#larry's thought journal

[harryscherrypie]

Scared? Of him?

Harry Styles x fem!reader - can be read as best friends or as lovers (not specified)

summary - People on TikTok seem to be slightly scared of long-haired Harry, thankfully for them, you have some very incriminating proof that he wasn't scary at all.

warnings - fluff, nothing else, slight anti-larry talk? Is that even a warning?

wordcount - 2k

a/n - this popped into my head because I've been seeing these videos on my fyp, they are fun. I hope you liked this little thing I quickly put together.

---

Everyone had a little past time to get through the boring hours while on tour. The past times went from the classics like crocheting and knitting to less traditional ones like rock painting, all of the band members had something to waste their time with.

When you went on Harry’s first tour with him, you found out that having a pastime was something necessary. You spent many hours at soundchecks or just sitting around in the dressing room, waiting for something to happen. Back then, you picked up on bullet journaling. It didn’t stick with you after the tour, because you didn’t have as much time as you used to, but you still kept the journals you filled and went through them when you were feeling nostalgic.

Your past time this time around wasn’t something you were proud of. While on the first tour, you could use the time to be productive and creative, this time, you just scrolled. You knew about TikTok for a few years. You never joined on because you knew you would stumble upon people who would hate on you, and you didn’t need that kind of negativity in your life.

But after all these years you finally gave in and downloaded the app. At first, the things you saw didn’t entertain you. You couldn’t spend more than 10 minutes on the app before you exited it out of boredom.

This was around the time of Harryween and you really wanted to see what people thought of both of Harry’s outfits. You gave in and searched his name in the search bar. Thousands upon thousands of videos popped up, mentioning Harry’s name, which even after years of him being famous, still made your head spin.

Since then, Harry has been one of the main topics on your fyp. Along with film edits, fashion, recipes, memes and travel montages, his face appeared quite a lot. At first, you weren’t at the One Direction side of the Harry side of TikTok, but soon after, the videos started to appear too. Edits, conspiracies, rankings, and to your dismay also Larry videos, you name it all.

After a while, you started noticing similar videos, to your absolute horror, calling Harry with his long hair scary and terrifying. You couldn’t wrap your head around that. Your Harry scary? Absolutely not.

You were friends since you were 12 and you were with him through all of his yearly glow-ups, which means also his long hair era. You could remember a lot of things from those years, with them being one of your favorites. He wasn’t scary. Never.

He was always the sweetest person you have ever met. Sure, he might’ve looked a bit more macho than he does now, but he compensated with his actions.

One of your fondest memories is teaching him how to braid friendship bracelets while you were on the boys' tour bus.

“Harry, don’t forget, this half is going to be done with the backward knots, it’s the background so we won’t need to do anything else with the strings yet,” you reminded as you hiked up the first string from the right to the top of your finger.

You were teaching him to make little heart friendship bracelets, which he begged you to do for quite some time. You picked up this hobby back when you were in primary school when all of your friends came back from summer camps and learned to make them during the summer holidays.

“Okay, so first, I do the chevron at the top of the heart through the whole length and tie the middle strings together to connect them to the bracelet,” he clarified and you nodded, muttering a ‘that’s right,’ as you started to braid the bracelet.

Things got a bit complicated when you got to the top of the heart. Harry started to mix up which sides to do which knots, and where to move the strings. You were almost done with your bracelet, while Harry was only on his second heart.

When you tied it finished, you looked over at Harry and you laughed under your breath. He sat on the couch, hunched over the coffee table with his hair falling into his face and his tongue sticking out in extreme concentration.

You sneakily took a picture and a short video of him before you took the hair band from your wrist and started tying his hair back, out of his face, into a neat bun at the base of his neck.

“You are doing great Haz,” you smiled and he shook his head.

“My fingertips are burning, why is it so hard?” He whined childishly and you chuckled at his antics.

“I’ve had a lot of practice over these years, if you practice a bit, you will get used to it, and it will get easier to grip the thread as well,” you explained and he nodded his head.

All of a sudden, he leaned closer to you and laid on top of you, pinning you to the couch with his body weight.

“I think I deserve a small nap, don’t you think? I’ve been working so hard,” he mumbled as he nuzzled against the collar of your shirt.

“Sure love, take a nap, I will be here,” you smoothed a hand over his hair, scratching his scalp lightly and he keened into your touch, making you smile.

---

You had many videos to prove that Harry was still a big sweetheart, even with long hair. Whether it was him cooking you a midnight snack while you were tired, wearing a fluffy hot pink bathrobe with a sheet mask on his face, or him jumping up and down around your living room when he got the perfect score on the random demo of Just Dance on your old Xbox.

The more videos you saw, the more you wanted to post a video of him back in those days. You knew the videos weren’t malicious or making fun of him, but you had a soft spot for that era of Harry, maybe bigger than for the rest of his eras, and you needed to defend him and prove, that he actually wasn’t scary.

You brought it up to Harry one night while you were laying in his hotel room in Amsterdam, watching some random Dutch show on the telly.

“What would you think about me defending your long hair era, hm?” You asked absentmindedly as you massaged the palm of his right hand and fingers to help with the soreness of it and with the bloodstream.

“What do you mean?” He asked humorously as he looked away from the screen to stare at you intently.

“Well, I’ve seen a lot of videos on TikTok about you with your long hair, that you were kind of scary sometimes, and I have a soft spot for that era, you know that,” you explained as you kept digging your fingers into his flesh.

“Whatever you want love, just show me the videos you want to post, just in case,” he shrugged and you sat up beaming at him.

“Really, I can?” You smiled and he nodded.

“Of course, I don’t mind,” he smiled. You threw yourself at him, tucking yourself into him and squeezing his waist in a happy hug.

“Thank you, thank you,” you mumbled against the fabric of his shirt.

“You are welcome love,” he smiled.

And that got you here, ready to post your first, and probably the only TikTok ever.

After consulting with Harry, you picked out 3 short, but sweet and not too private snippets of Harry with his long hair.

The first one was the longest.

---

He was sitting in front of the computer with a youtube video pulled up with a mess of hair ties, bobby pins brushes scattered around him.

You slowly approached from the back, capturing him as he messily tried to dutch braid his hair, now that it was finally long enough for him to be able to do that.

“You having a bit of trouble there sir?” You asked and Harry jumped slightly, dropping all of his messily braided hair from his hands.

“Noo, you made me drop it, I have to start again,” he pouted and your voice could be heard snickering from behind the camera.

“If you wouldn’t been mean to me earlier, you wouldn’t have to do this,” you pointed out and he slouched his form in defeat.

“But you were really, truly pulling my hair,” he pouted.

“I know, but if you didn’t have stupid comments, this wouldn’t be happening,” you teased. He went quiet for a while before he made grabby hands at you. You walked closer to him, finally having enough of teasing him.

“I’m sorry I said I could braid it better than you, I now know the error of my ways,” he mumbled against the plush of your stomach and buried his face against the soft fabric of your shirt.

“Okay mister, now let me braid your hair, otherwise you will get it all matted and tangled if you continue like this,” you pushed him back gently and he turned around with a dopey smile on his face.

That was where the clip ended and another one began.

---

This one was set on the old tour bus. You and Harry were squished in Harry’s bunk with the curtain shut. The camera faced the two of you, showing your faces, which were scattered with star-shaped pimple patches and under-eye patches on your smiling faces. You had a habit of sometimes recording little vlogs at the end of the day and making a short summary of the last 24 hours.

“We visited the city today,” Harry cheered quietly and you nodded enthusiastically.

“We went to the louver and the Eiffel tower, and walked around the pretty streets,” you gushed and Harry smiled at you.

“Well, none of those were more beautiful than you, my dear,” he joked. Even though the sentence.

“Shut up and don’t talk too much because the star above your lip will fall off,” you put a finger against his mouth and he didn’t waste time and licked it.

“Eww, Harold,” you shrieked and immediately exited the bunk with a thud against the floor.

You flipped the camera and the screen showed a pouty-faced Harry as he reached his arm out, trying to get you back to the bunk bed.

“Come back, please,” he pleaded.

“Fine, but don’t be a disgusting pig, or I’ll leave and sleep next to Niall,” you warned and Harry nodded his head, showing he completely understood.

“Good,” you mumbled and ended the video.

---

The picture cut into the third little video of you two sitting in front of mirrors in a dressing room for an event, you don’t even remember the name of. The video showed a frowning Harry as he looked down at his lap.

“Don’t frown,” you scolded jokingly and he looked up at you.

“I wanted to paint m’nails,” he murmured and you shook your head.

“I know bub, how about we paint them when we get back to the hotel hm?” You proposed and he nodded vigorously.

“That sounds good, we can even get matching colors,” Harry’s eyes lit up as he sat up. The hairstylist behind him tapped his shoulder to say that he should settle back down. He did as she asked, but a happy smile still played on his lips.

---

You looked over the videos edited together at least a hundred times before you went on TikTok and started to record the beginning of your video.

“I’ve been hearing a lot of people saying that long-haired Harry was scary. I don’t agree and with Harry’s permission, I want to show you 3 little videos of him, after which you can’t look at him and see anything scary. Here they are,” you smiled and cut off the beginning. You edited it together so it didn’t have any mistakes and posted it with the caption.

“He was the moment, I miss him :(”

And now that you’ve created chaos on the internet, you turned off your notifications and went to cook some lunch for Harry and you.

---

I hope you liked this one, I had so much fun writing this, so it would be awesome if you followed, reblogged, and liked, it would be very appreciated.

Thank you for reading <3

#fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #my writing #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction x reader

[dross-the-fish]

They had located the laboratory of the still missing and presumed dead Doctor Henry Jekyll only to find it completely stripped down to the four walls and floorboards.

“Someone’s cleaned house,” Watson remarked, stooping to examine a spot on the floor, “Recently too, look here. There’s a bare spot in the dust from where furniture was moved. Whoever packed this place up knew we’d be coming.”

“Who do you think it was?” Larry asked, trying to keep the dismay from his voice.

“My money’s on that Hyde fellow,” Quincey replied sullenly, “He’s a nasty piece of work. Did you see his face when we mentioned Jekyll? He knows a lot more than he’s telling us. I can’t believe we gave him a room…”

“But what would he gain from stringing us along?” Watson was too tired to keep irritation from creeping into his voice as he righted himself, wincing at the cracking of his knees and spine.

Larry and Quincey both shrugged in unison. Edward Hyde was an unpleasant mystery to all of them but they had little choice except to trust him as he was the beneficiary of Jekyll's will and the only person who seemed to know anything about him. For lack of other alternatives the group busied themselves giving the room a thorough search. The three probed about for roughly an hour before they returned to Talbot Manor, empty handed and dispirited.

Upon their return they had found their newest lodger, Edward Hyde, waiting for them in the kitchens, perched on the counter and scarfing down a large, cold, pork pie which he washed down noisily with a bottle of fine wine from the Talbot’s cellars.

Like a Gods damned animal… Watson thought to himself as he passed through on his way to the dining room. When Hyde drained the first bottle, he bit the cork from a second and spat it to the floor. Watson had not the strength of body or will to admonish him and he merely shook his head in disgust and blustered out of the kitchens in search of hot tea and peace and quiet.

Hyde made a rude noise and turned back to Quincey and Lawrence, “Find anything?” he asked with a grin as he wiped his mouth on the back of his arm.

“No, the lab was empty,” Larry replied.

“Figures. Looks like whoever is hiding Jekyll’s secrets is two steps ahead of you,” Hyde replied holding out his hand where the mangled contents of the pie sat in a sad and crumbled heap, “Want some?” he offered.

Larry and Quincey both grimaced and shook their heads. Hyde shrugged and shoved the last fistful of pie into his mouth and emptied his second bottle of wine. He brushed the crumbs from his mutton chops and the front of his shirt and hopped down from the counter.

“How do we know it wasn’t you? How do we know you haven’t just been running us on a wild goose chase this whole time? Do you know where the rest of Jekyll’s notes on the serum are or not?!” Quincey demanded sharply, he was not usually inclined to be so forward or so aggressive but he was finding himself increasingly sick of Hyde’s presence at Talbot manor and he was beginning to suspect the wretch was toying with them just as a means of prolonging his stay and keeping himself out of the hands of the police.

“Watch your tone!” Hyde hissed aggressively although there was an unmistakable cast of fear in it. He clutched for his cane, previously resting against the kitchen table, grasped it in his fist and shook it at Quincey, “I’ll not stand for accusations! No one knows Jekyll like I do so I’m the only chance you’ve got!”

It dawned on Quincey then that his previous suspicions of Hyde being closer to the missing Doctor than he’d let on had been correct. He scanned back his memories of what Jekyll had written in the partial journal he’d presented to Watson when they’d hired him to take on the case. Jekyll’s quest had been, supposedly, to separate from himself his evil nature.

For some reason this quest had ended with the doctor killing himself and hiding away the notes to his formula in some unknown location. It occurred now to Quincey that there was one detail that the three had overlooked in their assessment of the case. One thing that neither Watson, nor Larry, nor himself had considered when they’d discovered Mr. Hyde lurking around Jekyll’s old apartment.

That Henry Jekyll’s formula had worked.

Hyde noticed that Quincey had fallen silent and was staring at him with an odd, searching, look. As though he were noticing something for the first time. The hair on the back of his neck stood up under the presence of the sudden scrutiny. It was rare, for Edward, that anyone looked at him for very long. So unpleasant was his countenance that most people were driven to anger or fear from looking at him for any length of time but Quincey Harker was staring, very nakedly, at him in a way that was markedly not fear or anger. It was comprehension.

Hyde’s face contorted in a series of grimaces and he fidgeted as the tension rose higher and higher until he could bear it no longer. It finally burst and he lashed out. Plunging a thick fist as hard as he could into Quincey’s stomach.

Quincey doubled over, wheezing as the wind was knocked from his lungs. Larry caught him before he could hit the ground.

“What’s the big idea?” Larry cried indignantly.

But Hyde was already bounding away, hurdling over the kitchen sink and sending a stack of plates toppling across the counter as he shot out of the open window and into the garden outside. Larry watched him rocket across the grounds and scramble over the hedge with frightful speed and agility.

Quincey struggled to steady himself and took a large gulp of air, coughing and rubbing his abdomen, “H-he’s J-! He’s Juh-huh! He’s Jekyll!” he sputtered.

“What? What do you mean?” Larry squinted at him, keeping a hand on his elbow in case he needed the support.

“At least he’s part of Jekyll,” Quincey explained as he caught his breath, “He’s the evil part that Jekyll removed from himself. It must have split off into another person and now that Jekyll’s dead it’s running amok and leading us around by the nose!” he righted his glasses, which had been knocked askew, and sucked in another breath.

“So, the serum does work?” Larry asked, his eyes hopeful for the first time in weeks.

“It must have worked! We need to find the rest of those notes and fast. It’s almost six o’clock. Go fill Doctor Watson in and start strapping yourself down for the night! I’m going to raid Edward’s room before he comes back. I’ll bet you one hundred pounds that he has the notes and he’s been hanging on to them to make sure we don’t find them before he wants us too!”

“Are you sure you want to do that? What if he’s on his way out to destroy the notes? What if he comes back and finds out you raided his room? For god’s sake Quin, what if you’re just plain wrong about all of it?”

“We’ll have to risk it,” Quincey muttered, “Right now his things are unguarded and I’m not wasting my chance or any more time!”

“Quin, Stop! Don’t be rash! He’s going to come back and if he catches you-“

But Quincey was beyond listening. With grim determination he rushed into the hall and bolted up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him. He arrived at the third floor, sprinted down the corridor and forced open the door to Hyde’s bedroom. To his surprise the room was only moderately cluttered.

 Quincey had rather expected to find the room in shambles and reeking of filth from wall to wall. That was the kind of domicile one would expect of Edward Hyde, after all. To a point there were clothes carelessly tossed into a corner, the bed was unmade and some books were scattered around the desk, yes, but on the whole this unremarkable bedroom could have belonged to any average gentleman. The shelves were in tidy order and in between the expected lurid erotic tomes were very practical and well-maintained encyclopedias and medical texts. Even a Bible, of all things, though this was battered and much abused, rested among the contents of the bookshelf.

Quincey searched the shelves first, pulling each book down and flipping its pages and shaking it to see if anything fell loose. Once he’d grown frustrated searching individual books he made for the desk, rifling though the papers. He found nothing of note save for some letters of blackmail Hyde was composing, addressed to some prominent members of the church. These Quincey tore in a fit of petty spite, save for one who’s listed crimes were so appalling that Quincey felt being blackmailed by Edward Hyde was the least the recipient deserved.

Red-faced from his efforts and still empty-handed Quincey abandoned the desk in favor of a handsome and expensive looking bureau. He yanked open the bottom drawer, beheld its contents, turned white as a sheet, and then closed it with a grimace. The second drawer had nothing but socks, the third held a veritable treasure trove of money clips, pocket watches, jewelry and other sundry baubles that Hyde had no doubt stolen or kept as trophies. The fourth and final drawer held papers.

“Yes! It must be here!” Quincey cheered to himself as he began to rummage through the contents. He searched every sheet, every stack and even the smallest of torn scraps for some sign of Dr. Jekyll’s notes until he realized, to his dismay, that they were not there. Closing the drawer and trying his best to leave the room as he had found it Quincey, dejectedly, returned his own quarters.

…

Once in his room he bent over his journal, diligently logging the day’s events. Though his father had often advised him of the usefulness of a journal this was the first time Quincey truly understood the necessity of organizing one’s thoughts and having a solid, written account of events to reference in a world that seemed to grow increasingly unstable.

He had nearly filled an entire page when he heard the first crash.

The second crash was closer, coming down the hallway.

The third sent the door of Quincey’s bedroom bursting into splinters.

There he was, the fiend had returned from his flight and his face wore such a deeply joyful and malevolent anger that Quincey could not suppress a shudder.

“What a lot of pretty things you have in your room, Mr. Harker,” he snarled, his voice chilling Quincey to his core. It was as high and grating as ever, roughened with cruelty and glee. An unholy mixture of giddy schoolboy and rabid hound.

The fourth crash sent Quincey’s lamp scattering shards in all directions.

"It would be a shame-" the cane arced up above Hyde’s head and swung towards the young man’s face

"-If I took to smashing every-" the swing lost momentum and the tap landed benignly against Quincey’s cheek, "-pretty-" his other cheek, "-thing-" a hard press against his lips, "-in this room."

The gleeful malice that had painted his face moments before vanished and he turned suddenly serious, eyes narrowing into furious slits "I know you managed to work something out in that thick skull of yours boy and I’ll give you that you have some balls ransacking my room for Jekyll’s notes, but what made you think that I’d simply let you get away with that?" he demanded putting enough pressure on the cane that the cold, diamond topper was forced between Quincey’s lips and scrapped uncomfortably against his front teeth.

 “Now, tell me what idea came to you in that kitchen,” Hyde demanded, his tone indicating that it would be very unwise to lie to him.

Quincey moved his head back to give himself room to speak, “The formula worked!” he said accusingly, “You’re the part of Dr. Jekyll he was trying to get rid of. The formula works and you must have it! Why won’t you give it to us?!”

Hyde paused for a moment tapping the top of the cane against his own chin, “You could say that, but you’ve got, by far, the wrong idea of it. Why are you so desperate for the formula. You’re as good as they come, any evil that sprouted off you would be no bigger than tom thumb and Larry’s not much worse. Has old Watson got some demons he’s looking to purge? To many years playing the role of good doctor and doddering sidekick turned him barmy?”

An ear rending howl echoed through the manor. Hyde hissed and tensed, clutching the cane in both hands with his teeth bared.

“You know I can’t figure it,” he said slowly as he began to pace the room, occasionally stopping to smash some of Quincey’s more breakable possessions. “How every night I hear a wolf, so loud it sounds like it’s coming from inside the manor, but there’s no reports of dead sheep in the area, no sign of paw prints on the grounds and even dogs won’t answer that howl. There’s something awfully strange going on around here and if you tell me the truth maybe I’ll come clean with you too.”

Quincey’s shoulders dropped and he sank down onto his bed.

“You may as well sit then… it’s a long story.”

#my writing #crossover au #john watson #edward hyde #lawrence talbot #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #au crossover

[raised-u-fr0m-perdition]

we could be more | dean winchester | 13

Summary: Ivonne Rainer was practically a trained killing machine. Stripped to the bone then built back up by her father in order to become one of the best, like he was. She was forced into hunting when she was nineteen, having developed powers that couldn’t be explained. That is, until she was paid a visit by Azazel’s lackey. Her powers were gone, she needed help, and that’s when she found her father’s journal. Pointing to Sam and Dean Winchester.

SERIES MASTERLIST

NIGHTSHIFTER

“Hey there, FBI agent Anna Drewe.” I flashed by badge to a man working at a counter. “I just want to ask a few questions about the incident.” 

“Shoot.” He smiled. 

“Alright, your name is Logan Turner, yes?” I raised an eyebrow, holding Carl loosely as he jotted everything down. 

“Yep.” 

“Tell me about Helen.” 

“She was like family.” Logan frowned. “The lady said it herself. We were the only family she had. Then Larry, our manager, gets a call sayin’ that Helen’s emptying everything out and then you hear a gunshot. Few days later, she kills herself.” 

“Alright, thanks, Mr Turner.” I smiled, storing Carl in my pocket. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

”Would you, uh, want to, maybe… go out sometime?” 

“Sorry, sir, but I don’t mix business with pleasure.” Then I heard Dean flirting with the receptionist. I gritted my teeth, taking a deep breath. “And neither should my partner.” I walked over to Dean, covering the paper which he was handing to Frannie the receptionist. “Keep it strictly business, Agent.” 

“That-That’s right, partner.” Dean nodded, and sent a longing look to Frannie before walking with me. Frannie sent me a dirty look, but I ignored it. 

“We’re here to string the bank robberies together, not score a night with a receptionist.” 

“Why can’t I live a little?” 

“Cause take off that suit and remove your badge and to her, you’re just another ordinary Joe.” 

“Am I an ordinary Joe to you, Beanie?” 

“Course not. To me, you’re sexy.” 

“Wait, really?” 

“No.”

We pulled up in front of a  small house, which was the residence of Ronald Resnick, the security guard that worked one of the cases. 

“Five -- this is it.” Sam nodded. 

“Friggin’ cops.” Dean grimaced. 

“They’re doing their job, Dean.” I sighed. 

“No, they're doing our job, only they don't know it, so they suck at it. Talk to me about this bank.” 

“Milwaukee National Trust. It was hit about a month ago.“ 

“Same M.O?” 

“Yep, inside job, longtime employee, the never-in-a-million-years type.” Sam added. “Dude robs the bank, then goes home and supposedly commits suicide.” 

“I’ve been having Carl make a pattern.” I smiled. 

“This guy, Resnick,” Dean frowned, “he was the security guard on duty?” 

“Yeah. Beaten unconscious by the teller who heisted the place.” 

“God.” We knocked on Ronald’s door. 

“Mr. Resnick? Ronald Resnick?” Sam called, and then a bright floodlight blinded us temporarily. Then Ronald came to the door. 

“FBI, Mr. Resnick.”  I smiled, but he looked apprehensive. 

“Show me ID.” Ronald demanded, so we took out our IDs and put them on the screen door at the same time. Ronald peered at them, then we retracted them. “I’ve already given my statement to the police.” 

“Yeah, listen Ronald,” Dean cleared his throat, “just some things about your statement we wanted to get some clarification on.” 

“You read it?” 

“Sure did.” 

“You’ve come to listen to what I've got to say?” 

“That’s why we’re here.” 

“Well, come on in.” We entered, and he led us to a cluttered room with stuff about ghosts and androids. “None of the cops ever called me back. Not after I told them what was really going on. Uh, they all thought I was crazy. First off, Juan Morales never robbed the Milwaukee National Trust, okay? That, I guarantee. See, we and Juan were friends. He used to come back to the bank on my night shifts, and we'd play cards.” 

“So you let him into the bank that night, after hours.” Sam frowned. 

“The thing I let into the bank . . . wasn't Juan. I mean, it had his face, but it wasn't his face. Uh, every detail was perfect, but too perfect, you know, like if a dollmaker made it, like I was talking to a big Juan-doll.” 

“A Juan-doll?” 

“Look. This wasn't the only time this happened. Okay?” He handed me a folder, and I flicked through it. Dude could be a hunter if he wanted to, cause he’s followed this thing closely. “There was this jewelry store, too. And the cops, a--and you guys, you just won't see it! Both crimes were pulled by the same thing.” 

“And what’s that, Mr Resnick?” I asked, looking up from the folder. He held up a magazine called the ‘Fortean Times’, with the headline ‘BIRTH OF THE CYBERMEN’. 

“Chinese've been working on 'em for years. And the Russians before that. Part men, part machine. Like the Terminator. But the kind that can change itself, make itself look like other people.” 

“Like the one from T2.” Dean smirked. 

“Exactly! See, so not just a robot, more of a-a-a-a ... mandroid.” 

“A mandroid?” Sam blinked. 

“And what makes you so sure about this, Ronald?” Dean challenged. Ronald held up a finger, then played a security tape. 

“See, I made copies of all the security tapes. I knew once the cops got them they'd be buried. Here.” He fast forwarded it. “Now watch. Watch. Watch him, watch, watch! See, look! Th-th-there it is!” He paused it just as Juan turned to the camera, a flare in his eyes. Shapeshifter’s eyes flare when they face a camera. “You see? He's got the laser eyes.” Dean, Sam and I shared a look. “Cops said it was some kind of reflected light. Some kind of "camera flare". Okay? Ain't no damn camera flare. They say I'm a post-trauma case. So what? Bank goes and fires me, it don't matter! The mandroid is-is still out there. The law won't hunt this thing down- I'll do it myself. You see, this thing, it, it, it kills the real person, makes it look like a suicide, then it sorta, like, morphs into that person. Cases the job for a while until it knows the take is fat, and then it finds its opening. Now, these robberies, they're, they're grouped together. So I figure the mandroid is holed up somewhere in the middle, underground, maybe. I dunno, maybe that's where it recharges its, uh, mandroid batteries.“ 

We stood up, and Sam stepped forward. “Okay. I want you to listen very carefully. Because I'm about to tell you the God's honest truth about all of this.” Sam sighed. “There's no such thing as mandroids. There's nothing evil or inhuman going on out there. Just people. Nothing else, you understand?” THE HELL-

“The laser eyes-“ 

“Just a camera flare, Mr. Resnick. See, I know you don't want to believe this. But your friend Juan robbed the bank and that's it.” 

“Get out of my house! Now!” 

“Sure, sir. First things first.”

We were at my safe house in Milwaukee, and I unlocked the door, and once we got inside, I rounded on Sam. “Classified evidence of an ongoing case?” I scoffed, hanging up my jacket and taking off my heels. “Just people? Dude, you just crushed Resnick’s resolve.” 

“What are you, pissed at me or something?” 

“You’re a good actor, Sam.” I sighed. “But you’re not meant to be that good. His file was legit, it was the level of the work we’ve been doing. We could at least appraise him for his work.” 

“Yeah, except he's not a hunter. He's just a guy who stumbled onto something real. If he were to go up against this thing he'd get torn apart. Better to stay in the dark, and stay alive.” 

“You don’t have to do him like that, though.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Instant noodles, anyone?” 

“Anytime.” Dean grinned. 

“I’m gonna change first, though.” I went upstairs, and Carl sprang out of the jacket, joining Sam at the table and writing something. 

She was jealous earlier. 

“Jealous of Frannie?” Dean scoffed. “Please.” 

“Girls have emotions.” Sam shrugged. “She seemed kind of worked up, though, when she dragged you away from that receptionist.” 

“Shut up.”

We were all eating instant noodles, and I drew on our map. 

“Shapeshifter. Just like back in St. Louis.” I confirmed. “Same retinal reaction to video.” 

“Eyes flare at the camera. I hate those friggin' things.” Dean grumped. 

“You think we don’t?” Sam scoffed. 

“One didn’t turn into you and frame you for murder.” 

“Yeah, but they’re damn hard to catch.” I frowned. “This is gonna be difficult, especially if it’s like the one you guys wasted in Missouri.” 

“Then Ronald was right. All right, they like to layer up underground, preferably the sewer. And all the robberies have been connected so far, right?” 

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. 

“I see where you’re going.” I deduced then Carl circled a bank. “There’s one more on that sewer main. So if it’s the next target, this shifter isn’t gonna wait a bit. We need to hit this bank as soon as possible. However, it could risk both of you getting exposed.” 

“It’s worth the risk.” Dean nodded, then shovelled noodles into his mouth. 

“Carl, can you draw me up a layout of that bank?” I asked, then Carl started sketching out the bank blueprints. 

“We need to load up.” Sam resolved. “Cause then Milwaukee PD could show up and if they get wind we’re here, the Feds.” 

I was wearing a black jumpsuit, wearing a brunette wig in a ponytail as I posed as a wealthy customer. Dean kept on giving me once-overs, and had whistled when he first saw me. I walked over to the receptionist, adopting a British accent. “Selene Windsor.” 

“Right, I had the note that you were coming.” She nodded. “Right this way, ma’am.” I was led down the same path as Dean and Sam, talking in a haughty manner. 

“If I’m to entrust my money here, I need to know that it’s secure. It doesn’t seem that way if technicians are having to come down.” I hugged. 

“Just a general software bug, ma’am.” Dean smirked, his eyes flicking down my body for the fiftieth time. 

“So I can’t trust my money to this bank.” I retorted. “I want to check this system myself.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” The receptionist guided me to the room which Sam and Dean were going to, then ran away. 

“All righty. You guys need anything else?” The guard asked. 

“Oh, no, no, we'll be, uh, we'll be in and out before you know it, just a routine check.” Sam excused. 

“Okie-dokie.” He left, and I sighed in relief, taking off my wig and releasing my hair from its bun. 

“I like him. He says ‘Okie-dokie.’” Dean snorted, wheeling to face me.

“But what if he’s the shifter?” I asked, running my fingers through my hair. 

“Well, then we follow him home, put a silver bullet through his chestplate.” I walked over to him, reaching behind me. 

“Can you undo my zip?” 

“W-What?” 

“Just do it!” He unzipped my jumpsuit, and it fell to the floor, revealing a black crop top and blue shorts underneath, and I changed my shoes to running boots. Dean breathed a sigh of relief, making me laugh. “You didn’t think I’d publicly ask you to undress me? Keep dreaming.” I sat down, wheeling up on a chair. 

“Okay. Well, you got any popcorn in that purse?” I pulled it out of my purse (yes, it also has the extension spell), handing it to him. “Thanks.” We watched the screens for a while, but we found no camera flare on the guard’s eyes.

”Maybe he just loves his job.” I shrugged. “Cause Mr Okie-Dokie is, well, okie-dokie.”

“Maybe we jumped the gun on this.” Sam fretted. “I mean, we don't even know it's here. Maybe we should just go back to the sewers and… and-“ I rolled up a piece of paper, slapping Dean on the head with it. 

“Dean, focus. We’re meant to be looking for the shifter.” 

“I'm getting there.” Dean retorted. 

“Oh, really?” 

“Wait.” A middle aged man turned to the camera, and his eyes flared. We turned to each other, nodding. “Hello, freak.”

”Got him.” Sam whispered before bolting to the door, but I spotted something else. 

“Sam!” I called, zooming in on that screen. 

“Yeah?” 

“Look.” Ronald was locking and bolting the door shut, holding an assault rifle. “Sweet cheese. It’s Ronald.”

“And you said we shouldn't bring guns.” Dean groaned. 

“I didn’t know this was gonna happen, Dean.” Sam grimaced. 

“Speak for yourselves.” I smirked, taking my gun out of my ankle holster. They stared at the gun, dumbfounded. “Yeah, I come prepared. Even if you tell me no. Just let me do the talking. I don't think he likes you very much, Agent Johnson.“ I hid my gun in my purse as we found Ronald.

“Now, there's only one way in or out of here, and I chained it up.” Ronald yelled. “So nobody's leaving, do you understand?” 

“Hey, buddy. Calm down. Just calm down.” Dean tried to bargain as we entered. 

“What the- you! Get on the floor, now.” 

“Okay, we're doing that. Just don't shoot anybody, especially us.” 

“I knew it. As soon as you two left. You ain't FBI. Who are you? Who are you working for, huh? The men in black? You working for the mandroid?” 

“We’re not working for the mandroid!” Sam burst out. 

“You, shut up! I ain't talking to you. I don't like you.” 

“Told you so.” I whispered, then put my hands up. 

“Fair enough.” Sam grumbled.

“Get on 'em.” Ronald ordered a middle-aged man. “Frisk them down, make sure they got no weapons on them. Go!” I was frisked down, but they found nothing. Then they frisked Dean, but they found a knife in his boot. 

“Dean!” I hissed. That obvious?

“I wasn’t gonna walk in naked!” Dean replied quietly. “You’re one to talk.” 

“Hey, hey, Ronald, listen to me.” I spoke up, my hands up as I cautiously approached him. “We know you don't want to hurt anybody. That's exactly what's gonna happen if you keep waving that rifle around, and why don't you let these people go?” 

“No! I already told you. If nobody's gonna stop this thing, then I've got to do it myself.” 

“Why do you think we’re here? We believe you.” 

“You don't believe me. Nobody believes me! How could they?” 

“Tell you what, c’mere.” 

“What?! No!” 

“You have the gun.” Well, that wasn’t true. “You’re the boss here, and I can’t do squat. Just trust me.” Ronald then approached me, and I lowered my voice. “It’s the manager. Why do you think we've got these getups, huh? We've been monitoring the cameras in the back. We saw the bank manager. We saw his eyes.” 

“His laser eyes?” 

“Whatever you wanna call ‘em, but we did.” I nodded. “But we’re running out of time. We need to get him before he changes into someone else.” 

“Like I'm gonna listen to you. You're a damn liar.” 

“Doesn’t mean I ain’t a truther. And my partner told you that lie, not me. If you don’t trust me, hold a gun on me and take me hostage. But we've gotta act fast. Because the longer we just sit here the more time he has to change. Look at me, man. I believe you. You're not crazy. There really is something inside this bank.” I paused, “Do I look like someone who’d lie to you?” 

“All right. You come with me. But everyone else gets in the vault!” 

“Check behind the desk.” I ordered as I went into a back room. Then I heard a yell, and I instantly rushed out. Ronald had fallen, and was lying next to a pile of shed skin. He screamed, standing up and pointing his gun at it. 

“What the hell is that?” He squealed. 

“Great.” I grimaced, turning on a lamp. “It sheds its skin when it changes. So now, it could be anybody.”

“It's so, so weird. Its robot skin is so lifelike.” 

“Alright, Ronald, let me get this straight.” I huffed. “It's not an mandroid. It's a shapeshifter.“ 

“Shapeshifter?“

”Yeah. I mean, it's human, more or less. Has human drives- and in this case it's money. But it generates its own skin, it can shape it to match someone else's features, you know, taller, shorter, male, etcetera.” 

“So it-it-it kills someone and then takes their place.” 

“Kills them, doesn't kill them, I don't think it really matters.” I shrugged, rummaging in my purse. 

“What are you doing?” I pulled out my gun, replacing it with silver bullets. “You had that the whole time?!” 

“Want me to be honest?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Yes, I did.” I stored the other cartridge, turning to him. “You remember the old werewolf stories? Pretty much came from these guys. Silver's the only thing I've seen that hurts them.” I started walking, then stopped. “C’mon, Ronald.” We walked down a hallway, and I heard Ronald started chuckling. “What are you, nuts?” 

“That's just it. I'm not nuts.” He laughed. “I mean, I was so scared that I was losing my marbles. But this is real! I mean, I, I, I was right! Except for the mandroid thing. Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Then the power went out, and I cursed. “Damn it. Not now, not now!” 

“What is it?” 

“They cut the power. Probably their way of saying hi.” 

“Who?” 

“The cops.” 

“THE COPS?!” 

“What did you think would happen?” I hissed. “Well, you weren't exactly a smooth criminal about this, Ron. I mean, you didn't even secure the security guard. He probably called them.” 

“I-I didn’t think I-“ 

“All right, hang on, hang on, let's just take a breath here for a second, all right? They — they've probably got us surrounded. They've cut the power to the cameras so there's no way of telling who the shapeshifter is. So I’m gonna be honest; it’s not looking good.” We heard a noise, to which Ron brought his rifle up. “D’you hear that?” We stalked down, finding three more people, including the guard. “Alright, get up!” I barked, and they followed us to the vault. I opened it, and Dean and Sam were relieved to see that I was alive. “Sam, Dean, look, uh, Ronald and I need to talk to you. Also, a few more prisoners.” I shut the door behind me when Dean and Sam climbed out. “It's shed its skin again. We don't know when - it could be in the halls, it could be in the vault.” 

“Great. You know, Dean, you are wanted by the police.” Sam pointed out. 

“He is, but I need his help. We’re gonna tackle one problem at a time, yeah? Dean and I are gonna sweep the place, find some stragglers if they’re there. Sam, you help Ron manage-“ 

“Help him manage?! Are you insane?” 

“‘Fraid so, cause everyone here is in danger, Sam. This is the plan we’ve got. Once we’re done, I’ll come back to you and we’ll play Find the Freak.” I took out a letter opener I’d swiped. “Anyone makes a suspicious move, use it.” I took out another gun and gave it to Dean. “Alright, let’s do this.” 

“How do you know all this?” Dean asked. 

“You’re forgetting that I have a romantic relationship with a police officer. Who has done hostage negotiations and raids in the past.” I sighed. “Look, I know this isn't going the way we wanted-“ 

“Understatement.” Sam growled. 

“-but if we invite the cops in right now, Ronald gets arrested, we get arrested, the shifter gets away, probably never find it again, okay?” I turned to Ron. “Ron! Out of the light!” 

“Seriously?!” 

“Yeah, Ron's game plan was a bad plan, I mean, it was a bit of a crazy plan, but right now crazy's the only game in town, okay? Dean, come with me.” Dean and I walked off. 

A while later, I walked back after my sweep, finding Ron dead. I glared at Dean and Sam, who put their hands up. “Ok, this has gone way too far. The shifter ran away cause you let him out and now he’s probably a completely different person. Well done, you handled this perfectly.” I sighed. “Dean, get a hostage outside. Unharmed. Now!” Dean took the guard, going to the door. I bent down beside Ron, hefting his body out of the light.

“We are so screwed.” Dean grumbled when he latched the door again. I peered outside, seeing black vans pull up while Dean talked to Sam. 

“We have a problem!” I yelled. 

Outside, a man in an FBI jacket approached the Milwaukee PD. “Lieutenant Robards.” He barked. 

“Yeah.” Robards replied. 

“Special Agent Henriksen.” 

“Let me guess. You're lead dog now, but you would just love my full cooperation.” 

“I don't give a rat's ass what you do, you can go get a donut for all I care. What I do need is your S.W.A.T. team locked and loaded.” 

“Listen, Agent. Something's not right about this. It's, um ... it's not going down like a usual heist.” 

“That's because it isn't one. You have no idea what you're dealing with, do you? There is a monster in that bank, Robards.” 

I picked up the landline, gritting my teeth. “Yeah?” 

‘This is Special Agent Victor Henriksen.’ 

“Yeah, listen, I'm not really in the negotiating mood right now, so–”

‘Good. Me neither. It's my job to bring Dean in. Alive's a bonus but not necessary.’ 

“How do you-“ 

‘Yeah, I know. I want you, Dean and Sam out here, unarmed. Or we come in. And yes, I know about Sam too. And you, Ivonne Rainer. You’re the Bonnie to Dean’s Clyde, aren’t you?’ 

“No comment. How'd you even know we were here?” 

‘Go screw yourself, that's how I knew. It's become my job to know about you. I've been looking for you for weeks now. I know about the murders in Jersey, I know about the Houdini act you pulled in Baltimore. I know about the desecrations and the thefts. I know about your family. Especially that father of yours. Some father he was, huh?.’ 

“You don’t know jack squat about my dad.” 

‘Ex-Army general. Trained you since you were a young girl, put you in martial arts and taught you every method of survival. Most of your time was spent in a little cabin in the woods. Real militaristic survival.’

”Shut your mouth.” 

‘Ooh, she’s got claws. Never expected it by someone who was raised like a soldier.’ 

“What do you want?” 

‘All three of you, unarmed. You have one hour to make a decision or we come through those doors full automatic.’ He hung up, and I punched the table. 

“Damn it!” 

“Scramble your men, five minutes, then we go in.” Henriksen ordered, standing up. 

“What? Henriksen, they've let out one hostage so far. They've hurt no one as far as we can tell.” Robards frowned. 

“You don't know these Winchesters, and Rainer, especially her. They're dangerous, smart, and expertly trained.” 

“We can't risk the lives of all those people-“ 

“We know enough about the Winchesters to know that they’re insane, but don’t get me started on Ivonne Rainer.” He sized Robards up. “The Winchesters look and sound deadly, but Rainer’s a devil in disguise. Looks innocent, and hell, can she act innocent. Girl could be a mercenary in stilettos or in combat boots and a leather jacket and you wouldn’t see her coming until you’re on the floor with a bullet through your brain. She’s smart, she’s calculating, and has wormed her way out of serious charges twice, so she’s manipulative too. She didn’t hesitate before shooting her brother in self defence, and her boyfriend too, twice in the chest in cold, hard blood. She’s as dangerous as these Winchesters, maybe even more. A pretty face, but armed as hell.” 

“This is crazy.” 

“Crazy’s in there, and I just hung up on his right hand woman.” 

I went to the boys, grimacing. “We have a problem outside.” 

“We have a problem in here.” Sam opened the vault, and Dean let Sherry out. 

“We’re gonna let you go, Sherry.” Dean smiled. 

“What? Why?” Sherry whimpered. 

“As, uh, a good show of faith to the feds.” We led her into another room, where her dead body was kept. 

“I thought you were letting me go.” She whispered, but then took one look at the body and started screaming. 

“Is that community theater, or are you just naturally that good?” 

“Tonight’s the last night you become anybody. Ever.” Sam smirked. Dean raised his gun, but then she fainted. He was about to shoot, but I put out my hand, shaking my head. 

“It can’t be her. Fainting’s not gonna save her, the shifter’s smart enough to know that.” I frowned. 

“Huh.” Dean knelt over the dead body, but then it opened his eyes and began wrestling with Dean. Sherry woke, and backed into Sam, who took her out of the way as she cried. I joined in on the fight, gesturing for Sam to clear Sherry out of the way as Dean got knocked in the chin. I slammed the shifter against the wall, taking out my gun, but I got headbutted, releasing my hold as the shifter bolted. I ran after it, but I’d lost it. Then I got rammed into a room, hand on my throat. I kicked the shifter away, sweeping its legs and managing to grab my gun again, shooting it in the chest. It cried out for a moment, but then went limp. I found my purse, taking out my wig and jumpsuit and slipping both of those back on while I met Dean and Sam, who were wearing S.W.A.T uniforms. 

“Who d’you strip to get those?” I sighed.

”Two officers that I knocked out.” Sam answered casually. 

“We’re so screwed.” Dean breathed. 

“Royally screwed, Dean.” I grimaced. We turned on the Impala’s radio, driving off.

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#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x oc #spn #spn masterlist #supernatural #dean winchester x you #supernatural oc

[charliespringverse]

iwbft — tuesday: a brief summary of my annotations

all highlighted quotes: 136

· ouch/ow/owie: 12

· real/felt/relatable/so true: 5

· aroace: 2

· ☹/☹☹/☹☹☹: 9

Rowan is on his front, one arm slung over Jimmy's chest. Jimmy's head is tilted ever so slightly towards Rowan. — i've woken up like this with at least half my friends

The shipping itself isn't a major inconvenience to any of us. If anything, it keeps the fans interested. They think Judgement Day will eventually come and there'll be a big reveal that Rowan and I are secretly in love. There won't. We're not. — @larry shippers in the year of our lord 2023

It's always sort of been Rowan and Jimmy, plus Lister. We still love him of course. But that's just the way it is. — PAIN (note: this is all caps, huge, and triple underlined)

'I talk about The Ark all the time. I don't know why this was a surprise.' 'Fereshteh, it was a little bit of a surprise to me too.' 'Why?' 'I suppose... I suppose I never thought you actually cared about this band that much.' — parents vs actually listening to and validating their interests (failed, always)

Juliet chuckles weakly and looks away. I know she's had some bust-ups with her parents in the past. — understatement of the millennium

I'm an optimist. I like to believe that love exists. — it Does it just isn't always romantic/sexual. but it exists So Much

'I feel bad... feeling so happy when they're probably upset,' — ur so close to getting it queen

'Can't we just go home?' Lister mumbles. 'No,' she says. — foreshadowing innit

Rowan and I follow him immediately, like there's a string attaching us — ... invisible string addition to the folklore trilogy?

Lister tells us to go away, but Rowan just walks up to him and starts rubbing his back as he throws up. — ♡ listerowan bestieism

There's a big window on one side of the bathroom. Big enough to climb out, probably. We're on the ground floor. We could just climb out and run. Get up and go. — FORESHADOWING INNIT

Being trans has been a pretty you can big part of my life so far, thanks, but that shouldn't be particularly relevant here, in an interview about our music. — u can Never escape other ppl's obsession w ur transness

Dave laughs and says again, 'Now that's honesty.' — FUCK YOU DAVE (note: this is all caps, huge, and quadruple underlined)

I ask God to give me a bit of extra patience. Because every time Mac speaks, I sort of want to put an entire bag of cotton wool in his mouth. — what God is for x

Being a male fan of obscure old bands is, for some reason, more acceptable than being a female fan of a twenty-first-century boy band. — (also the obscure old bands are rarely that obscure. they're one direction for old white men)

They know exactly who they are. They put it in their blog about' page, they put it in their Twitter bio. I never know what to put in my Twitter bio so I usually just put an Ark lyric in there. — and when u enter ur confident aro-ace era? what then?

I like to think God does have a plan for everyone. But I also think there's too much shit in the world for all these plans to be perfect ones. Or maybe God doesn't have time to write a plan for everyone. And some of us are just trying our best and getting it a bit wrong. — i think this is why faith doesnt work for me

Everything's still there, though. My journals, my guitar, my main laptop, my childhood teddy bear, and the knife that Grandad gave me when I was sixteen. — now i want to know what he would admit to in one of them essentials interviews

It'd be useless as an actual weapon, since it's completely blunt - you can run your finger along the edge and not even get a scratch. — hhhh foreshadowing innit ☹

Not that he particularly goes seeking it. Everyone just wants to be friends with Lister Bird. — and yet he cares most abt getting closer to the two he shouldn't have to try for ☹

David [Tennant] thought she wanted a selfie, when in fact she was just trying to find the nearest toilet. — iconic

'Now, there'd better be some fucking Capri-Suns somewhere around here.' — me @ every function

When they were together they both seemed to stop worrying about everything else in their lives - Rowan was no longer an overworked band boy and Bliss was no longer a struggling student. They were just together. — ☹ justice for laimondi

Then he leans in and presses his lips against mine. Oh. Okay. Fine. This is fine. Can't say I realised this conversa- tion was going in this direction, but fine. — BAD (note: this is all caps, huge, and double underlined)

'But we're gods, Jimmy. What's better than that?' — pain. suffering. agony. heartache. torture, torment, anguish.

Holding it makes me feel real. It reminds me that I was born. That my life is something other than this birdcage I'm trapped in. Isn't it? Isn't it? — has his therapist ever discussed depersonalisation with him?

#iwbftreread #les go day 2 babey #(i reas this a lot earlier in the day i've just not rlly had the chance to access tumblr while travelling) #anygay less longwinded post coming later

[starishome]

~Future~

Larry walked steadily through his home. Some servants were stunned by his presence; he was supposed to be away for another two months.

The man put his ear to the door, there was silence. He gently turned the doorknob and entered the room.

“My love… I thought you wouldn't be here today,” the woman spoke as she dipped the quill in the inkwell.

“Do you think I would miss seeing my baby? Of course not"

Larry walked over to the small crib next to the bed. There was his son, Caleb, fully asleep.

The man smiled and gently ran his finger over the little boy's cheek. No, his little one.

Larry looked back at his wife, she was writing something in a journal.

“What is that dear?” The brunette asked.

“Oh! This?" Mary gestured towards the diary. “I'm just planning for his future,” she revealed with a smile.

“Planning his future?” Larry questioned as he approached Mary.

"Yeah!" The woman exclaimed, “Now that I am a mother, I have to take care of him and give him the best of the best.”

The blonde turned the diary towards her husband, Larry could notice some notes in it, about universities and activities.

The brunette took one of his wife's hands and planted a soft kiss on her. "My love, this is our first baby," he spoke while looking at her sweetly. "You just have to be... eh... how do you say relaxed in Spanish?"

“Relajada?” Mary responded.

"That! Rejajada… you have to be rejajada”

The blonde looked at her son, Caleb, her baby.

"Maybe you're right…"

•──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•

Mary looked at her little Philip, ran her hand over the baby's curly hair and smiled lovingly. She grabbed the pen and started writing.

A maid entered the room with a tray in her hands, she placed it on the nightstand next to the woman.

“Asha, open the windows please,” the blonde ordered.

“Yes, ma'am,” the woman responded and opened the window, she could hear Mary writing.

“Madam…” the maid spoke cautiously “I don't think you should be writing right now, you just had a difficult birth and-“ The woman stopped when she saw her boss looking at her “At least that's my opinion…”

Mary smiled and closed the book.

“Now that I am a mother I have to take care of my children, I have to make sure that they live a full and uncomplicated life” she commented with confidence “Mom knows what is best, she will always know…”

The woman paused to look at the newborn.

“The best food and educational games for them so that their intelligence is above average, then, I will choose the most beneficial friends, which universities they will go to, what jobs they will dedicate themselves to, and obviously their wives.”

Asha was paralyzed, was the lady really serious?

“Excuse my impertinence, madam, but… don't you think that children should be more… free?”

Suddenly, little Philip began to cry, the maid gently took him in her arms and brought him closer to her mother.

“Nonsense,” the woman responded.

“My children don't need to make mistakes or get hurt because I am there for them.” Mary rocked the baby in her arms.

“I will be there to resolve anything that endangers the integrity of my children, and my entire family. “My legacy will last forever, my family will last forever.”

Her voice was a mix between sweetness and seriousness. Asha knew her lady. She was intelligent, very calculating, she was never afraid and she was always eloquent, she knew how to win the appreciation and favors of everyone.

“After all… that's what a good mother does… isn't it?”

The maid just smiled and nodded, “yes, ma'am, do you want anything else?”

Mary looked at her little baby and shook her head.

The maid gave a small bow and left Elva's room, closing the door behind her.

“My little Philip… you are destined to do big things… I know it… Mommy is never wrong…”

#philip wittebane #kid belos #belos #toh oc #toh fic #fanfic #writing #toh #toh au

[louisisalarrie]

Ooh, please tell me more about how Shiall today might relate to Larry? I’ve been keeping an eye on Niall, and I have so many thoughts, but I’m mostly just confused!

heya anon, and welcome to the show!

now, I want to start this off by saying I haven’t had much to do with the Shiall stuff, so I’m not an expert on it. But, here are a couple of my thoughts as to why this is an interesting turn of events, and what this means for larry.

so, it’s been pretty interesting seeing all the Shiall stuff online since the show happened. And well… I’ve seen a lot of larries/ziams also now start shipping Shiall, which is interesting, and while Shiall has never been as big as Larry or even Ziam, it blew up the fandom and even got headlines in the press. So… let’s have a deeper dive.

Now… people have believed in Shiall or at least entertained the idea of them together since at least 2017. It’s not a new thing whatsoever. But since the show of them performing together, it has become pretty huge. And there are a lot of solos reaaaaallllyyyy hating that, and it’s becoming a bit beefy between the niall girls and the shiall believers (which is yikes because can everyone just be nice to each other for a god damn second Jesus Christ) so it’s now dividing nialls otherwise pretty chill fandom. Which is new for him, and will be interesting to see how it’s handled. But so far in the press? It’s going well for him.

He’s gotten a write up in a few outlets which all have a similar headline of “Niall Horan Surprises Fans by Bringing Out Shawn Mendes at London Concert” (US Weekly). But, Rolling Stone really went all out here:

Now, I dunno about you… but adding “fellow lover boy” and “that’s my boy” to a headline 100% grabs attention and maybe implies a bit more than just pals. In my marketing and journalism experience/study, this would absolutely fall under seeding and somewhat subconsciously sways the reader into further curiosity about Niall and Shawn’s relationship.

What’s funny about this, is 1 week prior to the show, Elle posted this article out of quite literally nowhere. Shawn and Camila haven’t been spotted together since (to my knowledge) April of 2023 when they were photographed kissing at Coachella. So… why was this dropped a week prior?

Anyway, Niall is still signed to Modest mgmt, who we’ve watched control narratives and PR ops for the last 13 years. So, it’s safe to say we can see a bit of a pattern here, but it feels different this time too… right?

Niall’s mgmt would 110% know about the Shiall rumours. They’ve been around for over 6 years, and have continued to grow in popularity over the past couple of years particularly. It’s very obviously a topic that the fandom talk about, and that a lot believe in. So, to allow niall to bring on stage someone who his fans believe he’s actually dating as opposed to his “gf” who was also in the crowd that night (not that literally anyone cared lol) feels very freeing. Do modest and Niall not care about the rumours? Is it actually true and he managed to convince his team to let him do it in exchange of staying with his gf for longer? Or is it something entirely different?

Well… it’s a tricky one.

Modest have been well known to closet artists for years. We’ve seen it with larry, and other young men too. So, why the change of heart? Essentially encouraging rumours by giving this the go ahead, and rolling stone weirdly quickly posting that article with those particular words in the headline, why now?

It’s good PR, sure. It’s beneficial for Shawn to get back into the headlines more after not performing for 12 months, and gives nialls tour a bit of a boost. But i would argue that it’s encouraging Shiall. And I would also argue that modest have actively tried to squash gay rumours for years with larry (we will talk about the Union J shit show another time and just stick with larry for this) so it’s interesting that they’re encouraging it. But it’s been a pretty nice little test drive for larry, hasnt it?

In no way has Shiall divided the fandom to the same point as Larry, but the love we all saw for shiall (whether we believed in them being romantically linked or not, it was incredibly wholesome) from around the fandom was very loud. I saw a hell of a lot more positive chats than negative (and I looked deeper than just my timeline) and so it was pretty safe to say that it went well for the most part.

People are saying that niall might have done it behind his team’s back because Shawn was placed in Paris hours earlier, but that’s just a reminder of something we already know that we can’t trust photos to be released on the same day at the same time they are taken, but I think he’d get in a hell of a lot of trouble for that. So I’m not on board with that idea.

So I guess to put it down to a couple of options to sum this up:

a) modest has flipped the script and is okay with Shiall because they’re actually not dating (unlike how they handled larry because they were) and it’s all just rumours and niall and his gf aren’t bothered from it so it’s fine because it’s some good publicity

b) niall and Shawn actually are dating and his team is seeding a coming out, testing the waters with the fandom, perhaps try to encourage larry to sign with them again due to how “free thinking” they are now

c) nialls contract allows him to have more control over different aspects of his career so he was able to just invite him up there no matter what narrative is being pushed in his personal life

So… what’s this mean for larry and why have I rambled on for 3-5 business days?

Well…

Niall is dealing with the same rumours with Shawn as H and L do with each other. He is actively showing the fans that believing in a relationship between two dudes in fact doesn’t ruin their lives and families and their girlfriends are crying all the time, and he’s also showing other mgmt teams that you can do this shit without the world falling to pieces (aka the V*nes and Az*ff losers) whether or not it’s true. It’s a very small step in the right direction, but it’s a really good one. So I think yeah it’s important to see what this means for Larry and their next steps, because niall has made it look pretty simple. But I think we should keep watching this all very closely.

#anon #answered #louisisalarrie chats

[asharkapologist]

Elisa Melody Diary Entry #1: I Hate That Family

A/N: So I really love Elisa Melody, and I randomly got the idea to write a journal entry from her POV where she complains about the Rochesters/ranks them from her favorite to least favorite, because I thought that would be fun. I hope you enjoy!

Also thank you @chelleinyy for helping me with this 🙏

Unless I wish to “disappear” or “suffer a sudden episode of madness,” I must not let this diary be seen by anyone but myself.

It cannot be said that I am not appreciative of my employment as a party planner. My clients can be, more often than not, rude, self-centered, scoundrels, or any mixture, but party planning pays exceptionally well, as the wealthy of Concordia have remarkable amounts of money to throw around. Additionally, I consider myself a creative person. Painting would hardly provide a sustainable career, however, so by billing myself as a party planner, I am able to allow myself to succeed in a job allowing for creativity.

That being said, I believe that I am QUITE entitled to complain about certain clients. I have been holding my tongue in matters concerning my true opinions on the following people, even though I rarely show as much caution with others who hire me. Of course, I do not go around openly slandering the wealthy as that would be career suicide, but the vast majority of my clients do not have my life in their hands like the Rochesters.

The wealthiest family in Concordia.

They practically control this city in every way that matters: economically, politically, and everything in between. And it is an open secret that anyone who challenges or condemns their power either disappears, mysteriously dies or commits suicide, or is admitted into Grim Chapel’s insane asylum. I do not care what they do with their rivals. One should be intelligent enough to avoid challenging the people who very obviously control this city.

But they are some very challenging clients. Even if they pay handsomely. And as I rarely desire to openly rant or vocalize my opinions on them to anyone, especially as I have few friends or people I can trust to not reveal my opinions to others, I figured that it is only safe to confine my thoughts to this diary. And as silly as it may be, I wish to rank the Rochesters from least to most aggravating to deal with. Because I have been concealing these feelings regarding that family for years. And perhaps this will be therapeutic…

I have worked with all nine official living members of the Rochester family. (I say official because surely Horatio and perhaps Larry and Malcolm have multitudes of illegitimate children. And there are rumors about the fate that befall Horatio Rochester’s former wife. Some say she is dead. Some say she retreated to the seaside on the other side of the country. I am not especially concerned--she is not relevant to me, as she has never contacted me to ask me to organize a party.) The members of the family are:

Leopold

Rockley

Larry

Horatio

*Clarissa

Malcolm

Bernadine

Veronica

Archie

The most pleasant Rochester to deal with, and therefore the lowest on this list at number 9 is Clarissa Rochester. I have put an asterisk next to her name, as of some weeks prior to me writing this, she was poisoned at a luncheon. A shame, for she was the most tolerable member of the family. She has benefitted from mysterious fates befalling the Rochesters’ economic rivals and critics, but this is not about her morality. With me she is pleasant and courteous, although I have seen her lose her temper at incompetent servants (one of whom murdered her), but I am not incompetent, and therefore, she has no reason to shout at and humiliate me. She gives me a list of things she wants at her party and rarely gets in my way. I appreciate not being micromanaged. (This will be relevant later.)

Malcolm is next. Of course, I am aware that his political rivals have a mysterious habit of suffering sudden fates that conveniently eliminate them from any election where they would be challenging Malcolm. I am no idiot. But again, this is not a ranking of their morality, simply how pleasant they are to deal with. And when interacting with me, Senator Rochester is perfectly affable and courteous. I have seen him lose his temper at assistants or servants before, but unlike them, I am perfectly capable at my job and therefore have never been yelled at. He compliments my work, even though he rarely deals with me directly, as he leaves most of the party or banquet planning to me, his assistants, or his wife. However, when I do interact with him, he is professional and friendly, and does not get in my way. Which is truly what I appreciate from those who hire me.

Senator Rochester’s sister, Bernadine, is next. Unlike her brother, she is a rather openly haughty woman, making her more of a headache to interact with. While she may not have any moral failings or benefit from anyone’s misfortunes when someone makes a mistake of crossing a member of the family (which is to surely be my fate if this is discovered), she has not taken after her brother in terms of manners presented to the public. However, like her brother, she does not get in my way when I work for her. She gives me the essential information I need for my job and leaves me to work. She does not think she can do my job better than me.

Leopold Rochester is next. I know that the people of Concordia love him. I know that many would decry him being as high as he is. But he is an annoying nitwit. For the man is too helpful. Whenever he hires me, he is constantly checking in with me, constantly asking me if there is anything I need assistance with. He thinks he is being sweet and helpful. He is not. It is a massive annoyance to be interrupted by this rich man who has likely never done the hard work of organizing anything in his life, attempt to help me, ask me to tell him what to do to be helpful, and compliment me. Yes, I know that I am skilled at my work. But when I am working, I do not wish to be bothered. I often end up snapping at him that the most helpful thing he can do is get out of my hair. He will then often apologize and I brush it off, doing anything I can to get him out of my presence. I fear that someone will start a rumor that I am cruel to the “Father of Concordian Innovation” rather than his retribution, because he is nothing but kind to everyone he hires. He may be unintentionally annoying, but he still gets in my way when I am working. He can say this, though: he pays better than anyone else in the family.

Now on this list is where I begin to actively dislike members of this family. Next is Rockley, one of the most oblivious people I have ever met. I have worked with him the least out of the members of the Rochesters (he only hired me once, if you can call it that). And he is…an unique man to work with. He would probably be higher up on this list if I had the displeasure of working with him more than once, for the one time he hired me was…utterly pointless. He proposed bizarre ideas to me, such as having strings of candy on an outdoor plaza of his chocolate factory (that would attract birds who would defecate on everyone), suggesting part of the party be a compulsory tour of his remarkably unsafe chocolate factory, sprinkling some of his then-newest types of candy randomly throughout the refreshments--candy that he somehow created that would cause anything a guest ate for the next thirty minutes to taste remarkably bitter. I told him that his ideas were not good, or at least needed to be heavily altered, but did he listen to me? Not at all. He went ahead with all of his ideas, and ignored mine. I was paid, but as I predicted, his party was a mess, and several people left angry. He did not seem to mind. I do not know why anyone would hire me, knowing of my skills, and then ignore me. At least Horatio does not ignore my ideas. Rockley is an idiot entirely lost in his own world, and I am glad to not have my talents wasted on him any longer. If he continues his current business practices, he may find himself being sued for causing someone’s death, as his factory is, in my opinion, quite a death trap.

Horatio Rochester is next. The patriarch of the family, and one of my best-paying clients. And also the toughest, for nothing I do seems to be enough for him. I know I am good at what I do, otherwise I would never have employment. Horatio knows this, as he continuously pays me to organize his multiple parties. However, I can never escape snide comments and attempts to micromanage from him. He criticizes everything I do, always finding fault with whatever he can. (Does he have nothing better to do at his functions? Does no one want to speak with him? If so, I cannot blame him, for his breath smells terrible, likely from his many cigars he smokes). I do not dare talk back to him, one of the most powerful men in Concordia and someone who I have seen shout out and strike servants, and so I grit my teeth, apologize, and try to fix whatever flaw he has found. He would be unbearable if not for how well he pays. When he hires me, I know I will have an unpleasant time as he thinks he can do my job better than I can with as much fault as he finds, apparently…but I also know I will end up with a large amount of money.

Veronica Rochester does not like me. She has never actually hired me, rather, she has occasionally been foisted onto me by Malcolm when he has given us an assignment of organizing a banquet or something similar. After Rockley, I have interacted with her the least. Like Horatio, she has a habit of criticizing my work, but unlike Horatio, I am often working right alongside her, meaning both of us grow more and more annoyed as we work, but we are forced to communicate through our gritted teeth. I have never seen her smile, and I rarely smile around her, for she thinks she can do my job better than me and argues with me over the pettiest of things. She also has had the audacity to accuse me of being a social climber, simply because I have worked for everyone in her family and many other wealthy people in Concordia. How dare she? I am good at my job. One of the best party planners in Concordia. I have my own business cards. I never have to worry about money. I have been insulted by multiple clients, but they always seem quite ready to hire me, including her family. Of course I am spending much of my time with the wealthy in Concordia, because they can recognize good talent when they see it, unlike her. She is polite enough in public, but with those she considers beneath her, which evidently includes me, she is a miserable person to deal with, and even if he treats me well, my opinion of Malcolm is soured because he makes me work with his miserable wife.

I have been tempted to punch Larry Rochester multiple times. The man is an utter pain to deal with. His party ideas are almost as ridiculous as his brother Rockley’s, and he seems to actively enjoy making the jobs of me and everyone else difficult, especially when he becomes intoxicated and loud (which is often). When he is drunk, he tends to find it amusing to trash decorations, he once started a food fight, and he enjoys humiliating party planners and servants, regardless of how well jobs were done. I distinctly remember a time when I was helping separate two guests from a verbal altercation when he suddenly loudly insulted me in front of everyone at the event, causing many people to erupt into laughter. It was one of the most humiliating moments of my life, and I had to suppress the urge to punch the smile off of his face. However, I managed to keep my anger in check for two reasons: one, there was an entire crowd watching and such an act of violence would spoil future clients’ opinions of me, and two, considering Larry was recently arrested for strangling a woman and cutting her heart out, I believe I was correct in assuming that he was not someone to be trifled with, who absolutely felt entitled to sink to violent lows and ruin my reputation, if not attack me. It is a blessing he is in prison, and while that is some money gone, he also paid the worst out of everyone in the family.

I HAVE punched Archie Rochester. I must confess, HE is the reason why I began this list, because of something that happened at a recent party, coincidentally the final party Larry attended before being arrested. But Archie has vexed me before this incident. He almost entirely ruined my reputation several months ago when it was discovered that he was Mr Alastor, a mysterious, anonymous gentleman that, for several years, had thrown parties, some of which he had hired me to plan. He could be rude over letters or telegram, but nothing I was unused to. However, this year, Archie as Alastor decided to do something different, as he threw these parties while inviting guests with grudges to said parties, correctly predicting that some of them would kill each other. He did this all in a bizarre attempt to woo Giulietta Capecchi, the daughter of the now-deceased leader of the Italian mob in Concordia. This would have been insignificant to me had he not hired me to plan a party where a murder then occurred. My party! A murder happening! I am fortunate that the victim was not well-liked, otherwise my reputation may have been ruined if a popular woman was murdered under my watch. I almost got in trouble with law enforcement as well, because they were attempting to deduce Alastor’s identity, and since I was in correspondence with him (without knowing who he was), they treated me with suspicion. As if I had more idea than anyone else who he was! As if that was not bad enough, I was also a suspect in the murder that occurred! As if I would poison someone at my own luncheon and ruin my own life and reputation! I quickly gave the police every letter I had received from Alastor as well as all the money he had paid me, and luckily, that satisfied the police. But my reputation could have taken a substantial hit if things had gone differently!

This alone would have been enough to place Archie at number one, but mere days ago, I had another negative interaction with him. He was at a party I had planned, and through ridiculous scenarios involving wine being splashed in my face, him happening to get splashed as well because he was standing near me, us arguing on the way to the washroom to clean ourselves, us returning to the ballroom together, and Archie’s father, Malcolm, giving us an order to do so, we ended up dancing together. Me. Waltzing with the person who almost ruined my reputation and got me in trouble with the law. We argued throughout the entire thing and quite soon we were not waltzing but more of…throwing each other about, spinning, and doing non-decidedly waltz until the song ended and my arms were around him as he dipped me and I was mere feet of the ground, and mere centimeters from him.

It was mortifying. I immediately stood up, and he was embarrassed too, and we exchanged more insults before we both stormed off. After the party ended and I was helping to clean up, I found him, surrounded by empty glasses of sangria in the garden, which started yet another argument, with him calling my party awful. As if it was my fault the now-late thanks to Larry Rochester Deputy Mayor threw wine at me and Archie. He insulted my work, and I was furious at him for being forced to dance with me and embarrassing me in front of everyone by loudly arguing with me and ending with him dipping me that I rather threw caution to the wind and opted to throw a leftover slice of cake at him.

However, because Archie has a headache-inducing habit of always getting me in trouble with the law, he dodged the cake and it hit a nearby police officer (investigating the deputy mayor’s death). The man shouted at me for “assaulting an officer of the peace with cake” as I profusely apologized and explained I was aiming for Archie, who of course, took the opportunity to insult the cake and the party once more. He even called me incompetent, and that was the last straw.

So I punched him in the face. My father once decided to teach me how to throw a good punch and I am glad for that lesson now, because even if it was perhaps foolish to assault a member of the Rochester family, especially one who organized parties with the intent of certain people dying, it felt excellent, some well-deserved payback. Everyone--Archie and the two police officers and even to a certain degree myself--was shocked, and Archie and I were about to start arguing again, and I was about to hit him once more, when the police officers got between us and ordered us to calm down, which led to Archie declaring he was going to seek medical attention (please, I bruised his face, not knocked out his teeth, he’ll be fine) and stomping off.

It was only later that I realized that I could very much get into legal trouble for punching Archie. It would be a cruel act of fate that I did, what with me almost getting in trouble with the law earlier this year thanks to him, to be actually getting in trouble. But about an hour later, I happened to overhear a conversation between him and his mother where she asked him what had happened to his face. I was nearby, folding up a banner I had just taken down, and Archie glanced in my direction for a fraction of a second before muttering that he was fine, that he had gotten too intoxicated and sustained a fall. Once his mother had turned her attention elsewhere he made a rude hand gesture to me and walked elsewhere.

I have convinced myself that I will not get into legal trouble. Knowing him, he is probably too embarrassed to admit to anyone that he was caught off guard and punched by a woman. But still, even if he never presses charges against me, he has secured his spot as the most annoying Rochester to work with, considering he almost got me in legal trouble twice, and that dance. I hated that dance. I don't know what I was thinking, egging him on and becoming so invested in that dance. Curse his father for ordering us to dance together rather than letting Archie stand alone during a waltz and letting me continue my job.

There is one final thing, though. This morning, in my mail, I discovered something bizarre. It was an anonymous note (although I very much recognize the handwriting), with a very strange letter.

I do not take back anything I said during that party. That cake was still awful, and I have some suggestions for how you could improve your party in general.

But I have yet to meet anyone who can keep up with me in arguments and other such back-and-forths. Considering how intelligent I am ( I obtained a law degree in less than a year in Switzerland and graduated top of my class) it is rare to meet anyone who is able to do so. I must begrudgingly admit I am impressed.

Well played.

#criminal case game #criminal case mysteries of the past #mysteries of the past #elisa melody #archie rochester #rochesters

[dinoburger]

since a bunch of stuff got wiped from this blog, I thought it might be a good time to repost these guys - I came up with a bunch of fusion designs for the original DHMIS teachers back in... 2016? 2017?

definitely had fun with these guys

1st row:

Anniversary (Tony + Shrignold) 

Dream Journal (Sketchbook + Lamp)

2nd row:

Love Letter (Shrignold + Sketchbook)

Projector (Hugo + Lamp)

Sun Dial (Tony + Hugo)

3rd row:

Nightmare Fuel (Steak + Lamp)

Streamers (Spinach + Sketchbook)

4th row: height comparison

there’s a bunch of extra doodles, original descriptions/profiles and stuff

Anniversary:

An anniversary is a date which marks a time when something very important happened, like birthdays and weddings!

Anniversary is a Tony+Shrignold fusion who talks in a very gentle voice and is a condescending, sarcastic asshole.

Dream Journal:

They are a dream journal teacher who has a tendency to make snarky comments at their students, a result of Sketch’s passive aggressive nature and Larry’s way of just blurting out whatever comes to mind. This also means they sometimes say things they soon regret.

While their lessons are a little more structured than the lamp alone, everything sidetracks and derails into nightmarish horror fairly quickly.

They’re very chipper and lighthearted, a little dizzy at times but fairly balanced.

Love Letter:

Hello there boys and girls! Did you know? Writing is a very CREATIVE way of expressing your FEELINGS! Let’s try it together!

Love Letters is a Sketchpad+Shrignold fusion who likes to encourage students to write out their feelings and  c o n f e s s   t h e i r   s i n s.

They spend most of their lessons trying to tease out secret feelings from their victims and encouraging them to write everything down, even their most terrible thoughts. Even the thoughts they didn’t think they had. Even the ones they most certainly didn’t have until LL started to meddle and pry and persuade them.

But, not to worry. LL is a good friend who keeps secrets. If only at the cost of them knowing what terrible people their victims are. Privately.

They also devour and store away discarded and scribbled out papers and letters. The more emotionally charged the letters are, the more frenzied LL becomes.

They are very sweet and always smiling. A teacher and a friend.

Their “weapon” is just a letter opener, and the text on the back of their “wings” is always changing whenever they open and shut.

Constellation Projector:

“Stars can tell the future, they know when we are born and they know how we will die!”

Very knowledgeable about “astronomy” and is enthusiastic to talk about unfortunate horoscopes. The more you believe in them, the worse it gets.

They’re pretty happy-go-lucky, kinda goofy too.

They can only talk through their mouth, however their moon changes expressions and it’s eye dilates sometimes when really excited.

Sun Dial (clockwork solar system):

They’re our space+time teacher, a weird mishmash of a sundial and a clockwork solar system model. Always happy to give misinformation about lunar cycles and planetary eclipses.

The two go hand in hand, especially since we basically created the calendar from cycles of the moon and sun.

They are very orderly, but aren’t stern like Tony. Not quite as boisterous as Hugo either. They have… the aura of something very otherly.

Lots of moving parts, hands on the outer ring that can move individually and a face that’s hinged.

Nightmare Fuel (cooking pot):

so I ended up with this luminous cooking pot teacher… they don’t really “teach” so much as they scare the living daylights out of their students (punishment for eating too much before bed time…)

a lot of what they do seems to be completely bizarre and illogical, but the steaky side of their personality often has some sort of reasoning behind it, granted they don’t often bother explaining

like lamp they can get very giggly, but not in the dizzy sort of way lamp does, in fact it sounds much more sinister and unnerving

the third arm they have doesn’t do much except flail around, more like an antenna than an arm

Streamers (party cup, birthday card):

They are a paper party cup/birthday card called Streamers and they can teach you how to make a birthday cake…

…out of your friends…

…and then make you eat it…

#dhmis #dhmis fusions #dbarts

[baeddel]

suicide cw. personal.

my girlfriend Fall killed herself this weekend. i don’t know how to grieve; all i do is write. writing is, in some sense, thinking. Larry McEnerney (2014) says that you have to write to think at a certain level of complexity, and if you aren’t writing, you’re not thinking at that level. writing is, therefore, not a way to record my thoughts, or to express my thoughts, my writing is my thoughts. but thoughts are not feelings, and writing is not feeling, so writing cannot be grieving. that feeling can only indirectly condition my writing; subject selection, tone, word choice and so on. a lot of mostly uninteresting variables, and the writing will survive that feeling though i may no longer feel it. then why write when i’m grieving? it’s not just me—almost everyone, even people who don’t normally write, will start writing when they grieve. writing is with you throughout every step. the suicide note, the memorial, the eulogy, the epitaph. the tearful letters to your loved ones breaking the news. you see, writing is a desire, and grieving is a desire. and one only desires within a landscape of desire. Deleuze (1996) uses the example of a woman looking at a dress in a shop window. what she desires, he says, isn’t the dress, it’s to wear the dress on a beach, on a sunny day, and so on. when i grieve, i don’t ‘grieve’ abstractly. i cry. i shake, beg, plead, wail, storm off to my room to hide under the covers, wrap myself up with my own arms and breathe too fast. i shake myself out of it. i think about my breathing. i say ‘get it together.’ i resign to that feeling in my stomach and i lie very still. i won’t eat, i won’t move, i won’t get up. but i need to eat. i should eat, so i go down and make breakfast. then i write. and on the other side, when i write, i always feel; i conjure feelings or exorcise them while writing. these two desires are not the same, but neither are they always separable.

“Do you realize how simple a desire is?” (ibid). that became one of our favourite quotes. the last few weeks she has been saying it to herself as a maxim, which was something we liked to do. she had also been saying “not awakey, can’t mistakey.” why say that one? we didn’t get the opportunity to have a conversation about it. i think it’s because the next line of that quote is “sleeping is a desire.” she enjoyed things like that; the wandering of the intellect through rhymes and puns. she kept a numogram on her desk. she was not, in her mind, ever a writer, yet she wrote all the time. she dutifully kept a dream journal all her life. the day she was found her roommate was looking through her room and they told me they found some journals full of writing. they didn’t seem to make much sense, they said, so we decided they must have been more dream journals, because dreams don’t make much sense either. but i realized today what they were—they were zuihitsu. she told me she was writing it. but we didn’t get to have a conversation about it, either. that’s the way it is with us. we used to say we had so much to talk about we couldn’t fit it all in. and we were so impulsive, we’d always start something new, and probably never finish it. so everything i know about her is an unfinished story; i don’t know how it ends because we always got distracted talking about Marx or Laozi, class society in Louisiana or the cosmology of the Neiye, the next episode of Azumanga Daioh or the last time we played Rance. we never finished either of those. when we last hung out i was showing her Ridge Racer 4, which was ‘our game’, which i finally beat on the hardest difficulty when Bryn was here. i was showing her how much better i got, and she translated the hard mode story (she could translate on the fly like that; it was incredible). but we got distracted because she was talking about willpower, and i started telling her about how German Wille meant something different to Schopenhauer and Nietzsche than what ModE will conveys. her reflections on that conversation led to this post on her blog, which i didn’t see until today. what was i talking about? sorry, i got distracted.

when we first started dating she had this idea she wanted to do. you see, in 9th century Japan there was a tradition of courtly poetry with elaborate formal rules. there was a bit of a courtship game at that time using these poems. you wouldn’t exchange romantic poems as such; the poems were about nature and things like that, but it was a romantic gesture to write and send it. we sat down and learned all the rules—the style of poetry is called waka—and we wrote our poems for each other. but we didn’t quite follow all the rules the way we found them. they’re intesively erotic poems, intimate and romantic, stuffed full of our fetishes. i can’t really show them to anyone. those poems examine our own personal mythology, the semi-fictionalized relationship roles we’d keep up all the way to the end. even though by then we’d been dating for, i don’t know, two weeks? but we both tried to include the nature theme. you can’t really ‘think’ in Japanese poetry if you aren’t thinking about those things; the passage of seasons and their pantomime. the sakura tree that blooms and dies in one week, the geese that depart and the geese that fly back, the rivers which freeze and thaw. the first waka of Fall’s poem (we cheated a bit again, and used multiple waka as multiple verses) contrasts the natural enviornment outside—the sun and trees—with the synthetic indoor enviornment of her bedroom—LCD screens and water-cooling tubes—described in the same way.

that’s what i was talking about; her writing. i was listening to Stewart Lee on Alexei Sayle’s podcast (2021) talking about how the music hall, which was the British equivalent of vaudeville, was or had room for a lot of avant-garde acts with absurd premises. there was a performer, he said, named J. H. Stead who’s performance was to jump up and down on the spot as fast as possible while singing. another act was the Man who Sings Danny Boy, where the performer would stand up and sing Danny Boy except that his arms were prop arms, which would be set up to grow imperceptibly longer over the course of the performance, until his knuckles reached the floor at the end of the song. Lee says those music hall performances were a sort of proletarian surrealism, and no one’s really analysed them using the right conceptual tools. it reminds me of エロ・グロ・ナンセンス, ero guro nansensu, ‘ero-guro nonsense’, the first wave of guro in Japan which developed after the first world war in the 1920s. this time around it was mostly literature, rather than visual art or cinema. it was published alongside socialist papers on small presses, with a small distribution and circulation. when they were censored the law didn’t always distinguish between socialist pamphlets and ero-guro literature. there’s a book by a guy called Aratsuki Hiroshi called Proletarian Literature is Incredible which i’m desperate to read, but i can’t find it anywhere (wiki). since i was talking about it, Fall wanted to try and find and translate some of that stuff and share it with me; another project we never got around to finishing. anyway, that’s how i’ve been thinking about Fall’s writing. in all the photos that i have of her, every surface in her room is covered with index cards with writing on them. some are to-do lists, some are reminders, and some are mental maps and monologues. she devised this game played with cards which represented all of us in her circle, where we all had different cards representing different relationships she had with us. she had some rules for the game which she’d play, and she’d let it organize how she interacted with us. she kept those dream journals, filling scores and scores of notebooks, recto verso and scribbling in the margins, with dream-memories. and as i said in the last few weeks she took to making zuihitsu, a 14th-century Japanese technique for writing stream-of-consciousness prose about the impressions and sensations of immediate experience.

none of this she ever shared with anyone. why write like that? why record your dreams, play games of chance with your psyche, and pursue unbundled impressions? why keep such an immense and secret library? we’re reminded of the “Twentieth Century exercises in willed subjectivity” that Frére talks about (2020), “fold-downs, jump cuts, tape loops, automatic writing, oneiric or compulsive reference, detournment or collage” which he calls “the basic manoeuvres in the performative arms race of self-alienating consciousness.” for the surrealists the point was to let the creative process gainsay conscious experience and leave all the organizing power for the unconscious. that’s because they believed in psychoanalysis, hypnosis and spiritualism and the occult powers of the deep psyche. while Fall was interested in psychoanalysis—she had been reading Heinz Kohut’s Analysis of the Self—she wasn’t especially credulous towards it. her closest intellectual companion was Laozi. she kept the Feng & English translation on her desk and read it every day. recently, because we were learning Mandarin, she was reciting it out loud in the original language. that was something she had an incredible knack for. she taught me how to read IPA in about thirty minutes, and she seemed to be able to pronounce any unfamilliar word first try. the first week we began learning Old English she read our favourite verse from Maxims.

wel mon sceal wine healdan on wega gehwylcum oft mon fereð feor bi tune þær him wat freond unwiotodne wineleas, wonsælig mon genimeð him wulfas to geferan felafæcne deor

Maxims I, lines 144-147, Exeter Book, fol.88b-92b (read on sacred-texts). we love that verse. we went back and forth glossing and translating it until Fall penned this translation,

a man must hold tight to his partners on whatever road often a man travels far by town where friends are uncertain the unfortunate, unpartnered man takes wolves for companions crafty animals

and i settled on this one,

a man should hold well to his friends on all roads; often a man travels to distant cities where he is not certain to have friends. a man without friends or fortune gets wolves for his companions, very crafty animals.

i didn’t know much about translation then, nor do i now. and remember these are translations we produced to learn the material, and we planned to revisit it and revise it as we went. but it’s interesting to reflect on the different drafts we settled on. some things are artefacts of our infancy in the language; we weren’t sure if ‘gets’ or ‘takes’ was the right translation of genimeð in line 6 (Fall had the right of it; it’s a form of niman, to take—i didn’t understand the prefixal function of ge-). but our translations of wega gehwylcum have an interesting disagreement. wega is the plural of weg, ‘road’. gehwylcum (dative form of hwylc with the ge- prefix) is our word ‘which’. a genetic translation would be ‘which ways’, but it has the sense of every road individually, as in the phrase ‘each of which’. i interpret it as ‘all roads’, which is idiomatic but loses specificity. Fall translates it as ‘whatever road’, which is to say, any given road. i think this is a great translation because it preserves the ‘gnomic’ quality of the Maxims, which are all little declarations in a continuous mood, implicitly constant or reoccuring.

that’s something else about Fall. she didn’t just keep dream journals and play the tarot. she translated. that was her job—desperate work, with constant deadlines, stress and exhaustion, the weight of which she mentioned in her final email to me—but it was also something she loved. if she loved you she would translate your favourite song, from Japanese or Spanish. here’s one she translated for me recently, called Crazy Love For You by Marina Saito (portions which are English in the original are rendered in capital letters, because the medium of exchange was a plain .txt file with no other stylization options):

you open the car window and let the wind blow through your hair i want to ask if something's been on your mind but i can't find the words the whole way round the city loop

in the place fading into the background what did you leave behind? you were telling me about someone you knew and for a moment, you seemed sad

i want you to finally open up to me and then distract me with a cunning kiss i can't help but have these sweet little fantasies i must have lost my mind

CRAZY LOVE FOR YOU OH OH OH

i want to be closer to you, MY DESTINY OH OH OH my heart will never stop pounding now i want you to know I SING FOR YOU so bad i can hardly contain it before this summer is over

before i know it the high tide's roaring in my ear i can smell the sun when we take off our shirts

we bound for the beach and embrace the sun and when you let your hair down and look back at me

CRAZY LOVE FOR YOU OH OH OH

i won't give up, MY DESTINY OH OH OH i want us to keep having moments like this one i want you to feel this love that no words can express without fear of new beginnings

so so strong (the sun's rays) the waves wash away (our unmatching footprints) let time just stop here WOO CRAZY LOVE FOR YOU

i want to be closer to you, MY DESTINY OH OH OH my heart will never stop pounding now i want you to know I SING FOR YOU so bad i can hardly contain it before this summer is over let this MELODY reach you, only you

something which was difficult to convey, which she settled for explaining to me, was that Marina is singing from the boy’s perspective, who is fantasizing about her. she translated this in about ten minutes after i showed her the song. she was just like that. of course anyone can love translation, but now that i reflect—i didn’t put it together until now—on her translation next to her lifelong tradition of experimental writing, i can’t help but see them as a related project. earlier we asked: why record your dreams, why play games of chance? let’s add: why translate a song? why speak or think in another language? why move everything you love from one to the other? there’s this book i’ve got called Alchemy and Amalgam: Translation in the Works of Charles Baudelaire by Emily Salines. i haven’t read too much of it, but she talks about how much Baudelaire translated. he translated Edgar Allen Poe, Thomas de Quincy and some other contemporary English-language authors. yet these translations have never recieved much critical attention from Baudelaire scholars. her book is about trying to operationalize translation as a kind of creative activity, the analysis of which is worth doing on a literary level, and which forms an important component of the overall analysis of an author-translator. i hope she does a good job, because when i get around to it, i’d like to find a framework like that; it would help me learn about Fall and appreciate the things she did, for me, for our circle and for herself, even more.

i’ve been writing this post on and off all day. thismorning i could barely suffer to eat. i wrote a little, then i went and lay in bed for four hours and couldn’t be moved. then i came down to eat again and wrote a little more. my girlfriends took care of me, and as word got around i had some conversations with our friends about Fall. we shared memories and cried. we’re all grieving. then i sat down to write some more, and now i’m writing into the wee hours. and right now i’m a little excited; about the journals (which i hope i’ll get my hands on), about the translations, about working on those projects she and i started together. soon i’ll sleep, and tomorrow i’ll probably feel horrible again. perhaps intellectualization is just my defense mechanism of choice. but. well, Fall was struggling a lot with her psyche these last few weeks, and she got this awful sensation that there were multiple versions of me, and that she never knew which one she was talking to. so one day she asked me if there were multiple of me, and i gave her this ridiculous, unhelpful reply (not knowing that she meant it very literally), where i talked about how Marx distinguished between the Darstellungsweise and Forschungsweise in the writing of Capital—that’s the ‘method of presentation’ and the ‘method of research’, that while his method of presentation might have the ‘a priori’ appearance of Hegelian philosophy, the method used to uncover the theory is an empirical method which starts with matters of fact. but he was not, i think, dismissing the method of presentation; rather the gap between these methods is productive. so i told her that maybe it is appropriate to talk about an identifiable ‘me’ as a locus of thoughts and ideas, that is, a method of me, but that i am governed by a method of presentation particular to every kind of encounter (’whatever kind of encounter’, to borrow Fall’s phrase from earlier), so that in any objective acitivity—talking, playing, writing—you are encountering someone meaningfully different. i gave an example about how when i write on google docs i tend to unconsciously make short paragraphs, meanwhile when i write in notepad i tend to make long ones, and that’s because google docs imposes margins which make the paragraphs look larger. well, all of that was not quite what she wanted to hear. but i talked myself into it. and so what i am trying to do now is cultivate some habits—around my writing, research, and in my lonely moments—through which i can keep being a Jackie who can say that Fall is my girlfriend and i love her. because Fall is my girlfriend, and i love her.

[killed-by-choice]

Anjelica Duarte, 21 (USA 1991)

Anjelica was 18 weeks pregnant with her third baby. Unfortunately, she thought she had no choice but to undergo an abortion.

At some point after the birth of her second baby, a doctor told her to delay giving birth again for five years because of some health problems. It is unknown if Anjelica was actually examined during her third pregnancy to assess the right course of action.

In 1991, Anjelica had a legal abortion at Women's Place, an abortion facility in North Las Vegas. The 21-year-old mother would never see her 3-year-old and 1-year-old again.

The abortionist who killed Anjelica was Larry Thompson, who tore her uterus during the abortion that killed her third child. The abortion facility held Anjelica for an hour for “observation” but failed to recognize the uterine perforation or internal bleeding. They never gave Anjelica any medical treatment for her fatal injuries. They just let her bleed to death.

By the time someone finally called an ambulance, it was 7:30 PM. Anjelica had been left to bleed for so long that her body was exsanguinated. She was pronounced dead at the hospital by 8:00 PM that very night after losing 90% of the blood in her body.

Anjelica’s husband Ernesto sued the people responsible for killing Anjelica and her baby, but a judge dismissed the lawsuit. He continued to seek justice and the story was reported in local newspapers multiple times. Most legal abortion deaths don’t get much attention from the media, but Ernesto did not allow his wife and child to be forgotten. In 1992, the medical board reviewed the case and finally took action against Anjelica’s killer. They noted that Thompson did not have adequate equipment for post-operative care and revoked his license. (Nevada Board of Medical Examiners case # 8289)

Las Vegas Review-Journal, April 11, 1994

Las Vegas Review-Journal, March 2, 1993

Las Vegas Review-Journal, February 26, 1992

Las Vegas Review-Journal, November 22, 1991

Las Vegas Review-Journal, April 4, 1992

Las Vegas Review-Journal, November 6, 1991

Las Vegas Review-Journal, January 18, 1998

Las Vegas Review-Journal, December 10, 1991

“Vegas abortion death investigated,” San Francisco Examiner, November 4, 1991, A-7

Washington Times 11-21-91

Nevada Board of Medical Examiners case # 8289

#death from legal abortion #tw abortion #tw ab*rtion #tw murder #tw blo0d #pro life #abortion debate #abortion #pro choice #unsafe yet legal

[mrepstein]

Melody Maker - December 25, 1965

Pop Think In

Brian Epstein

Beatles manager Brian Epstein faces up to the pop think-in, a new technique in pop journalism

JUKE BOX JURY: I love playing it because it’s a television show that I can do. I seldom watch it and I don’t think it’s a good programme. It’s quite meaningless. I probably won’t be doing it again because they won’t be asking me after that, will they?

JOHN: Lennon. Great mind, great person. One of the best people I’ve ever met. He’s an interesting character to watch develop.

RED WINE: I like to drink red wine and nothing else alchoholwise, but this doesn’t seem to work out.

SEMI-DETACHED HOUSES: If I say something nasty I’ll get little letters because I said something nasty about semi-detached houses before. But I’d rather have a hut on its own.

GEORGE: Harrison. I always think of George as a friend. Somewhat inconsistent person. Can be difficult. Never has been with me. Great personal charm, but this goes for any Beatle. Any faults the Beatles are supposed to have are never apparent individually. Any faults they have probably only come when they are together as a group. When there is too much talent in one room.

LOVE: A good word in pop songs.

POP WRITERS: Rather intelligent, as journalists go. The dearth of pop knowledge is quite incredible amongst non-musical journalists.

CLIVE EPSTEIN: I’d like him to come into the entertainment business.

RINGO: Ringo’s coming into the group was one of the Beatles’ most brilliant doings. It was something they wanted and that I carried out. It was for so many reasons a quite brilliant move.

PUBLIC SCHOOLS: Difficult because I went to a few. If I had a son I don’t know whether I would send him to one or not.

PAUL: Probably the most changed Beatle. He’s mellowed in character and thought. A fascinating character and a very loyal person. Doesn’t like changes very much. He, probably more than the others, finds it more difficult to accept that he is playing to a cross section of the public and not just to teenagers, or sub-teenagers, whom he feels are the Beatles’ audience.

R.A.D.A: Didn’t like it. Don’t believe in acting schools. I believe in acting experience.

SUCCESS: I’m told I’m successful but I really don’t believe it.

FAILURE: I’d much rather be conscious of my failures than successes. What good do compliments do?

LARRY PARNES: Fascinating! I often wondered if I’d go the same way, but knowing him as I do now, I know I won’t because we’re two very different people.

OLD AGE: Don’t mind. I like getting older because I know more about things.

MONEY: Still scarce.

PALAIS BANDS: Hush. Silence.

ELKAN ALLAN: He wouldn’t be the producer I would choose to direct a spectacular for me. A lucky man I think.

LIARS: Almost everyone.

GOSSIP COLUMNS: The greatest. I love them.

CHRISTMAS: I quite like Christmas. I don’t mind the trappings.

MUSIC PUBLISHERS: Very boring people. They’ve forgotten what a good song is.

BEATLES’ NEXT FILM: No comment yet. Still shrouded in secrecy. There are no announced plans. There will be a new single record in April or May.

SMOKING: I’m not frightened of it.

DRINKING: I haven’t touched spirits for three weeks. It’s a new sensation! I may keep off for a long time.

FREEMASONRY: Not for me.

THE NAME ‘EPPY’: I quite like it but I don’t like it being used to my face. I don’t mind the Beatles using it. I know they do.

BLUNT NORTHERNERS: Splendid, but they’re a bit conscious of their interesting bluntness.

ANTI-SEMITISM: I’m not so conscious of it. Jews who are conscious of it should remember if they had green hair people would stop and stare and sneer and snigger. Particularly if they were famous. I don’t think people in this country particularly dislike people with long noses.

KEN DODD: I admire him. Where does he go from here? The challenge is whether he could make it out of this country.

MILLIONAIRES: Usually disappointing.

BLACKPOOL: Quite like Blackpool, but I shouldn’t want to do a season there personally.

SEEKERS: Don’t know much about them. I met one the other night - quite pleasant.

TRADITIONAL FOLK MUSIC: On the whole I find it boring.

BEING DISLIKED: I suppose I’m conscious of it. It can’t be helped.

ANDREW OLDHAM: An incredible person. He was with us for six months. I had no idea he had creative ability. It taught me not to under-estimate people.

WEST END THEATRES:  A sad business, But I’m not disillusioned with my first year’s activities. It’s not going to be of tremendous interest to me until I can bring into the theatre a broader section of the public.

RUMOURED CLOSING OF THE CAVERN: This shouldn’t be so, but it’s nonsense to make it into some sort of charity. It has had a lot of help from people like the Beatles. If it’s not successful now, nobody’s going to cry over it being closed.

LABOUR PARTY: I’m a socialist at heart.

SUMMER SEASONS: They are good for an artist. Can be depressing.

WIGS: Splendid.

BUTLINS: I’d like to go there. Better than a semi-detached house.

DOGS: Terrified of dogs. Almost put me off people.

MARRIAGE: I’d like the state of marriage five days a week.

P.J. Proby: I should have managed him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

*RE: Brian’s comments about semi-detached houses: They probably stem from a piece published in Melody Maker’s January 23, 1965 issue - an article where Ringo Starr recalled travelling with Brian and George Harrison to Hampstead, to a party hosted by the magazine:

‘Driving from Knightsbridge to Hampstead in Brian’s new car was good fun. It’s a great car - all those electrically-unwinding windows, central heating and the roof that I prevented Brian from opening on a freezing night!

I can remember George in the back of the car muttering some funny things and saying he’d written his second song; Brian trying in vain to get Luxembourg on his car radio; and nobody quite sure which way to go for Hampstead.

Don’t ask me how, but we got there. Funny - George said something about the houses round there looking pretty good, and I distinctly remember Brian saying to him: “But how COULD you? They’re semi-detached!”’

#Brian Epstein #Melody Maker #1965 #60s

[val-daily]

Monday, 6 November 2023

Feeling now:

Inspiration, hope, expectation, tiredness, confidence.

Well Done:

I didn’t force myself to be productive or manage a todo list, that I normally conjure up and feel guilt about. I let myself dawdle.

When I was sitting in a cafe and felt baristas’ looks on me, I hadn’t shamed myself. I knew that I probably didn’t look prosperous enough, but I felt alright and kept writing in the journal.

My Good Day video for the voice training felt very confident and life-affirming.

To better:

After mom half-asked and half-instructed to cook chicken legs, I couldn’t have thought for myself any longer. As if my plans for the evening were fixed. As a result I hadn’t taken a bath and hadn’t learnt some vocabulary.

I can have my own plans, however inconvenient they might be for mom. My priorities should come from myself first, as my choice is a prime reason for acting upon plans.

Delights:

“Gilded Age” series. So many beautiful gowns, and plot lines of the 2 season are much more dynamic, though comfortably predictable.

Learning algebra by Larry Gonic’s comic-textbook. That turned out to be difficult even at the first sit, but I felt pleasure and confidence disentangling tasks, however simple they might seem to other people.

Coffee with halva in the cafe.

Buckwheat with carrots and chicken.

Reading Onegin for voice training and noticing development. 👏

#mental health #self healing #healing journal #adult children of alcoholics #therapy journal #therapy #healing #val’s photo #aca #the gilded age hbo #algebra #planning #day off #one day at a time #confidence

[girlsexbattle2]

Spoilers for Laika Aged Through Blood

Summary:

I have autism so im going to make a master post of all the coming and going themes in Laika

WIP - Feel free to add.

Its literally an post-apocalyptic world. what more do i need to say.

Mentionin, theres a quest that involves human bones? Are all furries humans? Did there used to be our world humans before doom fell? Did the animals mutate? The only non-human intellect i can think of is the whales in the ocean which is a stretch.

Jacobs Cassettes - Hes gone but hes with you the whole game. You add on to what he began. Something he loved. (and Laika makes fun (?) of him for shooting the player to get the thing out but thats the only way she will open them after his death).

Spirits - on the nose here but literally talks to those who have past. She cannot move on (to the after life). People only talk to her about it when they want comfort that their loved ones are okay (She has no idea).

Laika Herself - Starts the game wanting to die. Whole existence is defined by the daughter that she was forced to have. The one she loves more than anything else. She hates the curse. She hates the idea of Puppy taking her place more. The people around her set her worth to her warrior ability. She does anything but train Puppy, which puts her clan in state of disaster. Her reason to live was because the people need her. All she does all day is what other people tell her to do. Her excuse for not finding pochiee (?) was the elder told her to do otherwise. Maya straight up tells her that she shouldn't think and just do what the elder says. Laika speaks out against the elder but still enacts thier will.

In her journal writes about how futile thier resistance is. As the game goes on she does all these fetch quest. She doesn't understand why she bothers but 'its the difference between living and survival'. She says it gives the villagers and her hope. Puppy gets kidnapped due to Laika not prioritizing her grief. (For having death be desensitized) (Puppy being sheilded from death) She drops everything to save her daughter. She sees that even the bird citizens hate thier government and are going on suicide missions (they die either way) for the prospect of peace. She laughs at them because she sees them as they want to appear - The Ultimate Unity - The Living Machine - not as the scared and whipped people they are. She kills all involved in the kidnapping. Puppy gets the fever that killed all her other daughters. Laika comes face to face with the fact she may not be immortal anymore or another loved one will die. (She takes her helmet off at this point idk why) Kills 'god' and immediately told afterwards that Puppy will live (Laika wont) the bomb drops and she jumps down after it. She accepts death somberly so her loved ones will live.

Little Moments

Ray? Rotiers? Boat Man. Lost his family to the birds. The only way he can afford to eat is to work for them. How he thinks of his father when he sees the light house. Laika telling him about the view-

Mini point: The ocean is filled with debris and filth at the coast line but when you can look out to the far horizon the water is clear. Laika sees a whale. (symbol of the beauty of the old world and how they were thought to be gone)

- Laika apologizes because he wanted to leave and she was to focused on the goal to care. He says dont be. He sees ghost whales. Laika can only imagine.

Mina- Gives Laika an invitation to her birthday. Laika is touched but before she can get her thanks out Mina asks her to give it to her brother. Bro is dead, still had a present for her. Laika gives the news and gift to Mina and is paid with silence.

Pebbles - The fucking iris and the prettiest pebble. Laika knows its impossible that Iris put it there but tells Pebble otherwise. All dialogue with them after this point is them talking about Iris.

Dominat Birds- Thier goal is to rise above the petty trials of life and death and ascend to godhood as the sole race. Lose thier humanity in the process. Also All in one government plan. (Millitary Law and God i think? i was to busy backflipping to catch that) Assimilation. The fact the birds have thier ability to sing taken away at birth.

#laika aged through blood spoilers #feel free to add #Spotify #l:atb spoilers

[anticonspiracist]

an ask from the larrie anon

[in reference to this ask and response]

Hi,

Thank you for answering my questions in a serious way. I would like to continue this dialogue for a bit, but I will stay on anon… feels more safe to me.

Due to the length of your ask, I’ve decided to publish it here in pieces to respond more coherently. There’s also a bit at the end that you asked me not to mention so I have edited that bit of your post and noted where the edit is.

A little background info, so you can understand who you’re talking to. I’m a 40 year old woman from the Netherlands. I’m quite fluent in English, but there might be some mistakes here and there, so don’t see those as a lack of intelligence. I’m a mom [edited] and I work in marketing. I have a bachelor’s degree in English literature with minors in sociology, psychology and journalism; I consider myself as intelligent, emphatic, and openminded, but I understand this might mean nothing to you as anyone could say that about themselves.

Some more background info about myself, so you can better understand where I come from: I’m a mid-30s, single, bisexual woman. My college degree is in political science and classical studies – Latin was my concentration. I’m currently enrolled in a graduate program in political psychology. My interest is in the conspiracy mindset and its role in American politics. I have read a couple of studies that investigated the conspiracy mindset overseas, including in Germany. From this limited dataset, it doesn’t appear that the conspiracy mindset in America differs greatly from those in other countries, but until there’s more robust investigation we can’t say that conclusively. Oh also, in my day job I teach emergent bilingual students. My students range from very little English to near-native speakers.

 I became a Larrie during one of the first lockdowns in my country (no conspiracist ideas about the pandemic btw😉 ) a lot of free time drove me to TikTok (which I’ve left since then)

During lockdown for me, I started watching a few different series on streaming platforms and turned to an old hobby, crocheting. Since March 2020 I’ve made like 10 blankets. Now I’ve moved onto quilting! Also now that highly effective N95s are widely available and I have the means to purchase them, I am active in local politics. 

 and I came across videos of Harry. I thought him funny. Knowing TikToks algorithm, I came across more and more Harry videos, which led to 1d, which led to Larry. And that’s basically how it started. I searched through all kinds of info, from larries and anti’s. I think it’s important to mention that ‘I don’t want to believe this is true.’ Although a lot of Larries describe this as the biggest love story on earth, to me it is a story of hardship and oppression of teenage boys. 

I understand that TikTok can be a disorienting experience due to the absence of a clock and that videos placed in front of you have no timestamp, so I’m going to take a moment to remind you that Louis will be 31 years old in December, and Harry will be 29 in February. They are not teenage boys. They’re millennials, just like you and I. 

I’d much rather they didn’t have to go through all that (although I do believe Harry and Louis love each other very much). From what I’ve gathered, I just believe that sadly they did have to endure all that.

Your writing later on directly contradicts this statement, that you’d rather they didn’t have to go through all of what you imagine. In fact, there is overwhelming evidence that they did not go through what larries claim they did and do suffer. Larries so easily dismiss all of this because it doesn’t make them feel good like the imagined oppression does. By viewing these men as needing your help, it gives you a purpose. During the initial lockdowns, so many people throughout the world turned to the comforting thought of a conspiracy theory which had all the answers. You aren’t alone in this phenomenon and it is a well-documented one. 

Now, I am not one of those “ooh, blue and green” larries. To me it’s about a combination of these things:

1. Do I believe the music industry is capable of doing this? Yes, absolutely. While the article added by your friend shows it has been possible for nsync to win against their label, that does not suffice for me to believe 1d would also be able to do so. For one, Nsync’s case was ten years before 1d even existed. Plenty of time for labels to adjust their contracts to prevent this from happening again. Secondly, there is so much evidence from ex-Xfactor contestants pointing to their contracts being unfair, harsh and just impossible to get out of (Rebecca Ferguson, just stated that contracts go on for 20 years for instance. Rebecca Fergusson, Cher Loyd, Jedward and others have all spoken up about the unfairness… are those people all to be ignored? Liam has talked about their treatment, Harry himself has recently talked about impropriety clauses and how it affected him. So yes, I believe something was very wrong during 1d and I think their label and management is to blame.

Louis and Harry have been out of One Direction for longer than the band existed, at this point. Like I mentioned previously, both of them have hired their own management teams. Both of them are in charge of their careers. Both of them are white multimillionaires. When Harry mentioned that clause, please don’t forget the context:

Styles said he often spent interviews terrified about saying the wrong thing until he stopped to question what abhorrent belief or bizarre opinion he was scared he'd accidentally reveal and realized he couldn't think of anything. He thought about how, when good things happened—say, a No. 1 album—he wouldn't feel happy, just relieved. And he thought about the cleanliness clauses in the contracts he used to sign, which would dictate that they would be null and void if he did anything supposedly unsavory, and about how terrified that used to make him. And about when he signed his solo contract and learned that the ability to make music would not be affected by personal transgressions, he burst into tears, a reaction he still seemed shocked by, retelling it to me now, years later. "I felt free," he explained. https://www.bhg.com/better-homes-and-garden-magazine/harry-styles/

The music industry is fucked! That’s not in dispute. But is it so fucked that Harry Styles at the age of 28 is still being treated the same as he was at age 16? By the same people? He’s not bound by the same contract, even. Regardless of what Rebecca Ferguson has said about her dealings with X-Factor, Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are not in her shoes. Rebecca deserves people to care about her situation and want to help her because she has gone through it, not because they believe Harry and Louis are in the same situation today. They are demonstrably not.

2. Do I think Harry and Louis are queer? Well, I’m a Larrie… so obviously I think they are. I don’t know whether they are gay, bisexual or anything else on the queer spectrum, but that also doesn’t matter imo. Even if you take Larry out of the equation, I would still believe they are queer. For Harry, what convinced me are his slip-ups. During 1d interviews he would often answer with ‘they, a person who’ when asked about romantic interests, but he would sometimes slip up with ‘he’. Could that be deliberate? Sure, it just didn’t look deliberate to me and I trust my own judgement in that. For Louis, I see no real chemistry between him and the women he was with. I also see him sing a song like “Only the Brave” and it only makes sense to me if he were queer. The way he encourages fans bringing rainbow flags. Could he just be an ally or queerbaiting? I think he would be hugely overshooting the cause if that were the case. Every show he’s looking at a huge portion of his fandom not wondering if he’s gay, but actually believing he’s gay. I believe he is a kind man and would not play with fandom’s feelings that much, nor would he allow the feelings of his loved ones be hurt over and over again (and there would be things he could do to make me think otherwise).

What you didn’t address from my initial response was that if what you believe were to be true, your behavior as a larrie is harmful to Harry and Louis. Your open speculation about their sexualities is harmful. Would you do this to a friend? I had a student about five years ago who was openly gay in my classroom. He came to class one day heated. I asked him what was wrong and he said, “ugh, freshman.” He then related how he’d been walking down the hallway and heard these freshmen girls behind him wondering out loud if he was gay, clearly not intending him to hear, but he did. “I turned around and said, ‘Yes! But you could just ask me, not whisper behind my back!’” That is just what you do when you speculate about people’s sexualities, especially when they have told you in no uncertain terms that they don’t appreciate that speculation. You say you aren’t a “blue green” larrie, but you do prioritize the “signals” that larries claim these men send over the words they actually say. You claim to be able to tell “chemistry” by viewing photos of two people, but that is absurd. To condemn a relationship as false because you see only what you want to see in a limited selection of photographs (larries do not, as a rule, view all photos in a paparazzi series) is, frankly, absurd. As I mentioned before, Louis has said he’s straight. He has spoken often about his love for his girlfriend, and his love for his son. Until and unless he says something else, it is harmful to deny his words. Not because Louis is going to see your blog, but because you have other people viewing your blog and seeing how you ignore what he says, so why would you listen to them? As a teacher, it’s important for me to create a classroom space where students like the one I mentioned can feel safe coming out to me. Part of that is accepting whatever it is that they tell me about themselves. Their perception of their sexuality or gender identity can change drastically over the time period I know them, and if a student comes out to me as gay, it’s possible in two years they come out to me as trans. Ignoring their words is simply not acceptable. When you do that as a so-called fan, you are merely telling your followers that people’s words and truths don’t matter as much as how you feel about the matter. 

3. Do I think Larry have been/are together? Yes. I read your comment about being a teacher and having seen a lot of boys act this way. I have three younger brothers, have always had more guy-friends than girl-friends and, although I recognize there can be a certain playfulness/closeness between especially teens, I have never seen boys caress each other as tenderly as Louis and Harry have been seen doing in moments they didn’t think others would see. It’s the closeness of lovers to me, not of best friends. But,.. up to how you interpret things I guess. I tend to lean towards them being together since the beginning, because I’ve seen no evidence of things having changed.. but, I always try to leave room for the universe being a dick, so I’d say I’m about 90 percent sure they still are together now.

You haven’t seen boys caress each other like you think you’ve seen Harry and Louis do so? Cool. I have! So, what’s the truth?? Regardless, consider how much of the “evidence” that you’ve seen is in gifs, which are always divorced of context and in many cases, are slowed down and/or reversed. Plenty of people who were larries and who have decided that had erred recount feeling duped when they realized just how much of the evidence they’d been shown had been manipulated.

Furthermore, Louis has a long-time girlfriend and a six-year-old son and Harry has a long-term girlfriend and has spoken about how happy he is. That is evidence that what you believe to be true is actually not. You cannot just dismiss out of hand everything that these men say because it doesn’t fit with the conclusion you began with.

Feel free to ask me stuff by the way, happy to have my believes tested.

I am aware of confirmation bias and that is one of the reasons of me contacting you. To really discover the truth you have to consider the opposite as well. I do wonder however if you are aware of your own confirmation bias. You stated that you were already interested in conspiracy theories before entering fandom and the article that lured you in had the exact term ‘conspiracy’ to trigger you in it’s title. Is it possible you too only see things confirming your believes? Have you actually gone through all the information Larries provide? Have you tried seeing the other side as I am now?

I have, actually, gone through every bit of so-called evidence that larries have provided. Every scrap of it has been debunked. My first 20 days in fandom I had a larrie trying to recruit me. She was unsuccessful.

What you’ve named a confirmation bias in my regard is actually not that at all – it’s a bias toward reality, and what can be proven. You and other larries claim that somehow, Harry and Louis are contracted to do these things against their will, but have no evidence of that, cannot name who else is party to these contracts, and also cannot explain how, if Harry and Louis don’t want to be in this situation, they can’t just … breach the contract and wait to be sued by … whoever. It’s at this point in the conversation that the larrie without fail said I’m ignorant, homophobic, et cetera.

You say closeting doesn’t happen the way we think, with paid beards. How do you know though? It’s possible there are many other examples we just don’t know about. What specifically lead me to believe it is possible, is Louis Theroux’s doc “When Louis Theroux met… Max Clifford”. Specifically the part where Louis asks Max what he would do if someone were gay. The answer being that he would create a long relationship. Create… does not seem like he would ask a friend of the gay person to act as a beard to me. Max Clifford being closely connected to Simon Cowell and having worked with 1d in the beginning cements this for me. I absolutely think they would employ someone to beard. I don’t think Holivia is that way though. Harry and Olivia both gain from this arrangement in other ways.

How do I know? How do you know there are bearding contracts? What I do know is that every example that larries bring up of bearding does not coincide with their beliefs about how Harry and Louis are allegedly closeted. Larrie evidence for their existence is simply because you want it to exist because it explains why both of these men have women in their lives, look happy, and speak about them. Whatever you think is real doesn’t matter. You say it is happening with no evidence whatsoever except for your feelings. You have the burden of proof here, and you haven’t proven anything.

One last thing I want to address is your evidence of how closeted people in bands behaved. How they were mostly scared to come out and never told anyone even. I understand your point. I also understand how unfair it has been to Lance Bass. I personally never bring up Lance Bass, I try to look at situations as a part of a whole, but also separate from everything else. I think though that Harry and Louis’s situation differs from those others because there were two of them in the same band. Had it only been one of them, maybe they would’ve also stayed silent., but being a pair changes the dynamic. They were stronger as a pair, they were together so much and if the person you love is right in front of you.. you don’t just stay silent.

Cool. Louis had a girlfriend during X-Factor, Hannah, and then after Hannah began dating Eleanor. Louis is a serial monogamist. What you’re writing about is fan fiction. And I’ve got nothing against fic! I love fic. However, don’t conflate fictional stories on the internet with reality.

I don’t think I fit the mould of a conspiracy theorist, but which ct does? The way I see myself considering this situation is: I saw something wrong in 1d/Larry. I am very concerned for those men. I admire them a lot. Would it break my heart if it were not real, no. Do I think it is real, yes.

What you saw were TikTok videos about a band that broke up in December 2015 created by conspiracy theorists. When the pandemic began, I mentioned to @back-to-louis that we were going to see a surge in conspiracy theorists of all kinds due to the mass trauma being felt across the world. There was a surge of larries just like there was a surge of anti-vaxxers and QAnon believers. No one is naturally immune from falling down the rabbit hole, but some people are more susceptible to it than others. I was already extremely online prior to March 2020 and am able to suss out good sources from bad. I also had healthy hobbies to fill the extra time I found on my hands. Though I live alone, because so many of my friends were actually internet friends, I wasn’t missing out on in-person social activities like others were. And outside of these considerations, through being a teacher and informal research on the subject, I had already inoculated myself against conspiratorial thinking. I can recognize the hallmarks of a CT easily and I don’t fool myself into thinking that any of them are harmless.

Not sure if I covered everything, but I am out of time right now. Looking forward to having you and your friends dissect me 😉… 

You haven’t covered everything. You completely ignored the antisemitism present in your conspiratorial beliefs and have nothing to say about who could possibly be forcing all of this oppression on these white multimillionaires.

#ask #larry stylinson #louis tomlinson #harry styles #larrie anon #tiktok #conspiracy theory #all conspiracy theories are the same #all conspiracy theorists are the same

[warningsine]

Archaeologists working near Zambia's Kalambo Falls say they have unearthed the world's oldest wooden structure. 

Embedded in clay and further preserved by a high water table, scientists say the structure, made from the logs of a large-fruited willow tree, was intentionally created roughly 476,000 years ago.

The well-preserved specimen was made before the advent of Homo sapiens, which archaeologists say points to a vastly higher cognitive ability than has been previously ascribed to such ancient ancestors.

The oldest wooden structure known before the announcement of the Zambia find was just 9,000 years old. The oldest known wooden artifact, discovered in Israel, is a 780,000-year-old fragment of plank.

Find also suggests breaks in nomadic lifestyle

Larry Barham, an archaeologist from the University of Liverpool in the UK, told AFP news agency the structure, located above a 235-meter-high (770 foot) waterfall on the banks of Zambia's Kalambo River, had been discovered by chance in 2019.

Barham was the lead author of a paper outlining the find in the scientific journal Nature.

"The framework could have supported a walkway or platform raised above the seasonally wet surroundings. A platform could have multiple purposes including storage of firewood, tools, food and as a foundation on which to place a hut," said Barham.

"Not only did the working of trees require considerable skill, the right tools and planning, the effort involved suggests that the makers were staying in the location for extended periods whereas we have always had a model of Stone Age people as nomadic," Barham added.

"Use of wood in this way suggests the cognitive ability to these early humans was greater than we have believed based on stone tools alone," according to Barham.

Scientists also discovered numerous wooden tools from the same time at the site, though they say no skeletal remains have been discovered.

Homo heidelbergensis, smarter than he looked

Scientist Barham suggested the structure, which "involves the intentional shaping of two trees to create a framework of two interlocking supports," was likely created by a species that lived between 700,000 and 200,000 years ago known as Homo heidelbergensis.

The species had a larger brow, larger braincase and flatter face than earlier human species.

Barham told AFP that Homo heidelbergensis fossils have been previously found in the region.

The oldest Homo sapiens fossils known to date were found in Morocco and determined to be roughly 300,000 years old.

Wood last saw sunlight half a million years ago

Though wooden artifacts were first unearthed at the site in the 1950s and 60s, scientists at the time were unable to accurately determine their age.

Archaeologists working on the current specimens used what is called luminescence dating, a new technique that determines age by measuring the last time minerals were exposed to sunlight.

The discovery said Barham: "changed how I thought about these people. They transformed their surroundings to make life easier, even if it was only by making a platform to sit on by the river to do their daily chores," he said.

"They used their intelligence, imagination and skills to create something they'd never seen before, something that had never previously existed."

#Zambia

[quitethepirategal]

                          Plotted Starter   ~   { @elxgantcaptain }

   This had to be it.        Her compass never steered her wrong.

   Hazel eyes flick up from the magic compass in question, and calloused fingers snap it shut with a twirl.  She was here, Sugar Tooth Isle, a sand bar with hardly enough space or vegetation to be an island and aptly named for the massive sea rocks full of holes and arches at it’s center.  It was a tiny sneeze of land and honestly a beautiful formation geologically speaking... It kind of did look like a giant cavity ridden tooth if you squinted... and the swaying palm trees and nearly artistic composition of the brush and vines absolutely made the place a perfect subject for a painting.  As if it wasn’t picturesque enough, the rain had finally stopped, and the dark clouds broke just along the horizon in a strip of brilliant blue to the west while the sky retained it’s dark and moody lighting. The perfect recipe for a brilliant sunset in a few hours time.  Good thing she brought her watercolors!

   Weathered boots hopped eagerly from the wet hull of the little pink boat and onto the slushy grey-peach sand.  It was a tiny, barley sea worthy single sail but hey, the trip was a short one and the prize was too good to pass up.  Jess had enough money from the Mortared Petals and enough left over treasure from her previous captaincy; treasure was nice but these days it was information she was after.  Tomes, scrolls, maps, charts, essays, journals, BOOKS; those were the real treasure in a world so vast, and there was only so much one could rescue from Magpie Point.  See, rumor had it that a years dead Captain named Larry Leather-Knot had himself an affinity for literature.  Most captains bury treasures of gold and silver all the time but it was said that he buried his books as well.  Who knows what they could be; poetry, research, novels, guides, and who knows if there was any buried books at all.  Either way, there was still the possibility of treasure, and a new island to paint and survey in the worst case.  But was a rumor from an elderly customer of hers worth a two day solo sail?  Well...

     There was only one way to find out.

   The librarian finished tying her little boat to a tree and wiped her hands together with a satisfied smile.  It’ll be hell trying to shove the thing back into the ocean come low tide but she didn’t mind spending the night.  Shedding her coat and rolling up her sleeves she pulled out her notebook and gave it a once over.  What did that old pirate say?  She flipped to the page where she wrote down what he knew. In grey ink she’d scratched;

     “- Enter tooth from creek side ( waterfal? )       - Go to middle o the toothe,       - find arch were see the sunset / moonset thru it ( westish )       - Turn complealy round ( 180 d )       - Look up / climb ledge ( why up not buried? no water damage? )       - Best take treasr out in trips ”

   .....Right.... Easy enough.  But there was no telling where this creek was and Jess couldn't make out any water from the beach other than the stripes left by the rain.  Must be on the other side of the Isle, she thought, trading the notebook for a machete and stepping at last into the water-slicked brush.  Looks like she had to take the long way.  But she had all day anyway so, why hurry?  The brush was beautiful and the rain clouds brought cool breezes.  Why worry about time or tide, right?

                                      After all...                                                        she had the whole island to herself.....      

#spoiler: no she didn't #also jess what is that spelling? #also IT BEGINS #x; ADVENTURES { rp } #v; THE RECLUSE IN RECOVERY { midlife } #elxgantcaptain