#& ── ⠀❪ about ┊ such a february face; so full of frost of storm and cloudiness . 🔪

[shespsycho]

tags.

[joytri]

You have a February face, so full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness.

William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

[oldwinesoul]

You have a February face, so full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness.

// William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

[swaize-n-stuff]

"This is a secret, but ive been looking into Shakespeare lately and i discovered something called a February face. Full of frost, of storm, of cloudiness. I know you know what this means, so i wont tell you. But i swear, i dont mean it as an insult like he did."

[Shakespeare - Much Ado About Nothing]

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Ao3 First Lines

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to AO3 (Sort by date posted). If you have less than 10 fics posted, post what you have!

Tagged by the wonderful @magniloquent-raven approximately one hundred years ago. Thanks for thinking of me, bb!

1. Witchcraft does not reward shitty intentions  I (finally) finished this bad boy in February, only two full years after I posted it! LOL. 

Steve handed him his movies and opened his mouth like he was going to say something. Then he closed it again.

"Spit it out, Bambi," Billy said. Steve stared at him for a minute, glancing around to make sure Billy was the only customer at Family Video.

"I just wanted you to know that it's not your fault," he finally said tentatively. Billy thought about all the things Steve could be referring to and decided he needed more specifics.

"What are you talking about?"

"The...thing. The attraction thing." Steve gestured between them. "It's not your fault." 

2. The best-laid plans I wrote this one because I love the idea of Steve Harrington: Actual Disney Prince. Of course everyone wants to kiss him, and of course that ruins Vecna’s plans. Twice.

Henry Creel was in a good mood.

Sure, he was still hideously deformed and trapped in this barren hell dimension—thanks to one very ungrateful little girl—but things were looking up. The weird hive mind that had inhabited this world before Henry arrived had found a way through the gate into Hawkins proper, and Henry could observe and affect events through his link to the creature. He was feeling optimistic.

Things had not gone according to plan the first time he had tried this, and they hadn’t exactly worked out the time after that either. This time, though, Henry had a good feeling. He had made some changes, and he felt like they were going to pan out.  

3. All the Christmases Yet to Come My holiday exchange fic! This one was very fun to write, even if it is a little angstier than my usual fare. 

It dawned like any other December day in Hawkins, bitterly cold and gray, with clouds piling up ominously on the horizon. Fresh snow from an overnight storm sat untouched on lawns and sidewalks and roads. Frost glittered on windowpanes and the brave few who were out and about this early sent plumes of warm breath into the frigid air. Hawkins came slowly and gradually to life as the sun crept up past the horizon, people going about their business as though it was a perfectly normal Friday.

Billy Hargrove woke up in a foul mood, as usual. Thin, gray light filtered through his curtained window, and he found himself missing the sun almost as much as he missed the distant susurration of waves meeting the shore. Hawkins had always been intended as a punishment, and it was a very effective one. This fucking town had only disappointment to offer him, especially after—

Well. Billy was still insisting—even to himself—that he had been even more short-tempered than usual since November because the weather sucked, and not because he couldn’t seem to forget the sensation of Steve Harrington’s cheekbone giving way under his fists. It was getting harder to lie to himself, though. He had fractured a certain pretty boy’s face, and thus ruined any future opportunity to touch that face with gentle, reverent hands, the way he had wanted to since he first laid eyes on it in the school parking lot. Not that it would have been a possibility before that awful night, probably, but it definitely wasn’t after. Billy had broken something he cared about with his own hands; these days, it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

4. One Prize I’d Cheat to Win Listen, I know how long it has been since I updated this. I KNOW. But I swear to you that it is still an active WIP, and I am working on the upcoming chapters. Updates are coming!

“Talk to me, Max. Something feels off. This was too easy.”

“Everything’s fine, asshole. Stop being so paranoid.” Even through the earpiece, Billy could hear her irritated huff. “I told you, I did extensive research on this one. It's easy because we planned it that way.” Billy snagged a glass of champagne as a server with a tray passed him. He sipped it as he studied the dance floor below him. Couples in black tie swayed in circles to the music. The band was set up in a discreet corner, opposite the raised dais at the far end of the room. There was a podium on it. The auction was due to start in an hour, and Billy hadn’t seen his target yet.

“If everything's fine, then where is he?” he asked Max. “This is his party in his massive, ridiculous ballroom." Who the fuck had a house with a ballroom? "He should be schmoozing right now.”

“I don’t know, Billy. Aren’t rich people late all the time? Maybe he’s still getting ready.” Given what his hair had looked like in the photos Billy had studied, he could almost believe it. Still, Billy didn't like it. Something felt off. He opened his mouth to say that again, but two things happened at once. The double doors opposite the raised dais opened and Steve Harrington stepped through them. He was wearing a beautifully tailored dark blue tuxedo, and Billy’s mouth went a little dry. The photos really hadn’t done him justice. At the same time, someone leaned up against the railing right next to where Billy was tucked into the shadows, and he felt the unmistakable press of a gun muzzle against his ribs. He took a sharp breath and let it out slowly. God damn it, he had been right. This had been too easy because it was a fucking trap.

5. The One Word My first foray into the Captain America fandom! I’ve considered deleting this until I have more of it edited (life, ugghhhh), but I haven’t done it yet. I have so much more of it written, but editing is my nemesis.  

Once upon a time, there lived two small boys. One was small and fair and fierce and the other tall and dark-haired and charming, and there are many, many stories about what happened to them over the months and years and decades of their lives.

In some stories, the boys grow up together. They laugh as they dart through grimy alleyways or cobblestoned courtyards or vast rooms where the sound of each footstep vanishes into deep, lush carpeting. They annoy each other and defend each other and vow, as children do, that they will be with each other forever.

In some stories, they keep that promise. They stand beside each other and take on every challenge with the warm, sure knowledge that there is nothing they have to face alone. In other stories, they are less fortunate. There are months and years and decades of dark and painful separation. And yet they find each other, again and again and again, on eerily silent streets and in deep forests, in coffee shops and dorm rooms, in subway cars and in quiet, too-empty apartments. They fall apart, and then they come back together.  

In this story, they start out alone.

6. Almost Enough Ah yes, the post-S4 fic that I wrote before I watched S4. Truly, a simpler time. 

It’s too quiet. Sure, there’s the soft beeping of whatever machines they have him hooked up to, and he can hear the murmur of quiet voices in the hall—even in this desolate stretch between midnight and morning, the hospital doesn’t truly sleep—but Billy was alone in the Upside Down for a long time. He craves light, and familiar voices, and the simple animal heat of other bodies close to his. Those things are not available, not here and now in the sterile hush of this hospital, but…well. Maybe he doesn’t have to be completely alone.

He carefully strips off the oxygen line and the sensors they plastered to him when he came in. There’s nothing specific wrong with him—nothing they’ve managed to identify, anyway—but his nurses all shoot each other looks and murmur about ‘sustained exposure’ and ‘delayed symptoms.’ He can’t bring himself to care. He’s alive and he’s not trapped in a terrifying mirror of Hawkins anymore and for right now, it’s enough. Almost. It’s almost enough.

He slips out of his room when the hall goes briefly still and silent. Steve’s room is three doors down on the right. The door is ajar, and Billy just stands there for a moment, staring.

Steve isn’t asleep. He’s sitting up against the headboard, knees pulled to his chest, staring blankly in the direction of the window. Billy can see a slight tremor in his hands where they’re wrapped around his knees.

7. the road not taken looks real good now I think this is still my most popular fic? I dug it out of my drafts and gave myself a public deadline, and finished it in like five days. There’s a lesson there somewhere. 

Billy isn’t surprised when it’s Robin who opens Steve’s front door. He’s a little late, so Steve is almost surely in the midst of making dinner. He issurprised when she steps out onto the porch and closes the front door behind her. Billy blinks at her. She isn’t wearing a coat, and it’s freezing.

“Todd is here,” she says, voice pitched low. Billy stares at her blankly for a moment before the sentence sinks in.

“Steve brought his boyfriend back to Hawkins for the holidays?” he asks, tone surprisingly even. It isn’t the first time Steve has dated someone since he left for college, obviously, but it is the first time he’s brought anyone home. Billy tries to fight off the surge of disappointment that he will not, apparently, be spending the bulk of this vacation in Steve’s bed, the way he always does when they’re home at the same time. They’ve been hooking up whenever they see each other for the past three years, since the first time Steve came back to Hawkins from college for a visit. Robin nods, her expression bleak.

8. Six Gifts My other holiday exchange fic! Holiday fluff is my JAM. 

It started with a cigarette.

Well. If Billy was being honest with himself, which he was trying to do a little more consistently lately, it started long before that. It started the first goddamn day, before any of the rest of it happened, with a single glimpse of big dark eyes and pale skin across a parking lot. But it didn’t go well, that first time, and Billy figured that once he’d died, he probably got to start over with a clean slate.

So it started with a cigarette.

Billy was standing in a shadowed corner of the porch at the Byers’ big new house, smoking a cigarette and half listening to the sounds of laughter and Christmas music from inside. He appreciated Max’s continuing efforts to include him in the larger group, but he didn’t really belong inside with them. Maybe he wasn’t the monster anymore, but he wasn’t one of the good guys either. It was fine. He could linger around the edges, helping out Max and doing his best to stay out of the way.  

Suddenly he heard the creak of the porch door opening and a slam as it closed again. Then he heard light footsteps headed for the same darkened corner Billy had chosen. He knew exactly who it was—he had been paying attention to that specific tread for a long time. The steps stopped abruptly as they reached the corner of the house. There was a brief silence. Billy kept his eyes fixed on the line of trees visible across the side yard, fully expecting to hear those same footsteps moving away from him. Instead, he heard a quiet little sigh.

“I hear those’ll kill you,” Steve said softly as he walked up to stand next to Billy at the railing. He gestured at the cigarette in Billy’s hand. Billy stared at him and then snorted.

“Too late,” he said drily.

9. you should come with a warning label This one is a bit of a tease. I have a part 2 mostly drafted, but editing, boooooo.  

Billy heard the door to Steve's room swing open, hard enough to slam against the wall. He glanced up to where his own door was open just a crack. He couldn't see Steve, but he could see the girl he had brought home. She was pretty. Tall, blonde, athletic. A little drunk and a lot angry, apparently.

"Come on, it's not like I lied about it," Steve pleaded. She whirled on him, pointing a finger.

"You should come with a fucking warning label," she hissed at him.

"Hey," Steve said, sounding offended, but she had already turned and was stomping toward the front door. It slammed behind her. Steve made a frustrated noise and Billy heard the door to his room slam shut, and then silence.  

Fifteen minutes later, Billy was sitting at the kitchen table when Steve emerged from his room. This wasn't an accident; Steve always got snacky when he was drinking, especially if he wasn't getting laid. He was still wearing his date outfit and a scowl. Billy took a moment to admire the way his ass looked in his date jeans when he leaned into the fridge, and waited until Steve was sniffing a box of leftovers before he spoke.

10. A few lines at a time The postcard fic! I wrote it for the 2021 Big Bang. It started as a very different story, but I’m so happy with where it went instead. 

“Billy is alive!”

Max burst into a Friday night D&D session in March and dropped that bomb, and Steve promptly dropped the glass he was filling at the sink. He took a few long moments to stare at the new crack in the glass before it occurred to him to turn off the water. He spent another minute slowing his breathing to something more manageable before he turned back to face the group eating snacks at his kitchen table. No one appeared to have noticed his reaction; their attention was firmly on Max.

Steve caught up to the conversation just as Max announced that she had, in fact, just gotten off the phone with her less-dead-than-previously-assumed step-brother. She was met with skepticism, even though they had all already lived through the miracle of Hopper reappearing, too thin and bearded and even more pissed off than usual, and telling an insane story about a Russian prison camp and the Upside Down. But this was different. After all, Joyce had told them all that Hopper was dead, and they had believed her, but they had all watched Billy die, and they could trust their own eyes.

Except that they clearly couldn’t, because Billy was alive and generally fine, living in California and calling his sister to tell her that he survived--surprise! --and was recovering in some lab.

This was so fun! I haven’t looked at some of these in a while. I’ll tag @passivenovember and @thatharringrovehoe, only if you feel like it. 

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Please talk more Shakespeare 👀

(I am personally terrible at reading his original writing but I do enjoy reading the abridged versions and his plots.)

What is your favourite Shakespearean insult? Favourite play? Underrated works? I love when people talk about stuff they like! ♥️

reading his original writing is hard work!! it always takes me at least 2 reads to somewhat grasp it.

that man knew how to write an insult, but “Thou art unfit for any place but hell” from Richard III and “You have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness” from Much Ado about Nothing are definitely favourites.

I love The Comedy of Errors!! it’s just so stupid, and one big miscommunication trope, but it’s so much fun. it’s so confusing halfway through and then so satisfying when it concludes.

I also think you can’t beat the classics, so I love Hamlet and I love Macbeth. I love his darker stuff, it’s so layered and the themes are so constant throughout time, it’s fascinating. any of his stories could be picked up and placed in modern day and they’d work perfectly.

I think The Comedy of Errors is underrated, and so it The Taming of The Shrew. As You Like It is one I don’t see mentioned too much either!!

one of my favourite things is when modern movies (especially romcoms) take Shakespeare plays and redo them in a contemporary way. I went to see Anyone But You a while back, which is based on Much Ado About Nothing, and loved all the references that were in there. we should do it more !!

[ruenin]

“Why, what's the matter,

That you have such a February face,

So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?”

William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

[heightstm]

❛❛ — you have such a february face, so full of frost, of storm and cloudiness. ❜❜

. ✧ . * . ˚ ━━ ｢ LEE SUNG KYUNG, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER. ｣ welcome CLYTEMNESTRA NIHAR, the SPOUSE OF THE HIGH RULER of THE WINTER COURT to velaris! it is well known that the 35 / 699 year old HIGH FAE is WARM and PATIENT. it is a lesser known fact that they are also MOODY and SELF-SACRIFICING. however, it is knowing just how cold it is by the crunch of snow beneath your feet, the haunting whistle of the wind blowing through the sparkling icicles, snowflakes collecting on dark eyelashes, and the golden sun warming your face – reminding you that the winter is beautiful too, that truly define who they are. in the shadows, their alliance with THE WINTER COURT makes them a force to be reckoned with. truly, who knows what to expect of them. cauldron save them, mother hold them.

full name: clytemnestra wren nihar ( née cygnet ) nickname: clem, clemmie age: six hundred and ninety-nine, biologically thirty-five species: high fae gender + pronouns: cisfemale + she/her sexuality: heterosexual marital status: married to kardan nihar, high lord of the winter court court + allegiance: of the winter court, loyal to the winter court

height: 5'10" build: lithe and slender hair: black , in competition with a heavy blot of ink on paper eyes: lifted hazel eyes that reflect a kaleidoscope of colours complexion: pale skin in a permanent state of rosy thanks to her residence in the winter court fae: pointed ears capped with white gold crawling up the lobe

i. our dearest clemmie was born on a brutal winter’s day with lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, and skin white as snow. the trees shook and the howling of the wind harmonized with her mother’s as she clutched the bark of her bedpost. that’s how the legend goes, they say.  her parents love their little girl as they love each other, and the heir of their family's grandiose fortunes grows happy and healthy. there’s little to speak on in a time so gone to the annals of time but she is loved and grows to love.

ii. clytemnestra grows swiftly into her long limbs, grace seeping into her bones. her beauty is well-praised with annual portraits done to show off just how beautiful she becomes with each passing year. it’s her birthright to grow into her beauty and into her rightful place in the mosaic of beautiful ( and perhaps not-so outwardly beautiful ) kinds of faeries that reside throughout the winter court. her wonderment turns into caring, and with caring comes her protective nature. she loves the winter court. akin to the steadfast flame in the window during a winter storm and the yuletide joy that offers reprieve in the bitter cold, it is home. prior to her life as a miserable wife, clytemnestra is an advisor in court. although sharp-minded, she doesn’t get to do much. she’s just a girl. she knows there’s a hierarchy to follow. but, it’s thrilling to be so close to the action. to watch change happen. the war is a startling wake-up call. 

iii. how better to protect her home than at the right hand of the high lord of the winter court ? that's how her parents reason it to her before they ask her for the rest of her life. and although she has a love and a life that she cherishes, she puts her happiness behind her because how does she say no to her loving parents who have never asked anything else of her ? they simply want to help the court and she ... she is in agreement of that. the days of being paid to voice her opinion have passed, but she tries to enjoy being the wife of the high lord ( while the court enjoys her family’s gold ). it feels that more than a wife, she is a mother to their people. the winter court is her life. 

iv. possible connections: friends who meet every so often to catch up over wine and dance ! someone she simply doesn’t like due to a snide remark made in passing about the winter court ! perhaps you don’t think she deserves to stand next to the high lord ! maybe you support her endeavours !

[darkpoetrynprose]

“Why, what’s the matter? That you have such a February face so full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?” 

―  William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

[literaturewoman]

"...You have such a february face, so full of frost, of storm and of cloudiness..."

Much Ado About Nothing, by William Shakespeare.

[aliyafatima]

"...You have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness..."

-William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

[slightlyacademia]

“Why, what's the matter,

That you have such a February face,

So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?”

― William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

[naz-yalensky]

Sankta-nazylensky > naz-yalensky > rrruthless > taaylorsversion > sanktnazyalensky > rrruthless > naz-yalensky

Basics:

"She had amber eyes, her black hair was like winter berries but her blood had run cold"

• Taba / tabassum

• minor

•muslim

• she/her

•desi

• will do anything given for academic validation

• peacocks / ravens

• February 1st / Aquarius

"You have such a February face, so full of frost, of storm and cloudiness" - William shakespeare, much ado about nothing

Fandoms: (consists of shows, books and movies)

"You have always approached everything terrible trustfully. You have wanted to pet every monsters" - friedrich nietzsche

•Grishaverse {the books and the show}

• howl's moving castle

•True beauty {webtoon and the show}

•tfota

•kakegurui

•the witcher

•tempted

•mlb

•princess mononoke

•whisper of the heart

•from up on poppy hills (good god this movie has me just)

•the secret world of arrietty

•to the forest of firefly lights

"My desire for revenge, the bitterness, repression of everything" - leila miccolis. tr. By Nelson cerqueira, from "till death do us part"

kin list:

"Everyone you idolize, wakes up scared to be themselves sometimes" - Pete wentz

•zoya nazyalensky

•kang soojin

•yennefer

•inej ghafa

•silvermist

•shun kazama

"I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief" - C.S lewis

DNI -

• the usual (homophobic, transphobic, acephobic/aphobic , Islamophobes, zionists and like those)

• 25 + / 12 - (if we're mutuals then yeah okay)

"I hope I'll be present to laugh and clap, at my own coronation and beheading day "

Other blogs -

@dearest-investment

@magicboxoffoxes

@oliivirodri

Still under construction 🏗

[antenoracocytus]

January

"You'd be so lean,

that blasts of January

Would blow you through and through."

-Shakespeare, Winter's Tale

February

"You have such a February face, so full of frost, of storm and cloudiness”

-Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

March

“It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.” -Charles Dickens

April

"April is the cruellest month,

breeding Lilacs out of the dead land,

mixing Memory and desire,

stirring Dull roots with spring rain."

-T.S.Eliot

May

"The month of May was come, when every lust heart beginneth to blossom, and to bring forth fruit”

-Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte d’Arthur

June

"Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.”

-Pablo Neruda

July

" Long has paled that sunny sky

Echoes fade and memories die

Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,

Alice moving under skies

Never seen by waking eyes."

- Lewis Carroll

August

"In June we picked the clover,

And sea-shells in July

There was no silence at the door,

No word from the sky.

A hand came out of August

And flicked his life away

We had not time to bargain, mope,

Moralize, or pray."

-Cecil Day-Lewis

September

Do you remember

The 21st night of September?

Love was changin' the minds of pretenders

While chasin' the clouds away

"Our hearts were ringin'

In the key that our souls were singin'

As we danced in the night, remember

How the stars stole the night away, oh, yeah"

-Earth, Wind & Fire

October

“The trees are in their autumn beauty,

The woodland paths are dry,

Under the October twilight

the water Mirrors a still sky"

-William Butler Yeats

November

"No shadow

No stars

No moon

No care

November

It only believesIn a pile of dead leaves

And a moon

That's the color of bone"

-Tom Waits

December

"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December. And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor."

-Edgar Allan Poe

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @romancewritingandwinchesters donated $20, and requested Sam and Dean waiting out a Texas storm with no electricity. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

When the snow starts coming down, Dean's not yet worried. He's driven the whole country at least five times; he can handle snow. It's when the temperature starts dropping fast that he pulls up, at the closest gas station, and fills the tank, and sends Sam inside for a few gallons of water and whatever food they don't have to cook. "I told you," Sam says, which frankly Dean thinks is a very smug and unattractive way of looking at the situation. "Remember, that front I was telling you about?"

"Yeah, but who thought it'd get this cold in Texas," Dean says, watching the numbers tick up on the pump. Shit, this is gonna be expensive.

"Oh, you know," Sam says, arms folded tight over his chest, stamping his feet by the car's rear door. "Meteorologists. Climatologists. Just that level."

Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam's turned away luckily and can't see it. Turns out Sam gets a little bitchy when it's this cold. They didn't really pack for it—this was supposed to be a low swing south to check a few harmless jobs, stuff that'd take Sam's mind off the whole soulless thing, a couple of easy wins and some weather a little better than February in South Dakota, but it's not working out that way. Fourteen degrees, according to the display on the Shell sign above their heads, and it's only nine at night.

The snow's already piling up, on the parking lot and in the street, making the nice local El Paso people drive under ten miles per hour and making the world seem—not-right. Alien. A cactus planted in the median glints with ice and Dean sucks his teeth, shivers hard. When the car's full up he recaps the tank and sets the nozzle back in place and then looks out at the frosted world. The black shine on the asphalt. "I don't like the look of that road," he says, after a second, and Sam follows his gaze and nods, immediately. "Tonight's not the night to get out of town."

"Texas blizzard on the highway?" Sam says, a little sarcastic, but shakes his head, more serious. "Yeah, it's gonna get a lot worse." His nose is pink from the cold. "Too cold for the car. Even if we still had that—remember, that awful pink blanket?"

"The one you totally ruined?" Dean says, and Sam grins, even if he shudders after. Sam ruined it by getting clawed up by a ghoul when he was twenty-three and trying to protect Dean from something he didn't need protecting from and then bleeding all over the damn blanket when Dean put him in the backseat to race him to the ER. Dumbass, Dean had called him then, but honestly not much has changed. Dean shoves Sam's side, shaking his head. "Why are we standing around here in the cold? Get in the car, let's go."

"You're the one who took forever with the gas," Sam argues back, but he gets in the car, so. Win for Dean. Beyond the win of having this Sam, this right good Sam, in the car in the first place—whole again, with the soul to make a context for the memories that make him Dean's brother.

They're not far off the highway so there'll be motels. The issue hits when they're driving—slow, painfully slow, crawling behind snow-caked Texas plates that don't know how to handle the weather—and the street goes suddenly dark, the lights crashing off in the fast food places and gas stations lining the road. "Shit," Dean says, checking the rearview, but luckily the truck behind him hasn't slammed its brakes and they're not about to be involved in a black-ice skid.

"You think—" Sam says, but cranes around and it's obvious. Some part of the grid, failing, and that's going to mean some panic and it's going to mean some accidents and it's also going to mean finding a place to stay just got a hell of a lot harder.

The kid at the motel they pick clearly has no idea what to do. It's a shithole, which is why Dean pulled in, and clearly there weren't too many customers to begin with. The lobby's dark other than a flashlight the kid's waving around while he explains in a panic that their electricity is out—"I can see that," Dean says, trying to be patient—and Sam finally leans over the counter, takes the flashlight out of the kid's hand, and sets it upright on the counter so it acts like a shitty lantern, filling the room with grey.

"Oh," the kid says, eyes gleaming big in the suddenly stable light. The kid—the boy. He looks barely older than Ben.

"Look," Sam says, while Dean's trying to shake off that thought. "We get that there won't be cable. We just need somewhere to weather it out."

"My register doesn't even work," the boy says, and Dean reaches into his wallet and peels out two hundred bucks and lays it fanned out on the counter. More big eyes—the room rate on the sign outside is forty-nine a night. "Oh," he says, again.

"Just give us keys, okay?" Dean says. "You can explain to your manager in the morning. How these weirdos paid a hundred, cash."

A blink. Maybe he's too young to realize he's being bribed. Sam sighs, and leans over the counter again. "We're taking room 13," he says, coming up with a key in hand. A physical key—Dean was right about the kind of dump this is. The boy opens his mouth and closes it, and Sam jerks his head at Dean before he gives the boy a half-smile, fake as hell. "Try to stay warm in here, okay?"

The Impala's already inch-thick with snow, outside. "Why the hell did that take so long," Sam mutters.

Dean snorts. "Thirteen?" he says, and Sam nods, folding himself back into the passenger seat for the short drive over—"Center room, more insulation," he says—and when they pull around to the odds side of the building he's right. The city's blanketed in dark and weirdly quiet, with the muffling of the snow, so it feels almost like opening up some hidden hunter's cabin as they unlock the room, unpack the car inside. Sam bought jerky, chips, iffy-looking gas station fruit, and Dean still has one lantern and two spare d-cells and a bottle of whiskey that's almost entirely full, and the water, thank god, is still running. "For how long, though," Sam says, so Dean drags a hand over his face and zips his jacket closed and goes down the row of rooms in the freezing dark to the one that's marked PRIVATE, and breaks in to find cleaning supplies that… clearly haven't been used in that long. Buckets, though, that he rinses out and then fills in the utility sink. Spare bedding on shelves above the laundry machine and he picks out two blankets, the shitty supersoft microfleece kind that have always been his favorite.

When he gets back, burdened like a mule, he finds the room—weirdly sort of homey. Sam's got the lantern on the rickety little desk and it's blasting white light up that wall, but he's lit their spare ritual candles, too, and put them on the nightstand, on top of the blank TV, the minifridge crammed up in the corner by the bathroom. It's warm inside, especially once Dean's got the door kicked closed behind him again, but it won't stay that way for long. "Laundry?" Sam says, and at Dean's nod he disappears outside too, and comes back with a pile of the thin towels in his arms, and packs them in against the bottom of the door, the base of the single-pane windows. The water heaters might be gas but they might be electric, too, and with no way of knowing they take turns in the shower, cleaning up fast. The water's still hot when it's Dean's turn and he luxuriates, for a minute that he counts off in his head, letting the weak stream melt over his shoulders and put heat into his bones, where hopefully it'll stay a while.

The bathroom's steamy when he gets out but it's already cooling fast. Not much insulation in the walls. He dries off scrupulously, trying to get off every bit of damp he can, and redresses by candlelight. Smells like beeswax, the hippie natural candles Sam always picks when they restock their kit. His soulless self didn't bother with that. What a weird thing to turn out to miss.

Back in the room, Sam's made a pile of their food on the desk by the lantern, and lined up the buckets of water by the door. Dean checks his watch: ten o'clock, and they're packed into this room like a bunker. Safe, as warm as they can be, clean and healthy and food to hand. Now there is, truly, nothing at all to do but wait.

"Not even wi-fi," Sam says, under his breath like he had the same thought. Dean huffs. Sam's mouth lifts on one side, wry. He sits on the end of one bed, hands folded between his knees, and gives a shrug. "Well. We got a night off."

They did. About time, too, with how they've been running lately. Sam making up for every bad thing his soulless self ever might've done, and Dean just trying to hold onto the bar so he won't fly off. First time in weeks that Dean's had Sam to himself without Sam searching for another job or trying to pin down his own sad timeline or his brain melting out his ear, and he almost doesn't know what to do with it. A bit of silence, between them, that stretches. Dean licks his lips. "Wanna play charades?"

Sam snorts. "You'd cheat," he says, and Dean smiles his most honest smile, and that makes Sam roll his eyes but smile a little, too. "How long do you think we have until it gets really cold?"

Dean tips his head back and forth, thinking. "It's—what, fifty degrees in here?" Sam shrugs. "I don't know. It'll be friggin' cold in the morning, but we won't freeze."

"Guess not," Sam says, but he's still just sitting there. His eyes on Dean, his body quiet. Dean pours them both cups of the whiskey and sits on the other bed, and Sam rotates to face him, and they toast each other with a rasping papery excuse for a clink and take a swallow each, and it sinks down to Dean's gut like fire, welcome with how chilly it is in here, and Sam's just… still looking at him. Like he's something worth looking at. Dean feels his face go warm and wonders if he can blame the whiskey.

"Hey," Sam says, cup held easy between his knees. "Tell me something."

Dean leans back. "What, truth or dare? We're a little old for that, don't you think?"

His legs are kicked out into the space between the beds. Sam shifts and their boots knock together. "Maybe you are," Sam says, and Dean makes a face at him. Sam smiles and takes another sip, watching Dean over the top of his cup, and after the slight pull at the sting he's still smiling, small. "This last year. Did you ever think about…" He shakes his head, looks down at his cup. Dean nudges his ankle to get him to keep going and Sam looks back up, his hair hanging a little in his eyes. "Did you ever want to sleep with—him?"

Dean's lips part but nothing comes out. He's genuinely surprised. Sam's eyes tighten, a tiny shift that's almost not visible in the dim combination of candle-and-lantern light. "No," Dean says, after a pause that's too long. Sam's head tips back, assessing. "No," Dean repeats, firmer. "It wasn't—right."

Sam hmms and Dean takes a drink. Truth or dare, he really ought to do his forfeit. It's not a lie, not really, but it's not—completely true. Robo-Sam never seemed interested and Dean was still half-caught with Lisa and Dean's a lot of things but a cheater's not one of them, and he'd thought—he didn't know. That Sam didn't want it anymore. Whatever fumbling they'd gotten up to, their drunken stupidity, the almost violent way it'd get sometimes, the way Dean would sink his nails into Sam's back and Sam would bite his throat and then the way, after, sometimes, Sam would look at him in the dark and Dean would think, god—

His cheeks are flushed, hot enough to feel in the cool air. "So," Sam says, after the moment's stretched out, "we never—even when I came back—"

"Not exactly trying to make it with my long-lost brother when my creepy resurrected grandpa's breathing down my neck, no," Dean says, and Sam grimaces but then laughs, and then bites his bottom lip. Still looking at Dean and Dean takes a breath, deep, and thinks, jesus. Eighteen months, more, since the last time, most of it with Sam walking around with no soul, and Dean caught up in a relationship that crashed and burned, and it feels—different. They're both different. Happened somehow when Dean wasn't looking but here's the evidence, in how calm Sam is, in how they're just—quiet, here, together. Something building slow, in the cold, with the snow sifting down outside.

Sam lets his lip go, slow, his teeth dragging white. His eyes drop to Dean's mouth, and lower. "I've got lube," he says. Dean blinks. Sam lifts a shoulder, almost apologetic. "Don't know from what, but it's in my duffle. I've been—wondering."

"Jeez, Sammy," Dean says, and has to laugh, too, kind of breathless. It's hot. Jesus, it's hot, hotter than it should be, to just have Sam say it flat out like that. Asking. "What, you want to huddle for warmth?"

Sam raises his eyebrows, glances sidelong at his bed. "I mean," he says, and Dean has to laugh again. "If there were ever an opportunity—"

Dean leans in and gets Sam's jacket in one hand, and pulls. Sam scoots forward easy, his knee sliding up against Dean's inseam, and it's—easy, weirdly easy, easy in a way it never was, to lean in and press his mouth to Sam's and have Sam just—kiss back, pressing Dean's mouth open right away and brushing his tongue over Dean's lip, slick and hot, his breath warm on Dean's cool skin. "Damn," Dean says, soft.

Sam smiles against his mouth and kisses him again, puts his chilly fingertips against Dean's exposed throat. "I mean, we don't have anything else to do, right?" he says, pulling back an inch.

Dean rolls his eyes and says, "You really gotta learn some better lines."

Sam presses in, kisses him again soft on the mouth. God, Sam's mouth. "I don't think I do," Sam says, hanging there, and Dean groans, pushes Sam's face away, thinks: yes. Yes.

He goes to the bathroom. Takes his time. The toilet, thank god, is still flushing, so the water lines haven't yet gone down. He runs the sink and wets a washrag and cleans up, and washes his hands, and then he licks his mouth wet and looks at himself, in the spotty mirror, the candlelight flickery and making his face strange. When he comes out Sam's stripped the bed closer to the door and the other one is spread with that bedding, the blankets Dean stole, and Sam's in the middle of taking off his belt, standing in his socks with his shirt off and his chest bare and his hair a little ruffled, and he looks up at Dean in the bathroom doorway and smiles, and lays his belt on the bare bed, and says, "C'mere," and Dean comes.

Sam's hands are cold and Dean bitches about that, immediately. "Shut up," Sam advises, and Dean says, "Oh, if anyone needs to—" and Sam kisses him, like Dean knew he would, so that's okay. Together they get Dean's jacket off, his flannel, his t-shirt, and he shivers but Sam's hands drag down his arms and that's so warm Dean can hardly stand it. He drags his fingers through Sam's chest hair—hair, when Sam had been so sleek before—and Sam kisses the top of his ear, weirdly affectionate in a way that makes Dean's chest hot—and then his fingers go for Dean's belt, his jeans, and Dean pushes him away an inch, then, taking a second to breathe.

Sam's—christ. Hot. His nipples pebbled up tight and his cheeks a little pink, even in the candlelight. "Gotta get my boots off, man," Dean says, and Sam looks down like he's surprised that an impediment to getting in Dean's pants might exist, and Dean grins, sits back on the bed. Okay, so. Sam's not suddenly a pure sex god. Somehow that's as much of a relief as the breathing room was.

He works at the knot of his laces. Sam takes the opportunity to strip off his jeans, and then there's his bare long legs, his boxer-briefs. His dick's thick in them, obvious, but while Dean's tugging off his second boot Sam skims them off and down and then he's just—naked, nearly all the way except his stupid black socks he always wears, and Dean huffs and says, "Sexy," dry, but then Sam's kneeling down in front of him, sliding his hands up Dean's thighs, and—well. Truth or dare. Dean wouldn't have to take a drink, this time.

The corner of Sam's mouth lifts and he unzips Dean's jeans, and then tucks his fingers into the waistband, and Dean lifts his ass up and lets Sam pull and Sam—takes his time about it, damn him, pulling down Dean's underwear too so the cold air ripples up goosebumps all the way down Dean's legs, freezing. Sam kisses Dean's chest, his nipple—Dean grabs Sam's head, surprised—and then ducks down, kisses the root of his dick and then sucks in the head, soft and warm, slick, so abrupt that Dean slams a hand down onto the edge of the mattress and his head falls back, his hips lifting. Christ, Sammy. A big hand circles around Dean's calf and Sam sucks, soft, while Dean's dick rises so fast he gets dizzy—and then Sam pulls away, the cold air hitting like a hammer, and lifts up with his mouth pinked-wet and says, "Get in bed," and Dean stares at him like a lunatic for a second and then, jesus, scrambles to obey.

He scooches in to the middle. The blankets are ridiculous, double-weight and heavy, but the sheets are chilly even through his socked feet. Sam climbs in after him and pushes right up against his back, his dick swelling up against Dean's ass, his body a hot shock among the cold. "You're a friggin' furnace," Dean says, and Sam snorts, bites soft at Dean's bare shoulder. There's a second of separation—Sam stretching away—and then Sam's back, under the blankets, kisses under Dean's ear, slides his hand over Dean's hip, down. Dean's breath hitches and he slides his leg forward. "Yeah?" Sam says, the idiot, and Dean says, "Duh, bitch," and there's a huff and then a muffled click and then Sam's fingers are slick, sliding up against his ass, pushing in.

Oh—god. It's been—since the last time. Dean turns his face against the pillow and pulls his leg higher, makes room. Sam's fingers, wet-thick, and the strange uncertain feeling of being broken open, how it pulls and worries, his body barely remembering what to do. Long time. Sweat breaks out at his temples, the middle of his back. He drops a hand to his dick and squeezes, letting it know something better's coming.

"You're tight," Sam says. Unnecessarily, in Dean's opinion. "You really, you never—?"

"Some things should be kept between a man and his hour-long showers, Sammy," Dean says, light, and it's not really true but Sam huffs another little laugh and kisses his ear, and Dean pops his leg up instead even though that makes a cool cavern of air under the covers, giving Sam the room to work him. He pushes back, pulls at his dick, works it fat, and against his ass Sam's dick feels full, ready. He always liked this part, the part where he made Dean want it. He turns his head and says, "Sam," and Sam lifts up and kisses him just like he wanted, his chest warm against Dean's shoulder and his fingers spreading deep, pushing the slick inside where they need it, and while he's kissing Dean and relearning every molar Dean feels the fingers slip out, rubbing instead at Dean's hole where it's hot now, wet, flexing. He drags in air through his nose and reaches behind himself, finding Sam fat and heavy. Thick. Jesus, he could never forget how thick.

"Ready?" Sam says and that's a stupid question. Dean tugs the blankets higher with his free hand, covering his shoulder against the cold, snubs Sam up against himself and then lets go, finds Sam's hip, pulls—and Sam takes over, holding Dean's belly as he pushes inside, and Dean tries to contain the flinch but can't and Sam kisses his temple, soft, and his ear, and his neck, and doesn't stop, bulling open that place for himself, splitting Dean wide. His pubes press against Dean's ass. Dean grips the pillow and lets his knee sink down and immediately what's already tight is tighter, closer. Sam grunts against him, slides his hand down to find Dean's half-wilted dick. "You feel—" Sam starts, but he squeezes Dean's dick instead of saying, and Dean's fine with that, he doesn't need compliments when he just needs Sam to—

"Move," he says, and Sam moves.

It's slow, from being on their sides. No real force behind it. Dean knocks Sam's hand away from his dick and Sam squeezes his balls instead, and then slips a hand to the inside of his thigh and keeps him close that way, locking Dean in place to be fucked. He's still tight but he's loosening up, from the thick rocking churn of Sam inside him, buried up to the root half the time, flexing in and making Dean stretch for him, forcing in that deep good ache of being open, slick for it. With the underhand grip on Dean's thigh his thumb slots in right at the base of Dean's dick, a soft dragging pressure every time Sam squeezes, and Dean can hardly think for how good it all feels. For how much he missed it and pretended for so long he wasn't missing it. Sam's other arm is tucked under the pillow, under his head, and he manages to shove the pillow away enough that he gets bare skin and bites there, soft in Sam's bicep, and Sam drags in air through his teeth and pushes in harder, the wet drag enough that Dean shudders, shoulders to hips, and Sam squeezes his thigh so hard that it hurts.

If it weren't so damn cold Dean would want to throw the blankets off—get on his back with Sam between his legs—lift up, ride, to remember the way Sam's eyes went so dark and hot and intense from seeing Dean get off on him. As it is he feels it building slow, the sweat between them starting to get oppressive, his throat a little abraded from the way Sam keeps dragging his teeth over it, his breath hot there where Dean's skin's so wet. He clenches inside, as much as he can when he's split wide like this, and Sam grunts, warm burst of air against the back of his ear. "Fuck," Dean says, squirming back. He presses his knees together and Sam feels even thicker, his hand caught between Dean's thighs. "Fuck, Sammy—"

"God, I want to come," Sam says, and Dean jerks, caught against him, his dick spitting. Sam worms his hand out and cups Dean's nuts, rubs warm at the root of his dick, his lips smearing against Dean's neck. "God, you're—are you close?"

"Out of practice," Dean says, breathily light, like that's even fucking remotely true. "Can't you tell?" Sam's hand pulls up, fisting his dick, and Dean arches as much as he can, shoving down onto Sam, his teeth floating on this feeling. His gut's molten. "Fuck—Sam, if you—"

"I have to," Sam says, thin, and pushes—Dean tips over and Sam slides, god, out, but in a second he's covering Dean's back and Dean's spreading as wide as he can and Sam slots right back inside, hard, and Dean drags in air against the mattress but doesn't really care, doesn't need it. Sam's pumping inside, fast and deep, the jolting drag of it sliding all over exactly where Dean wants him, and Sam's hands slip from Dean's sides to his hip to his shoulders, holding him in place, and Dean worms a hand between the bed and his dick and lets Sam shove him into his own grip, the rhythm perfect, perfect—Sam's mouth hot against the knob of his spine—and Dean comes pulsing into his own hand, his toes curling and his lips spread against the sheet and his whole body locking up, it feels like, tense, unloading—and Sam groans, shoves his hand between them to feel the mess Dean's making, says, "Fuck, you're—fuck, you're so hot, Dean, the hottest I ever—" and gets a hand on Dean's ass and pulls it wider, shoves in harder, for a shocking minute where it almost hurts except that Dean's so floaty and satisfied he'd take a knife in his flesh and wouldn't mind—and when Sam finally comes he presses right up inside and pumps it deep, forcing it in, and Dean sighs against the bed, overheated and wet, and lets go of his own dick enough that he can tangle his fingers with Sam's, slick, crumpled, bone to bone.

Sam's a deadweight on his back. Dean turns his face against the sheet and gets a pocket of slightly cooler air, content to take it. He squeezes Sam's fingers and in response Sam squeezes his hip, and then slowly, slowly, his lips brush the back of Dean's ear, and then Dean's cheek. "Wow," Sam says, quiet, and Dean snorts. A shift, inside, that makes Dean open his eyes wide—oh, he's open now but it feels—and one of Sam's knees slips over to the outside of Dean's, different leverage, as he pushes in again on all the wet he made, and in again, still thick. Dean licks his lips and it's so quiet he can hear the wet noise it makes—match, to when Sam pulls out—a spill, trickling down over Dean's balls—and then the squelch as he pushes back in and makes Dean grip the pillow, makes his nuts pulse in heated shock.

"I could go again right now," Sam says, low against his ear, entirely honest.

Dean has to take a deep breath. "Don't press your luck," he says, raw, and Sam laughs quiet, drags out again—still hard, christ above—and tugs at Dean's shoulder, and turns him over in a messy sheet-tangling pull, and gets them the right way around to kiss, full, open, Dean's hands on Sam's waist and the bed smeary and disgusting, between them.

When Dean pulls away, Sam's got his fingers curled around the back of his ear, his dick warm and full up against Dean's hip. He smiles, looking back at Dean in the barely-light. Dean smiles back, kind of helpless. "We really wrecked this bed," Dean says. Just for something to say.

Sam's shoulder lifts. "Heated it up, though," he says, and, well. He's not wrong.

The candles are still lit, and they'll have to take care of those so they don't burn the damn room down. The lantern, too—they shouldn't waste the batteries. There's a slit in the blankets somewhere, cool air pouring in over Dean's back, and he tugs, and Sam gets it and helps him smooth them out, making a cocoon for the two of them. The discarded lube bottle ends up under Dean's back and he slides it up under the pillow, for hopeful future use. Their socked toes bump together. Sam's nose is cold, where it bumps Dean's cheek, but that's all right. Dean's not in a state to mind.

"It's gonna suck to dig out the car in the morning," Sam says, out of nowhere.

Dean closes his eyes and pulls at Sam's waist, getting him closer. Sam's knee slides between his thighs. "That's what I missed about you, man," he says, drowsy. "You always know what to say to get me hot."

Sam snorts. His knuckles drag over Dean's jaw, safe and warm.

[transparenttriumphzombie]

Jordana LeSesne, formerly known as 1.8.7, is an American musician and producer from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.[1] She now produces and performs as Jordana. She became known in the mid-1990s as a drum and bass producer.[2] Vibe magazine called her "one of the most respected Drum ‘n' Bass producers in the US."[3] In 2015, she was named as one of "20 women who shaped the history of dance music" by Mixmag.[4] She is transgender and came out in 1998.[5][2]

She has released over 50 tracks, including four albums, several EPs, and remixes under the alias 1.8.7. The 1997 album When Worlds Collide became known for its "dark pummeling assaults". She has licensed tracks for compilations as well as the Sci Fi Channel. Three of her albums charted in the Top 25 of both the CMJ (College Music Journal) and Mixmag U.S. (later Mixer Magazine, now defunct) for 1997 as well as 1998[6] and 1999. Her third album "The Cities Collection" debuted in the CMJ Top 5 climbed to the #2 position on CMJ Music Monthly's dance chart for June 2000.[7][8][9]

Her works have been reviewed by Billboard,[10] Spin, Rolling Stone, Urb, Mixer, Mixmag, Raygun,[3] as well as Knowledge – the U.K. Drum and Bass magazine. In 1999, she was listed in Raygun's Who's Who of International DJs. She was one of the headlining DJs on Knowledge Magazine's 28 city Kung Fu Knowledge tour in 1999.[11] She also made Out Magazine's OUT100 list for the year 2000.[12]

Contents

1Impact on music

2History

3Hate crime in Ohio

4Additional work in music industry

5Literary mentions

6Personal life

7Vinyl

8CD releases

9Videos

10References

11External links

Impact on music[edit]

Her work has influenced other artists such as well-known dubstep producer Bassnectar, who heavily sampled 5 A.M. Rinse (feat. MC Sphinx), the last song on her first album When Worlds Collide for his song Here We Go of his 2010 EP and single Timestretch.[13] Since the sexual allegations of Bassnectar have become known to her, Jordana has publicly condemned his actions as well as called out the fact that he never delivered contractually promised royalties for the above mentioned work.[14] Additionally, electronic rock act Celldweller sampled "Wake Up" off of her first album as well as "San Francisco" off of her third album "The Cities Collection" in their 2013 song "Uncrowned".[15]

In 1999, Drum & Bass/Hip Hop producer and label owner Hive approached Jordana to remix her song Defcon-1 also off of When Worlds Collide. Hive's remix appears on his 2001 album The Raw Uncut.[16] Jordana collaborated with Lady Sovereign on a song early in Sov's career after the two met through an internet chat room for StrikeFM.co.uk, an online radio station which Jordana had a show, and the now defunct UKGarageWorldwide.com forums. The two would later team up when Jordana under her Lady J alias, had Lady Sovereign MC for her radio show on Flex FM London.[17]

History[edit]

She first came to the attention of the music industry when she was asked to remix Blondie's "Atomic." Her remix appeared along with Armand Van Helden and Diddy’s remixes on the single.[3] A little over a year following that release, Mac McFarlane, the promoter of the well established and legendary New York City club, Konkrete Jungle, contacted her to create a themed song for a CD compilation/mix-CD. Jordana created the song "Konkrete Jungle" for that purpose. Described by CMJ as containing "menacing hardstep attacks",[18] it was released on the Ultra Records compilation, Konkrete Jungle - Maximum Drum & Bass, mixed by BBC Radio 1 Drum'n'Bass show host Jumpin Jack Frost. Following extensive touring throughout North America and abroad as a music producer, Liquid Sky Music, an indie label distributed by Caroline Distribution signed her to a three-album contract in late 1996.

Hate crime in Ohio[edit]

On the night of February 22, 2000 in Kent, Ohio, Jordana was attacked and brutally beaten in a transphobic hate crime by a group of men including Matthew Gostlin.[19] Gostlin and other assailants vaulted her in the parking lot outside of the Robin Hood nightclub where she had just performed on the Cities Collection tour. The attack took place while she was escorted from the event with the event promoter to his car. The group of men attacked suddenly and Jordana lost consciousness almost immediately after being struck in the face. She suffered nerve damage to the lower part of her face from her lower lip down as a result. She was quoted, saying in the May 2000 issue of CMJ New Music Monthly that in the seconds just prior to the attack: "I saw his face. I remember the look on his face. It was this look of utter hate, like 'I'm going to kill you.'"[20] In an interview with the Village Voice, George Meesig, a man from Cleveland, Ohio who defended her during the attack, stated that Gostlin had misgendered her, saying “this is personal”.[21] Other reports noted by the Village Voice on the message board for Breakbeat Science (a Drum'n'Bass record store) mentioned transphobic slurs being shouted during the attack. She subsequently cancelled the tour to recover.[19] Gostlin, while charged, was never arrested nor spent any time in court. Her family was told by the Portage County (Ohio) prosecutor's office that attempts had been made to serve the warrant but Gostlin's whereabouts were unknown. She felt that justice would not be served so she left the United States for England due to concerns about personal safety and well-being.

Additional work in music industry[edit]

In addition to music production, Jordana is a DJ, musician and singer. From 2001 to 2002, she worked at Flex FM in London, England as Lady J, with Lady Sovereign performing for her during her radio show.[22] In 2002, she held a club residency performing UK garage, 2-step garage and house music at the club Trinity in Vauxhall neighborhood.

After returning to the United States, Jordana returned to rock and fronted a goth metal band in Seattle. Prior to that, she was asked to play bass in another band briefly where she met and became close friends with singer/songwriter Shelita Burke. She has toured the world and played many DJ sets. She has been billed alongside Arca for Planet Zolean: Un/Tuck + Hot Mass on the Currents.FM Common Multiverse Initiative.[23] She was featured on the Dekmantel Podcast.[24] She was featured as Mix of the Day for Resident Advisor.[25]

In 2014, Jordana scored the documentary Free CeCe, produced and directed by Jacqueline Gares and Laverne Cox. The documentary details the struggles of CeCe McDonald, an African-American transwoman wrongfully incarcerated for murder for defending herself against a hate attack on her outside a Minneapolis bar.[26][27]

Literary mentions[edit]

She has been featured in several books. Her success in rising from living in a "rust belt" city to being an MTV-featured electronic music artist was mentioned in "The Rise of the Creative Class" by economist Richard Florida. She appears in two books detailing American electronic dance music scene history: Michaelangelo Matos's The Underground is Massive,[28] and Rave Culture, an Insider's Overview by Jimi Fritz and Virginia Smallfry.[29]

An interview with Jordana was featured in multiple books, including a book published in 2012 by rock journalist George Petros.[30] She has spoken on her personal life in interviews for publications such as The Festival Voice,[31] The Brooklyn Rail[32] and href zine.[33]

Personal life[edit]

She currently lives in Seattle, Washington.

Vinyl[edit]

1995 Blondie "Atomic (The Beautiful Drum and Bass Mix)" VV58320 Chrysalis Records/EMI

1996 RockStone Foundation "Dis Soun'" JS007 Jungle Sky

1997 V/A – Nirvana EP "We Are Not Alone" JS114 Jungle Sky

1997 Soul Slinger-Don't Believe "Abducted (1.8.7 Remix) JS118 Jungle Sky

1997 Soul Slinger-Don't Believe "Ethiopia/JungleSky (1.8.7 Megamix)" JS118 Jungle Sky

1997 1.8.7 – When Worlds Collide full-length album EP1 "Defcon 1"/"When Worlds Collide"/"Blueshift"/"Dragonfly" JSK121 Jungle Sky

1997 1.8.7 – When Worlds Collide full-length album EP2 "Wake Up"/"Distant Storm Approaching"/"Ghetto Style"/"Ghetto Style (West Philly Mix)" JSK122 Jungle Sky

1998 Murder 0ne (1.8.7)/T.Farmer "Annihilate"/"Memory" BOOST002 Boosted Records

1998 This is Jungle Sky Vol. 5: Rock N Roll EP Disc 2 "Break In"/"The Return of Shaft"/"Konkrete Jungle" Jungle Sky JSK131

1998 This is Jungle Sky Vol. 5: Rock N Roll EP Disc 3 "Atmosphere Remix"/"The Jam"/Beastie Boys – "Sabotage (1.8.7 JS Remix)" JSK132 Jungle Sky

1998 1.8.7 – Quality Rolls full-length album EP1 "Quality Rolls"/"Relax Your Mind"/"Phobic" JSK136 Jungle Sky

1998 1.8.7 – Quality Rolls full-length album EP2 *"Jerusalem"/"Get Amped" (215 Remix)/"Stigma" JSK 137 Jungle Sky

1998 1.8.7 – Quality Rolls full-length album EP3 "Rock The Party"/"Deep Stealth"/"Cross the Line" JSK138 Jungle Sky

1998 1.8.7 – Quality Rolls full-length album EP3 "United"/"Blue Nile"/"Reboot" JSK139 Jungle Sky

1999 Jordana – "Pure Funk"/Stardust – "Music Sounds Better".. [With Bass] (Jordana JS remix) *whitelabel* JSK149 Jungle Sky

1999 Jordana – Cities Collection 12" 1 "Hollywood (courtesy of Lucasfilm)"/"Los Angeles"/"New York" JSK157 Jungle Sky

1999 Jordana – Cities Collection 12" 2 "Pittsburgh"/"Miami"/"San Francisco" JSK158 Jungle Sky

2000 Loki and Jordana – "Murder" 12" *whitelabel*

2001 Jordana – "Tampa Tantrum"/"In Your Arms" 12" TECO008 Technorganic

2002 Lady J feat. Lady Sovereign – "The Intro Dub" (Flex FM)

2002 Jordana – Full Colour 12" 1 *whitelabel* ConceptAudio

2002 Jordana – Full Colour 12" 2 *whitelabel* ConceptAudio

CD releases[edit]

1994 V/A – Interstellar Outback "Jungleman" ROM01 RomHyperMedia

1995 V/A – Scotto Presents: Drop Beats Vol.1 "Ravestock Anthem" DROP001 Drop Entertainment

1996 V/A – This Is Jungle Sky Vol.2 "Dis Soun" JSK008 Jungle Sky

1997 V/A – This is Jungle Sky Vol.4 "We Are Not Alone" JSK116 Jungle Sky

1997 V/A – Future Groove "We Are Not Alone" ?74321 50089 2 Ariola/BMG

1997 V/A – New York Junglist "We Are Not Alone" AVCD11540 Avex Trax

1997 Soul Slinger-Don't Believe CD "Abducted (187 Remix)" JSK120 Jungle Sky

1997 Soul Slinger-Don't Believe CD "Ethiopia/JungleSky" JSK120 Jungle Sky

1997 1.8.7 – When Worlds Collide CD album JSK124 Jungle Sky

1998 V/A – This is Jungle Sky Vol.5 "The Jam" JSK130 Jungle Sky

1998 V/A – This is Jungle Sky Vol.5 "Atmosphere Remix" JSK130 Jungle Sky

1998 Soul Slinger – Upload: A Continuous Mix CD "Rock the Party" JSK142 Jungle Sky

1998 V/A – Nu Balance: Domesticated Drum & Bass CD "5am Rinse" COA70016-2 City Of Angels

1998 1.8.7 – Quality Rolls CD album JSK135 Jungle Sky

1999 V/A – Sci Fidelity: This is Sci Fi. CD "Deep Stealth" SciFi Channel/Jungle Sky

1999 V/A – This is Jungle Sky Vol.6 CD "Pure Funk" JSK150 Jungle Sky

1999 V/A – This is Jungle Sky Vol.6 CD "Unite Remix" JSK150 Jungle Sky

1999 Jordana presents 1.8.7 – The Cities Collection CD album JSK162 Jungle Sky

1999 V/A – E-Sassin Absolute Friction CD "Worlds Apart" 21C.3007 Quantum Loop

2000 V/A – Digital Empire: DJ Girl "Deep Stealth" 6454-2 Cold Front Records

2001 Hive – The Raw Uncut EP CD "Defcon-1" (Hive Remix) VTXCD-002 Vortex Recordings

2002 Jordana – Full Colour album ConceptAudio Limited Release

2003 V/A – Girls In Space CD "In Your Arms" CD-9213 Urabon Records

2005 Jordana – Jordana EP CD "In Your Arms" TECO CD001 Technorganic Recordings

2005 Jordana – Jordana EP CD "Tampa Tantrum" TECO CD001 Technorganic Recordings

2005 V/A – DJ Psycle-Back From The Future CD "In Your Arms" TECO CD-9213 Technorganic Recordings

2005 V/A – DJ Psycle-Back From The Future CD "In Your Arms" TECO CD-9213 Technorganic Recordings

2008 V/A – What the Bleep & Foi Oi Oi-Feelings For Detroit Vol.3 Yabette – "Babylon (1.8.7 Remix)" EEMIX003 Electronic Enlightenment

Videos[edit]

We Are Not Alone (1998) – directed by MSKW1 aka Michael Whartnaby

Defcon 1 (1998) – directed by MSKW1 aka Michael Whartnaby and DBIDWA aka Dan Bidwa

Worlds Apart (1998) – directed by Gerard Ryan

Atmosphere (1998) – directed by Gerard Ryan

Ring Me Back (2002) – directed by Trevor McKinley

References[edit]

^ "VH1 Biography". Vh1.com. Archived from the original on February 14, 2011. Retrieved September 8, 2010.

^ Jump up to:a b Riedel, Samantha. "This Trans Drum & Bass Musician Was a Pioneer in the 90s. Why Isn't She Getting Her Due?". them. Retrieved September 30, 2020.

^ Jump up to:a b c Vibe Media Group (February 1999). "Vibe". Vibe Vixen. Vibe Media Group: 38–. ISSN 1070-4701.

^ "- - Mixmag". Mixmag.net. Retrieved December 21, 2015.

^ "Roll With the Changes". citypaper.net. Archived from the original on July 7, 2012. Retrieved January 19, 2016.

^ CMJ Network, Inc. (December 1998). "CMJ New Music Monthly". CMJ New Music. CMJ Network, Inc.: 78–. ISSN 1074-6978.

^ CMJ Network, Inc. (March 2000). "CMJ New Music Monthly". CMJ New Music. CMJ Network, Inc.: 48–. ISSN 1074-6978.

^ CMJ Network, Inc. (March 13, 2000). CMJ New Music Report. CMJ Network, Inc. pp. 27–. ISSN 0890-0795.

^ CMJ Network, Inc. (June 2000). "CMJ New Music Monthly". CMJ New Music. CMJ Network, Inc.: 82–. ISSN 1074-6978.

^ CMJ Network, Inc. (June 2000). "CMJ New Music Monthly". CMJ New Music. CMJ Network, Inc.: 95. ISSN 1074-6978.

^ "Kung Fu Knowledge Tour Cities". Bmotion. Archived from the original on October 4, 2013. Retrieved October 3, 2013.

^ Out Magazine (74): 45. January 2000.

^ iphoneunclockseattle. "Bassnectar's Here We Go sample of 1.8.7 feat. MC Sphinx's 5 A.M. Rinse". WhoSampled. Retrieved November 2, 2013.

^ Avery C Kleinman for Vice News. "The Fall of the Bassnectar Empire".

^ jordana. "Celldweller samples Wake Up and San Francisco". WhoSampled. Retrieved May 9, 2014.

^ "Hive – The Raw Uncut EP". Discogs. Retrieved November 2, 2013.

^ "Hot update | Welcome to the FLEX FM NETWORK". FLEX FM Network. May 19, 2002. Archived from the original on June 1, 2002. Retrieved December 21, 2015.

^ CMJ Network, Inc. (October 1998). "CMJ New Music Monthly". CMJ New Music. CMJ Network, Inc.: 62–. ISSN 1074-6978.

^ Jump up to:a b Maximum Rocknroll. Maximum Rock 'n' Roll. 2000.

^ CMJ Network, Inc. (May 2000). "CMJ New Music Monthly". CMJ New Music. CMJ Network, Inc.: 13. ISSN 1074-6978.

^ Bill Werde (February 29, 2000). "Top Jungle Producer Attacked". Villagevoice.com. Archived from the original on January 9, 2019. Retrieved January 8, 2019.

^ Sovereign, Lady (May 18, 2002). "Lock in to FLex FM 2nite". ukmusic.com/. Archived from the original on August 10, 2014. Retrieved May 30, 2013.

^ "Currents.FM Common Stream Multiverse Initiative".

^ "Jordana is one of America's most widely respected drum & bass artists". Dekmantel.

^ "Drum & bass made for the biggest rooms, with plenty of soul, nuance and killer vocal hooks". Resident Advisor.

^ "FREE CeCe! Post-Production Campaign". Retrieved December 21, 2015.

^ "AFROPUNK". Afropunk.com. Archived from the original on December 22, 2015. Retrieved December 21, 2015.

^ Matos, Michaelangelo (April 28, 2015). The Underground Is Massive: How Electronic Dance Music Conquered America. Dey Street Books. p. 154. ISBN 978-0062271785.

^ Jimi Fritz (1999). Rave Culture: An Insider's Overview. SmallFry Press. p. 162. ISBN 978-0-9685721-0-8.

^ Petros, George (2012). Lehman, Deanna (ed.). The New Transsexuals: The Next Step In Human Evolution. Creation Books. pp. 247–274. ISBN 978-0-9855018-1-5. Retrieved December 22, 2015.

^ https://thefestivalvoice.com/black-lives-matter-tfvs-series-on-racial-injustice-jordana/

^ https://brooklynrail.org/2021/05/criticspage/Let-Us-Live/

^ https://href-zine.net/technoid-natures-zine.html

External links[edit]

Jordana discography at Discogs

1.8.7 at Rolldabeats

https://jordanaofficial.bandcamp.com/

https://www.mixcloud.com/jordana/

https://soundcloud.com/jordanaofficial

Jordana at IMDb