in hand, Dean got up from where he sat on the desk nearby. “Okay, what do we need to do?”

“Aww...you can’t do anything. This spell is very specific. It calls for a person of virtue.”

Dean shrugged with a cheesy grin, still favoring his injured arm. “I got virtue.”

“Nice try,” the demon chuckled. “You’re not a virgin.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Nobody’s a virgin.”

Ruby’s eyes flickered from Dean and over to Nancy who looked away from the evil monster staring her down.

“No,” Dean started with utter disbelief. “No way. You’re kidding me. Y--you’re…”

As she fiddled with the silver cross on her neck, Nancy replied, “what? It’s a choice, okay?”

“So, y--you’ve never...not even once? I mean not even--” Stopping himself with wide eyes and a shake of his head, Dean tried to wrap his head around the idea of a young, beautiful girl who had saved herself. “Wow.”

Riley had gone over to Dean and her elbow poked him as she telepathically spoke while trying to hide her growing grin. “Not everyone’s as sexually depraved as we are.”

His tongue shot out over his bottom lip as his eyes met hers. “Oh, sweetheart, we live through this--and I’ll show you depravity.”

She had to fight to stifle the flirty expression that attempted to take over her face.

“So, this spell,” Nancy said eagerly trying to move on from the subject with a hopeful and innocent smile at Ruby. “What can I do?”

“You can hold still…” The sound of Ruby’s heeled boots clacked as she sauntered toward the girl. “While I cut your heart out of your chest.”

“What?”

Immediately, Riley and Dean’s voices overlapped each other as they yelled and stepped forward, the two sharing the same urgency. “What?” “You’re insane.” “We’re not doing that.” “Absolutely not.”

“I’m offering a solution.” Ruby was growing impatient.

Dean dramatically feigned being taken aback and his wide eyes sat on the demon’s face. “You’re offering to fuckin’ kill somebody.”

“And what do you think’s gonna happen to this girl when the demons get in?”

Henriksen, Riley, and Dean continued to argue back and forth with Ruby, shocked, angry and disgusted at the suggestion.

“Excuse me,” the young girl said softly, broken and scared.

“You’re all gonna die.” Ruby retorted to the others. “Look, this is the only way.”

“Ex--excuse me.”

The consistent bickering over it all had tensions growing by the minute and Riley went to stand in front of Nancy as if trying to protect her.

“Would everybody please shut up?!” The room went silent at Nancy’s shouting and everyone’s focus sat on her. “All the people out there...will it save them?”

Riley exhaled heavily. She knew that by telling her the truth, Nancy would sacrifice herself. The hunter had felt her gentle spirit from the moment they had been brought into the station. It made sense to her that the girl was a virgin, she was pure.

“It’ll blow the demons out of their bodies.” The demon had just threatened to butcher Nancy, and yet her tone almost seemed gentle. “So, if their bodies are okay... yeah.”

There was a moment of silence as Nancy paused to think it over. Her nerves grew and her heart raced, but there was no doubt in her mind what her decision would be.

With her lip trembling, she swallowed. “I’ll do it.”

Riley closed her eyes at the girl’s words trying not to cry as Nancy’s heartfelt emotions and empathy for others rushed over her.

“Hell no!” Henriksen interrupted from off to the side.

“Nancy,” Riley touched her arm and shook her head. “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.”

“All my friends are out there.” Sniffling and still shaking, she stared back at Riley.

Victor pushed to the center of the room and spoke with conviction. “We don't sacrifice people. We do that, we’re no better than them.”

Dean peered over to Henriksen and they shared a moment of understanding. Whatever history the two had shared, they were now comrades in the trenches together; brothers in the bloody battle to come.

A cacophony of shouting roared through the space around them, except for Sam, who leaned against the doorway quietly.

“Sam,” Ruby began as she looked to him. “You know I’m right.”

Again, Sam had nothing to say and his eyes fell to the floor.

Smiling slightly in the expectation that Sam would agree with him, Dean’s focus went on his little brother. “Sam?” With no words, Sam’s jaw clenched and Dean raised his voice. “What the fuck is going on? Sam, tell her.”

“It’s my decision.” Still clinging to the peace her necklace brought her, Nancy stood her ground.

A devilish grin and arched eyebrow stared back at her as Ruby encouraged her on. “Damn straight, cherry pie.”

“Stop!” Dean yelled furiously. “Stop! Nobody kill any virgins! Sam, I need to talk to you.” His head motioned forward to Riley letting her know to follow suit. The three walked into the empty hallway to speak privately before Dean spun around to his brother. “Please tell me you’re not actually considering this. We’re talking about holding down a girl and cutting out her fucking heart.

Sam’s brow creased with concern and his voice rose. “And we’re also talking about thirty people out there, Dean. Innocent people who are all gonna die, along with everyone in here.”

“That’s not the point, Sam,” Riley jumped in. “In what world is it okay to slaughter an innocent girl? I’m not letting that demon bitch touch her, you hear me? I won’t surrender my humanity; I refuse to become a monster. I told you I wouldn’t no matter the cost.”

“Then what? What do we do?”

Turning away for a moment, Dean thought to himself and drug his calloused palm down his face before returning to his partners. “I got a plan. I’m not saying it's a good one, I’m not even saying that it’ll work. But it sure as hell beats killing a virgin.”

“Okay, so, what’s the plan?”

Dean and Riley’s eyes met as they shared his thoughts and she nodded with an approving gesture. Without breaking their gaze, Dean answered Sam, “open the doors, let them all in...and we fight like hell.”

------

Not long after, the group had gathered once again in the bullpen. It was quiet as anticipation and worry consumed them. The time to fight was drawing closer, and if any of them were honest, no one was ready.

Sam made his way back to the others after coming out from one of the back rooms. “Got the equipment to work.”

“Good,” Riley replied as she cocked her shotgun.

“This is insane.”

“You win ‘understatement of the year’,” Ruby mocked. “It’s not gonna work.” Using her arms to push herself up from her chair, the demon waved them off. “So long.”

“So, you’re just gonna leave?”

“Hey. I was gonna kill myself to help you win. I’m not gonna stand here and watch you lose.” She inched closer to them and glared back and forth between Riley and Sam. “And I’m disappointed because I tried--I really did. But clearly, I bet on the wrong horses. Do you mind letting me out?”

They lead her to the front doors and Sam crouched to scratch away the paint from another devil’s trap. He then ran his hand over the salt line across the doorway, breaking the barrier.

The demon gave them one last snide look before stepping out into the night.

Through the fogged, bulletproof glass on the entrance, Riley peered outside to see Ruby pull out her knife. She waved it in front of herself as if challenging the rest of the demons.

They stopped to think it over and made a way for Ruby to pass between them before she disappeared into the night.

“Let’s go.” Gripping her weapon, Riley lead them back as Sam fixed the blockade.

Everyone went to ready themselves in their positions at different spots in the building. Sam waited in the main office as Dean and Henriksen headed to stand at the doors.

Dean passed Riley and he took one of her hands in his as his thumb ran over her skin. “Be careful.”

“You too.” Forcing a smile, Riley touched Dean’s face lovingly before they shared a kiss.

As they pulled apart, their foreheads came together and their eyes closed as the couple soaked each other in. With Riley’s abilities growing again, the connection they had always had was finding them once more.

In that brief moment, they became one as Dean’s hand held the back of her head. “I love you,” he murmured softly.

“I love you too.”

Dean cleared his throat as a lump grew and he kissed her head. Choking back the fear that they wouldn’t see each other again, they quickly headed to their positions.

Nancy had hidden up on the roof away from the fight with Officer Amici armed to protect her. They had their own parts to play.

With Henriksen, the Winchesters, and Riley at their entrances, Dean called out loudly, “all set?”

“Yeah!” Sam shouted.

Victor nodded nervously to himself. “Ready!”

There was a quick pause and Riley readied her weapon. “Let’s do it!!”

All four broke the salt lines and devil’s traps that protected the doors. One by one, they forced them open and held up their weapons as the dark and foggy night stared back at them.

Henriksen steadied his breathing as the silence nearly deafened him.

Lost in his assumption of where the attack would come from, he was caught off guard as a demon swung down from above. With heavy force, the creature kicked Victor in his chest. He grunted at the impact and his rifle went off echoing through the halls as he fell back onto the ground.

Henriksen was grabbed by his shirt and yanked from the floor before immediately being shoved back into the wall, drywall falling around him.

The demon grabbed the agent’s throat in an attempt to strangle him as the creature pinned him to the wall.

“God, I hope this works.” Henriksen pulled a flask from his pocket and opened it before splashing holy water on the evil thing holding him hostage.

Groaning in pain, the creature grabbed at its face as its skin sizzled and burned its unclean soul.

The booming sound of fired shots rang through the station as Sam, Dean, and Riley shot at the demons that charged towards them.

As Riley’s barrel went empty, she fumbled to load it again. “Dammit…” she muttered as a possessed vessel rushed at her.

With the demon inches in front of her, the hunter cocked her shotgun and fired, blowing a hole into its chest.

Riley panted at the close encounter before more demons began to run in through the doors. She fired round after round as she moved back into the hallways.

Dean and Henriksen bumped into each other as they were pushed further into the station by the coming army. They shared a quick look and hurried to reload. While back to back, they began to fire away, blasting anything that came close.

“Go! Go! Go!” Dean roared out as they both ran in opposite directions down the halls and a hoard of the possessed charged in after them.

Back in the bullpen, Sam was tackled to the ground by a side attack and he was forced into hand-to-hand combat. He was held in a chokehold as another demon came toward him. Sam then bashed the butt of his shotgun with all his might into the monster that held him to set himself free.

A cry came out from nearby. “Sam!” Riley’s boots screeched to a halt once she had a clear shot and she fired. The blast’s smoke blew from the barrel as the she loaded up once again.

Chaos enveloped the station as the four fought for their lives. Glass shattered, the sound of yelling and screams rang through the air, and gunshots fired with abandon nearly piercing their ears.

With all the demons inside, Phil and Nancy rushed at the opportunity to line all of the exits with salt. All the while, Sam, Dean, and Riley had all found their way back into the main office.

They were surrounded and flung holy water in every direction. Demons cried out in pain as their flesh hissed with every splash.

As their canteens ran dry, the hunters watched the hoard closed in on them.

A single demon walked towards them, her eyes black. She stretched out her arm and her power sent Sam, Dean, and Riley flying against the wall. The crash of their bodies into the solid brick had them gasping in pain.

They looked at each other before Dean shouted at the top of his lungs. “Henriksen, now!”

A recording began to play through the sound system of Sam reciting the exorcism prayer. The demons froze and covered their ears, desperate to protect themselves.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversari, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis, humiliare sub potenti manu dei…”

As the exorcism continued to air over the loudspeakers, demons flailed and screamed. They began to pound at the doors trying to get out; still the barriers held.

Black smoke began to shoot from their mouths and the bodies of the possessed people fell to the ground. Their energies converged together, creating a massive cloud of evil that swirled around the ceiling above them.

“Contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomini quem inferi tremunt ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, domine. exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare ut ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!”

An explosion of light, brighter than fire, roared as the evil smoke was destroyed. The hunters squinted their eyes trying to protect themselves from the blast before everything went still.

Finally free from the demon’s hold Sam, Dean, and Riley slid down the wall to the floor before they began to stumble to their feet, groaning.

Henriksen came into the office and chuckled softly as he wiped the blood from his cut lip.

The electrical power in the building flickered back on as those still living after their possession began to get up.

It was over, for the time being.

------

Henriksen, Riley, and the Winchesters gathered together around a desk as they collected their things. They all carried their own battle wounds, bloodied and bruised.

People filed out the doors unsure of what had happened and with little to say.

“I better call in. Hell of a story I won’t be telling,” Henriksen joked.

Sam stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. “So, what are you gonna tell them?”

“The least ridiculous lie I can come up within the next five minutes.”

“Good luck with that.” Dean smirked back. “Not to pressure you or anything, but what are you planning to do about us?”

“I’m gonna kill you. Sam and Dean Winchester, and Riley Munroe were in the chopper when it caught on fire--nothing left. Can’t even identify them with dental records.” The three smiled at Victor’s response. “Rest in peace, guys.”

Sam and Dean took turns shaking the agent’s hand exchanging silent gratitude for each other. Riley cupped his hand into hers with a short squeeze and she nodded at him lovingly.

“Now get out of here” he told them.

“Yeah…” Flinging their bag over his shoulder, Sam began to walk toward the entrance.

Dean’s good arm wrapped around Riley’s waist and pulled her to his side as they followed close behind.

------

Morning peeked over the hills and its light washed away the darkness. The night had finally passed and the hunters sat quietly in reflection in their motel room.

None of them had slept much with their adrenaline still rushing through them. There was guilt that sat with them realizing how many people had been lost in the fray. They knew they had saved as many as they could, but it would never be enough.

A knock on the door broke them from their thoughts and Dean went to open it.

With her arms crossed over her chest and a disgruntled look on her face, Ruby waltzed in. “Turn on the news.”

Sam picked up the remote that sat on the nightstand beside him and pointed it at the television.

A reporter was reading the most recent story as video of a horrific scene played out. Firefighters worked to manage the smoking building of the Monument County Sheriff’s office.

“The community is still reeling from the tragedy that happened just a few hours ago. Authorities believe a gas main ruptured…”

Dean slowly sat down on the bed next to Riley as they all listened intently.

“...causing the massive explosion that ripped apart the police station and claimed the lives of everyone inside. Among the deceased, at least six police officers and staff, including sheriff Melvin Dodd, deputy Phil Amici, and secretary Nancy Fitzgerald as well as three FBI agents, identified as Steven Groves, Calvin Reidy, and Victor Henriksen.”

The pictures of those that Sam, Riley, Dean believed they had saved covered their TV screen. A shocked expression came over Dean as Riley covered her mouth in disbelief.

“Three fugitives in custody were also killed. We’ll continue to follow the story here at the scene, but for now, back to you, Jim.”

Taking the remote from its spot near Sam, Ruby shut off the television and looked back at the others with a stern ‘I-told-you-so’ look.

“Must have happened right after we left.” Sam’s saddened gaze fell to the floor.

“Considering the size of the blast...” Ruby paused and tossed three small bags to each of the hunters. “...smart money’s on Lilith.

Dean’s face scrunched with skepticism. “What’s in these?”

“Something that’ll protect you--throw Lilith off your trail...for the time being, at least.”

Sniffling back the urge to cry, Riley turned to face Ruby. “So, what? We’re just supposed to thank you now?”

“Don’t thank me,” the demon bit back angrily as her jaw ticket. “Lilith killed everyone. She slaughtered your precious little virgin, plus a half a dozen other people. So, after your big speech about humanity, turns out your plan--was the one with the body count.”

Sam, Dean, and Riley sat quietly feeling that sadly, Ruby was maybe right.

“Do you know how to run a goddamn battle? You strike fast and you don’t leave any survivors, so no one can go running to tell the boss. So, next time...we go with my plan.” With one final wrathful glare, Ruby stormed away and flung the door open, slamming it hard behind her as she left.

Riley and the Winchesters went still as tears filled their eyes. The room was silent with no one knowing the words to say.

They had tried; they had tried with everything they had to save everyone that they could. The guilt the three were already feeling for the lives they had lost was enough to send them reeling. Still, knowing that no one else made it out alive because of how they decided to handle things, was like a knife to the heart.

As hunters, their job was to save people, not to watch them die. They had failed in the worst possible way and it cost countless people their lives.

It was moments like that that would always give them pause to wonder if they actually were making a difference--maybe the job hurt more people than it saved.

Sam, Riley, and Dean were forced to face the fact that they continued to leave death in their wake.

Fear is an expected constant in the lives of those who hunt. But, for those three, their greatest fear was that maybe it was all their fault, and theirs alone.

------

S3 Ch11: Time is on My Side

Tag List is always open!

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omninocte · 5 years

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Tom Hiddleston was posing for a portrait, and the face he showed the camera wasn’t entirely his own.

“I’m protective about my internal world now in probably a different way,” says the actor Tom Hiddleston, making his Broadway debut in “Betrayal.” Credit: Devin Yalkin for The New York Times

Mr. Hiddleston as Loki in “Thor: Ragnarok.” Credit: Marvel Studios/Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures

From a one-night reading to Broadway

Mr. Hiddleston and Zawe Ashton portray a married couple in Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal” Credit: Marc Brenner

This, he added, is what Mr. Hiddleston does in “Betrayal,” where characters’ meaning is found between and behind the words, not inside them.

“Some of the pain that he’s created in Robert, it’s just unbearable, and yet he always keeps a lid on it,” Mr. Lloyd said.

Mr. Hiddleston at the Jacobs Theater, where “Betrayal” opens on Sept 5. Credit: Devin Yalkin for The New York Times

‘What remains private’

But to Mr. Hiddleston, Pinter’s drama contains two themes just as significant as betrayal: isolation and loneliness.

Trust and self-protection

The actor’s Shakspearean roles include“Hamlet” and “Coriolanus.” Credit: Devin Yalkin for The New York Times

Even so, he doesn’t give the impression of having closed himself off. When something genuinely made him laugh, he smiled a smile that cracked his face wide open.

That investment in his ordinariness, as he put it, is a hedge against the destabilizing trappings of fame, but it doubles as a way of protecting his craft.

It’s also of a piece with his insistence that vulnerability is a necessary risk to take, at least sometimes.

“If you go through life without connecting to people,” he asked, “how much could you call that a life?”

#betrayal (play)#broadway #tom hiddleston

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rulingqueenarts98-blog · 6 years

Text

“The Trail We Blaze” A Queen/Querencia AU Fiction Chapter One

EDIT(01.06.19) ~ I have finally decided upon a title and therefore, this series is officially titled, “The Trail We Blaze”.

At last darlings, it’s here! Here are the people that wanted to be tagged to read the story: @freddieseyeliner @mlle-fahrenheit @starlight-and-moonshine @dragonrider96 @littlesilhouettowalkson@yogurtbattle @darlingfreddie @freddimercurys @queen-ruined-my-life @yogurtbattle @ms-melina-mercury

PS, if you feel like doing any fanart related to this chapter, tag my username so that I can see it and if you include Quentin and/or Marley, please give the right credit! :)

To explain quickly for those that don’t know: Quentin Featherling and Marley Allaire are fictional characters I created that have their own universe (Querencia) and were not created for this story but rather be involved in it. They were born in a different time outside of this one if that makes any sense. Without further ado, relax, grab a blanket and a hot cup of tea, and enjoy the read. :D

~The following content contains an intermediate use of language. Read at your own risk~

Summary:

The setting is Rockfield Farm, Wales in the summer of 1975. The four graduates that starting gaining a sense of fame from their band Queen, journey out to the countryside to escape from the distractions London and record their newest album to follow on the success of a recent single “Killer Queen.” However, they are not alone in this journey as they are accompanied by a troubled teen youth and a professional shepherd: each with their own purpose for coming along in the journey. As time passes, the four get to learn more about these two people and develop their own mutual relationships with them. Perhaps as the two get to know the four personally, they discover much about each other and discover something that might even surprise one another. Only time will tell.

**********************************************

Chapter One:

Outside of Rockfield, Wales

Early summer 1975

It was a normal drive in the countryside away from the influence of London, England. As long as you ignore the fact that it wasn’t. To the locals that only caught a glimpse of the Volkswagen driving by would presume that it was the last of the hippies since their era was coming to a close. What no one outside of the Volkswagen didn’t know was that the people inside were all somebody that not even in years would be seen traveling out in the countryside.

Inside of the Volkswagen were four graduates each with a different degree, gradually building a reputation for themselves going by a name called “Queen”. Their names were Brian May, John Deacon, Roger Taylor, and Freddie Mercury, whom all were familiar with one another with the several gigs under their belts, as well as put together only a couple of albums that haven’t helped them so far in reaching stardom. Except for their recent single that was released the year before. The only thing that the boys were concerned with at the moment was an intensive game of Scrabble. This wasn’t uncommon for the lads to play rounds of the game while on the road to pass the time. Anyone that knew each of them individually could clearly tell which words on the board were placed down.

Meanwhile, two passengers were sitting up front of the van where the view only lied straight ahead of them. The pair, Quentin Featherling and Marley Allaire, had only met each other the same time as they met Queen a week ago.

The girl was busy rolling the hemline of her ripped skinny jeans to her ankles, desperate to do something with the limited cushioned space she had upfront. Along with nothing peculiar about the sights outside her passenger window to immortalize through her pictures as her Polaroid camera rested balanced on her thigh. She still couldn’t believe how the day had gone by so fast with waking up early to get picked up at her front door by Quentin and fell asleep the first hour in. She only awoke three hours ago when they reached the halfway point of reaching Rock

The twenty-seven-year-old professional shepherd driving behind the wheel could feel the heat of the sun trembling goosebumps on his forearms. His mind was clear on the road ahead of him as he was behind the wheel, but yet he occasionally thought back and forth double checking that he indeed remembered to bring his sword along. It was chaotic for him earlier today as it was for all of them to organize and stack their luggage on top of the van before departing London for Wales.

Suddenly, Quentin felt a quick three taps on his padded shoulder and he checked his rear-view mirror to see that it was only John. He smiled as a small greeting to John through the mirror since he needed to keep checking the unpaved gravel roads. Marley acknowledged John was right in the middle as she put her other foot down on the floor finished with cuffing her jeans.

“Um, excuse me, Quentin? How long do you think it’ll be until we’re in Rockfield?”

“No need to worry, John. We’ll get there when we get there.” Quentin’s gaze looked at the time on his wrist and then back on the road. “Which should be approximately twenty minutes.”

“Deaky dear, stop pestering Quentin! You still have your turn to finish!” exclaimed Freddie.

John began to silently creep away from Quentin and Marley as he rejoined Fred, Bri, and Roger to place his words on the Scrabble board. Marley looked over her right shoulder to see what the boys were up to. Stealthy, she unbuckled her seat belt, grabbed her camera and turned fully around to observe the gameplay the twenty-somethings were fiercely making a life or death competition.

“I trust none of you checked my hidden pieces during my short absence?”

“That visit with Quentin was only ten seconds, John, I don’t think that would give Roger here any time to check your pieces.”

“Brian you snitch! How could you?!”

“Roger dear that’s what you get for arriving at the previous rehearsal late….and only with a hint of soberness clogging your judgment,” explained Freddie.

“If you lads are done with your melodramatic betrayal arc, I’m ready to place down my word,” interrupted John, wanting to get back to their game.

John placed down his five words “disco” onto the board aligning with Fred’s word, “dynamite”, which was a clear reference to all of them of their latest single Killer Queen, and to Roger’s word “Romeo”, an obvious reference to the car he currently owned. As John finished and allowed his friends to see his word, Roger threw his arms up into the air.

“Of course, you would’ve gone for that word! Who else could be that obvious!”

John shrugged his shoulders for a few beats in response to Roger’s criticism of his predictable nature. Roger continued on with the gameplay by going next. He placed down his own word down on the board and began to tally his points, taking the lead.

“So that would make it…fifteen points earned from ‘juke’. Brian, you’re up next mate,” cued Roger to as he was tallying his score.

“All right. Here goes then, I think this one might play at the odds.”

Brian took the letters he’s been hiding facedown from Fred, Deaky, and Rog and placed them on the deck spelling it out for the three to see. When Brian was finished, he counted his tally as John and Roger looked at Brian in disbelief.

“Well, lads that should be thirty-one points.”

“Quizzify? Seriously Bri?”

“He isn’t wrong, Rog. It is a valid Scrabble word according to the rules. And, he also just won the whole game,” replied John as he double checked the paperwork in the board game box.

“Brian, dear you are certainly are a clever badger of a bastard,” smoothly replied Freddie. “Since Brian has claimed the crown, and before we restart with the charade again, I believe it’s time for us to indulge in a little revolt?”

With the swift action from his arm, Freddie swiped the cubes off of the board in a theatrical fashion and the boys began to toss the little squares playfully at one another but yet in a rowdy manner. Their forearms being the only defense all of them had as they were sitting down at each other roaring with uncontrollable laughter. This feeling all of them had felt like they were all kids again, embracing the winter by having a traditional snowball fight. The banter continued until….

Click! Snap!

Suddenly, the four stopped when they heard the sound of a camera shutter. Their laughing and chuckles slowly faded away as all of them turned their undivided attention to the sound. To their surprise, it was the young adult with the fusion of blonde/brown hair checking her camera to see how her polaroid turned out. Once it fully developed, she took it out from her camera and grinned; seemingly content with how the quality of the mischievous memory remained intact. She grabbed her shoulder camera bag and carefully placed the picture inside one of the zippers as not to damage it. After setting it aside, returning back to her position she found that the banter no longer carried on. Only this time, she could feel she was being watched and it wasn’t from Quentin. Marley’s chestnut brown eyes came in contact with the four boys that gave her a range of different expressions as she raised a thick brow at them. They didn’t even notice that she was watching the late twentysomethings the whole time, supporting her chin with her light beige freckled arms on the cushioned passenger seat that divided her from the group’s fun chaotic energy.

“I’m sorry, but was that really necessary for you to take a picture? Couldn’t you wait until later on?” asked Roger.

“Well… how else was I supposed to take a polaroid by patiently waiting for a chance to alter life by holding it still with a single press of a button?” she answered.

Four beats of silence went by as they considered the girl’s answer.

“Marley, dear, where ever did you get your hands on that camera?” asked Freddie, curious about the device that he had once tinkered with only by pure fascination.

“Oh, this was a gift, from my mother. She got it for me from a retail camera shop in Yorkton. Before she decided to….” Marley quickly coughed into her fist to change the subject matter.

“If it’s alright with you, could I please see your picture?” asked Brian.

“Yeah, I don’t care sure. Brian, be careful with how you touch it, okay?”

Marley took out her polaroid from her camera bag and passed the developed polaroid to John, who proceeded to pass it to Brian after taking a small look, giving a small smile to the memory she captured. John proceeded to ask Marley, “Where about is Yorkton? Where you grew up?”

“North Saskatchewan. In Canada. Relatively small town. As I said, I wasn’t there for long. I was mostly in the Philippines with my godmother and her family until I graduated high school last month. Then I moved to England after being offered this internship.”

“You certainly captured quite a story from a few minutes ago, to say the least,” Brian added as a positive comment as he passed the picture over to Roger.

“At least there’s an amount of enthusiasm from this shot. So, I guess you might’ve already decided about where you’re going to study photography for university, hey Marley?”

Marley began to intertwine her long wavy bob into her own fingers to little waves as she answered, “Um….at the moment I haven’t figured it out. I haven’t considered which one I should go to yet. They’re all so…daunting. I just feel really unsure if anything from my photography portfolio would be that spectacular to show off for review.”

“Hey, Fred studied at the at Ealing Art College. Freddie, you recall what the program was like?” asked Roger as he passed the square picture to Freddie.

“Roger, no one could forget what Ealing what like. Honestly, sweetheart, it was a bloody waste of time. That’s not to say I didn’t learn anything during my time there, I did gain some skills in graphic design. Wish they offered music as a part of their curriculum if I could be fucking honest.”

“I heard you, Mr. Mercury!”

“Quentin, we’re all adults here and Marley might as well be considered one for moving on her own to England.”

“Young adult maybe Brian, but still a teenager. No more swearing back there,” warned Quentin.

“They do, however, offer photography as a study. I don’t really know what they do, I’ve only ever seen glimpses of the coursework.” Freddie took a momentary gaze into Marley’s photograph, and commented as he handed it back to John, “You have quite a gift in capturing something fun that connects with a fond, happy memory.”

John passed back the photograph to Marley as she put it back where it was. She was starting to consider Freddie’s recommendation. Ealing Art College. Might be a potential possibility to concentrate on during the day and then sneak out at night to search for….

“Hmmm. I’ll think about it, thank you, Freddie.”

“Anytime, dear.”

Marley paused, feeling like there was more than she would want to talk about and ask, but she could feel the awkward stillness crawling back into the space of the van fogging her own thoughts. Marley’s own fingers began to pick at the skin around her nails from the anxious frustrating void that severely doubted her own social interaction. With not many ideas streaming into Marley for conversation starters, she tried ending it so that she could go back to doing nothing.

“Okay…so I guess if you guys don’t want me to watch you anymore, I’ll just turn back around. I guess we’ll talk more when we’re at Rockfield.”

Marley tried to get her feet back into the uncomfortable space she occupied before she could turn back around into her seat, turned away from the lads. It wasn’t until Freddie invited, “Dear wait don’t go just yet. If you’re tired of being held up front, why don’t you come to join us for a new game of Scrabble?”

Marley’s look fixated back at Freddie’s from over her shoulder after he right there and then, asked her to tag along into their game. No one’s really asked her to participate in anything for so long that it all felt so new again. I guess that’s what comes with being alone in England, Marley. You’re rarely being offered to join in with a group of like-minded peers…. And not really knowing anyone all that well…. Damn it stop drifting away in your own mind and say something before he changes his mind! She fully turned back around the way she was positioned earlier.

“Wait…you truly mean it, Freddie? You’re inviting me, to play Scrabble, with you guys?”

“Of course. We can’t ask Quentin since he’s driving, now can we?” joked John as he began to actively clean up the mess from the scattered Scrabble pieces.

“Believe me, John, I would, but ask me again when I’ve suddenly sprouted a second pair of arms,” replied Quentin.

“Unless you don’t want me to impose. I don’t care either way.”

“No, it’s fine Marley just climb over already!” Roger encouraged.

Marley, yearning for belonging since she had left behind an adolescent life she used to know, began to form a bright smile on her face. She dared to lift one leg over the cushioned seat to find her proper footing on the ground, and then the other leg which almost hit Quentin at the side of his face.

“Marley, ahck! Hey! Could you be careful and warn me when you’re climbing over the seat like that next time? I’m driving.”

After coming to the other side of the van, she brushed the wrinkles off of her black ringer shirt. She walked naturally over to the lads and settled down sitting with her long legs crossed. She went in between John and Freddie in the array of draped blankets and cushions that made the expanded space in the van feel much like home. Brian, Roger, Freddie, and Marley began helping John gather all the pieces needed to put the delightful game back together.

“So, you’re pretty familiar with how to play Marley?” asked Brian.

“Yeah, I know it all too well, Brian. I played this all the time with my friends. How does this work for you guys in deciding who goes first? Do you follow the rules or do you just change it every time?”

“Usually we would just-” started Roger.

“Wait just a moment dear honeys. There’s only one thing missing before we renter the dangerous campaign of Death Scrabble.”

“But Freddie, everything we need to start another game is right here. Marley joined in, so what else could we be missing?” asked John.

After building up the suspense of his fellow band mates, Marley left in the dark about what the hell was going on, until he finally unveiled, “A proper appellation. To our spirited newcomer.”

Bri, Rog, and Deaky all gave each other an all but familiar look and smiled when Freddie made the grand announcement. They knew. The trio knew exactly what he was about to do, all Marley gave the boys was the same one lifted eyebrow look that only radiated bewildered. The one thought repeating over and over through her mind was what the fuck is Freddie talking about? What the fuck is Freddie talking about? What is he going to do? Oh my fucking god, act cool Marley! Is this normal? Marley’s gaze fell on Brian’s hazel eyes for an answer as to what Freddie was about to do. All his eyes could simply reply to her was, just wait and see. Marley looked back at Freddie, slightly prepared for

In the most flamboyant and theatrical way he knew how he declared, “From now on, I hereby dub thee, ‘Mars of the Stars’.”

Freddie returned back from his declaration and allowed Marley a moment to accept her nickname. She liked the sound of it, but all she could ever wonder was why he would go through the trouble of giving her a nickname. She didn’t see herself as someone so great and full of stride. A rebel perhaps, but not anything worthy. He continued, “What do you think, dear? Does it suit you?”

“Why give me a nickname like ‘Mars of the Stars’, Freddie?”

“I’m glad you asked. There are two reasons, darling For one, Mars is easier said and done with having such an ordinary name like Marley when you can be named after a planet?”

“Ah, so kind of like your surname I guess?”

“Now you’re starting to understand, Mars. Secondly, every inch of your whole body has freckles everywhere. Almost like you dived headfirst into a lake of incandescent stars that graced you, darling! And you’re not even a redhead for god’s sake!”

“Pfft! Yeah, you know how by the numbers that would be if you actually were born with red hair?” blurted Roger.

“Now that you mention it, if it did turn out I had red hair, my grandmother’s expectations of me would be severely subverted.”

The four laughed along with Marley at her reply and for the first time in months, Marley began to laugh harder than she thought she was capable of. It felt freeing that she could temporarily release everything she’s kept down. After their laughter once again swayed down, there was only one question left on Marley’s mind.

“Hey Freddie, what would you nickname Quentin? I haven’t heard you address him by a nickname yet.”

Freddie had thought long and hard about it even before Marley asked him about it. He had considered it even the first time he met him alongside John Reid, “Hmmm, to be honest honey I was brainstorming something along the lines of, dare I say, ‘Blue Tit’ Featherling?”

All the way up front, Quentin overheard Freddie’s unofficial nickname that would be cuffed to him for eternity and even looked through the rear-view mirror to notice Roger and John snickering at the mere thought of Quentin’s nickname. He didn’t know how to react other than stare at the dashboard feeling his cheeks burn. However, Quentin became so distracted from the chatter of the group that he didn’t realize that he was coming close an unattended herd of sheep that were crossing the gravel road!

He immediately slammed the breaks as the others in the back lost their shit due to the unexpected stop. Quentin was hoping in the least that they didn’t hurt any of the animals but yet stressed about the passengers in the back. Luckily, the VW camper van barely hit any sheep as he was close to them by a few feet. Oh, fuck! How could I have allowed myself to fall for that?! I’m so stupid I should’ve been watching the road! this is all my fault if any of them have a concussion or a broken wrist before reaching Rockfield!

Quentin shuffled the gear on the camper van to park and took the keys out of the ignition. He turned back around checking on the others. He felt a tinge of cold sweat drip down from his forehead and trailing down his spine.

“Brian! Roger! Mr. Mercury! John! Marley! Are you all okay back there? Any serious injuries! For god’s sake just say something!” exclaimed Quentin with the slightest hint of panic in his voice.

“It’s alright, we’re all still alive. Damn, that was just borderline crazy. How about you, Quentin?” Roger called to Quentin.

“Well not dead but I should be after that fiasco could’ve gone downhill quick.”

“Brian’s okay too! Mars nothing is broken?”

“Yeah, I’m good Deaky, thanks for the checkup. Freddie how about you? Anything bad?”

“No, I’m alright dear. I haven’t experienced something that wild on the road in a long while. Brian, are you all good?”

“Yeah, that was really unexpected. I’m alright, Fred.”

Marley began to help the lads clean up the pillows and the sheets of blankets everything that was affected by the unpredictable jolt.

Quentin sighed in relief that Queen and Marley didn’t succumb to anything serious. Otherwise, he would be the one to have to take responsibly for the incident. He couldn’t imagine if it had gotten any worse with having the camper van in the ditch and not a telephone in sight to call for a tow truck to get the van. He repositioned his hands where he left his grip marks onto the steering wheel and landed his forehead against the rim of the leather wheel, trying to calm himself but shaming the fact that he almost could’ve endangered lives. He suddenly felt a warm hand touch his shoulder, but this hand felt different compared to when John tapped his finger on his padded shoulder earlier on. Instead, he looked up, and it was Freddie, comforting Quentin with the deeps of guilt he had burdened onto himself like a heavy anchor dragging down his own competence as a shepherd.

Speechless from the aftershock of the jolt and the blame he could feel clogging his throat, he tried uttering, “M-mister Mercury, I’m so sorry. About all of this. This w-was completely my own undoing. I wasn’t paying attention to the-”

“No, stop dear. You should never be so hard on yourself. If I was even driving up front instead of you, we would’ve crashed a long while ago.”

Quentin tucked one of his brown strands of hair that keep getting onto his forehead. “I appreciate you’re trying to make me feel better, but this is my job. My career. If I even slip up with something as major as this, I would lose my license for good.”

Freddie could clearly understand the severity of Quentin’s situation with his main headquarters if he didn’t perform well in this long-term assignment. He suddenly remembered a coined phrase that he picked up whenever things worried him when he was private and along. He came close to Quentin’s ear and whispered, “Darling, listen closely. What is the worst that can happen?”

Quentin took Freddie’s advice into account and he felt something click in him. His gentle, posh voice ringed through his body and he suddenly came to realize that no one was really hurt. Even though this was a serious business, there was no real traction or damage. He looked at Freddie grateful for his advice but started seeing a tender compassionate side to his confidence that reminded him of someone that was previously in his life.

“You can skip the formalities as well, dear. Call me Freddie from now on, alright?”

Quentin gave Freddie a small smile as his tender supportive hand started to slip away from his blue padded waistcoat. He looked at him as he walked back to check on his comrades and on Marley and mouthed to him, “Okay.”

Quentin turned back around to look through the windshield to see the last of the flock had made it to the other side of the road. He put the keys back in the ignition and began driving onward with a bit more of self-assurance guiding him.

~End of Chapter One~

#Queen #queen band #freddiemercury #brianmay #rogertaylor #johndeacon #fiction #writing #original characters

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cal-puddies · 3 years

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Even if it's Just Pretend // A Masterlist

Part 1: You'll see me in Hindsight posting 11/2/21

Part 2: No One has to Know What We Do posting 11/3/21

Part 3: Burning it Down posting 11/5/21

#even if it’s just pretend #you'll see me in hindsight #calum hood #calum hood smut #5sos #5sos smut #5 seconds of summer #cass #title credit to ms swift #wildest dreams #no one has to know what we do #burning it down

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dearly · 6 years

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All glossy magazine superstar covers may look the same from a distance, but inside, you’re never quite sure what you’ll find.

Take the October issue of GQ, which features Paul McCartney. For decades he has leaned on familiar Beatles anecdotes, presuming that decades-old chestnuts may still pass for warm. But in GQ, over the course of several long conversations, he revealed himself to be unstudied, slightly wishy-washy and much less preoccupied with the sanctity of his own image than you might think — he even offered a recollection about the Beatles’ teenage sexual adventures that led to a characteristically sweaty New York Post headline: “Beat the Meatles.”

The story worked in two ways: For the reader and fan, it was appealingly revealing; for Mr. McCartney, who’s been famous so long he is more sculpture than human, it was a welcome softening.

This took a willingness to answer questions, to submit to the give and take that comes with a profile of that scale. But not all big stories demand such transparency of their subjects: say, the September issue of Vogue with Beyoncé on the cover. The accompanying article is titled “Beyoncé in Her Own Words” — not a profile, but a collection of brief, only-occasionally-revealing commentaries on a range of topics: motherhood and family, body acceptance, touring. Anna Wintour refers to the story in her editor’s letter as a “powerful essay” that “Beyoncé herself writes,” as if that were an asset, not a liability. There was a journalist in the room at some point in the process — the piece has an “as told to” credit at the end — but outside perspectives have effectively been erased.

For devotees of Beyoncé, this might not matter (though it should). But for devotees of celebrity journalism — the kind of work that aims to add context and depth to the fame economy, and which is predicated on the productive frisson between an interviewer and interviewee — this portends catastrophe. And it’s not an isolated event. In pop music especially, plenty of the most famous performers essentially eschew the press: Taylor Swift hasn’t given a substantive interview and access to a print publication for at least two years. For Drake, it’s been about a year (and a tumultuous one at that). Frank Ocean has all but disappeared (again).

What’s replaced it isn’t satisfying: either outright silence, or more often, unidirectional narratives offered through social media. Monologue, not dialogue. It threatens to upend the role of the celebrity press.

Since the 1960s, in-depth interviews have been a crucial part of the star-making process, but also a regular feature of high-level celebrity maintenance — artists didn’t abandon their obligations to the media just because they had reached the pinnacle of fame. Answering questions was part of the job. It was the way that the people making the most interesting culture explained themselves, whether it was John Lennon on the breakup of the Beatles, Tupac Shakur speaking out from jail, or Courtney Love in the wake of Kurt Cobain’s death. It was illuminating to fans, but also something of a badge of honor for the famous, especially when the conversations were adversarial. Stars like Ice Cube and Madonna used to thrive in those circumstances — the interviews revealed them to be thoughtful, unafraid of being challenged and alive to the creation of their image.

But that was in a climate in which print publications had a disproportionate amount of leverage, and the internet and TMZ hadn’t wrested away narrative control. When stars’ comings and goings began to be documented on a minute-by-minute basis, those changes triggered celebrity reticence. On its own, that wouldn’t signal the death knell of celebrity journalism as it’s been practiced for decades. But the pressure being applied to celebrity journalism from the top might pale in comparison to the threat surging from below, where a new generation of celebrities — YouTube stars, SoundCloud rappers, and various other earnest young people — share extensively on social media on their own terms, moving quickly and decisively (and messily) with no need for the patience and pushback they might encounter in an interview setting. [...]

These are one-sided stories, with no scrutiny beyond the comments section. And so they’ve be come highly visible safe spaces for young celebrities, especially in an era when one’s direct social media audience — via Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat and more — can far exceed the reach of even the most prestigious or popular publication, and in a way that’s laser-targeted to supporters.

All of which leaves celebrity journalism in a likely unsolvable conundrum. The most famous have effectively dispensed with it, and the newly famous have grown up in an age where it was largely irrelevant. Over time, the middle space may well be squeezed into nothingness.

And so as the power dynamic tilts in favor of the famous over the press, publications — weakened, desperate, financially fragile — have been forced to find ever more contorted ways to trade, at minimum, the feeling of control in exchange for precious access. [...]

Celebrities guest edit — “edit” — special issues of magazines. And while Ms. Swift did appear on the cover of Harper’s Bazaar this year, in the accompanying article, she is the interviewer, asking questions of the rock muse Pattie Boyd. In 2015, Rihanna photographed herself for the cover of The Fader. (The shoot was executed in concert with a professional photographer.) It was, yes, a metacommentary on panoptic fame, and also the cover star taking her own photograph.

If those options aren’t available, magazines can simply assign a friend of the celebrity to conduct the interview. In Elle, Jennifer Lawrence interviewed Emma Stone. Blake Lively conducted Gigi Hadid’s Harper’s Bazaar May cover interview. Katy Perry’s March Glamour cover interview was by the Instagram affirmation specialist Cleo Wade. Interview, a magazine predicated on these sorts of intra-celebrity conversations, was recently resurrected; in the comeback issue, Raf Simons talks with George Condo (a journalist chimes in occasionally) and Jennifer Jason Leigh talks to Phoebe Cates.

The friend doesn’t even have to be famous. In Rolling Stone’s current feature with the press-shy pop star Sia, the author announces himself as a longtime friend of hers. And New York magazine’s recent exclusive interview with Soon-Yi Previn, Woody Allen’s wife, was conducted by a longtime friend of Mr. Allen, to howls of dismay on Twitter.

These stories trade on the perceived intimacy of friendships as a proxy for actual insight, abdicating the role of an objective press in the process. The covenant implicit in celebrity profiles is that the journalist is a proxy for the reader, not the subject. But in the thirst for exclusive access, the old rules get tossed by the wayside — ethics become inconvenient. Friendship should be a disqualifier, not a prerequisite.

That is a disservice to fans, who miss out on what happens when someone in the room is pushing back, not merely taking dictation. Imagine how wildly illuminating probing conversations with Beyoncé about “Lemonade” or Ms. Swift about “Reputation” would have been, a boon to the curious as well as an opportunity for the interview subjects to be shown in their full complexity. But rather than engage on those terms, these stars have become hermetic. It’s a shame: We’ll never know the answers to the questions that aren’t asked.

#magazines #long post #new york times #journalism

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socialjusticeartshare · 4 years

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A surge in migrant children detained at the border is straining shelters.

President Biden is vowing to dismantle rules that afforded greater protections to students accused of sexual assault. On Capitol Hill, House members urged for swift action after receiving an update from a task force examining the failures that allowed the breach of the Capitol on Jan. 6.

The number of unaccompanied migrant children detained along the border has tripled in the last two weeks to more than 3,250, filling facilities akin to jails as the Biden administration struggles to find room for them in shelters, according to documents obtained by The New York Times.

More than 1,360 of the children have been detained beyond the 72 hours permitted by law before a child must be transferred to a shelter, according to one of the documents, dated March 8. The figures highlight the growing pressure on President Biden to address the increased number of people trying to cross the border in the belief that he will be more welcoming to them than former President Donald J. Trump was.

The children are being held in facilities, managed by the Customs and Border Protection agency, that were built for adults. The border agency has been the subject of widespread criticism for the horrific conditions in its federal detention facilities, in which children are exposed to disease, hunger and overcrowding.

Under the law, the federal government is required to move unaccompanied children within three days from the border facilities to shelters managed by the Department of Health and Human Services, where they are held until they are placed with a sponsor. Homeland Security officials have often pointed to delays by Health and Human Services in picking up the children as a reason for the prolonged detention.

Until last Friday, when the government lifted the restrictions, the shelters managed by Health and Human Services were at reduced capacity because of the pandemic. The shelters for migrant children are 13 days away from “maximum capacity,” according to the documents. The data shows the stress on the system designed to hold the migrant children as Mr. Biden tries to make good on a campaign promise to be more compassionate to migrants during a global pandemic.

Border agents encountered a migrant at the border about 78,000 times in January, the highest number for that month in at least a decade. Most of those were adults or families who were rapidly turned away under a pandemic emergency rule. The administration is expected to announce an increase in those crossings this week, according to officials.

The rules are different for unaccompanied children, who, rather than being turned back, are taken into custody, forcing the administration to find space for them. More than 5,800 unaccompanied children were found at the border in January, an increase of more than 1,000 from October 2020.

The Biden administration recently reopened an emergency facility used during the Trump administration in Carrizo Springs, Texas, to create more space for the children. The shelters where migrant children are supposed to be held have been strained. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention directed the shelters to return to full capacity last Friday.

Health and Human Services had more than 8,100 unaccompanied children in its shelters as of Sunday, with space readily available for only 838 more, according to the documents. More than 42 percent of the roughly 3,250 children in the custody of Customs and Border Protection were held longer than the maximum of three days, even though they were referred for placement in shelters by Homeland Security, according to the documents. Border agents had yet to refer more than 440 of the young migrants in its custody to the child migrant shelters.

The Border Patrol and Health and Human Services have long struggled to efficiently transfer migrant children to shelters.

“It’s a difficult coordination process,” said Janet Napolitano, the homeland security secretary under the Obama administration. She said the rise of unaccompanied children at the border presented an urgent challenge for the administration. “That’s why they need some facilities at the border,” she said, “and I think what they need to do is move as quickly as humanly possible to place those minors with a vetted adult.”

President Biden, targeting Trump-era policies that established rules for how college campuses investigate sexual violence, will on Monday order the Department of Education to reassess this and other regulations issued under Title IX, a 1972 law that prohibits sex-based discrimination in federally funded schools.

Mr. Biden, who has promised since his campaign to reassess a number of the former administration’s education policies, has long vowed to dismantle rules that afforded greater protections to students accused of sexual assault. The effort was a signature policy change by the Education Department under President Donald J. Trump. It also reversed sweeping changes, made in favor of protecting victims, to Title IX made under the Obama administration.

Miguel Cardona, the new education secretary, will be directed to suspend, revise or rescind changes made to Title IX, administration officials familiar with Mr. Biden’s plans said on Sunday evening.

The review will also seek to assess rules that could allow “discrimination on basis of sexual orientation or gender identity,” an official said. In January, the administration retracted its support for a Trump-era lawsuit seeking to block transgender students from participating in girls’ high school sports.

Mr. Biden is also expected on Monday to issue an executive order formally establishing the creation of a White House council on gender equity, an effort that was dismantled during the Trump administration.

Officials on the Gender Policy Council will be required to submit a governmentwide strategy for advancing gender equity directly to the president, according to an official familiar with the planning who spoke on the condition of anonymity on Sunday evening.

The council will be co-led by Julissa Reynoso, chief of staff to Jill Biden, the first lady, and Jennifer Klein, a former senior adviser to Hillary Clinton when she was first lady. The team will have four other officials, including senior advisers who focus on policies to prevent gender-based violence and on promoting equity for Black, Latina and Indigenous women and girls.

Mr. Biden is expected to detail his directives in a speech on Monday afternoon to celebrate International Women’s Day. Earlier in the day, he is scheduled to visit a veteran’s health center with Denis McDonough, the Veterans Affairs secretary. One of Mr. Biden’s first acts in office was to sign an executive order that established gender identity and sexual orientation as protected classes under federal discrimination laws.

President Biden will deliver the first prime time address of his presidency on Thursday, marking one year since the adoption of sweeping measures to deal with the coronavirus pandemic, which subsequently killed nearly 525,000 Americans and battered the economy.

The president will deliver a direct-to-camera address to “discuss the many sacrifices the American people have made over the last year and the grave loss communities and families across the country have suffered,” Jen Psaki, the White House press secretary, told reporters on Monday.

Mr. Biden’s address comes a year to the day since the World Health Organization declared the spread of the coronavirus a pandemic and a year to the night since former President Donald J. Trump delivered an address on the virus from the Oval Office, after initially dismissing it as a minor problem that would go away on its own.

A national emergency declaration, which gave the White House flexibility to direct federal resources to efforts to fight the pandemic, was issued on March 13, 2020.

Mr. Biden’s speech will be forward-looking, Ms. Psaki said, and the president plans to highlight “the role that Americans will play” in getting the country “back to normal.”

Her comments came shortly after the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommended a slight easing of restrictions on people who have received vaccinations.

On Monday afternoon, Mr. Biden visited the Washington DC Veterans Affairs Medical Center, which has the capacity to administer hundreds of vaccinations a day, to discuss efforts to vaccinate veterans. On a brief tour, the president spoke with assembled Veterans Affairs officials, who explained how they prepared and administered vaccines.

“We’re really warping the speed now,” Mr. Biden told the group. “We’re doing pretty good across the country. We’re going to hit 100 million soon.”

The address is also timed to capitalize on a major political victory for the young presidency. Mr. Biden’s $1.9 trillion pandemic relief bill, which passed the Senate over the weekend, is likely to be adopted by the House on Tuesday. At the veterans center, Mr. Biden told the crowd that he’d sign the bill into law “as soon as I can get it.”

While Mr. Biden’s team has been cautious not to take a victory lap while so many Americans are suffering, he needs to take credit for its fast passage to gain the leverage needed for looming fights over other items on his agenda.

An ABC News/Ipsos poll released Sunday found that 68 percent of Americans approved of the way Mr. Biden is handling the crisis. Article Source

#migrant children #children detained at US border #Biden #surge

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lastsonlost · 7 years

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GOD DON’T MAKE ME HAVE TO DEFEND TAYLOR SWIFT

San Francisco — The ACLU of Northern California today sent a letter to Taylor Swift and her attorney refuting their meritless legal defamation threats against a local blogger.

On Sep. 5, PopFront editor Meghan Herning wrote a post titled “Swiftly to the alt-right: Taylor subtly gets the lower case kkk in formation.” The post is a mix of political speech and critical commentary, and discusses the resurgence of white supremacy and the fact that some white supremacists have embraced Swift. It also provides a critical interpretation of some of Swift’s music, lyrics, and videos. The post ends by calling on Swift to personally denounce white supremacy, saying “silence in the face of injustice means support for the oppressor.”

On Oct. 25, Herning received an intimidating letter from Swift and her attorney labeling the blog post as defamatory and demanding that she issue a retraction, remove the story from all media sources, and cease and desist. The letter threatened a lawsuit.

“This is a completely unsupported attempt to suppress constitutionally protected speech,” said ACLU of Northern California attorney Michael Risher.

The letter went on to say that it should serve as an “unequivocal denouncement by Ms. Swift of white supremacy and the alt-right.” But that denunciation would only be known by Herning because the letter also attempts to use copyright law to forbid her from making it public.

“Intimidation tactics like these are unacceptable,” said ACLU attorney Matt Cagle. “Not in her wildest dreams can Ms. Swift use copyright law to suppress this exposure of a threat to constitutionally protected speech.”

Herning contacted the ACLU after receiving the letter from Swift's attorney, and ACLU lawyers determined the legal claims were unsupported. The blog post is opinion protected by the First Amendment.

“The press should not be bullied by high-paid lawyers or frightened into submission by legal jargon,” said Herning. “These scare tactics may have worked for Taylor in the past, but I am not backing down.”

The ACLU has requested a response from Swift and her attorney by Nov. 13 confirming that they will not pursue a lawsuit.

THIS IS THE ORIGINAL POP FRONT ARTICLE RIGHT HERE

Swiftly to the alt-right: Taylor Swift subtly gets the lower case “kkk” in formation with “Look What You Made me Do”

An anti–Marxist Mixtape review.

A little over a decade after her musical debut, Taylor Swift has made a career out of being portrayed as a good girl unjustly wronged. Her song catalog is stocked with tunes about how innocent she is, and how men seem to wrong her. But the most notable moment of the Taylor-as-an-innocent-victim narrative may have come when Kanye West interrupted her Best Female Video acceptance speech at the 2009 Video Music Awards to drunkenly ramble about how Beyoncé should have won.

Kanye upstaging Taylor in that moment not only gave that narrative merit in a lot of people’s eyes, it also looked like the personification of many a long-standing white fear: a black man taking away a white woman’s power. And Taylor has been playing off that narrative ever since, while America has embraced the notion of white victimhood — despite the reality. Kanye West is still hated for that moment, and the media has documented further fights between Taylor Swift and other pop stars such as Katy Perry, Calvin Harris, and Kim Kardashian. There is no shortage of media details about these “feuds”, whatever their purpose may be.

On the other hand, the idea that Taylor Swift is an icon of white supremacist, nationalists, and other fringe groups, seems to finally be getting mainstream attention. But the dog whistles to white supremacy in the lyrics of her latest single are not the first time that some have connected the (subtle) dots. A white supremacist blogger from neo-Nazi site The Daily Stormerwas quoted in a Broadly article in May 2016 as saying, “it is also an established fact that Taylor Swift is secretly a Nazi and is simply waiting for the time when Donald Trump makes it safe for her to come out and announce her Aryan agenda to the world.” What “facts” the blogger is pointing to are unclear (and likely invented); still, his statement exemplifies how neo-Nazis and white supremacists look to her as their pop icon.

And it is fitting: in the past few months, white supremacist trolls have jumped off line and onto the streets. Charlottesville was a coming out story for white supremacists and nationalists, a chance to show who they were and what they want — or really who they didn’t want in “their” country. But the brazen white supremacists on the streets are not the only ones who have bought into the current form of white supremacy. There is still a contingent of the country that agrees with the president and his response to the tragedy of Charlottesville. For all Trump’s tomfoolery and cavorting with white nationalism, his approval rating has stayed steady: almost 40% of the country thinks he is doing a good job. Perhaps this is an affirmation of the racist policies and climate that this administration has capitalized on and intensified, because racism and white supremacy have always existed in America — and the president alone cannot take credit for the movement.

The American eugenics movement — a pseudo-science theory that the human race would be improved by controlled breeding to increase the occurrence of desirable heritable characteristics that favor the white or anglo race — was alive and well long before Hitler came to power. In fact, the American Eugenics movement actually inspired Hitler. During the Progressive Era of the late 19th and early 20th century, eugenics was considered a method of preserving and improving the dominant groups (a.k.a. “white” groups — a shifting political label) in the population. These early ideas paved the way for racist and nativist reactions to emigration from Europe rather than scientific genetics. Meaning, as the Italian, Irish, and other immigrants poured into the country, eugenics was used as the basis for keeping those groups out. [Source]

The American eugenics movements received extensive funding from various corporate foundations including the Carnegie Institution, Rockefeller Foundation, and the Harriman railroad fortune. Eugenics was championed by Ivy League scholars, Congressmen, and Presidents alike. One of the major campaigns emergent from the Eugenics movement was the restriction of immigration and scapegoating of immigrants, similar to what we see today. Another was the systematic sterilization of the poor and disabled. By 1910, eugenics had become so popular that even women’s suffragists groups were lobbying for eugenics legal reforms. Prominent birth control advocate and Planned Parenthood founder Margaret Sanger advocated for controlling birth rates among poor people, people of color, and the disabled.

Eugenics was popular among those who wanted the US to stay out of World War II, and until the US was attacked at Pearl Harbor, they were successful. Eugenics only fell out of favor because of the Nazi defeat in that war. Yet America never quite defeated the eugenics-based racial hatred in our country and culture, which is why it is no surprise that today the alt-right is echoing the cries of eugenicists. Indeed, signs with slogans like “defend the European race” are not new; the support of Trump for “extreme vetting” is just another form of advocacy for segregation.

Indeed, we often forget that there were many Americans who thought we entered the wrong side of the war. The Nazis received myriad support from the American business community and wealthy, WASP-y Americans, who seemed to see common cause. And while prior to the U.S. entering World War II, American support for the Nazis was never explicitly stated, the silence and refusal to help in the face of racial atrocities said everything. The racialized politics of the era lived on in America through segregation in housing (e.g. redlining), banking, xenophobic immigration policies, reactionaries against the civil rights movement, the Reagan era, the War on Drugs, etc.

Taylor’s lyrics in “Look What You Made Me Do” seem to play to the same subtle, quiet white support of a racial hierarchy. Many on the alt-right see the song as part of a “re-awakening,” in line with Trump’s rise. At one point in the accompanying music video, Taylor lords over an army of models from a podium, akin to what Hitler had in Nazis Germany. The similarities are uncanny and unsettling.

Aziz Ansari has aptly referred to the quiet support of white supremacy as “the lower case kkk”: that is, the quiet racial hatred that has played a role in the social, cultural, legal, and political history of America, and not just the “backwards” south as some may think. Quiet racism only needs subtle encouragement, and it seems that “look what you made me do” fits the criteria perfectly. The song “Look What you made Me Do” evidently speaks to the lower case kkk; and they have embraced it.

The day the song came out, Breitbart jumped on the lyrics on Twitter: “I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time,” a line that they interpreted as racism and racial hatred rising from the dead. Those tired old beliefs about protecting the white race have found new racists to carry the torch (literally) and their beliefs into the 21st century. Breitbart and their loyal followers are central to the movement to be proud of being a racist, white supremacist and have the audacity to equate that with patriotism. And for liberal Bay Area natives like myself, who grew up with a healthy dose of 90’s era “racism is dead” propaganda, it feels like racism has risen from its grave with the stamina of a White Walker. While society at large seemed to reject racism as an abstract concept, the internet provided an “underground” space for racists to congregate without fear of retribution until Donald Trump encouraged them to come out in the open.

Taylor’s are lyrics that connect with whites that are concerned with what they see as the white dispossession of power. Breitbart highlighted another lyric on Twitter, the line, “but I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time. Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time.” The lyrics were paired with the image of a story about a loophole for buying AR-15s. And the lyrics speak to even more than just unnecessary gun glorification but also to the white people who have been closeted racists for years.

Later in the song, there is another telling line: “I don’t like your kingdom keys. They once belonged to me. You asked me for a place to sleep. Locked me out and threw a feast (what?).” These lyrics are the most explicit in speaking to white anger and affirming white supremacy. The lyrics speak to the white people resentful of any non-white person having a position of power and privilege. Think of Barack Obama: the fears of white dispossession of power were actualized in his success, which was a huge factor in the appeal of candidate Trump. He is a patriarchal, rich white man that embodied the anger and white supremacist ideology.

From the White House to the streets, chants like, “ you will not replace us” and call and responses like “whose streets” “our streets” were yelled by white men carrying torches in the night in Charlottesville a few short weeks ago are reminiscent of Swift’s lyrics. “I don’t like your kingdom keys, they once belonged to me,” is another way of saying, I will not be replaced and anger over white dispossession of power.

The lyrics validate those who feel that have been wronged, e.g. white people angry about a black president. The chant, “our streets” is similar to saying “you locked me out and threw a feast.” It is about feeling displaced, feeling wronged.

In other words, these lyrics became the voice of the lower case kkk, and Taylor’s sweet, victim image is the perfect vehicle and metaphor for white supremacists’ perceived victimization. With the song at the top of the charts, it makes one wonder: how large is the lower case kkk? How much are people paying attention to the lyrics of the song? It is clear that Breitbart has embraced the song as being a white supremacist anthem, so why wouldn’t Trump’s base — and other white Americans that believe they deserve their white privilege — embrace it as well? And considering Taylor’s fan base is mostly young girls, does the song also serve as indoctrination into white supremacy?

It is hard to believe that Taylor had no idea that the lyrics of her latest single read like a defense of white privilege and white anger — specifically, white people who feel that they are being left behind as other races and groups start to receive dignity and legally recognized rights. “We will not be replaced” and “I don’t like your kingdom keys” are not different in tone or message. Both are saying that whites feel threatened and don’t want to share their privilege. And there is no way to know for sure if Taylor is a Trump supporter or identifies with the white nationalist message, but her silence has not gone unnoticed.

“Quiet racism only needs subtle encouragement, and it seems that ‘look what you made me do’ fits the criteria perfectly.”

Swift is not one for politics. She did not endorse Hillary Clinton until November 8th, 2016 on the eve of the election. She has stayed away from race conversations directly, but her music has been interpreted as racially offensive before. Her song “Shake it Off” has come under fire many times [salon]. The song has long been considered an insult to black America, yet it debuted at the top of the charts and is one of Swift’s biggest hits. It is clear her message of being white, pretty, and consequence-free is one that many in America have embraced. And like the quiet support that Trump received to the surprise of polls, Democrats, and the world, Taylor is giving support to the white nationalist movements through lyrics that speak to their anger, entitlement, and selfishness.

When Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, and Beyonce openly campaigned for Hillary Clinton, Taylor’s political silence appeared to be a rejection of her peers’ support of the inclusive Democrat platform. And when one of the most popular female artists in the world declines to join the many in her field in voicing for progressive politics, it could well be construed as her lending support to the voices rising against embracing diversity and inclusion emblematic of Trump supporters. Further, the single attacks other pop stars in the same way that the alt-right has attacked the “liberal” media. Taylor’s song identifies with the oppressed conservative trope, and the song is indeed their anthem.

Taylor Swift was called “Nazi barbie” by Camille Paglia, who stated that Swift is “a silly, regressive public image of white 50’s America.” That seems to fit nicely with the imagery of the alt-right. Her lyrics are like an affirmation for everything the alt-right has been feeling for years: oppressed, afraid to come out, and made to look like a fool. And now that they feel empowered, it befits the movement to have a white, blonde, conservative pop star that has no doubt been “bullied” by people of color in the media, singing their feelings out loud. And with a president that openly addresses hate groups and justifies racial hatred, this is not a time for neutrality.

And while pop musicians are not respected world leaders, they have a huge audience and their music often reflects their values. So Taylor’s silence is not innocent, it is calculated. And if that is not true, she needs to state her beliefs out loud for the world — no matter what fan base she might lose, because in America 2017, silence in the face of injustice means support for the oppressor.

AS MUCH AS I WOULD LOVE TO SEE KARMA COME TAYLOR SWIFT’S AWAY THIS IS BULLSHIT.

#tAYLOR sWIFT

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