#Probably cause I draw Greg really young for no reason

[clownsuu]

mini au doodles (cause I can)

(very minor spoilers)

Little doodles with the little man

#Idk why I made this up #Probably cause I draw Greg really young for no reason #reduce him to fetus #Fnaf #fnaf sb #five nights at Freddy’s #security breach #fnaf gregory #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf montgomery #Glamrock freddy

[michelle-is-writing]

Family Matters, Greg House

Word count: 1.7k~

In the time I’ve worked at Princeton-Plainsboro teaching hospital, some might say I'm the bubbly doctor in our group. Although I don’t know how true this might be, I do know everyone can agree I'm definitely more bubbly than doctor Gregory House, but that's for another day to discuss. I'm usually the one people send in to try and cheer up patients. Because of this, I mostly work in the pediatrics ward where young, sick children are. Sometimes, I have an easy time talking to the kids and making them happier, and sometimes, I don't; usually, when I'm upset, I have a hard time.

Right now, I'm having a very difficult time.

A young New Jersey girl at the age of 11 had developed mastoiditis, an infection that affects the mastoid bone above the ear and is typically caused by a middle ear infection. Usually, this all clears up, but sadly, this infection had grown to be so bad that the girl ended up with only twenty-three percent of her hearing left in the one ear. Although this is the case, I'm not having a hard time because of the girl's loss of hearing, no.

I have my own problems at the moment.

Since I'm working in the children's ward, I don't get to see Wilson or Greg as much as I want to. Despite Greg's tendency to be an asshole, he's still my best friend and not to mention that Wilson is the kind of guy anyone can talk to about anything. However, our schedules are all different, so, as I said: we don't get to see each other that often.

At least they're still in my life though. For my family, I can’t say the same. Recently, I've just lost the closest person to me in my family; although it wasn’t through death, but through immaturity and childishness. Because of this, all of my other family members have closed me out as well, causing me to be alone. With all of my friends busy and my family shutting me out, I have no one to talk to or enjoy time with... no one. I can't even get a boyfriend for Christ's sake, and it's not like the guy I have my eyes on actually likes me back. Greg is the type of guy you can easily fall in love with, yet at the same, you really shouldn't.

"Doctor (y/n)," the young girl by the name of Jessie states. Putting all my focus back on her, I remind myself not become distracted anymore today. This isn’t the first time, unfortunately. "Will my hearing ever return?"

I smile sadly at her and shake my head. "I'm sorry, Jessie," I tell her. "Your hearing in that ear won't return, but it's not a bad thing!" I assure her. She smiles in relief. "We can always get you a hearing aid, and that will help get your hearing back to normal again, but the wait might be a little long," I explain. "Is that okay with you?"

She nods her head at my question. "I'm okay with that, doctor (Y/n)," Jessie tells me, "I'll have my family help me until then," she smiles brightly. "You can always look up to your family, right?" She states, confident in her words.

Tears slowly rising to my eyes at the thought, I nod and quickly blink them away. "That's right," I tell her, still smiling. "And don't you ever forget it," looking toward her parents, I nod my head. "The discharge nurse will be here in a few moments with the papers. If you'll excuse me..."

Without another word, I quickly leave the room and walk as fast as I can to the nearest empty room. I prefer going to James’ office instead, but it's two floors away, and I don't want any awkward elevator trips. So, before I have a mental breakdown in the middle of the hallway, I find an unlocked janitorial closet before walking in and closing the door behind me, ultimately sliding down the hardwood door once it's shut.

Sitting on the cold, tile floor, I begin sobbing as quiet as I can, my hand covering my mouth. I already had my family drama on my mind all day, but for that girl to unintentionally throw it back in my face? That was the frosting on top of the already leaning, three-layer cake.

Tears stream down my cheeks like raindrops as I cry my heart out. I can tell my cheeks are red by the sensation of heat I currently feel on them; my hands feel it too. I'm crying so hard my chest begins to heave up and down as if I were having a panic attack. Oh God, I can't have a panic attack. Not here, not now.

Behind me, I feel two knocks on the door, causing me to halt. The only problem is: the knock wasn't above me, it was where my back is against the door. Remind you, I'm currently sitting on the floor. The only way someone can knock that low is if there is a midget behind the door there or someone used something like a cane... it's Greg.

Slowly moving up a little, I shakily open the door and let the grey haired man in, watching as he looks at me with pity. I've never seen the confident doctor House look like this with anyone. It's like a... a totally different Greg.

Sitting down beside me against the door, Greg drops his cane beside him as he sighs and wraps his arm around me before gently tugging my body close to his. Shocked, I tense up, tears no longer pouring out of my eyes. Greg never comforts anyone like this. He always makes fun of them or says something that many people take offense to, but he never... he never cares. He always brushes it off his shoulder, yet for some reason, he seems like he actually cares this time.

"What's wrong?" He asks, his voice deep as usual with no emotion.

I wait a few seconds before lying. "Nothing important," I tell him, my voice wavering from my scattered emotions.

Pulling me back to face him, Greg looks me in the eye before sighing again. "I know you've been crying by the wet tears on your cheeks, slight puffiness, and redness to your eyes, and fast-paced breathing - and I don’t even have to be a doctor to notice that," he breaks down my current state, lifting an eyebrow. "Now, are you going to begrudgingly tell me what's wrong or do I need to stay in here with you until you finally give in to all my unrelenting sexiness."

His comment makes me laugh, causing a grimace of a smile to fall on House's lips. Out of all of us, I've been the only one to do that. I've been the only one to break Greg's stone exterior and interior. Plus, It doesn't help that I like Greg romantically. I like the fact that he's confident and witty; he's not afraid to be himself. Although, he can still be quite an ass to others, but to me, he’s always been nothing but kind. Even when I first started working here, he was still patient and sweet - a rare sight to everyone else. It used to hurt me to think he’ll never feel the same way as me, but I’ve gotten so used to that fact that it doesn’t even bother me anymore.

"It's just... my family," I explain, Greg pushing my head back onto his shoulder as he holds me. At this point, I'm not shocked by anything he does. The infamous doctor could be high for all I know. He probably took a few Vicodin tablets before coming down here now that I think of it.

"They've completely... shut me out," I explain, shrugging as I rest my hand on his shoulder. "They never talk to me anymore, they've blocked me in any way of even trying to talk to them. My cousin just sent me an email last night telling me that I didn't need to contact them anymore as they no longer wanted me in their lives," I close my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks. "Plus, I wish I could work with you guys again," I take a breath before saying the next thing. "I miss you."

A few seconds of silence pass before Greg leans down to my face level. Opening my eyes, I'm greeted by his own sapphire orbs, watching as he continually inches forward until his lips plant themselves on mine. Our eyes close at the same time in response to the touch of our lips, and they stay that way too. With my heart beating fast and a different fire in my cheeks, I instantly respond to his kiss while placing my hands on the sides of his face, feeling his hands attach themselves to my hips as I do so. We kiss until we have to breathe, both of us pulling apart simultaneously.

"They don't deserve you," Greg tells me, a little out of breath. "You are wonderful; a decent and kind human being, inside and out," he takes a small pause, flashing his blue eyes down to mine. "I never thought I’d say this, but… because of you, I think maybe not everyone is a horrible person and that maybe I can be a bit nicer a time or two," he then smiles at me, kissing me once more. "You have made me feel love believe it or not."

Smiling, I lean up to kiss his forehead before sitting back down and resting my head against his chest, my eyes cast upon him as he looks down at me. "You've also made me feel love," I confess to him, my voice shy. "I've grown to love you as well. You and your sarcastic comments and witty comebacks and your insults to apparent stupid people," for once, he laughs, making me grin. "I can't help but love it all."

After a few moments, Greg speaks up. "I know I can't be your entire family," he murmurs, holding me close. "But I can try to be your... your..." He draws on, clearly trying to come up with an appointed title for himself. After a few seconds, I giggle and cut him off.

"Boyfriend?" I ask, making him roll his eyes.

"I was going to say significant other," he argues, looking over to me. "The term boyfriend is so, well, childish," he complains, making me giggle.

Leaning closer, I peck his lips. "Good thing you have a childish mind," I tease him, pressing my lips to his one more time before he responds to my comment with something horrible or completely inappropriate. It is Doctor House we’re talking about, after all.

#greg house #gregory house #gregory house imagines #gregory house imagine #gregory house x reader #greg house imagine #greg house x reader #greg house imagines #house md #house md x reader #house md imagine #house md imagines

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter six: the black night

Sam and Alex spent about an hour of that first day in Germany there in the hotel room, away from the world, and with only each other. Neither of them were fatigued from the overnight flight. She had considered on taking her journal out for herself and for a drawing of something, much like how she made a special drawing for the show in England. But she had no idea if she should share her work with Alex, especially when he caught a glimpse of her doodling a sunflower on the inside of the journal's cover.

He sat next to her on the bed, in his little shorts, white socks, and his Gary Moore shirt, and with his legs pulled up a bit, and his hands right between his thighs. She gasped at his looking on at what she was doing and she covered up the doodle with her hand. He in turn gasped in response to that. She realized that he had seen her art but he hadn't known that it was actually her.

“Is it okay if I have a peek?” he asked her in a small voice and with his eyebrows raised which enlarged his deep eyes a bit.

“It's—It's kind of private, though,” she told him.

“I liked it, though,” he confessed, still in a small voice. “Basquiat died a few weeks ago, so I like to see another artist ascend to the position of greatness at some point.”

“I'm no Basquiat, though,” she insisted.

“Well, yeah. Every artist is unique. Basquiat was one of a kind—and even from a small sliver of a glimpse into your art book here, I can tell that you yourself are one of a kind. And that little thing you were drawing just there piqued my interest a bit. So—” He bowed his head and he raised his eyebrows even more, which softened his face to that of a young boy. “—is it okay if I have a little peek?”

He then lifted his head.

“I mean, it's only fair. You got to see the beginnings of our new album—twice! You're also seeing the transition of eras between albums.”

She swallowed and she leaned forward a bit to make sure that they were alone in the hotel room: Greg had gone off with Eric and Louie to have breakfast, while Chuck and Tiffany went out somewhere.

She then moved her hand out of the way to show him the little sunflower.

“Oh! Have you seen the painting that Vincent van Gogh did? The one of the sunflowers?”

“I have, yes! A few times, actually! It's—probably one of my favorites from him, to be honest.”

His face then lit up and he snapped his fingers.

“You know—we are in Europe, and on the western side of the Iron Curtain no less. It's not like we're back on the West Coast where you kind of have to set aside a whole few days just to go from L.A. to some place in Oregon or wherever. We can get on a train and go up to Frankfurt and visit a museum.”

“Would you take me there?” she gasped at that.

“Samantha, this is Europe,” he told her. “Ever since the war ended, they've been all about a revival of culture here. So—you know, I don't really wanna sit around here in my shorts and watch German TV all day long, either. I know you don't, too.”

“I don't,” she confessed with a shake of her head.

“Well, then.” He clicked off the television and he stretched out his long lanky legs before him. “Let me put some pants on and we'll catch the next train up to Frankfurt. It's only a few hours anyways.”

“Maybe we can go up to Copenhagen, too?”

He stopped. “If there's time today, we shall see.” He flashed her a wink and then he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, and he walked over to the bathroom with his jeans. Sam closed her journal and she tucked her pencil right up next to the spine as she set it off to the side on the bed cover. She climbed off herself to put her shoes back on; soon he came back out with his black hair a bit more frizzy than she had seen before and a big silver skull ring on his right hand.

“I can see you being a continental of sorts, Alex,” she confessed.

“A continental?” he laughed.

“Yeah. I mean, you're smart and you're in touch with the world at large, and you like art, too.”

“I dunno,” he said with a shrug, “I feel like if you're considered a continental, you actually have to hail from the continent of Europe. Remember, the last name is not only Jewish but it's Eastern European.”

He adjusted the big ring on his right ring finger: it almost looked too big for his hand.

“Why a skull?” she chuckled at him.

“Why not?” he asked as he flashed it to her. “It's actually a symbol of life. Like a carpe diem—a reminder that the clock is ticking for me and for all of us. I also wanna think for myself, too. I've also got it on my right hand because I ain't married.”

“Mr. Swinger,” she teased him, and he scoffed at that. “You are in fact a continental!” She picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder.

“I've got a bit of money on me,” he assured her. “It's not a lot 'cause of the whole exchange rate and everything, but it's better than nothing, though.”

“I've got money, too,” she told him as they stepped out of there and into the hallway. He shut the door and tucked the room key into his front pocket.

“Remember if someone asks us, we're just hanging out together,” she told him as they walked on to the lobby and the front doors.

“Well, yeah, of course.” He chuckled at that, and they kept on going to the sidewalk outside. Chuck and Tiffany strode back into the hotel right then.

“Where you guys going?” he asked them in a big jovial voice.

“Frankfurt,” Alex promptly replied. “Taking the train up.”

“Have fun, kids,” Tiffany said with a smile on her face.

A beautiful but gray day there in Bavaria: Alex peered up to the sky overhead with his eyes squinted and his lips parted a bit as if he yearned for a glass of water.

“Think I could've brought a jacket with me?” he wondered aloud; the hazy sunlight made his smooth skin appear even more smooth than before. The little tuft of gray almost stood straight up over his brow.

“Nah, I think we'll be fine,” Sam assured him as she took out her sunglasses from her purse and put them upon her face. They walked side by side down the sidewalk: right at the corner was the sign to the train station, across the street and down the block from there.

“The trains around here run like clockwork,” he told her as they awaited at the corner, “especially those in Switzerland.”

“Like literal clockwork over there,” she said with a grin on her face.

“Exactly!” he chuckled at that. “They're nothing like the trains or the buses back in the States.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and especially through his gray stripe. “Think it's time to dye my hair again.”

“Why's that?” she asked him.

“To rid of this little thing of gray on my head.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I kinda like it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. It's interesting. Like, why is it in a single little plume upon your head like that and not all over?”

“I wish I knew,” he confessed and they crossed the street together. Once he had caught up to her, he spoke up again.

“A few years back, I was brushing my hair and I happened to look down to the sink, and I saw a gray hair there. I picked it up and I wondered where it could've come from. So I showed it to my mom and she goes, 'oh, it's probably from your dad.' But my dad's completely and totally bald, though. He hasn't had hair on his head since before I was born—at least that's according to her, anyway.”

“Wow.” Sam was stunned by that.

“Yeah, and soon another one grew back there.” She thought of the nickname she, Aurora, and Marla had given him at the Legacy shows: the boy with the pearl in his hair. “And, you know that whole thing where you shouldn't pluck gray hairs because more will grow in their place?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“Well, my mom told me not to do it for that very reason. What did I do?”

“You plucked that one?”

“Yeah. Next thing I know, I got a whole little pocket of gray right there in a few months time.”

She laughed at that.

“And yeah—I have to confess, I'm particularly self conscious of it.”

She stopped laughing right then.

“Aw. Really?”

He nodded his head at that with a downcast look upon his face.

“It makes me look old, you know?” he continued with a lean into her own face. “Like, I'm nineteen looking on at my twenties soon. I shouldn't be going gray yet.”

“But I like it, though,” she insisted. “Like I said, it's interesting.”

He shrugged at that. “I've had people ask me if it's a birthmark, but who knows, really.”

Sam thought about the conversation that she had had with Aurora and Marla about that little pearl of gray, about the boy with the pearl in his hair. She couldn't exactly recall everything about it as he held the train station door for her.

“Thank you, dear gentleman,” she told him as she took off her sunglasses before she headed inside.

“Herr Skolnick and Fraulein Shelley,” he corrected her as he shut the glass door behind them. “That's the only German I know so far. That's according to this guy Louie talked to while we were in there.”

“Pronounced 'froy line', you said?” she asked.

“Yeah, he broke it down for the two of us, too. It literally means 'young lady.' Kind of ironic because I'm actually younger of the two of us.”

Sam giggled at that and he led her over to the ticket booth, which stood wide open just for them.

“Two single adults to Frankfurt, please—round trip,” he kindly told the man, and he took his wallet out from his front pocket.

“A combination for you and your girlfriend, too?” he asked Alex in a light German accent, and he was taken aback by that.

“Oh, she's not my—” He gestured to Sam.

“Couples get half off on the midday rides,” he continued, and Alex and Sam looked on at each other with knowing glances.

“Uh—yeah, we'll take it,” Alex told the man; and he snickered at the whole notion. “Good idea, right, babe?”

“Yeah, baby!” Sam went along with it. Alex took out a couple of euros from hiding and the man inside handed him a pair of tickets.

“For the Amerikanischer and his kleine Dame.”

“How do we say 'thank you'?” he asked the man.

“Danke schoen. 'Please' is bitte.”

“Oh, right, right, right! Uh, yeah, danke schoen.” He gazed on at Sam with a bemused look on his face, but she couldn't help but giggle at him as he handed one of the two to her. All the way towards the platform, she resisted laughing more at him. They stood there in anticipation of the train and the gray sky overhead darkened a bit with more rain clouds. Alex cupped a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. Sam felt her face grow warm from the feeling.

“Man,” he muttered and he shook his head.

“For real. I was not expecting that.”

He snickered some more.

“Couldn't beat that with a stick, though,” he said in a low voice.

“No way.” Sam thought of Bill right then and his incessant penny pinching. At least there she was headed into an art museum in central Germany and not a little market the size of someone's house down the street from her. There was a good reason with Alex: if she put any thought into Bill's behavior, it would ruin her day out with Alex himself.

“I got us the parlor car, by the way,” he told her; far off to his left, the silver train turned the corner on the railroad.

“Oh, you big stud!” she joked as she knew the man in the booth was still in earshot from there. He chuckled at that. The train rolled up before them and they soon boarded it one after the other. They were greeted by the warmth and comfort of the parlor car: nothing like the parlor cars back in the States for sure.

They took the spots closest to the window, but before she took her seat there, Sam spotted a small bar tucked in the far corner of the car behind them.

“Care for some authentic German beer?” she offered him with a gesture towards the bar.

“Bitte, meine Dame,” he joked, and she giggled at him and then she stopped. “Wait, that was good. You are a continental!”

The train rolled forward and she made her way over to the heavy white stone bar tucked in the corner. The female tender with the short bob of maroon tinted black hair showed her a smile in response.

“Two glasses of—ooh, Belgian beer, please,” she said.

“Two glasses, you said?” the woman echoed in a thick French accent.

“Uh, yeah—for me and my boyfriend over there,” she told her, and she had a difficult time in stifling a giggle at that. The bartender poured her and Alex a pair of glasses of that rich dark Belgian beer; when she handed the first glass to Sam, she looked behind her to the seat next to the window and gasped.

“Oh, my god, 'e is a beautiful boy,” said the woman in a hushed voice.

“Yeah, I guess he is,” Sam told her with a shrug.

“No—cherie, listen to me. 'E is a beautiful young man. I 'ave never seen a boy so beautiful as 'im.” She turned her head back in Alex's direction: the way the gray light of the day glowed back onto his milky skin so it resembled to porcelain and onto the plume of gray upon his head, and his jet black hair appeared blacker than normal. She handed Sam the next glass of beer. “You Americans—you must take care of one another and love one another. Take good care of 'im.”

Even though Alex wasn't her boyfriend, she couldn't help but wonder how much longer they could carry the whole charade out there in Europe.

“How much are these?” she asked with a gesture to the glasses.

“Five euros, s'il vous plait.”

Sam handed her five bills and then she picked up the glasses. “Is it—merci?” she asked her.

“Oui! Merci beaucoup.”

“Uh, merci beaucoup! He's learning German and I'm learning French so it—just makes sense.”

“Right? Enjoy your ride, ma cherie.”

Sam felt her face grow warm once more as she headed back to the seat across from Alex.

“Looking—as—red as a—cherry—tomato,” he stammered given neither of them were sure the woman was within hearing range of them. Sam giggled at him and he shrugged his shoulders; she handed him the glass before she took a seat across from him.

“I should tell you that this place that we're playing at this weekend, Schweinfurt—it's a few miles from the Iron Curtain. Like the border to East Germany is literally right down the street from there. I looked at it on this atlas that my parents have before we left—it's nuts.”

“Oh, wow, really?”

“Yeah—and I saw the train route while I was getting tickets in there. It's right after Nuremberg, too. We get to Nuremberg and then we hang a left and we're in Schweinfurt. Apparently, we have a stopover there!”

“Cool! So we get to see a little peek at it?”

“Exactly. Stopover there and then it's onto Frankfurt. Beyond that is Cologne and Essen, and then Amsterdam. But that's a full day's trip, though—Munich to Amsterdam.”

“Like, something to set aside for a whole trip altogether.”

“Right! We went to Amsterdam last summer for that festival that we played—you know, Eindhoven. Beautiful there. You think Germany's beautiful. I wanted to visit the van Gogh museum but we were kinda strapped for time, though.”

“Some day,” she remarked.

“Definitely, some day.” He raised his glas to her and they made a toast to each other. They took a sip of the Belgian beer in unison: nothing like any drink Sam had had back in the States, or even the cocktails that she had with Marla back in England. This was strong and full but nothing to get the both of them drunk, however.

“Oh, my god,” she blurted out as she brought a hand to her chest.

“Yeah, that's unreal.” He gaped at the sensation and rolled his eyes a bit, and she giggled at him, and he showed her a smile in return.

Within the hour, they stopped over in Schweinfurt and Alex pointed out the window. Beyond the train station was a street: off in the distance, Sam could see the pavement recede back into the heart of the city. A part of her expected to see a full on brigade off in the distance but she knew that the Soviet Union still loomed over them, and even more so from the station there at the edge of West Germany. Indeed, she spotted two men on the sidewalk wrapped in red and black overcoats and with batons latched to their belts.

“Soviets,” Alex pointed out. “See the hammer and sickle on their chests?”

Sam took a closer look: embroidered on their chests were little medallions. Even from the train window, she could make out the shape of the hammer and sickle inside there. It almost didn't even look real, even from a distance.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed out.

“I remember when we came over here last summer to play at Eindhoven festival and Louie, Greg, and I came here to Germany first before Chuck and Eric did, and I saw one of them when we got close to the border. Probably the most surreal moment of my life. It's like 'oh my god, it's real.' You know what I mean?”

“Oh, yeah!”

Those men merely stood there on the sidewalk as if they awaited something. But within time, the train rolled out of the station and westward to Frankfurt. But at that point, it was almost three in the afternoon, which meant they only had a couple of hours to relish in an art museum.

But there was absolutely nothing in the world that Sam could get past and that was the big beaming smile on Alex's face the whole rest of the afternoon.

The cold expression that she had grown almost all too familiar with had completely vanished and gave way to one of true joy. In those few hours as they walked along the cobblestones and visited a bakery for a bite of late lunch of open faced sandwiches and Black Forest cake, and then they continued on in search of the arts to nourish themselves further, every time Sam looked over at him, he looked up at all the buildings around them with a sweet smile plastered on his face. The happiest he had been up to that point, and he wasn't even with Testament right at that moment.

They were alone together in Germany and he enjoyed every moment of it.

At one point as they walked to a bookstore on a corner, she considered putting her arm around his shoulder. She had to stop herself, however: he wasn't her boyfriend.

But he certainly felt like it as she bought him a big glazed sugar cookie from another bakery.

“I'm gonna gain so much weight hanging out with you, Samantha,” he joked as he took a slow sensual bite; he rolled his eyes into the back of his head as if he experienced an orgasm.

“Get some meat on those bones,” she retorted, and the bakers laughed at that.

By the time the sun hung low over the horizon, and the gray sky began to change colors to a rich royal blue, they began back to the train station. Alex lovingly patted his stomach by the time they stepped on the platform. She had never seen him more contented as they gave the conductor their tickets before they stepped aboard. He snuggled down in the seat by the window on the right side: that time, they didn't have a table between them.

“Back to Schweinfurt!” he declared with a big beaming smile on his face.

It was the happiest she had ever seen Alex; she nestled close to him as if he was in fact her boyfriend at that point. His body was warm from the food, his face was rosy from the Belgian beer, and his hair was soft from the moisture in the gray skies overhead. Even if it was only for a few hours, she knew she had done him good that day. She had done what the bartender in the previous train wanted her to do for him.

As the train started moving, he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. That time there was no arm rest between them, but a bit of a divet separated their seats, so she couldn't lean all the way over to him to cuddle with him. But he was warm and full: she had to relish in the soft feeling from his body.

He gave his dark hair a little toss and he looked at her with that sweet smile still upon his face.

“Still wanna dye your hair again?” she asked him as she eyed the gray tuft over his brow. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Don't really know, to be honest,” he confessed, “after today, I just might keep it.”

“As black as the very night itself,” she whispered to him.

“As black as night—but the gray as bright as day.” He winked at her when he said that and she beamed at him.

Soon, they made their stopover in Schweinfurt and that time around, they had enough time to step off the train. Sam went on to the ladies' room while Alex made his way over to the ticket booth for a question.

She surfaced out of there when she spotted those black curls right in front of her, but without his guitar on his back.

“Hey, Joey,” she greeted him in a soft voice, and he turned his head and flashed her a grin.

“What you doin' here?” he asked her.

“Oh, just—checking the place out,” she replied; she didn't dare tell him that she was there with Alex lest he fly off the handle at the mention of his name.

“You know, we're only a little ways away from the border of East Germany,” he told her.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I know.”

“We get any closer—goin' down this street here—we get stopped by the cops over there.” He glanced up to the clock on the far wall. “We better hustle on back to the train.”

“I should ask you what you're doing here, then,” she retorted back to him, and she couldn't resist the grin on her face.

“I'm doin' what you're doin' and checkin' the whole place out. I got nothin' better to do, to be perfectly honest wit' ya.”

“Well...” She thought about Alex in the back of the train station, and his talking to the man in the ticket booth over there.

“Well, what? You wanna mosey on back to Munich and go grab a li'l bite to eat?”

The warm, soft feeling that Alex had bestowed onto her was still powerful and she desired for more of it. “That's real kind of you, Joey, but—”

“Oh, c'mon! You're my girlfriend after all. I can't hang out with my girlfriend in Germany?”

“You have to ask first,” she pointed out with a wag of her finger. The ringing of a bell caught their attention.

“We have to get going,” he told her and he raised his dark eyebrows at her. He began towards the train outside but Alex was still somewhere back there. They were about to leave soon; she chased after Joey towards the platform.

“By the way, I should have to ask you—how'd you get so tan?”

“I got a bit sunburnt a few months ago,” he told her with a shrug of his shoulders. “It all just peeled right off and underneath was all as brown as a coffee bean.”

The soles of his shoes padded on the concrete before them and she hurried after him. She peered over her shoulder: Alex was nowhere to be seen behind them.

Joey reached out for her hand and he led her onto the parlor car of the train, the exact same car as when she and Alex rode up to Amsterdam together. He took one step onto the floor of the doorway and she followed suit. She hung there in anticipation of him. He was somewhere in there.

She would stand there and wait for him if she had to. Even if it meant blocking passengers from boarding themselves. Even if it meant throwing all of the trains completely off schedule from each other.

“Sam?” Joey called back to her.

“Coming!” she replied, and she peered out to the incoming darkness. He ducked out from the station. She recognized that little tuft of gray from afar. He craned his neck in search of her. Even though he wasn't her boyfriend, he certainly felt as such right there as he looked for her.

She waved at him so as to grab his attention. She dared not call his name given Joey was right behind her.

“Sam!” Joey called again.

“Alex!” she blurted out. “Alex!” He turned his head right as the last few passengers boarded the car in front of her. He bolted right there and ran towards her. The train was about to leave right there.

“Hey!” Alex called after her.

“Sam, c'mon!” Joey insisted and he grabbed her by the hand and he took her aboard the train. The doors closed before Alex could come on board himself. He pounded on the doors but it was useless and too late at that point. The train rolled forward right then and there.

“HEY WHAT THE FUCK!” he shouted on the other side of the glass; his big voice echoed over the train. Joey dragged her to the seats on the other side of the train, unbeknownst to it all. Sam stood there before him, unsure as to what to do next. She knew that Joey was turning a blind eye to him.

“HEY!” Alex called out and he waved his arms about. She gasped at the sight of him there on the platform with his arms straight up in the air. She turned to Joey, oblivious to what had happened.

“Oh, no,” she muttered under her breath. She knew that the next train would be there soon enough, but she still left Alex behind, and about a mile away from the border no less. At least they were still in West Germany and they hadn't crossed over the Iron Curtain at any given moment. But if what he had told her about it remained true, he was still potentially within harm's way.

“FUCK!” was the last thing she heard before the train went around the corner and away from him. Her false boyfriend left behind about a mile from the edge of the Iron Curtain, and she went with her real boyfriend at that point.

“Care for a cuppa Joey?” Joey himself offered to her with that lopsided grin on his face.

“Um—sure.” She couldn't help from feeling out the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and especially the heavy feeling inside of her chest. She left Alex behind, but then again, it wasn't exactly her fault. The train was about to leave.

Their small white china cups of coffee soon arrived and Joey was eager for the first taste. She couldn't enjoy it however. She kept on thinking about Alex, all by himself at a strange train station. She also missed the nickname Joey had given the cups of coffee as well: she couldn't exactly enjoy that for herself, either.

It would be another hour and a half before they returned to the station in Munich, and all the while, she thought of him. She wanted to cry but she couldn't, not with Joey right there in front of her.

By the time they reached the station in Munich, it was almost nine thirty and she couldn't bear to look at everyone because she knew someone would ask her what happened. Lucky for her, Joey led her to a small stretch of grass right across the street from their hotel, one that overlooked a small dark lake; before them was a narrow cobblestone walkway and a few metal tables accompanied with spindly chairs. He gestured for her to have a seat on the chair closest to her.

“I'll be right back,” he told her, and she nodded at him. She sat there, all alone, in a foreign city, and she had no idea as to what to say to Alex when he showed up again, that is if he did. Surely he knew that she waited for him at the door. Surely he would understand.

Joey soon returned to her from across the street with two cups of water in hand, and he handed her the one in his left.

“So—you guys are—touring?” she started with a clearing of her throat; she took a sip and the cold feeling upon her tongue was all she needed to feel right then.

“Yeah.” Joey turned his attention to her, complete with a thoughtful look on his face. “By the way, you've been awful quiet lately. I don't ever recall you being so quiet.”

“Oh, it's—it's nothing,” she sputtered out. “I'm just—in awe of—everything.”

Something moved about down on the grass. She spotted that little tuft of gray hair over his brow. He flashed Joey a dirty look and he looked at her with a cold glare. Even from a distance, she could feel his anger. She took a sip of her water as he walked on over to the dry patch of grass down by the waters.

Joey gave his black curls a little toss back from his neck and he showed her that lopsided grin. He then rested the side of his head within the palm of his hand.

“God, you know—it really is just so beautiful here,” he remarked with a glance up to the black sky overhead.

“Yeah—it really is,” she said with a look right into his eyes. “Like—upstate, but more.”

“Right?” She looked into his eyes so she wouldn't have to see what Alex was doing. But she could still see him out of the corner of her eye. Joey peered over his shoulder to the cobblestone walkway behind him with his dark lips still upturned in a joyous smile.

Alex had taken his spot there on the grass not too far from them, and he leaned back onto his elbows and stretched out his legs. Sam wondered where exactly she had gone wrong there with him. She would have to go back to the room with him, after she left him there within range of East Germany to his own whims. She left him there all by himself and he had hardly any money of him to top it all off.

When Joey wasn't looking, she had to talk to him.

Joey himself downed the whole cup of water in four large gulps.

“Let me get you some dinner,” he offered her as he set the cup down on the table.

“Oh, no, Joey it's—it's okay. I'm not hungry.”

“What?” he asked her with a bit of a mocking tone to his voice.

“I really am not hungry.”

“Oh, come on,” he encouraged her. “Some brats and sauerkraut to fill your cute li'l belly—I wanna treat my girlfriend well!”

She swallowed as he stood to his feet and rounded the side of the table. She watched him go across the street to the cafe next door to the hotel: she watched him go inside.

And then she turned her head to the right. Alex had turned around so he could watch her from a distance.

She walked up to him and he glared at her.

“Hey—about earlier,” she started, and he shook his head and he brought a hand to his brow as if he had a headache. She swallowed. She knew she had messed up by leaving him there, and she had to face the music with him, but she couldn't resist the sinking feeling in her chest.

“Alex, listen, he's my boyfriend,” she insisted, and she could feel her stomach twisting itself into a tight knot. Alex stood upright then and he towered over her.

“I know,” he said, terse. “But what I can't understand is what you continually see in him, though. And you ditched me, too!”

She paused right there and her mouth fell dry as a bone, more dry than any alcoholic drink ever left it feeling in the past. He shook his head about at her and nothing could deny the look of disgust on his face, either.

“You,” he stammered and he grew angrier and angrier right there, right before her, “you—you—fucking ditched me right by the boundary to East Germany. You ditched me when you knew damn well that there are Soviet soldiers over that way. How—” His bottom lip trembled and his face turned bright pink. The look of anger on his face twisted into one of heartbreak. They weren't in a relationship but she could tell that she had broken his heart.

“How—How—How could you?” he sputtered and he buried his face in his hands. Sam lunged for him but he pushed her hands away from him.

“No!” he yelped with furious tears in his eyes. “No! No, god dammit!”

“Alex, listen to me—”

“How could you become the very thing you are up against!” His voice broke to where she could barely hear him.

“What?” Sam demanded, stunned.

“You behaved just like that sad sack of nothing you call a friend, Aurora. She made my birthday all about her—you made our day out all about you. How could you!”

“Don't insult Aurora like that!” she spat, but Alex bowed his head again and he ran away from her and back to the lobby. She fumed at him even though he couldn't see her. How could he compare her to Aurora! But at the same time, as she stood there on the grass with her hands down by her waist, she couldn't help but wonder exactly what he meant by that.

She had gone off with Joey and left Alex at the train station, right within range of those Soviet soldiers.

She did.

But he had no right to say that about Aurora, even after everything she had done in the past year.

But his tears told her a different story. He wept at the very notion itself. Joey had already gone back to his room as well. She fetched up a sigh.

She had dinner with Joey but she wasn't in any mood to be with him after the fact. The day was about Alex, and she had been caught up in her own unfinished business all the while.

“I might just go to bed early, babe,” she told him as Joey walked her back to the room. “I have a headache. You know, with all the traveling and whatnot.”

“Oh, of course,” he replied, still with a thoughtful look on his face. “Besides, we're supposed to be back in our rooms at eleven, and here it is ten thirty.” Before she reached into her pocket for the room key, Joey leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her lips. A feeling that she had missed.

It felt so long ago, and yet it was all within her hands right there.

“I love you,” he whispered into her mouth.

“I love you more,” she retorted, and he chuckled at that.

“You have a good night,” he whispered again, and he gave her another kiss before she unlocked the door and headed inside. She set down her purse on the table: Chuck and Tiffany had gone out again, and Greg was nowhere to be seen, but Alex had already crawled into bed. The bed sheet hugged his slender body so she kept her eye on the smooth curvature while she changed her clothes right there next to the bed.

She rounded the foot of the bed so she could look into his slumbering face. But he rolled over before she could so much as peel back the covers; he breathed hard and heavy as she crawled underneath the bed sheet next to him.

“Alex—” she whispered.

But he never acknowledged back to her. Joey was in fact her boyfriend, but at the same time, she had left him there at the train station. He sniffled and she knew that he was crying again.

“Alex, listen,” she started right into his ear. “I'm terribly sorry about earlier. I know you're hurt and I hope you can forgive me. But as I've said, Joey is my boyfriend. I couldn't help it. I hope you can forgive not just me but the both of us. You also had no right to insult Aurora like that. Yeah, she's been a complete egotistical bitch since she got married, but I still consider her a friend.”

But he was silent still. She sighed through her nose and she lay back down in the bed with her arms folded across her chest as she awaited for Greg to rejoin them. The whole incident left her divided. Too divided to think things over and too tired to even consider the very suggestion itself.

But she managed to fall asleep before she got to see him walk through that door, and she awoke by the time he had climbed into bed next to her.

Alex was sound asleep himself. They had trapped her in bed, but she could slide down the bed to the foot. Careful not to wake either of them, she sank underneath the covers and she inched to the foot of the bed. She slithered out from under the covers and onto the floor.

There was one guy she could talk to about all of this as she swiped the key card to the room before she crept out to the hallway. She squinted her eyes against the low lights upon the ceiling. Held low against the black night outside there.

She adjusted the straps of her camisole before she closed the door behind her. All alone in the hallway there, she continued on towards the very end. Every time she blinked her eyes, there was that image of Alex crying. She couldn't shake the image from her mind. She had been a friend to him this whole entire time. She thought about what she had said about Aurora earlier as well. Still a friend, but she hadn't been one to her in almost a year at that point. He had more of an upper hand over that.

One other guy she knew she could visit, even when the going got tough overseas, right down the hall from them.

#fanfic #fanfiction #testament fanfic #anthrax fanfic #testament band #testament #anthrax #chapter 6 #book four #souls of black #alex skolnick #joey belladonna #alex x sam #oc tag #fluff #friendship #angst and feels #also on ao3 #also on wattpad #long reads #writing #text #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic

[nelllraiser]

hey there demons it’s me, ya boi | connor & nell

TIMING: present. LOCATION: nell’s greenhouse. PARTIES: @connorspiracy and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: connor meets with nell for some demon talk, but gets a little more than was expected.

Ever since the coven had excommunicated Nell and her sisters, she saw no particular reason to be as secretive about her dealings with demons as she once had been. Of course, she wasn’t going to shout it from the mountaintops, but if someone was already in on the supernatural and wasn’t a threat, the witch saw no need to hide her knowledge. Who knew, maybe if more people knew about her familiarity with demons, less of them would mess with her and her family. As for Connor, she didn’t see any harm in discussing demons with an exorcist. Besides, it’d be interesting to see if he had any things to share of his own. She’d met the young man at the perimeter of the property, knowing that the reanimated corpse that Bea brought to life wouldn’t be happy if an unknown person entered the premises without the escort of a Vural. “Hey!” she waved an arm in greeting, waiting to lead Connor towards her greenhouse. “Are you ready to see the lair of demons?” Her tone was joking, obviously having nothing of the sort. Well...she supposed Greg’s doghouse might be considered a lair, but there was only one demon in there. Not demons, plural.

Connor followed the directions to Nell’s home, examining it from the outside. It was nice. Spacious, modern but with a woodsy kind of feel, well-maintained. He parked his car at the front, following her inside. “Lair of demons. Great band name,” he teased with a crooked smirk, following her to the greenhouse. “You know I feel like, as an exorcist, I’m supposed to be super against this, but I have loads to learn about demonology still…” Connor was no stranger to doing things he wasn’t exactly supposed to. The whole concept of a YouTube exorcist was enough to put the community on-edge. Might as well go and talk to the girl who kept demons in her back garden. “So is it like a butterfly room, but a greenhouse full of demons?” he asked, only half-joking.

“I’ve got dibs on it,” Nell instantly teased back with her own smirk-like grin. “I’m glad you found the place, though.” Sometimes it was hard for people to navigate the Outskirts, especially if they weren’t White Crest natives. “I mean, you can make your own rules, can’t you?” There was an air of levity to the words, as if she may or may not be serious on the matter. But in the end, who was to say what the rules were for magic? Ghost or otherwise? Her newly estranged coven had tried their hand at that, and failed spectacularly in her eyes. “And it’s always good to have the knowledge, isn’t it? But you said you’ve met a couple demons or so?” she asked as she swung open the door of the greenhouse, it opening to her specific touch on the door handle. As they entered, the plants were as ordinary as any other greenhouse, flowering and flourishing in abundance. It was only as you went deeper that more supernatural things began to pop up. “Oh yeah, this is where I keep all the flying ones,” she joked easily, wondering how much he might believe such a claim.

“You can keep it,” he snickered. Connor had his brand name anyway. The dumb name he’d come up with for his youtube account when he was a teenager. It was a little silly, but he liked it. He could feel the magic in the air around them. There was something intangible about the place, something in addition to the actual, physical demons. He turned his head as a lanky old man with grey skin and dead eyes walked past, not even looking at him. He stared curiously as the man walked away, doing slow laps around the house. “Flying monkeys, like the Wizard of Oz?” Now that would be something. “I mean, I specialise in ghosts. I’ve met a demon or two though.” Like, the total beginner versions, but there was no need to advertise that fact. “What are you, some kind of demonologist?” 

“Good, because I would have kicked your butt for it,” Nell continued to joke, no actual threat in her tone and voice. As Bea’s reanimated corpse, Corpsey, walked by— Nell tried to pay him no mind. Maybe if she didn’t say anything about him, Connor wouldn’t either. After all, she hadn’t expressly told him that she was a witch. Of course, all the demon talk wasn’t exactly something that spoke of a regular human, and her familiar in the form of an Ovinikk named Taki letting himself into the greenhouse wasn’t exactly...normal cat behaviour. But she was happy to ignore that all for the moment. Still, she couldn’t resist poking some fun within the confines of his Wizard of Oz analogy. “Exactly like the Wizard of Oz. I’m actually the Wicked Witch of the West. My green skin’s just hidden under some body paint at the moment. Don’t look at me too closely,” she teased. “But okay, what kinds of demons?” As for whether or not she was a demonologist… Nell shrugged as a part of her answer. “I just know a lot about demons is all.”

Kicking Connor’s butt wouldn’t have been hard. He preferred to talk his way out of situations, but he opted not to say anything about it, his eyes instead following the wrinkly-skinned old man as he walked the perimeter of the property. “Oh, um…” He took a moment to answer her question, having to tear his eyes away from the corpse-man and the weird cat. “A few basic ones. Bannik, Badalisc, Alp, and then just the basic non-specific kind, but not that powerful.” Since she’d asked a more leading question, he wasn’t going to outright lie about his prowess. In the days of pulling receipts, he knew it would just bite him in the arse later. “You have a dog?” he asked, eyes drawn to the kennel. “Can I pet him?”

Nell tried to keep her expression neutral as she did her best to mentally shoo Corpsey away. Get out of here, old man! Go be a knock off zombie somewhere else! Of course, it was no use. He couldn’t hear her, and even if he could, he wouldn’t care. After all, since Bea was the one who raised him, she was the one he took orders from. She had to tell Connor something, though. The walking corpse could possibly pass a human, but there was certainly something...off about him to the naked eye. “Oh, don’t worry about him- that’s just Uncle…” Uncle who? “-Cory.” Cory and Corpsey. Good enough. “He’s harmless, but nosy. Probably just wondering why I invited a guy into the greenhouse. He’s a little overprotective,” she added with a light chuckle, and the slightest air of flirtation. Maybe that’d be enough to distract Connor. “But nice! Thankfully those guys don’t usually cause actual death. Were you here when giant Cthulhu Squidward wanted to make the town his own personal Hellscape, though?” She followed his gaze towards Greg’s wooden and spacious doghouse that was just a stone’s throw outside her greenhouse. “Uhhhhh,” she hesitated, deciding how much she should tell Connor. “Well that is actually home to one of the demons,” she finished with a chuckle, figuring telling him about Greg couldn’t hurt. “He prefers eating hands over being pet by them in the beginning.”

“Right,” Connor answered skeptically. “Uncle Cory.” Sure. Why not? Didn’t they all have uncles with grey, decaying skin who walked around in a daze? He gave a lighthearted snicker at her excuse, flashing her a grin. “What, so you don’t normally invite blokes over to the greenhouse? Should I be flattered?” As an exorcist, he was distrusting of demons, but not fully experienced enough to have seen the extent of the horror they could bring. Probably why he was not only inquisitive and curious about Nell’s life, but actually having fun. “No, I missed Squid-thing, and lobster-thing, and fish-rain thing. From what I know about this place though, it’s not long before something else crazy happens.” His gaze was still longingly on the kennel. “A demon dog?!” He was heartbroken. “So… no petting? That’s just cruel.” 

“Exactly,” Nell replied brightly, trying to continue down the road of innocence as Connor repeated the name. It didn’t seem like he really bought it, but at least her attempts to draw his attention away from the corpse with a bit of a flirt seemed to be doing something. “I don’t know,” she teased back with her head coquettishly tilted to the side, a small smirk on her lips. “Do you want to be flattered?” So he hadn’t been here for the squid demon. That was probably for the best. After all, it hadn’t exactly been a fun time. “Damn, you really missed out. There was calamari for days by the end of it.” It was true what he said about White Crest, though. There was always something going on in the not-so-sleepy town. It was endearing how excited he seemed by the prospect of a demon dog, though. “Well...petting Greg probably isn’t the best idea just yet. But I have a different demon dog you could pet.” She rolled up one of her sleeves, revealing both the mottled, patchwork scars that covered the entirety of her arms as well as one of her sigil tattoos.

“I’m always flattered when I get compliments from a pretty girl,” Connor answered, his dumb, innocent charm somehow managing to make the line not entirely cringe-worthy. “Especially when she shows me her demons.” He scrunched up his face at the thought of the sky fish falling down around them. “Don’t reckon I’d want to eat that kind of calamari, or giant horse-sized lobster that tried to kill me, although, that would be a pretty sweet victory feast,” he teased. His eyes widened like a kid at Disneyland as the mentioned another demon dog. “Really? Where?” She started to pull up her sleeves. Oh no. It better not have been burned into her flesh or a Quirrel-Voldemort situation. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw she was drawing attention to her tattoo. “What does that do? It looks mystical.”  

The corners of Nell’s lips turned upwards in the beginnings of a smirk, amused that he’d somehow managed to pull off the line. “Well it looks like you’re on track for possibly getting more with an attitude like that. Careful though- I might think you’re just using me for my demons,” she finished playfully. A small chuckle was pulled from her before she moved on to talk of meals that may or may not have once tried to kill her and the inhabitants of the town. “That’s the point! It’s the best victory feast! What’s that line about revenge being a dish best served cold? This is revenge literally served as a dish.” Should she tell him about the magic now? Or just let him figure it out himself when three fully grown hellhounds sprang from her arm? The latter definitely had a larger possibility of having some laugh factor, so she opted for that. “It’s a sigil,” she replied with a twinkle in the corner of her eye. Then she was biting her thumb until it bled, and swiping it over the tattoo along with a few muttered words of Latin. Almost instantly, the three demon dogs formed from the magic, excited to have been Summoned.

Connor gave a little laugh. Nell was proving to be pretty good company. “Using you? Not at all. In fact I’d probably get a good belting from most other exorcists for not expelling them back to hell or whatever.” He waved his hands in a playful spooky motion as he spoke. “Call me old-fashioned, but I just don’t trust food that falls out of the sky.” His eyes widened as she bit down on her thumb, but he knew better than most that some rituals required blood. He usually just used a small knife rather than his teeth, though. He kept his eyes on her, watching carefully, and when the hounds appeared, he yelped, almost tripping over a watering can and some potted plants in his rush to get out of the way. This was it. This was how he died; mauled to death by hell-dogs in a greenhouse. 

The coy air that Nell had been employing continued to hang around her as she gave the young man in front of her a sly smile. “Wow- you’re really putting yourself out there for me, aren’t you?” The words had an underlying tone of sarcasm as a means of teasing, knowing full well it wasn’t for her benefit. Then she shifted back into a more informative mode. “Yeah, some people call it hell. It’s sort of like...its own separate dimension for them. Like another world you can just yoink them from or yeet them back to. I can’t believe you’re so unwilling to live on life’s edge when it comes to sky food, though.” Had she eaten anything that came from the sky? Definitely not. But it was fun to joke about. The first thing the witch registered was some of her plants almost getting trampled, and a frown was quick to her lips. “Watch out!” she chastised disapprovingly. But then she noticed just how alarmed Connor was, and her hands were quick to come up in a calming motion. “Hey- hey! It’s alright! They’re not gonna hurt you!” As if to prove a point, the friendliest of the hounds, Scooby, padded forwards- considering Connor with a slightly cocked head, ears perked in his direction. “He’ll let you pet him, if you want.” 

Connor didn’t scare easily. It was kind of a necessity to have a thick skin when you dealt with demons and spirits almost every day, but bloody hell, Nell had managed to scare the life out of him. “You’re lucky I’m wearing dark trousers,” he teased, finally letting himself laugh as the air seemed to return to his lungs. Now that he knew they weren’t about to play with him like a chew toy, they were actually kind of… cute. “Aw.” He approached, cautiously, hand outstretched. “Hello…” He’d definitely rather be petting a golden retriever, but this was good too. “Where did you get them? How does it work?” He cocked his head, looking over at her tattoo. “You owe me a really good story for almost making me shit my pants. Maybe even a drink. Or some dinner.” He smiled at her coyly. 

Nell snickered a little at the mention of his trousers before saying, “Aww- was the big, bad exorcist a little frightened? Maybe my uncle was wrong to be worried about you in the greenhouse.” The words were meant in good fun, just as the rest of her teases had been. As Connor offered a hand, Scooby sniffed at it and eagerly nosed pressed to the palm of his hand as he searched the young man. “He’s looking for treats,” Nell clarified in a gentler voice, one that was generally reserved for the creatures she worked with. “There’s a jar next to you with some bits of meat in it if you wanna give them to him.” She wouldn’t say exactly what kind of meat it was. “I first Summoned Scooby- the one sniffing you- when I was sixteen. You know- with magic. He wasn’t nearly as wanting to be friendly back then but- he got used to me after I worked with him a lot. Then he brought his brothers along one day,” she said gesturing to the other two hounds. “This one’s Shaggy,” she said, pointing to the largest of the lot who was beginning to approach Connor as well, “and this is Scrappy.” The last of the hounds was positioned quite seriously next to Nell, considering the exorcist with an eye that seemed to be deciding whether he’d be a nice snack or not. In a moment her own flirting grin was back on her lips. “Well seeing as it wasn’t that great of a story…” she started, as if she were mulling the thought over. “I could maybe find the time for a drink.”

“I’ll have you know I’m neither big nor bad,” Connor chuckled, self-deprecating. Five-foot-eight accompanied by a slight build and a baby face didn’t exactly strike fear into most people’s hearts. The posh accent and floppy hair, neither. He tried not to piss himself while the hound sniffed at him, and followed Nell’s instructions, tossing him some treats, which got the others pretty interested in Connor too. “I knew there were witches and warlocks and stuff, but I’ve never seen one with… this.” He gestured to the creatures around them, and Uncle Corpsy as he made another pass around the greenhouse. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that this kind of power was both intriguing and attractive. “Well then, love, name the time and place.” 

A chuckle fell from Nell as Connor joked at his own expense, and she could appreciate his ability to not take himself too seriously. “My mistake, I guess you just look taller in your videos,” she decided to poke a bit more fun at him. She hadn’t seen tons of them, but after he’d shown her his YouTube channel she’d been curious enough to watch some of the videos. They were interesting to say the least, especially since she didn’t know all that much about spirits or ghosts. Shaggy and Scooby were all too ready to accept treats from Connor, but Nell made sure that Scrappy stayed alongside her, scooping up some separate treats for the smallest of the hellhounds. He was generally the most aggressive, and she wasn’t keen on taking any chances at the moment. Her lips twitched into another smile as he mentioned witches, and nodded in confirmation of that word. “To be fair...Uncle Corbin isn’t mine.” The words were colored with amusement. Apparently the ‘uncle’ ruse hadn’t stuck. But she wouldn’t openly out her sisters that also lived here as witches. Most people simply assumed that the three of them were after finding out that one was a witch, but that was Bea’s and Luce’s business. But a time and place? The words made it sound like more of an actual date to Nell, and she wasn’t sure she wanted one of those. But she was probably overthinking it, and went with the first words out of her mouth. “Dell’s is always good. Or- actually, have you been to The Seven Selkies, yet? It’s got a fun supernatural crowd.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Hard to tell how tall someone is when they’re in frame by themselves,” Connor snickered, pulling out his vape (probably bad form to smoke actual cigarettes in someone’s greenhouse). He gave her the kind of smile that said he didn’t exactly believe her when she talked about Uncle Corbin, but he wasn’t going to directly challenge her on it. “The Seven Selkies sounds great.” 

#wickedswriting #chatzy #hey there demons it's me ya boi #ch:connor

[pennylogue]

thoughts on “growing pains”

yeah, a week late XD but this episode was way too important for me to say nothing.

You can draw a lot of conclusions about why Steven has become so isolated from the gems and Greg, and why the Gems haven’t confronted him about any of his powers going awry, and it’s honestly probably a lot of factors at once…but his conversation with Greg at the beginning of the episode really says just about everything that needs to be said on his end. It’s reflexive at this point. He never wanted to be a burden on the Gems became a habit—he never wants to be a burden or anyone. Even when he should be. Or when he’s being short-sighted about how putting off addressing his issues is just going to make them even harder to deal with down the road.

Still, it’s so heartening that connie makes him go to the hospital. It’s really a solution that’s uniquely hers, something none of his other friends or family would have thought of.

I know very few people care about Steven having a confirmed height (of five foot six), but I care and I am happy. Give me this.

Tbh, hybrid biology is my jam to the point where I didn’t want to get my hopes up for an episode that literally promised to be about examining Steven’s biology. SU has been so obfuscatory about studying Gems that it seemed like this could be bait. But the Gems’ x-rays were so fun, I was on the edge of my seat going into Steven’s x-ray--

And you know, when I said I wanted hybrid biology facts…yeah, that was a monkey’s paw there. I am so fucking impressed with this episode, and how elegantly it found a way to lead into mental trauma from physical trauma. It’s a perfect representation of his problems—wounds that healed too invisibly for anyone to notice, but the strain of the wound was always there. It was just unnoticed. It really gets across everything it’s trying to say in such a simple and easy-to-understand way. Steven always seemed invincible. He just wasn’t.

God, that scene. The way it focused on how even the weird-toned s1a episodes contributed, used that to simultaneously put the events of 1a and later episodes into another light. I’ll admit it—I diagnosed the pink glow wrong. I didn’t know what it was, but I didn’t think it was literal ptsd. 

See, I didn’t expect the show to directly blame the overarching pattern of trauma Steven experienced for his actions, because it seemed to be taking it’s time, exploring each aspect of Steven’s problems through different lenses. He’s lost and without purpose after fixing everything, so he falls back on habits of being useful, trying to help people--but for some reason, that’s not working as well as it used to. He keeps hurting people. He keeps messing up. Everyone seems to be moving on, but he can’t. So he’s angry. So he’s confused. So he’s upset. So he feels even more out of control, and reaches to control even more—and inevitably lashes out because of everything he’s bottling up. Again and again, he tries to forge ahead, only to find he’s tripping himself up. It seems to be a spiral, growing from the stress of his mid-life crisis, his numerous issues (Rose just one among them), the way his upbringing has left him without the tools to really transition stages of his life. 

I think I was expecting some sort of fantastical metaphor. It wasn’t going to be one thing, it was going to be everything crashing down combined, making him more and more stressed, until he snapped and blew something up (I was never a huge fan of corruption), and the rest of the show would be helping Steven and picking up the pieces. Steven has so many issues, so many problems, and it was very, very distracting to focus on all of those and so very easy to miss the forest for the trees. There seemed to be such a surplus of “whys” that their overwhelming nature was self-evident. How could someone possibly function with so many issues?

So, why is Steven acting this way? 

Because X and Y and Z and CYM. 

Oh, you mean the pattern of traumatic events he’s been through.

Right.

That have caused CPTSD.

...HOLY SHI--

There are so many stand-out lines in this episode, but: “My body, it’s reacting like it’s the end of the world. I think I’ve seen the world almost end so many times now that everything that goes wrong feels that…extreme.....How do I live life when it always feels like I’m about to die?!”

That hits hard. It’s real. A lot of people struggle with that every day. It’s so brutal and so bleak, and it’s hard to hear.

And it’s even harder to hear it coming from Steven. Steven, a kid who we have been through so much with, and who is still so heartbreakingly young. Even though he’s always been the viewpoint character, Steven’s range of maturity and behavior, depending on the situation, have always kind of made it hard to nail down his exact psyche. I mean, never tells you how much of his early behavior is genuine and how much of it is him trying to make the Gems laugh--you just sort of figure that out at some point, maybe as late as “Familiar”, and go oh. 

So to hear that kid who, to some extent, is always gonna be that sweet little boy to us, to have him straight-up say that he feels like he’s always about to die, to know he means it, that that’s what been going, that that’s been buried inside of him for who knows how long--that this was the price all of his victories, the secret fact that he’d ruined his health in every way possible--

--yeah, it hits hard.

“Growing Pains” is really an episode that’s effective not just because, obviously, of all of SU, but all of SUF. For the last dozen episodes, Steven has been fruitlessly asking “why”, over and over. Why is he so angry? Why is he so lost? Why does he feel all of these things?

The answer to this question isn’t a flood of endless problems--It uses the entirety of SU and SUF to balance the weight of it’s precise strike, because rebecca knew exactly what she was doing here. The reason this episode feels like a reveal we always kind of knew was because that…well, diagnosing mental health disorders is about recognizing a pattern of symptoms and behaviors.

So what has SUF been doing? It’s been tracing that pattern. 

In other news,iIt does freak me out that corruption theory has actual concrete evidence at this point. I’ve never been a fan, but that glowing happened and I just went…WELP. “I Am My Monster” certainly didn’t help.

I do feel bad for Connie, and I really am glad she hopefully has the maturity to not blame any of this on herself, because she’s done literally everything she could--up to and including getting Steven to go to a hospital and calling Greg well in advance of when she knew he would likely be needed--and none of this is on her. Still, here we go. Here’s the ugly side of emotional repression. It’s gotta go somewhere, and when it comes out—it comes out in ways you’re going to regret later. Obviously, having Steven’s issues just make that way, way worse. Still, they always try to treat each other with care and respect, no matter how bad things get, and that’s something really wonderful.

And one final note, concerning Greg:

A lot of people have been digging into Greg’s reasons for never taking him to a doctor, defending him by saying he was too poor to afford it or calling him out, but tbh, I like fanfoolishness’s take on it the most. He hadn’t thought he could take Steven to a normal doctor without consequences early on, and later—well, his baby was half magic. He probably thought Steven would be fine, and there a lot of other things to worry about. Not great, but it’s understandable, and dude’s not perfect.

Speaking of which: Greg is an A+ dad, I adore him, I love him to death, and he fucked up. He fucked up big time, in the way that every parent is going to, because no parent is perfect--even the ones that do their best, like him, are going to have massive blindspots. Insecurities about his inadequacy and unimportance compared to the Crystal Gems and their mission likely led to him nodding along to what was probably the Gem’s ideas of how to go about training Steven. 

He didn’t want to get underfoot. He didn’t want to get in the way. He didn’t want to give bad advice, because he’s not good with Gem stuff, and it honestly makes him pretty uncomfortable these days, with everything that’s happened since Rose. In fact, him having as little to do with Gem stuff as possible is probably what was best for Steven--right? 

And he never really thought about how his implicit rejection of an integral part of Steven would affect Steven. He toughed it out, the loneliness, telling himself it was for Steven’s own good...

What I’m getting at is that I’ve been hoping for a Greg character arc for ages, and Future seems like a great time for it. Better late than never. And honestly, I can’t wait to see how Greg’s attempts to parent Steven go.

#steven universe future #suf #su meta #su future #growing pains #episode analsysis #the pennylogue

[thewhumperinwhite]

Café Interlude: Police Station

Reasonable Question: Why Are There No Ladies In Café?

Answer: There are, they’re just too competent to make decent whumpees.

Andrea Santos appears in Hospital/Squad Car and No More Squad Car. Medea is introduced briefly in Used Car Lot 2. Sophia is mentioned in this ask.

TW for: cops, poor gun safety practices, city-wide crisis with patterns of contagion that reads different in April 2020 than it does when I planned this story fuckin’ six years ago.

OH ALSO. Original concepts for everyone except Sophia come from the inimitable @sweetheartblue, A Queen.

@whumpitywhumpwhump

Day 1

Officer Andrea Santos listens to the steady beat of the heart rate monitor and tries to slow her own heart to match it. On the bright side, she no longer feels close to tears. She’s going to consider that a victory. There have been few enough of those today.

Andrea pulls at a few loose strands of her hair—at some point during this long, awful day, it came halfway out of its braid, and now it’s matted with sweat and blood. She’s had a chance to wash her face and tape over her more obvious cuts and scrapes, but not to actually shower. The force is stretched far too thin for her to go home now, even if she had a cruiser to go home in.

“So you’d better get on your feet fast,” she says softly, giving Ben’s hand a squeeze. “No excuse for sleeping on the job, partner.”

At the sound of a very awkward throat-clearing form the doorway, Andrea straightens hastily and snatches her hand away.

Monique looks honestly sympathetic for a second before her face settles into a more familiar deadpan expression. “You god in here, Drea? We could use you in the briefing room.”

Andrea stands, trying to brush off some of the dirt clinging to her uniform. It doesn’t really work. She tosses her head. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Her boss is seated at one of the briefing room desks with a map of the city in front of him and probably his seventh cup of coffee in his hand. He looks up at her as she enters, his worry-creased face immediately softening.

That’s--bad. She can handle Monique’s guarded pity, if only because it looks so strange and uncomfortable on her face that it’s almost funny. But any show of sympathy from Greg Halstrom is going to crumble her resolve immediately and they don’t have time for her to cry on him.

“I’m sorry, Andrea,” Halstrom says, and he sounds like he means it, goddammit. “I wish we had more time to give you space.”

“Well, we don’t,” she snaps, and plops down across from him. “Did I miss any game-changing revelations?”

Monique huffs. “You wish. We still don’t know a goddamn thing.”

Halstrom turns his map so she can read it. “Here’s the best we can figure so far. There were six initial points of attack, that we know of.” He taps the map. Six locations throughout the city have been circled in red ink. She spots the café, near the center, and glares at it. “Two resulted in no survivors at all, so once the original assailants were killed, those were pretty much dealt with.” Halstrom leans forward, a green pen in his hand, and crosses out an antiques store on fourth street and a Subway on ninth. “The attacks on more crowded places—” Two of the remaining circles mark the public library and a major city park, and Andrea doesn’t want to think about how many people must’ve been involved in those. “Well, there was basically no way for us to have kept track of all the survivors,” Halstrom concludes, frowning down at the map. “We’re stretched thin as it is. The hospital is pretty much a lost cause— too many of them ended up there.”

Andrea clenches her fists and doesn’t think of Ben, in his makeshift hospital bed, kept alive by contraband equipment. “Yeah,” she says grimly, “I caught that. Hold on, though.” She frowns up at Halstrom. “You keep saying ‘attack,’ ‘attack point.’ Do we think these were—coordinated, somehow?”

Halstrom and Monique exchange an uncomfortable look.

“That’s hard to say,” Halstrom hedges.

“It’d be a hell of a coincidence for six of these crazies to show up at once, though,” Monique says, and she’s right. Andrea’s stomach turns. What does that mean?

“Goddammit,” Andrea mutters, slamming one of her hands down on the table. “Somebody knows what’s going on in this city.”

Halstrom frowns at her, his face going soft and sympathetic again, and then he frowns down at the map. There are deep dark circles around his eyes— she wonders how long it’s been since he last slept. Since any of them have.

“We don’t know that, Andrea,” he says in a low, frustrated voice. “Who knows if all this is what anybody wanted, even if the initial attacks were planned. Even if somebody meant for this to happen, they’d have to be idiots to be in the city when it did, and we can’t leave now.” He looks at her, and then drops a big warm hand onto her shoulder. He’s probably trying to give her a reassuring look; she glares down at the map because she has to. “The best we can do now is try to keep as many people alive as we can.”

Melody clenches and unclenches her hands on the edge of the table. Of course she wants to keep people alive—but at the moment, she thinks she’ll settle for killing some fucking bleeders.

——

Day 2

She shifts Harrison Krieger’s weight on her shoulders, and growls at the necessity. He’s bleeding badly from under his hairline, but he’s also breathing, so his master probably won’t be happy with her if she leaves him to die.

At the moment she would love almost literally nothing more than to do just that.

The old man will be unhappy enough as it is—he never fully trusted Paxon Field, but there’s no denying that they were a very useful asset, and it’ll be tricky to explain why she let them wander off without trying harder to stop them. Hopefully she’ll be able to make it Harri’s fault. Which it is, come to that.

She shifts his weight again, shaking her hair out of her face. Best case she’ll get the call soon, and be able to give up this whole nasty business. It had better be soon, before she goes fucking feral and joins God’s Hammer for real.

“Hold it!” a girl’s voice calls suddenly. She freezes. “You stay right where you are, lady!”

This seems like as good an excuse as any— she drops Harrison like a sack of potatoes and sprints across the street, sliding in through the broken front window of an antique store and crouching under the window ledge to draw her gun, fleet-footed as a fox.

She hears three gunshots while she runs, but she must move faster than her pursuers expect, because all three fly hopelessly wide.

Under the window ledge, she waits.

“Andrea!” a man’s voice shouts from just outside her field of vision. “For god’s sake, you can’t just run around shooting at people, okay?”

She shifts sideways, so she can see her pursuers: a middle-aged blonde man and a young woman. The woman has bandages wrapped around her head; she marks this down in her mental assets column.

They’re both in dark blue uniforms she recognizes belatedly—it has been a very long day—as those worn by the city police.

Oh. Hmm.

The man pokes at Harrison’s body with the toe of his boot. “She just dropped him,” he says, sounding bewildered. He isn’t shouting anymore, but with no car noise for blocks, she doesn’t have to strain much to hear him. 

“Is he dead?” the woman says, sounding alarmed. Sounds like the police have at least some knowledge of the bleeders, then. That’s— good, she guesses.

“I, uh, don’t think so.” The man hesitates, then squares his shoulders and kneels to check Harri’s pulse, his hand on his gun.

She rolls her eyes. Good thing Harri isn’t bit— there’s no way the man is fast enough to avoid him if he’s just playing dead.

“No, his pulse seems normal,” the man says, sounding relieved. He straightens, frowning down at Harri, and then around at the surrounding buildings. His eyes pass over her storefront without so much as a second glance, so she thanks god for his apparently shitty vision. It seems like too much to hope that the woman didn’t see her enter this store, though. She wonders if there’s a back exit. 

“Should we— take him in, then?” the woman asks uncertainly. 

Shit.

“I guess so— for his own safety, if nothing else. Think we can carry him, between the two of us?”

Shit. It’s probably too late to try and kill Harri now, but she really can’t let him get taken alive, then his master will really think she’s incompetent or a traitor, and all her months of hard work will be for nothing.

“Not without making ourselves vulnerable,” the woman is saying, tugging at her long braid thoughtfully, and at that point she stands from her crouch and steps carefully over the window ledge, her pistol drawn.

“Don’t move, either of you,” she says flatly, and while the man obeys her orders, only laying a hand on his gun, the woman draws her gun and trains it on the center of her forehead. Under other circumstances she might be impressed by the girl’s speed, but at the moment she’s just annoyed. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she hisses. “I didn’t want to do it this way, dammit.” Reluctantly, she puts her gun back in its holster on her thigh.

The man and the woman both stare at her.

“Look,” she says, planting a hand on her hip, and points at Harri’s prone form. “Will you just give him back to me, please? I need him.”

The officers blink again, in unison.

The man recovers first. “Uh,” he says, a confused smile finding its way onto his handsome face. “What? Why would we do that?”

She sighs. “Because we’re on the same side.” Shaking her hair out of her face, she takes two steps forward— the woman conspicuously follows her progress with her gun— to offer the man her hand, since he seems to be the one in charge. Or she hopes he is, anyway. “My name is Medea,” she says, lifting her chin. “I’m with Interpol. I’m an agent.”

The man blinks at her hand, and then takes it in his and shakes once, though the woman makes a disbelieving squawking noise. “Greg Halstrom, Police Captain. I— would like to believe you,” he says, and while his voice is polite it is also very clear that he doesn’t.

“Well, you should,” Medea says, a trifle coldly. She misses her badge. This undercover bullshit is more trouble than it’s worth. “It’s the truth. I have been infiltrating the terrorist organization known as God’s Hammer for almost six months now, and that man—” Releasing Greg Halstrom’s hand, she points at where Harri is still lying face-down on the asphalt— “is crucial to maintaining my cover. As an agent of the International Criminal Police Organization, my authority exceeds yours, and I order you to relinquish custody of this criminal to me.”

Crossing her arms, she waits and hopes they’re dumb enough to believe her. It’s the truth, much as she wishes it wasn’t, but she doesn’t, she’s painfully aware, actually have any proof.

“Um,” says Captain Halstrom, looking very uncomfortable.

“What are you looking so conflicted for, old man?” the woman snaps. “Of course we won’t do that!”

Medea glares at her. Her gun still drawn, the woman stands her ground and glares back.

“Ah— she’s right, I’m afraid, ma’am,” Halstrom says, looking, if possible, even more uncomfortable. “We can’t let you run off with this man if we don’t know what your intentions are. But— you’re welcome to come down to the station with us.” He puts a little extra weight on the word ‘welcome,’ and Medea is well aware that he’s only framing his order as a request for courtesy’s sake.

Medea pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. On the downside, this is a hell of a setback. On the up, there might be showers at the police station.

Straightening, she tosses her head. “Alright, that sounds like a fair deal,” she says, just a few slivers of ice in her voice, and the look of disappointment on the woman’s face is almost as rewarding as the man’s relieved smile.

——

Day 3

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Andrea snaps, gesturing at the mess of red on the map. “If he has a brain, the leader of God’s Hammer’d kill you on sight by now!”

Medea glares at her. “Has it occurred that maybe I, an expert, know what to expect from a gang leader than an untrained twenty-something who—”

“Uh, guys?” Monique says from the doorway, and quails slightly when everyone snaps their heads around to look at her—Andrea furious, Medea impatient, and Halstrom deeply relieved. “There’s, um—there’s somebody here to see us?”

Andrea exchanges a baffled look with Halstrom— after two days of phone calls ending in screaming, the neighborhood hasn’t been calling the police, let alone coming to the station. Andrea gets to her feet, and they all follow Monique back to the front desk.

Andrea doesn’t know what she’s expecting. It isn’t—fucking—Gossip Girl.

The girl is looking out the doors at the empty street when they crowd back into the reception area, and then she turns, and Andrea half expects to see cameras flashing. She looks like she should come with her own paparazzi. As it is she’s flanked by two big out of breath men in suits, holding guns, and they take up positions on either side of the door like trained dogs.

Andrea watches the girl look Halstrom up and down, and then she strides up to the desk. Andrea can’t see her feet, but she can hear that she’s wearing stilettos, and the collar of her coat looks like actual fur.

“I’m here to report a missing person,” Gossip Girl says, and Andrea is surprised when she sees her eyes— they’re narrowed in determination, sharp as flint.

Halstrom is staring at the girl like she’s got two heads—or like she’s got perfectly straightened hair during the apocalypse, possibly—so Andrea’s the one who speaks up. “You fucking what?” she says, eloquently, and Gossip Girl narrows her eyes further. 

“My fiancé,” Gossip Girl says, with all the confidence of a person who can afford bodyguards in the apocalypse. “He was downtown with his father on April tenth, two days ago, and he was left there.” She says this last part with her perfect white teeth bared, anger directed somewhere outside the room. “I haven’t heard from him since. I want to know where he is.”

Halstrom is still staring at her, eyebrows raised. Medea has a strange look on her face, and is hovering in the doorway like she doesn’t want to be seen. Andrea takes the initiative again.

“He’s a fucking zombie, lady,” she says, too confused and annoyed to sound sympathetic. Gossip Girl turns her ice-shard eyes on Andrea, and Andrea almost takes a step back.

“I’m aware of the possibility,” Gossip Girl says, standing there in her fur coat, with her unstained unwrinkled dress and her stilettos. “I still want him found. If he’s fallen ill, I’ll take him to my father’s doctors, and he’ll no longer be your responsibility.”

“He isn’t our responsibility now,” Andrea snarls. “Listen, lady, we don’t have time or bodies to run around after some rich asshole during the end of the—”

“I thought you might say that,” Gossip Girl interrupts. “Therefore, I’m prepared to offer you access to my father’s resources and laboratories in exchange for finding my fiancé.”

“Your, uh,” Halstrom says, sounding very lost. “Who exactly is your...”

“I can answer that,” Medea says with apparent reluctance. Gossip Girl looks over Andrea’s shoulder and spots Medea, and does a serious double take. “Captain, this is Sophia Rinaldi, only daughter of Albrecht Rinaldi.” Andrea stares over her shoulder at Medea, who is leaning in the doorway looking slightly uncomfortable. “Leader of God’s Hammer.”

All three officers stare at Gossip Girl. The buzz of the fluorescent lights is the only sound in the station for about two minutes.

“Hello, Media,” Sophia Rinaldi says acidly at Medea, who waves ironically at her. “Actually I think you’ll find my father is a respected entrepreneur and philanthropist.”

“Who funds every violent crime in the city,” Halstrom offers with a bewildered smile. “I’m not sure we want the kind of help your father is offering, Miss Rinaldi.”

“My father isn’t offering it,” Sophia says, and she looks at Halstrom, beautiful and apparently sincere; Andrea pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “Listen to me, officer. His father just— just left him out there, during all of this. I’m not going to do the same. If he’s alive, I want him safe. If he’s— unwell, my father has the best labs in the city. If he’s—” she falters for the first time, her hand tightening into a fist on the fur collar of her coat, but then she swallows and raises her perfect pointed chin. “If he’s dead, I will recover his body. I am willing to assist your officers in exchange for their expertise. That’s the deal, sir.”

She holds Halstrom’s gaze, which means Andrea gets to watch him crumble in real time. The old man sighs, running a hand through his hair, which has gone more gray at the temples in the past three days than in the five years he’s been her captain.

“God. Who exactly are we looking for?” he says finally, defeated, and Sophia Rinaldi blazes with triumph, reaching into her fur coat for a glossy photograph which she slams on the counter.

Andrea looks at the guileless blue eyes and the overlong, neatly styled blonde hair.

“Oh, what the fuck,” she says, and hears Medea saying the same thing beside her.

#the café at the end of the world #comatose #state of emergency #apocalypse tw #pandemic tw #zombie apocalypse #distance caretaking

[movedtotwitter-ccarkus]

ACTUAL REAL TALK

so today i had a melt down over art on instagram where i realized i actually fucking hate being a artist i genuinely do not enjoy drawing as a job or much at all really. its fun to do here and there but i actually fucking hate being an artist, the reason i’ve kept to it for so long is because family. my family pushed me into this like it was my only talent like it was all im god at and now that i’m 20 i’m fucking sick of being in this cage they built im not passionate about art i never was or at least not as passionate as i am with music and fashion. i’ve always tried to pursue music and fashion throughout my life but was always stepped on by both of my parents. my dad would belittle me for trying to learn guitar so much to the point i havent even picked the instrument back up in probably 5 years and my mother i swear doesnt believe i can do anything cause shes a fucking wench. i watched this video of greg bryk a while back about how a coffin is built for one and when you die and are buried theres only room for you in there and hes right when i die i dont have room for my parents or friends i only have room for me. drawing will not or ever be my career i dont care how skilled i am i’ll be homeless before i draw to pay for rent, i’ll starve before i draw for food, i’ll die young before i ever draw to keep myself afloat in this world. im 20 now and i won’t live in this cage any longer and if you’re out there and you’re good at something you hate then don’t be afraid to say “fuck this!” and do something you’re not as skilled at but have more passion for. we live for far too long to keep ourselves unhappy doing something we hate. 

#Text

[ylc1]

New fic. Scandal.

Because I truly have no self restrain... here’s a new fic! In my defense, this is a short one :P (Somewhat)

Anyway, enjoy!

Summary:   There are few scandals bigger than an unmarried Omega heir ending up pregnant: to avoid it, a quick marriage is very much needed. Too bad said heir won’t say who the father is.

Pairings: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical (pseudo historical really) / Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics/ Unplanned Pregnancy/ Angst/ Mutual Pining/ Unrequited Love (except not because as I said there's mutual pining)/ why won't they talk to each other?/ Miscommunication/ Class Differences/ Forbidden Love/ Secret Relationship/ they're both teens in this (Mycroft is 17, Greg is 18) Omega!Mycroft/ Beta!Greg

Preview

--the absolute scandal! How dare you bring this shame upon our house?!”

Greg stands just outside the drawing room, frozen on the spot, knowing he should probably walk away now before someone spots him, but also terribly curious about what the fuss is about, despite himself.

He heard the news of Mycroft’s unexpected return and he had just wanted to greet the young heir. Maybe inquire on what happened at his fancy boarding school that had him sent back home earlier than expected, but he certainly wasn’t going to press for answers: their ���relationship” (if it could be called that) it’s not the sort that allows for certain questions to be asked.

Or any questions, really. Mycroft indulges his curiosity entirely too much.

He risks a quick glance inside the room. Lady Holmes is dramatically laying on one of the long couches, sobbing in what seems a little staged manner. She was the one doing the yelling, he knows, and he’s not one bit surprised: the lady has always had a penchant for dramatics (so do her children, really, although she’d deny they inherited it from her). Lord Holmes stands next to her, expression pinched tight, evident distress and anger in his features. Something very bad must have happened, but what? Mycroft is not one to get into trouble, surely he didn’t get himself expelled! Lady Holmes words seem to suggest though…

Greg’s eyes finally land on Mycroft and his heart stops in his chest. He’s still wearing his school uniform, but he doesn’t cut his usual polished form. For one, he’s not wearing his suit jacket or his sweater and his shirt is untucked, the top button of his pants undone since they probably don’t fit him anymore. Considering how large his belly currently is, it’s not surprising really.

This last observation is what makes Greg’s heart stop, the reason behind Lady Holmes’ outburst quite evident. She hadn’t wanted her Omega son to leave for boarding school in the first place, citing all sort of things that could happen to him and, even worse, the scandal they could bring. Mycroft however had been determined to continue with his education and eventually, he had gotten his father to back him up.

Now of course, it seems Lady Holmes was right in her… concerns.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?!” the woman exclaims, as if on cue. “The scandal, Mycroft! How could you… why didn’t you…” she gestures helplessly, her tone high pitched in distress, although it’s evident she’s less concerned about her son’s well being than the scandal it could cause.

“Mycroft,” Lord Holmes asks, tone deadly and a shiver runs down Greg’s spine. The lord rarely gets involved in anything that happens in the household, too busy running his business to care much about any domestic matters, but when he deigns something worth of his attention… “what do you have to say for yourself?”

Continue reading on AO3

#my fanfics #mystrade fic #mystrade

[a34trgv2]

In Defense of Steven Universe

It's no secret that whenever something is popular, there are always those that want it to die because they don't like it and they feel the people who do make it worse. In today's animation landscape, no other show has received so much praise and bitter hatred than Steven Universe. It's one thing not to like this show, but to outright claim that it's "the worst show ever made" or "has a toxic fanbase" really undermines the credit and value this show has to offer.

For starters, this show does an excellent job at portraying gender and sexuality through it's use of smart writing and original songs. This stems from the fact that creator, Rebecca Sugar, wanted to make a cartoon that was not only fun to watch, but also show female characters falling in love and being judged strictly for their actions (both positive and negative).

This show also has some of the best looking animation in modern network television with vibrant colors, unique and creative character design and smooth, ballet-like movements. Some of the best scenes in the show involve the battles the Crystal Gems face, the fusion dances and the musical numbers showcased in every other episode.

Speaking of music, this show has a wide variety of original songs that are upbeat and blissful to listen to. Not only do the songs added substance to the plot of each episode, but you could listen to them on their own and not need the context to enjoy them. Some of the best songs include Stronger Than You, Giant Woman, It's Over Isn't It, Here Comes a Thought and of course the theme song.

Then we have the colorful cast of characters which make the show worth watching. From the optimistic, but quirky and brave Steven to the patient and powerful Garnet, these characters each have their own unique personalities and work off each other brilliantly in each episode. Pearl is the well organized, dependable mother-like figure, Amethyst is the rebellious but loyal tomboy, Greg is a chill, helpful and relatable Dad to Steven and Connie is the smart, brave and fun little girl that works perfectly as Steven's best friend.

This show also has a colorful cast of supporting characters who become more likeable as the show continues. The Cool Kids (Buck, Sour Cream and Jenny) are likeable and relaxed teenagers who make for good friends and aspiring musicians. Sadie was the hard working employee at the Big Donut who had a soft spot for Steven, but later became a great singer as well as a brave young woman in her own right.

Then there are the black sheep of the cast: Onion, Lars and Renaldo. I don't have major gripes with these characters, but I see why people would prefer they were written out of the show entirely (especially Renaldo). Onion is an odd, but fun little character that doesn't talk, but his actions speak for themselves. Lars started out as a bit of a jerk, but the more we saw of him, the more relatable he became until ultimately he became one of the bravest characters on the show. Renaldo is a special case as while most people feel he's the fly in the soup of the show, I feel like he gets better as a character with each appearance. This is probably because I see him as a flawed skeptic who slowly but surely learns to accept the Crystal Gems as allies.

Transitioning to villains, this show has quite the memorable rogues gallery. Peridot started out as this calculated and emotionally charged character but has now become a fan favorite with her naivety towards Earth customs and eagerness to understand them. Lapis Lazuli has also become a fan favorite after starting out as a major threat to the Crystal Gems and is now an emotional but understandable character. Jasper was a powerful and menacing villain and unlike Peridot and Lapis, she was bitter till the very end. Lastly we have Yellow Diamond, essentially the big bad of the show with a calm demeanor but when challenged she is not to be trifled with.

Because this is a character driven show, it makes sense that the stories are kept simple and to the point. Some of the most popular episodes have conceptually basic plots, but are executed so brilliantly that the simplicity is forgiven. In the first season alone, we were treated to and episode where two characters were stuck in a bubble for 11 minutes, another where they participate in wrestling matches, that one time the main character through a party for his surrogate mothers, 3 episodes involving a pink lion jumping through portals and a episode involving ice cream sandwiches.

The last thing I want to touch on regarding the show is the fanbase. The fans are what made the show what is through their wonderful cosplay costumes, the amount of support for the team behind the show, provide constructive feedback and drawing some of the most creative fanart I've seen based on a cartoons. Many detractors will point to the 2015 incident as an example of how toxic fans are, however, I've said it before and I'll say it again: those weren't fans. The fanbase as a who'll rightfully callout those ignorant individuals that claim to be supporters of the show (myself included).

Overall, I feel as though the detractors of this show either refuse to see the merit in this show or if they do, they were still disappointed with the end result. It's fine if you don't like the show (everyone's entitled to their opinion and the show isn't for everybody), but if you are one of those detractors, I encourage you to have a debate with fans and talk about it reasonably and respectfully. There's no need to make enemies with the fanbase because you don't like the show (and certainly not because of that incident caused by morons). Thanks for reading and I'll see you soon.

#steven universe #in defense #animation #tv show #cartoon #fanbase #Opinion #like #share #reblog #debate

[show-me-your-rocks]

Feeling creative and trying to think of a story that’s not been told. Here’s my shot at something somewhat original.

Chapter 1

Walter Hightower is a 62-year old man with nondescript features. He is of average height, with a paunch belly but not what he would really consider fat. Slightly overgrown gray eyebrows, a bushy mustache, and tortoise shell glasses adorn his face. His sunken brown eyes and bald head add to his look of an experienced life. He did possess some hair on the sides, which was in need of his bimonthly haircut. Walter suffers from several ailments which are standard for a man his age and build. A bad back, vision problems, senility, and digestion issues plagued him. Yes, Walter is an average Baby Boomer except for two things. He has stage three liver cancer and he is a serial killer.

In fact, Walter Hightower is the most prolific unknown serial killer the United States has ever had. He was good at what he did because he knew exactly how to do it. It wasn’t some innate ability, but a skill he had developed over decades. Consider Walter’s previous daytime profession as a carpenter. Just as he made several mistakes as a young apprentice just starting in the profession, in his hobby he had also made mistakes. And just as not knowing what you’re doing in carpentry can cost you dearly, not knowing how to kill discretely can cost you everything.

The connection between Walter’s day job and secret hobby was actually stronger than you might think. It was in his late teens or early 20s, he can never quite recall, that an image stuck in his mind that drove him to all of this. It was at work on the Petty house where he was a young apprentice still learning the ropes of the profession that he had a small accident. Nothing major. Just a minor movement of the hand saw and he has sliced open his thumb. It was a small injury that he would have barely even stopped working to notice, if it hadn’t been for the blood. Something about it, the sunlight hitting it or the translucent nature against his worn hands, enchanted him. He stared at it for what seemed like hours. It was at that moment that he had seen such beauty in something quite ordinary and also painful that changed the course of his life.

An obsession grew in him, like the very cancer that was consuming his liver now. At first he thought it odd and shook it off. But as he lay awake at night unable to sleep, he pictured the blood seeping out his thumb and would be lulled to a peaceful slumber. Soon this image would grow stale and he needed a new one to replace it. He developed an insomnia that nearly cost him his sanity. He realized he needed a new image. A different image. Maybe an image of someone else.

“That’s crazy” he thought to himself. “Hurting someone else to see their blood so I can sleep?” These were the rantings of a madman and not the ones of our still yet average Walter. But sleep was necessary and if that was the price to pay, Walter would surely find someone to foot the bill. But who?

So Walter tried to start small. He picked up hunting and fishing, which made him fit in more with the small community he was part of. Everyone else thought young Walter was just exploring new hobbies. In a way they were right. Hunting was more difficult because of the waiting for the right time of year and because of the wait for the perfect shot. But it proved more settling for his delicate condition as it provided more blood for him. All while also providing him a cover of outdoor sportsman, which played in nicely with the people of the small town. But the deer blood wasn’t the same. He was able to sustain it for a while, relying on a combination of the new image with the old one. But soon he was right back where he began, sleepless and desperate.

So then, it was decided. But who? Who could Walter kill and still not feel the overwhelming guilt that would further rob him of sweet slumber? Someone completely vile who the town would be glad to be rid of perhaps. But no, someone like that might be too well known and thus noticed missing. He needed to find someone that was already almost invisible. Someone who lived on the edge of the community. Someone who had few if any ties. No family, no real friends. Someone much like Walter himself. Perhaps that was the answer. Walter considered just killing himself instead of all thes innocent people. Up until now he had been doing it for his own personal and selfish reasons with his deer hunting. But he’d also done some good, by keeping deer population down and donating meat to needy families nearby. In his sleep-starved state he rationalized himself as a hero. If he was to continue his work in doing good for his community he needed to pick someone who took away from the value of the town but not so much to be one who was noticed. He thought hard and made a list. He even scored the potential victims on family connections, friend connections, and overall negative impact on local society.

He was down to three. He always liked that number, three. Something about it was pleasing. The first choice was an abusive single mother of two boys, Nicole Wright. Robbing children of their mother is such an abhorrent act but in Walter’s eyes, these kids would be better off. They weren’t living with Nicole. They had been taken by child protective services several times and he believed they were probably tired of bouncing back and forth between living with her and foster families. They were always taken from her at the hospital after receiving treatment for cigarette burns or broken bones. Other than the two boys, Nicole had no family in the area and was not on speaking terms with her parents who lived hours away. She was as bad a friend as she was a mother which led to lots of lone nights drinking at one of the local bars. If she went missing there would only be a few people who noticed and they were local bar flies who wouldn’t even really notice or care that she had left. Nicole was a strong potential victim.

Potential victim two was Greg Myers. Greg Myers was a loner. He wasn’t necessarily a really bad person who did horrible things and deserved to die. Sure he did some bad things every now and then. As a driver he was certainly reckless and had caused some accidents that hurt people because he thought he was too good to follow the rules of the road. He also donated things to charities. It wasn’t that he was looking to donate. It was just that he had stuff he wanted to get rid of and wanted to give it to someone who needed it. It all added up to being a pretty common person. The key to Greg being on Walter’s list was that he had no friends or family anywhere for miles. Greg had moved away from his home because he hated the big city life and wanted a small town experience. The thing is that when Greg moved here he didn’t realize that everyone knew everyone else’s business and wanted to talk all the time. Greg learned quickly not to overshare and essentially turned himself into a hermit. He could move back home but that would be admitting to himself that he was wrong and Greg was too proud to do that. His job working remote IT from home meant he didn’t have any work friends and with family far away, Greg had very few ties to the community as someon who actively sought to remove himself from it. Greg Myers was another strong potential victim.

The last one on Walter’s list was James Rockwell. James didn’t quite fit in with the other two. He was a relatively successful local business owner and had a beautiful wife. He had connections to the community and would surely be noticed if he was gone. So how did he end on Walter’s list? Because Walter Hightower hated James Rockwell with a fiery passion. After all it was partly James’ fault that Walter turned out the way he did.

Walter had friends growing up in elementary school but when their class hit middle school, so did puberty. At least for most. James was one of those early bloomers who got tall and whose voice dropped to a nice baritone. Seemingly overnight he became the most popular boy in the grade among the boys and girls. Walter took a bit longer to develop and that was something James noticed. With his newfound popularity James had a reputation to uphold and Walter was right there for the picking. It became a constant in Walter’s life. He didn’t do anything to draw this attention other than not have the right amount of testosterone.

Walter’s school life became a constant state of fear from some sort of verbal or physical attack from James or one of his new friends. Because of the constant negative attention the only friends that Walter had left him alone to fight his bullies for fear of guilt by association. But how could this happen? How could a child be left alone to fight this small army and no one at school or home to help? Well Walter grew up in the era of just fight your bully back and be a man. Walter never really saw the need for violence and so this advice was lost on him. School principals didn’t believe that James, who was a good athlete and also a strong student, would even waste time on Walter, who had become a middling student with no friends. It wasn’t that Walter was of below average intelligence. It was that he had lost focus in classes due to James and his friends. But who are principals going to choose - the kid with a bright future or the one they see as a nobody?

At home it was just as bad. Walter was made to feel weak by his father who didn’t see why he couldn’t just fight James and wasn’t one to hide his disappointment. They even engaged in sparring matches out back after dinner. It might have started out as a chance for Walter to learn a new skill but it turned into opportunities for Walter’s father to physically abuse him under the guise of friendly father-son time. His mother would clean him up afterwards to help Walter feel better but also to cover the marks so the school wouldn’t see. Walter’s mother was one who heeded her husband in spite of her objections. After all she was worried if Walter wasn’t taking the punches she might be the one doing it. Average grades, no friends, no romantic interests, and a bad home life. All because James Rockwell got a visit from the puberty fairy just a bit early. Just recounting the reasons for James being on the list caused Walter to feel the only real emotion he had left. Anger. A deep, searing rage filled him and he could feel the blood rushing to his face. It would be James first.

Chapter 2

Walter felt almost giddy after arriving at his decision. He knew there was risk in killing James but the mere thought of seeing his blood was enough to put him to sleep that night.

Walter began to plan. He took a couple days off work to follow James around and learn his daily routine. Luckily Walter was an average looking guy with his light brown hair and brown eyes, average height and build. He was every man and that would be his camouflage, his key. James had a very similar pattern to each day. He would leave for work at approximately 7:15, taking some less traveled roads to avoid the little traffic there was, arrive at work at 7:30 and work til 11:30 when he would take lunch to a nearby park. He would find a secluded corner of the park for lunch, eat in roughly 20 minutes and head back to work to arrive at 11:55. He would work until 5:30 and head home, arriving at around 5:45 with dinner waiting for him on the table. Walter saw three opportunities - on the way to work, lunch, and on the way home. But which of these would cause the least amount of stir?

If he took him on his way to work, his employees and customers would all notice because he wasn’t there to open up shop. If he took him at lunch then his absence would still be noticed by those same employees and customers. On the way home his wife would notice he wasn’t home and she would surely be one to call the police. Walter had to think about which one would work the best. Fewest witnesses, fewest people to notice he was gone.

Walter had hatched his plan and now it was time to execute. He went to work to not seem suspicious so that ruled out taking James on his way to work and at lunch. Walter left work at 3 while James was still working so he went to pay James’ car a visit. He took a small nail from work and poked a hole in one of the tires. Not a huge gash, but large enough to make a difference on the way home.

James was excited to leave work that day and head home because his wife Eleanor was making meatloaf. He was driving home with the windows down and the radio blaring when he heard a thumping noise. He turned off the radio and listened carefully. He pulled off to the side of the road to check on his car. He opened the hood and saw nothing wrong and then he checked the tires. He got a flat on the back tire of the passenger’s side. With the road he was on there wasn’t much of a shoulder so he had to be careful in jacking his car up to change the tire. As he was lessening the lug nuts he kept wondering how this could have happened, how he could have hit something that would puncture the tire, and why did it have to happen on meatloaf night. As he was lost in thought a stranger pulled over in a black truck to see what had happened.

Walter had used a hat and the fact that James hadn’t seen him since high school as a disguise to move in closely. With a tire iron in his hand he asked if he needed any help.

“No thanks, I’ve got it,” James said in a gruff manner. He was upset that he was going to have to pay for a new tire and that he was missing meatloaf.

“What happened?” Walter asked as he approached, ignoring James’ response and sounding as if he hadn’t been the one to cause all this.

“I just ran over something and got a flat,” James grunted as he secured the spare tire.

“What a shame,” Walter noted. He tried to fake sympathy in his voice for this man who had caused him so much pain and anguish. Maybe Walter should have gone into acting with the level of concern he thought he was able to put into his facade.

This was it. This was the moment to strike. James had put the last lug nut on the spare tire and was taking the car off the jack with his lug wrench. His only real weapon was in use. Walter reared back with his own tire iron and struck James on the head. If it was like the movies, James would be knocked cold. But it wasn’t like the movies. James fell but he just grabbed his head and looked up at Walter in shock and anger, reaching for his own lug wrench. Walter struck again on his face this time. A more successful blow. James laid there, not unconscious but not really moving. Walter struck again for good measure and this time he was sure he was out. Just to make absolutely sure and for a little enjoyment he hit him one last time.

The blood coming out of James’ face. It was beautiful. Walter had to touch it. It was a beautiful crimson and in the afternoon sun it seemed to sparkle. Walter played with it for a minute before he remembered he needed to dispose of the body and the car.

Walter wasn’t sure he would get this far so his plan from here on out was rough. He knew he would take James’ car and his body so there wouldn’t be any trace of him left to discover. He left his own truck which would be much less suspicious. He even moved his truck to cover the blood stains on the side of the road. By the time anyone would discover them they would be dried or washed away by rain. And blood on the side of a country road wouldn’t be suspicious. It would look an animal was hit by a car.

So Walter drove the car with James laying bloodied and unconscious in the back seat. He didn’t drive him far for fear of him waking up and attacking him. Walter didn’t know that he already killed James on the side of the road. He wasn’t a doctor and didn’t know how to check if he was still alive.

The next part of Walter’s plan was two-fold. He had driven him to a rural highway which no one used except to leave town. He pulled over and put James into the driver’s seat. He aimed the car so it would drive toward a big tree off the side of the road. He took out a small bottle of rum and poured it on James to give him the smell. Walter poured a little down his throat for good measure. He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket as well as his lighter. He took a brick he had stolen from work and put it on the gas pedal. Then Walter put the car and drive and watched it go. Success! It hit the tree dead on and made a big crash.

Now for the final part of the scene before Walter ran back to his own truck. Walter put a lit cigarette onto James’ lap as if he had been smoking and it had fallen out during the crash. It would catch him on fire because of the run soaked clothes. Walter hoped his plan would work and that it would look like James was driving home drunk and ran off the road and into a tree dropping his rum and cigarette and catching him on fire. Then Walter ran from the scene and walked casually back to his truck. No one had seen him he hoped.

But how would he explain why he was driving up that country road instead of on his way home. This part he wasn’t as excited about because he had to hurt innocent people. It would come in the form of two notes. The first note was to James’ wife. It read,

“Sorry Eleanor, but I’ve taken a mistress and I want to marry her. So I’m leaving you and heading for a new life in a new state. Don’t bother trying to find us. I’m leaving you the business though. Jimmy can pretty much run the place. See you next lifetime.

-James”

It was a bit rough but Walter had done his best to be kind but also concise. Walter put it in the mailbox hoping she would find it easily. The other note would be taped to the front door of the business James owned.

“I, James Rockwell, leave this business to my wife, Eleanor Rockwell for her to own and operate. I am leaving the state to pursue new opportunities. This business is now under new management. “

Just in case no one believed her Walter wanted to make sure it looked legitimate.

There it was. Walter’s plan had been carried out. He was going to be in the clear because he had no connection to James or his business. James looked like he died in a fiery car crash and he had given reason for James to be on the road and had spurned the only person who would call the police looking for him.

It would have all worked out so well too if only.

#short story #relatable #serial killer #Who is Walter Hightower

[sinesalvatorem]

Sam[]zdat’s review of Seeing Like A State has a great (hypothetical) example of the way that government-led redevelopment can make everyone (statistically, from the outside) healthier and wealthier while making them really unhappy:

The urban center of an old city is a hopelessly chaotic slum. The denizens can navigate it without trouble, but without proper street names (or even streets) it’s much harder for the state to get a proper reading. Now, the government was elected on the promise of better healthcare for all, and they’ve partially delivered. There are more hospitals, and they’ve increased the number of ambulances. But people in the densely packed center still aren’t getting proper aid. Ambulances keep getting lost, or they’re losing critical minutes because of the labyrinthine old streets, or unmarked buildings and houses make it impossibly difficult to determine who is actually in need and which apartment they’re in.

The citizens themselves don’t understand this – they grew up in there, so it’s obvious who’s where. They try and explain this to the city, but it’s based in highly specific information and historical details that don’t make sense to outsiders (go left at Greg’s place, right at the spot of the Best Marble Game of All Time, straight through to what-used-to-be-the-old-pool-hall-but-isn’t-now, etc.). But the ambulance dispatch and the state use a different model: they view things from the perspective of a map, which is only reasonable given that they have a much wider area to concern themselves with. They need some ordering mechanism that will mesh with those of other districts.

At first, the state just puts random names on the streets. This helps some, but the residents still colloquially go by the old terms they know, which causes problems for dispatch. Moreover, most of those alleys are still too narrow for ambulances to get through. The state decides on a more radical project: it’s going to plow through what it can and build new, ordered streets based on a grid. While they’re at it, they decide to make one commercial district and one residential district – it’s just a better system.

Now you have a pretty resentful populace. “But why?” The local economy has been disrupted, for one, even if no one else sees it. Turns out that a lot of the interweaving between commercial and residential was actually necessary for those local businesses – not to mention the young people who hung around getting paid to help move a thing here or there when the shipment arrives. But that’s a State’s reason. More pressing to the residents is the loss of their local knowledge, what we might call “folk monuments” that create senses of identity. Most pressing is their loss of power.

This last one is important in two ways. The first is both obvious and not. A large part of our powers lie in our familiarity with surroundings. When those have changed, we lose a lot of the familiarity that brings us that. Here’s an example: an old man has occupied an apartment for his whole life, and he’s maintained his self-sufficiency due to familiarity. He’s always been able to hobble to the store (right down the way) without aid, and when he does need it the same neighbors are always there. But the new plan places a commercial zone some ways away from the residential, and the new neighbors aren’t familiar to him. Moreover, the old store would always stock [thing] because it knew the old man and expected his business. But the new one has to deal with everyone, so it diversifies in a way that can’t suit his needs. The old man has suddenly become dependent on someone else (in this case, probably the state itself). Weird, small effects like that happen all over. “Small” is the key word, because they do look meaningless in the grand scale.

The second only reveals itself when things get really bad, so let’s work up to it.

To fund the ambulances you have to tax. That’s always been a problem in the slums (who lives where? how do you tax?) but suddenly you find that it’s much easier to get quantification. It’s a small amount, but people unused to paying taxes are suddenly hit with it. Not to mention, many of them are poorer in total because the local economy was interrupted. At the same time the district looks wealthier on average, because the few who successfully transitioned to the commercial zone now have a larger (alien) clientele. They employ less from the neighborhood, and the money is shared less often (the old man no longer has anyone to tip a dollar for helping up the stairs), but from the outside everything looks better. Either way, the citizens get angry, and they still aren’t seeing the benefits, and all of their local knowledge has been messed with, so they riot.

We all know the cliched MLK quote: “A riot is the language of the unheard.” I think this is true, but a better way to phrase it in Scott’s terms would be: “A riot is the language of the unintelligible.” The citizens may be rioting over taxes, but it’s not really that, and if they could even explain “why” they were rioting, it wouldn’t make sense to outsiders. “They tore down the old-pool-hall!” is actually a better summation of it than “taxes”, but that just seems… well, weird and petty. After all, to understand why that’s important, you need to have an intimate knowledge of the history and economy of the society that no one outside it has. Even that old man’s complaints look odd. He lost autonomy, but he’ll probably live longer because of the ambulances. A statistician might be able to look at all the confounders and draw out these explicit economic effects to determine what side they fall on, but even that wouldn’t really get to the heart of it. The heart of it is a lot more psychological, to use a word that mostly fails to capture it.

Either way: the slums riot. Suddenly you find that your ambulance routes are highly efficient for combating these riots. In the old slums, citizens had all the power. They knew where to run, and how to dodge out of the light, and who would hide them, etc. Now it’s in the hands of the police. And, of course, the police force costs money, but luckily the new names and addresses make it much easier to tax the citizenry, so taxes go up to combat the riots from the taxes going up. But to ensure that citizens pay those taxes…

One wanted to establish efficient healthcare, but to do that you had to create a state apparatus that was able to control people enough to develop it around them. It’s about ambulances, technically, but somehow ambulances and cops and increased taxes and housing development all blended into one process, and every single part is required to make the others work. If you stopped just one, the whole project is lost, and all you did was cause damage with no benefit. At a certain point, it starts looking weirdly humane to accelerate it, if not just to finish and get to the benefits. But, of course, accelerating it can mean exacerbating the bad effects. And it definitely means removing more power from the hands of the populace.

#quotes #libertarianism #history #seeing like a state #politics cw

[amnachil]

The High School Game Part 10

Shirley DAY 82 Sunday

Vacations went well for the young girl. Despite being single (she missed Sam a lot, but could not do anything), she had some fun with her closest family. Unlike thanksgiving, they stayed without any guest. Also, she got enough time for training (she had a tournament the next sunday) and making her homeworks. Her dad offered her some clothes, and her mother a disk of her favourite singer. Dan gave her a big teddy bear (she loved and hated it because it was soft like Sam's tummy) and her twins sisters a drawing of her in a cemetary (which was weird, but well she feigned to be thankful). Now on Sunday, she went to her training. During the holidays, players were less abundent. She started her warm-up when she glimpsed Liam and his sister Chloe. The 7th grade student started her training while Shirley came closer to her brother. By the way, he was still the same V-shaped boy, with a big torso and flat stomach. They had become closer since he dated Jessy. She had learnt him how to fatten discretly his girlfriend, and he had gladly spread the rumour about Gregory ambitions. Yet, Raphaël did not react.

"Hey Shirley. What's up ?" he asked cheerfully.

She smiled.

"Holidays were welcome. I'm ready for my tourmanent now. What about you ? Had fun ?"

"Well, yes. My parents bought me a new videogame and a console."

"Sounds good."

Herself had no time for videogames. Homework and workout took the majority of her time.

"Honestly, it is." he stated. "I'm not ready to get back to work. With our teacher's conference coming this week and the monthly check-up, I'm a bit stressed."

She raised an eye brown. Why would he be stressed by the check-up ? He looks fine. Shirley weighted herself this morning : 53 kg. She managed to keep the same weight for almost four months now.

"Not my check-up." he clarified. "I gained 1 kg as far as I know. But Jessy check-up will be interesting... I can't wait to discover her gains."

Shirley slowly blushed. She was excited too. Obviously not by Jessy, but Sam would probably packed on some weight. Despite what he had been proclaiming, he had been spending more time gorging himself rather than exercising. His metabolism, as strong as he could be, had probably difficulties to catch up. I can't wait to see him... Her instructor called her, and she left Liam, who went back home.

This afternoon, at home, Shirley get ready for tomorrow. She quickly made her bag, and review a few lessons. I think the semester was fine but well... I had some passing grade the last month. Needless to say, her break-up with Sam spoiled her mentality, and she had studied less. A knock drew her attention.

"Com'in !"

Dan opened and smiled gently. He worn a black shirt skewed by his belly, rounder since christmas and New Year's celebrations. He ate a lot, exhibiting again his stomach capacities, and his body showed a bit. As always, his tummy took the most of it, hanging over his pants. But loves handles became more visible, and he had burgeonning man-boobs. Of course, while he was dressed, those changes were barely noticeable, except his round stomach. Shirley estimated his gains at more or less 3 kg since Thanksgiving. Wich mean he did the freshman 15 in six month instead of ten. The idea pleased her...

"Hey sis', I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure, whatever you want."

He sat onto her bed, making his rolls even more visible. His thighs grew a bit too, as well.

"Well, okay sis'. Do you think I'm too fat ?"

Shirley opened her mouth, wanted to say something, shut her mouth. I can't tell him he is handsome. It will be too awkward. But it was what she thought.

"What are you saying bro' ? What would I think that ?"

"I weighted myself this morning." he explained. "I gained almost 3 kg in one month. After thanksgiving, I expected to slow down a little, but I can't control myself. Every single piece of food whet my appetite, and I'm snacking the whole day. Well, I don't feel ill at ease with myself, but... I fear people judgment."

"Someone insulted you ?"

She frowned, worried. No one had the right to assault her brother. And her thought went to the devil... Is Raphaël making fun of Dan ?

"No, absolutly not." replied this one. "Raphaël even tell me I was not that fat. He proclaimed college always fatten you a bit but... I don't know what will think other people."

She stared at him in amazement. Did he just said Raphaël reassured him ? What the fuck ? Their relationship is so weird.

"In my opinion bro', you're indeed not fat. With college come freshman 15, that's all. You're fine. I think you're even good-looking."

He nodded thoughtfully. Please, trust me. Don't try to lose weight, you don't need that.

"Okay, thanks sis'. I'll let you now. I'm glad you share the same opinion than me and Raphaël."

She smiled. I'm not sharing anything with this motherfucker. I still search a way to have my revenge.

Sam DAY 83 Monday

"81 kg."

81 kg. Eighty-one kilograms.

"Well, you gained 9 kg in one month. That's what I call a big gain."

9 kg. Nine fucking kilograms. Sam stayed on the scale, too stunned to move. His hand patted slowly his bulge. "Bulge". Rather my potbelly.

"But that's not a big deal. You're a young boy, we can deal with that."

The lad was thinking. Remembering about the last month. The Gregory's feeding sessions. His perpetual snacking. The diner, bigger every day. Mcdo and the junkfood he polished daily. His holidays, constitued of feast, videogames and snacks. Oh my god. What I've done ? He remembered the workout : he exercised the first week, a bit. Less the second. Never during the two of vacations. My god. Am I dumb or what ? He watched at his body in the mirror. The nurse, Ms. Lovely, was writing some bullshit on her notebook, ignoring him. Sam realized how different he was. His arms and legs were softer, without muscles but some fat blossoming. His face was chubbier than ever. His chest, instead of having pecs, was mostly fat, with two little man-boobs. And the worst, his belly was hanging over his trunks. It was plump, adipose, and the tummy was jiggling. Of course, it's not bloated. He realised the reason why his jeans were tight again. Why he was packed in his shirt, and why his sweatpants was so easier to dress. Every fucking time his pants were snug, he thought it was because he was stuffed, but a stuffed belly did not jiggle. The reason was quite more logic : Sam was fat. Way more fat than the last month. As the nurse said, he gained 9 kg. I can't be like this. The team will never accept this. They will fired me, and made fun of me. Oh my god, what I've done ?

"Well, in order to fight against this overweight, let's talk a little bit about diet." started the Ms. Lovely.

He stared at her, stunned.

"I guess you're eating a lot of junkfood like burger, fries or things like that. And you probably drink a lot energy drinks and maybe even beer. You need to cut off. Try to eat more vegetable, and light food."

Sam frowned. He remembered about the last month. He had a lot of fun eating two lunch at noon. He loved his mother's feast. He enjoyed donuts and snack. Plus, he remember the feeling of being stuffed. With chocolate mousse, and with the christmas buffet. It was so good. So pleasant. Did he was able to gave this feeling up ?

"And you need to do less videogames. More exercise. Try to run, or something like this. I thought you loved soccer ? Why don't pratice a bit ?"

Sam thought about workout. The time he spent exercising, and praticing. The feelings of the victory. And then, he thought about the feeling of rubbing his belly. Of overstuffing session. His dick instantly became harder. The lad discreetly hid his erection and asked :

"Am I really that fat ?"

"Not at all." answered the nurse. "You're a little overweight, that's all. Trust me everything is fine, every one can have some stoutness. This is nothing serious."

He nodded. I will have to make so much effort to get back in shape. Did he was capable of exercise all the time, and eat less ? The taste of the chocolate mousse remained in his mouth. He knew he lost his position in the team. He knew Raphaël would never forgive him, and the other would tease him for month. But he discovered a whole new kind of pleasure, and this was worthy.

Sam left the nurse's office during the break, and headed towards Raphaël and Greg. As he walked, the lad realised something. He was ready to give up his place, and to enjoy a new life of stuffing, but all of this was Greg fault. His "partner" fed him like hell during three weeks. And he offered him his laptop, which one Sam played the whole holidays instead of working out. I can't let him obtain what he wanted. This bastard was an ambitious motherfucker. He probably fattened me only to take my place beside Raphaël. Sam knew he had lost the captain friendship the moment he decided to not get back in shape but Greg had to pay. I think I have an idea. This cockcroach deserved a punition. An ironic punition. Sam sought Shirley : she was in a corner of the schoolyard, alone, looking at her phone. He headed for her while thinking. Honestly, the girl was less exciting than before : he still felt betrayed by her manipulation (sharing the same interest for food and well-fed bellies did not mean be reconciled). But in an other hand, he still had some feelings for her. After all, physically, she was still perfect for his taste, and he knew she was a nice girl, despite her penchant for handling. Anyway, he needed Lady B for his revenge, and he heard she had some disagreement with Greg too.

"Hi Shirley." Sam began. "How are you ? Your check-up went well ?"

She took a while to realize he was speaking to her. Slowly, the blond girl blushed and answered :

"Everything's fine... I... well... And you ?"

She is nervous... Not surprising. After all, he ignored her for a month. He patted his belly causing a jiggle and smiled.

"I heard some news I did not expected, but nothing too negative."

Sam was sure she blushed even more, if it was possible.

"However, I will sound weird but... I need your help Shirley. I understood Gregory manipulated me, and I want a revenge."

"Well, I already tried to set Raphaël against him through a rumour, but it did not work very well. I guessed Jessy's prank during christmas party was our captain idea, but he did not revendicate it."

"I have a better plan." affirmed Sam. "But I need your advice."

She understood quite instantly what he implied. With a smile, she asked :

"Of course. When are we beginning ?"

Gregory DAY 83 Monday

The lad took this resumption on with mixed feelings. On one hand, he was proud of himself : he exercised the whole holidays with Thomas (Raphaël's brother), and it showed some results. The nurse said he gained 2 kg of muscles, coming up to 70 kg. On the other hand, humiliated by Jessy, he lost a lot of popularity. Girls fled him, while boys named him the "perv". This was such a shame. Seeing this bitch, having fun with her boyfriend Liam, Gregory was enraged. How did she dare to manipulate him ? Two weeks after, he was still mad at her. This slut. She deserves a punition. He was already thinking about a public embarassement. Moreover, he had another matter to deal with. Now that Sam was a fatty stupid cow, the dark-haired lad wanted to left him alone during lunchtime. But he can't without Raphaël permission, or he will lose everything he built so far. Fuck off. I would be able to replace Raphaël by now without Jessy the whore. And Shirley. He hated Shirley. The blond girl meandered in the schoolyard like a princess, although she was nothing. I fucking hate this dumbass. She humiliated him as well. He needed a revenge. A big revenge. Nevertheless, he had to proceed one thing after another. Firstly, Jessy. Then, Shirley. Then Sam. And then, Raphaël. They all would submit. As his captain loved to say, it was the game. Gregoy went towards Barbara and smiled cheerfully. He needed her help for his plan.

"Hi sweetheart. Can I talk to you ?"

Barbara was their class delegate, with Finn (they all elected him for fun). She had blond hair, with green eyes, and a glint of intelligence on the contrary of the other girls. According to the montlhy check-up, she was 151 cm and weighted 41 kg on december. Right now, she was reading a book, and she raised her eyes with composure.

"I'm listenning."

She had a quiet voice, inspiring trust.

"I saw how Jessy treated you, and I thought you and I had common intesrest regarding her. She just threw you like nothing when she found her boyfriend Liam, and she manipulated me. Shall we let her without doing anything ? Or have you, like me, this desire of vengeance ?"

Barbara smirked and straighten up her glasses.

"I read a book telling blood attract blood, which was a wink-wink to teach us about the pointless of a revenge."

"What the fuck are you talking about ? Jessy humiliated me. I lost my popularity because of her, and you tell me to do nothing ? A class delegate shoud not listen to his class ?"

"A class delegate should manage to prevent unimportent conflict in order to allow every student to concentrate on his grades. You know Gregory, for one of us playing the game, there is three others only searching to be in peace. As for me, I'm among the three guys behind you. Do you understand ?"

"I understand you're telling bullshits." he replied spitefully. "And you're a coward, who know she can't have popularity, so she just hid. Among the flock of sheep, you're the one we will sacrifice whenever we want to."

Enraged, he left her with her damned books. Such a waste of time !

Later this day, on gym class, Gregoy noticed first Sam was not here. The fat boy looked to have give up his resolution of exercise. Good... One fucking shit less. Shirley and Jessy were still here, sadly. They did a long running session, and then, Mr. Litman gathered the soccer team for a meeting about the composition.

"Sam left the team." he announced first. "He told me he would not be among us for the last of the year. He need to focus on his grades. Now, let's talk about the make-up. I decided to change somethings. First of all, Finn will become our new substitue. Tobias, who moved in New-York, recommended him. Bobby will be the other new substitute, and doing so, we replace the two loss."

Well, nothing new here. Gregory already knew it from Raphaël. He was more interest by the development.

"Among the first-team player now. Because we needed a supporting striker : Greg, you will do the job. Someone will replace you as an attacking midfielder. Everybody's fine ?"

"I want to add something." spoke Raphaël. "Until today, we have won all our matches because we were good and played as a team, under my authority. Nevertheless, Sam and Tobias were among our best player."

He made a break, to capture the public's attention.

"Without them, matches will be more difficult. That's why we need to act together, close. We don't need personal ambition. Am I clear ?"

The hell you're. Gregory did not felt concerned. He was already pretty good, and as a captain, he would be way better than the blond lad. Trust me, after Jessy and Shirley, I will deal with you. Gregory would be the new head of the flork in no time, for sure.

Shirley DAY 85 Wednesday

The young girl was astonished. Amazed. She thought Sam would never talk to her again but... But here he was, ploting with her against Gregory, this asshole pervert. Okay, we're not dating or whatever, but.... This is so nice. She found him handsome. Better than ever. He maybe tried to lose the weight, but as his check-up said, he failed. Today, he worn a casual outfit, with a loose pants and a jumper under a black jacket. His changes were barely noticeable, but Shirley scrutinized him since the return from christmas holiday (yes, like a stalker). Sam face was rounder, and his arms and legs lost muscles, replaced by some fat. Needless to mention, vacations took a toll on his belly. It was pushing against his vest, fell-fed (he was constantly snacking) and distented. She was turned on by his body. Such an ironic situation... We reversed roles. Together, they planned a whole strategy in order to made Gregory pay, but they needed information. By leaving the team, Sam lost Raphaël's friendship, and he could not know what the devil and his minions were planning. Well, the captain did not reject him yet, but we all know he will. Anyway, Liam was her only source in the power circle. As the devil taught me, we had to know the game we're playing. The goalkeeper was kissing his girlfriend on a bench, far away Gregory. Well, to be honest, Jessy was kissing a shy and struggling Liam. The girl, with her explosive personality, was dominating their relationship. Except the fattening part. Result of Shirley advice did not show yet, but according to the data, Jessy gained 1 kg, which was a good start.

"Hi Liam." greeted Sam. "Can we talk to you in private for a sec ?"

Jessy stared at them. This will be a complication. The dark-haired girl hated her. According to her, Shirley deserved to be a loser. And she had been in love with Sam, before the blonde had dated him. In other word, she dislike both of us. Fine.

"Everything you want to tell to Liam, I can hear it too." she stated.

"Please Jessy, this is not your business." mumbled Shirley. "We will be fast."

The girl gave her a dirty look. Jeezus. She is a pain in the ass. Liam was too busy trying to adjuste his pullover half taken off.

"Okay listen to me Jessy." stated Sam. "We only have a few question for your boyfriend, but if you let us alone, I can promise you Gregory will lose his authority."

She nodded, suspicious, and left the bench, heading towers her friends. Liam watched his two schoolmates and smiled timidly.

"She is a bit clingy. And eager.". (he realised they did not juge, and he blushed like a kid.) "Awyway, what do you want ?"

"Tell us what is Gregory position in the team ? And how much Raphaël respects him ?" Shirley asked.

"Well, he is the new supporting striker right now." replied Liam. "However, I think he lost Raphaël's faith when he tried to take some photo of you and Jess'. He is know as the perv since this day."

"Ok, sounds good."

"What are you planning exactly ?"

The young girl consulted silently Sam. Did they can trust Liam ? I think we can but... The goalkeeper was nice to her, and shared an interest in fattening people, but he was also one of the oldest friend of the devil. He could reveal their strategy, and she did not want Raphaël aware of it.

"Something concerning Gregory ambition." she eventually said. "But don't worry, you're not included. Thanks for your help."

This evening, Shirley came back home happier than ever. Firstly, Sam had decided to talk with her, and to make a plan together. And now, they was working on it. Okay, let's not get carried away. He doesn't want to date me anymore. We're just friends. She wished more, but it was Sam's choice. At least, they made up, and Gregory will pay for everything. The young girl checked her phone. The teacher's conference was tonight, and Barbara sent a SMS with the appreciation and the overall average. As it happen, Shirley had been congratulated for her work and her sports performances. And she was at B. Not bad... According to her class delegate (she did the whole work alone because Finn was absent) the best mean was A+ and the worst F-. Shirley's rank was 9th over 32 students. Im quite good. Mum and dad will be proud. She remembered that Dan overall average had been inferior, and they was already satisfied. A knock on her door drew her attention. Speaking of the devil, his brother showed up. She smiled before glimpsed Raphaël behind him. What the fuck is he doing here ? The blond lad and Dan entered in the bedroom. While his brother sat onto her bed, she stared at her schoolmate. He smiled slowly.

"Sorry to interrupt whatever you were doing. I'll be short. Tobias left the town and make me responsible for giving you a message."

"I'm listenning."

She could not tell him to go fuck himself with Dan next to her. It was impossible, and probably the reason why Raphaël decided to talk now. He knew her hand was tied.

"He wanted to apologize about Finn. He shattered your friendship by envy, and he feel guilty about that. Plus, he set him against you... he is sorry."

Shirley nodded. Is this even the truth ? She did not know what to believe with the evil boy. Anyway, Finn did not speak to her since the holidays, and she was too happy to care.

"So... I will let you now. Have a good night." concluded Raphaël before leaving.

Yeah, same. This fucking motherfucker.

To be continued

Okay, we’re close to a first end... There is only one chapter of a character left. But he will be replaced by someone else ;).

#My Story #the high school game #hsg #part 10 #Shirley and Sam #coming back together #wg #winter bellies

[papermoth-bird-blog]

Nashville: Honky-Tonky Town

It’s as if my spirit guides sensed my slight skepticism about leaving New Orleans & smacked me with so many *signs** throughout the day today. I don’t know, could be one of those things that I pick up on things, because I look for them, but whatever the reason I felt very looked over, in a spiritual way. Maybe because it was Sunday? Who knows. 

Firstly- can I say that an odd thing about Nashville is the fact is that instead of those rentable bikes, they have electric scooters everywhere. At first I thought it was so dang odd- but now I kinda think it’s awesome. I wanna try one before I go. Seeing all the people absolutely ripping it up makes me crave having the wind in my feathers. Anyways, one of the brands of these scooters is BIRD. Which, obviously stood out to me. On top of that, the sound-signals for the street crossings are bird sounds! AND the special exhibit at the Country Hall of Fame was “Songbird: Emmy Lou Harris”. Not only is it Emmy Lou Harris- one of my favourites-- but also! Bird! again. Maybe it’s a coincidence, maybe my spirit guides are giving me a big-ol-prodding. 

As Victoria predicted, I did indeed cry at the Country Hall of Fame. I thought I’d at least last until the rotunda building like her, but I pretty much started tearing as I got off the elevator. Sigh, Emmy Lou is actually one of the most amazing souls. Her harmonies, her spirit (her sense of fashion....). I didn’t realize,  but she recorded one of her latter albums in New Orleans- looking through the pictures I found myself doing a double take- because I recognized where she was in the French quarter. 

As for the rest of the Hall, it really did feel like it was a spiritual pilgrimage. (I mean, at least the earlier part... to be honest, I don’t particularly care for country music after 1975). I love the history of music, especially early country & jazz. It has me really inspired to learn all those really early bluegrass tunes to be able to sing along to. When I stood in front of Townes Van Zandt’s picture, a huge lump in my throat cause me to literally choke back tears, which would have been embrassing, but I actually didn’t care at all what anyone thought. I sent a picture of Emmylou’s grammy for the Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack (which we both love). He replied “What the actual heck, I was literally singing that two minutes ago to Arthur & Greg”. I just said “I’m a witch James, why are you surprised”. One thing about country music 1950s onwards, is they really have a wild sense of style- glitter, rhinestones, no shame in peacocking what-so-ever. It’s fun & flamboyant as all hell. I’ll tell you, I’m getting some really great inspiration for my summer wardrobe- it’s looking like a lot of fringe. 

Nashville itself is very different from anywhere I’ve been before. I mean- it’s sprawl is intimidating. There isn’t really a whole lot containing/restricting the city, and so, it does kinda go on forever, without fear of running out of space. That means 1) the streets themselves are sooo wide & 2) things aren’t really that close together. That’s not to say you can’t walk around- you definitely can, it’s just not as compact/convenient as other places. The rolling hills also make for an interesting city-scape, but also makes in hard to landmark when you are trying to gauge which direction you are walking in. I did have a good long stroll around though. I foudn myself in a manner of funny corners of the city, including the state capital mall, which was actually kinda lovely. The landlocked nature of the city is also very evident. The city was founded as Nashborough- a little fort on the Colombus river. Down on the river, they still have some little buildings that pay tribute to the earliest days of the city. The river is definitely a release for the land-locked feeling (Although when I was sitting there writing & drawing a random man came up to me & started taking pictures of me... which made me feel uncomfortable... so I left earlier than I wanted to). 

Nashville is definitely a “good-time town”- a popular spot to come party. I mean the honky-tonks are all at least three floors of lights, music a booze-filled bars. And there is a good chunk of the city filled with them. It was 11am and I had already witnessed a girl puking in a garbage at the side of the road. Another popular thing is the “party bikes”, which is basically like afloat that 10 people pedal to move around the strip on broadway. To round it out tho- there are lots of country apparel stores. I’m talking Olivander-like stores filled with every kind of western boot you can imagine- rhinestones, embroidery, dyed leather, straps, buckles, velvet & fringe. I mean- I got kind of tempted too for all of three seconds- Until I realized I would literally never wear them any place outside of Nashville. That, and the fact that they are ~700 dollars USD. They are fun to dream about, though. 

I’m having a pretty good time. The people are definitely friendly, though maybe not as forward as the people in New Orleans. I did get some good little chit-chats in here & there. There is a lot of room to think here. I do find myself craving time in the distant mountains, though. They are so close, but so far away! I guess they will sit as a reminder of my distant dream to hike the Appalachian trail one day- leaving little flutters in my gut. 

The hostel has been an interesting experience. Here I was worried about rooming with a bunch of young, party-hardies, but that is far from the case here. The people that I’ve met so far here are well over forty & definitely curious creatures. Kay, the woman in my room, is probably in her 50s. From the looks of it, she’s been a long-term tenant here (she has about three boxes of food goods in the kitchen. She also like keeping the door open all the time (I think for socialization??).  I’ve still been running from that cold tho- And she brought me a hot drink first thing in the morning, which was really nice of her. When I got home in the evening, there were two other older gentlemen here. They also seem to be long-term tenants of a kind. They seem friendly enough, but one of them was making very weird noises in the bathroom for 45 minutes. 

Today was the super bowl & it was super palatable here. People were walking around with their jerseys on & there was an extra rowdiness about this sunday. The older folks had it turned on in the other room- but I have to say, I don’t really care terribly if the Saints aren’t in it. So I’m here watching Steel Magnolia’s instead, which is feeling really appropriate & important somehow. I’m looking forward to tomorrow-  a little more wandering & a little date with a new friend. I’m sure it’ll be very nice, despite the rain that is expected. 

[jazzviewswithcjshearn]

In Defense of Grace Kelly: Keep On Dancing-- How older jazz fans are pushing new fans away from the music

This article was originally conceived as a submission to Pitchfork magazine to beef up their jazz content, but the subject matter is probably a bit too obscure for their magazine, especially as a burgeoning writer.  It is largely a reaction to the views expressed on saxophonist Grace Kelly bringing new audiences to jazz by integrating dance and wardrobe choices commonly found in pop music on a popular internet jazz site.  She is bringing in people who aren’t necessarily jazz fans but enjoy the bounciness of the music, and that is only good because a selected few will check out the music on a deeper level.  Enjoy!

In Defense of Grace Kelly, Keep On Dancing: How jazz fans are pushing new fans away from the music

I have been a jazz fan all my life pretty much, I was incredibly blessed to be raised by a mother who played me lots of records that belonged to my father that he left behind after he got up and left  us when I was 2 years old.  Among the records I loved (and still love)  growing up were classic Blue Note records by Jimmy Smith, Art Blakey, Kenny Burrell and Horace Silver, CTI albums by Stanley Turrentine, Freddie Hubbard and the CTI All Stars, several albums by Count Basie,  the obligatory Breezin' by George Benson, and some things that haven't aged all that well by Chuck Mangione and Earl Klugh, things I no longer like.  From the time I was 8-18 years old I was a serious hard bop snob, and thanks to teachers in high school who were my mentors, they got me into Pat Metheny, Michael Brecker and others. I saw Brecker when I was 7 years old along with the Chick Corea Elektric Band on the same bill.  I didn't really get hardcore into Brecker though until my late teens when I wanted more adventurous stuff.   Metheny was my gateway to free jazz, and the many treasures on ECM.  Why all the background info?  I want to show I have a wide taste in order to discuss the main topic of this article.  Jazz fans preventing new people from getting into the music because of general snobbery.  In particular a bizarre uproar over saxophonist Grace Kelly on an internet jazz forum.

For the past 15 years I've been a regular poster on the Organissimo forums. Organissimo is a Michigan based organ trio headed by keyboardist Jim Alfredson, and they've always aimed to go beyond just the typical organ combo fare that is mostly lots of blues in F, bebop, a funk tune and some standards.  In 2003, a forum section of their website was created for expatriates of the Blue Note records forum which was taken down that same year, and I had been a part of that since the late 90's.  The majority of Organissimo posters are middle and older aged men who are primarily into classic jazz, basically the bebop era of the forties extending into the modal jazz of the mid 1960's.  Hank Mobley, Lee Morgan, Bobby Hutcherson, Grant Green (all favorites of mine, too) are long time heroes there, and there are always inquiries about what is referred to as the “train wreck” session by tenor saxophonist Tyrone Washington recorded in 1968.  Mosaic Records co founder and former Blue Note reissue guru Michael Cuscuna has unequivocally stated it's never coming out, by the way.  There are a few posters who are free jazz devotees, those who love ECM and various strains of European jazz, but largely what goes on the scene today, save for players who play bebop or hard bop based jazz are ignored.  A month ago a discussion was broached about alto saxophonist Grace Kelly, and as has happened so often there in the past, all hell broke loose.

Kelly has been on the scene for more than a decade, she first caught the attention of the jazz world as a 15 year old teenager where she performed with legends like Phil Woods and Frank Morgan.  In fact, some of her tone and phrasing heavily reflect the Woods influence, so that automatically gains her credibility as a “serious” jazzer right?  Wrong.   Not to the “O” crowd as we like to call it. Many forum posters chimed in that they never liked her playing and found it to be quite weak, and suggested that she may have gotten to where she's at due to marketing.  Some of that may be true, but she has paid her dues.  Something she's doing to increase the fan base and draw more people into jazz was causing many posters to go haywire:  she dances when she plays.  You know what? She's damn good at it and it's impressive, because her playing retains a high level.  Ms. Kelly has a Youtube channel where she has a series of videos playing saxophone to choreographed dance moves, some of them find her prancing along with fellow saxophonist Leo P. while other find her in a dance studio combining fancy ballet inspired footwork, and more popular dance forms while playing a bluesy etude.  Another video has her joined by a modern dance duo in an electronic music inspired fantasia.  All these things are ultimately great for drawing in new fans, the latter video has 18,000 views!  

It's important to remember that jazz has a rich history as a dance music, beyond just the swing era.  One of my very best friends, an excellent tenor saxophonist who is a veteran of the free jazz scene reminded me of how much Grace Kelly is adding to a long standing tradition.  One of his earliest on the bandstand apprenticeships was with alto sax free jazzer Luther Thomas,  one of the biggest names in that genre.  Thomas was into dancing, wildly swinging his horn, devising choreographed little steps, all things that have roots not only in R&B, but the swing era.  Daniel Carter, another free jazz icon also moves quite expressively and let's not forget Sonny Rollins.  John Coltrane's immortal “Chasin' The Trane” from his watershed November 1961 engagement at the Village Vanguard captured on The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings (Impulse! 1998) was so named because Rudy Van Gelder, the late, great pioneering recording engineer, was following Trane as he was testifying from his horn walking to and fro .  Coltrane was a veteran of the R&B bar walking scene, and many of his performances reflect that influence. Thelonious Monk got up and danced while Charlie Rouse soloed, Charlie Parker played standing stone still as trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie (always  an entertainer, coming from the Cab Calloway school) shouted and danced.  Jimmy Smith would often lean down and rest his chin on the organ keys, holding notes for an indeterminable amount of time, in another display of showmanship.  So none of what Grace Kelly is doing is out of the ordinary in jazz's rich history, it's all a matter of perspective.  Some folks like their musicians to stand fairly motionless like  Miles Davis soloing, then walk off the stage to give the others time to shine.  Others like musicians to have a great time, like Freddie Hubbard's (1938-2008) funny odd two step while other band mates solo.

The Organissimo forum is not the majority of jazz fans, it's an esoteric niche that just seems bigger because it's on the internet, and that demographic is not the one she is targeting.  She is not necessarily bringing hardcore jazz fans to the music either, maybe people who just like what she's doing and that's only a good thing.  In percussionist, R&B smash artist and producer Mtume's famous debate with critic Stanley Crouch,  Mr. Crouch insists music from the electric period of Miles Davis is woefully dated.  Mtume's curt reply is so witty: the generations of people who gravitated towards albums like On The Corner (Columbia, 1972) and Get Up With It (Columbia, 1974) are not jazz fans, but fans of other music who got what Davis was trying to say, and it guided them to jazz.  In much the same way Ms. Kelly is achieving the similar outcome, in my estimation.  Only a few will become rabid jazz fans, but through Kelly they will explore all the greats, eras and deep history, so why would old guard folks at an internet forum be upset? It's a win win. I believe it's the simple fact the saxophonist is drawing upon things that are used to market in the pop world, and with jazz's reputation as a musty museum music for much of the general public, for jazz fans it's bringing up a skeleton.  For years the music has struggled with keeping things strictly in the tradition while embracing contemporary trends in the marketing.  For the music to survive, ultimately this is necessary to adapt to contemporary trends.

I've seen many new posters never return to that board because of negativity they experience for their tastes.  Basic album recommendation threads devolve into demonstrations of minutiae  a casual fan has no clue about.  A Dallas based tenor saxophonist made probably the most sensible point in the entire 7 page thread on Kelly when he pointed out that although he doesn't care for her music, he more than applauded her dancing while playing, and hoped more people start doing that because it would create a whole new avenue for dancers to be integrated into the music.  Robert Glasper and Kamasi Washington, names that many young music fans know, are unfairly targeted on that board as well.  Those rampant dismissals prevent new fan bases from being created.  Why is jazz dead for many?  Because of a constant regurgitation of the past with little tolerance for what's going on now. The reason I'm so passionate about the issue is because when I was 18, I was in that camp, overly clamoring for bebop and hard bop to be the ultimate styles.

At that time I missed a lot of cutting edge stuff from the likes of Jason Moran and Greg Osby. I opened my ears, grew and today I keep my ear open to the micro innovations of musicians like Glasper, Chris Dave, Mark Giuliana, and fresh hip things happening from the likes of Bobby Previte, Wadada Leo Smith, Vijay Iyer, Hiromi, Roscoe Mitchell, Ben Monder, Steve Tibetts, Krisjan Randalu, Ayumi Ishito, Steve Coleman, Linda May Han Oh, Terence Blanchard, Thana Alexa, Satoko Fujii and so many others. Grace Kelly, keep on dancing, ignore the haters-- what you do is really fresh, intriguing and brings new blood to this music.

See the original thread below: http://www.organissimo.org/forum/index.php?/topic/81704-grace-kelly/&page=1

https://youtu.be/VMYNLwlepRM

https://youtu.be/5coo3HaUA8Y

https://youtu.be/5N7ATjmywL0

#grace kelly #jazz #leo p

[tessatechaitea]

Wonder Woman #17

I thought Rucka cracked down on overly sexualized covers?

She hasn't been ready for sixteen previous issues! What's the hold up?!

Thankfully, the story really gets going after the talking phallus in the cell drinking tea scene. Etta Candy and Steve Trevor have found The Minotaur because they need questions answered by somebody who knows how to navigate labyrinths. The Minotaur's name is Ferdinand because he's a bull. And since the scene doesn't really reveal much of anything, go back and read the first sentence of this paragraph sarcastically. The Ares Squad attack Ferdinand, Etta, and Steve. But they only do it to get Barbara Ann to agree to be Cheetah again. For some comic book reason, they need a demigod to find Themyscira. To save her friends, Barbara Ann agrees to be that demigod. The attack is called off and Diana's friends are free to visit her in the hospital where Ferdinand gives Diana her lasso and costume. This pulls her out of her fugue state so that she's ready to lead her crew to Themyscira. Probably. The Ranking! -1! I'm not entirely sure why I haven't dropped this series yet. It would be nice if a series about Wonder Woman was actually about Wonder Woman and not about fixing Wonder Woman and DC Continuity so that Wonder Woman can be seen as the Wonder Woman Greg Rucka wants her to be. How is this any different than nearly every single Wonder Woman story that has come before when a writer gets a chance to reboot the Wonder Woman story at Issue #1? This is why she's had so many identities and why Rucka thinks he needs to spend twenty issues tearing it all down so he can build up his version of Wonder Woman. It's almost as if he thinks he can write a definitive version that can be proof against any writer ever stepping on board the series and using canon stories that Rucka didn't approve in this story arc because he wrote them away. Why can't he just get on with writing his version of Wonder Woman and just pretend the other versions never existed, the way every other comic book writer does? I feel like instead of expressing his opinion through the story, he's simply been busy tearing down past canon depictions of Wonder Woman while building up a defense against possible future depictions of the character. Who is she? What is the truth of her character? How do her conflicting memories fit into the story of Wonder Woman? I might have cared about that at one time but that was probably ten issues ago. I've lost the capacity to care! Although to be fair to Greg Rucka, he played no part in that happening. Losing my capacity to care was most likely caused by my relationships with my mother and father and also when my cat Bozo died when I was fourteen.

#Wonder Woman #DC Comics #Greg Rucka #Liam Sharp #Laura Martin