#(they certainly already have and just left this message as a parting fart but like. i guess this is an open warning to everyone else lol)

[pagesofkenna]

why are you putting mormonism on my dash 🤢

i'm mormon? unfollow me?

[lairofdragonagelore]

The Crossroads [DLC Trespasser]: Ancient Jail

The Ancient Jail is an abandoned jail, occupied by strange elven statues and shattered mirrors. There is almost no more information to get from it. It’s an ancient mystery. 

[This is part of the series “Playing DA like an archaeologist”]

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore]

From the Isle that heads to the Shattered Library we can activate a dragon egg that will allow us to reach this place. It’s seems strange that the statue of Dragon Mythal is here. There are some broken eluvian and a lot of skeletons. 

We know this eluvian leads to a jail, but why this decoration? Is this a jail the place where Mythal put those who angered her? All those that had done wrong doings to other elves and asked Mythal for revenge, as the Altar of Mythal seems to suggest? Mythal as a dragon seems to represent her aggressive, furious aspect, while her humanoid form her just aspect. This would explain why we see her humanoid form inside her Temple, a place of Justice; while the dragon form is repeated all around her Altar, a place where petitioners ask for revenge, or outside her Temple, to defend it]. Finding this dragon statue here, beside the eluvian, could represent a message to intimidate the prisoners before entering the jail.

As we enter, the first thing we see is a pair of murals: the shifting halla or bound halla, and the black halla with the marked elves [more on this Nation Art: Elvhen]. The architecture of this place feels a very standard Ferelden castle.

There are several broken eluvians and a broken Howling Fen'Harel statue. There is some Dalish iconography too. Honestly, this place is a big mystery, and I can’t find a way to wrap most of the elements in a more or less coherent interpretation.

The cells are filled with many skeletons, showing that there was an overpopulation of prisoners in these cells. On the ground, there is a Golden Halla and on the wall, a part of an icon that, I suspect, it’s a reuse of an asset. 

The original icon represented the outlaw party in the Hinterlands, but by the way it’s shown in the wall, seems to be focused on “squeezing a snake”, which escapes my interpretation, since this is ancient elvhenan time... it cannot be a representation of Tevinter: there were no humans in the world yet.

On the other side of the corridor we find another Dragon Mythal statue, more cells, and more broken eluvian. Clearly this cell was connected to a lot of places given the amount of eluvians it once had. 

The painting of a golden halla aims to where we find 2 destroyed eluvians. Maybe an indication to the Forgotten Sanctuary? Hard to know.

Close to the Golden Halla, we find a Crumpled Page. Again, we are left with almost no information. 

The language of the note is unknown to us, which seems alarmingly strange, specially for an inquisitor who drank from the Well of Sorrows. So maybe this is not Elven in any way, but an ancient language of another race?

Since the note humiliates the jailer [making him farting and crossed-eyed], it must have been written by a prisoner. So, if we cannot understand the language, this implies that some of these prisoners were not elves. 

This only brings a curious implication: during the elvhenan empire, the only other race that existed, so far we were told via codices, was the dwarves as servants of titans. So, the further we can conclude in this place is that some dwarves may have been taken prisoners in here. Certainly, the vulgarity of the note seems to fit more a dwarf than an elf, if the ancient versions of these races still keep some cultural aspects of the modern ones. 

When we open the chest at the end of the corridor, some Greater Terror demons appear; probably the main demons fed by these prisoners. After defeating them we can have access to another item of  The Taken Shape set and the completion of the codex explained already in that post. 

In general, I feel completely lost in this space. We can’t grasp what this jail was about, and there is no material or evidence to work on. Some elvhen were jailed here, since we see the elvhen paintings that may suggest elvhes trapped for experimentation or branding [the black halla with vallaslin elves inside her, and the shifting halla]. But there is also a very unrelated painting of the outlaws [the squeezed snake], and the note that gives us the certainty that some prisoners were not elvhen because their language is something that the Well of Sorrow can’t translate. Maybe these prisoners were related to this strange squeezed snake. Maybe they were dwarves, since it’s the only other humanoid race that  we know existed during the elvhenan kingdom. And all this place is decorated with the intimidating form of Mythal as a dragon. This is very, very mysterious.

[nicka-nell]

Awkward boyfriend moments

Pairing: Atsumu x; Bokuto x; Oikawa x; Osamu x; Suna x; Ushijima x reader

Warning: not.sfw-ish, awkward (because well we’re talking about awkward moments)

Note: Part 1 | Part 2

Atsumu had massaged you because he wanted some sexy time with you.

Usually, after a massage, there was always a happy ending. So he had already taken a shower, shaved and freshened up and asked you if he should massage your back. Since you’ve had back pain lately anyway, you said yes. 

Only with your panties you lie in your bed, while Atsumu’s hands massage you. It feels so good that your eyes are getting heavier. 

Atsumu’s hands wander down to your butt from time to time until he pushes the panties down and kneads your buttocks. 

Since no “Hey stop this” comes from you, he continues. Atsumu notices how his cock gets stiff, and he slips a little further down from you to bend forward and playfully bite you in the butt while he spreads your ass cheeks slightly apart. 

Too bad you fell asleep and farted him in the face. 

“No babee!” are his first words after he pretends to fall dead off the bed. But since you still do not react, he eventually realizes that you have fallen asleep. 

The story is so embarrassing to him that he hasn’t told you until today. 

You had come home from work earlier and just wanted to lie down on the couch for a moment and then cook something for Bokuto and surprise him. 

But you were so tired that you just fell asleep on the couch and only woke up when you heard Bokuto’s “Ah finally at home” through the hallway.

 Then you came up with the idea that it would actually be funny to scare him and so you have been quiet on the couch. 

But instead of coming into the living room, Bokuto went into the bathroom and because he thought he was alone for the next few hours anyway, he left the door open. 

He had the craziest diarrhea you ever heard in your life and gave the funniest, crying sounds and said again and again that he can really smell the eggs he ate yesterday well. 

When Bokuto came out of the bathroom and wanted to spray the entire apartment with his deodorant, you were already sitting with your mouth open on the couch and looked at him, somehow irritated but also smiling. Bokuto was so embarrassed that he had said as a panic reaction that he’ll move to Akaashi. 

You were on a trip with your friends for two days, and Oikawa was home alone. He was bored, so he grabbed his phone and looked for new messages on Instagram. 

In his inbox he had a message from Hanamaki in which he tagged him in a picture. Unaware, he opened the picture as he whined at what he saw. Hanamaki tagged him on a picture of a boy group in which the boys wear a bunny costume with the words “You would certainly look so good in it (not)”. 

First, he ignores this comment, but thinks about it too often and stomps into the bedroom to see if he finds anything of your underwear. Because he knows that he looks good in everything. 

Although you do not have a bunny costume, you had once bought such a sexy elf costume as underwear for Christmas. 

After he found it, he put on the lace thong, which was really anything but comfortable around his balls, and just wanted to put on the corset. Only that putting it on is really hard. How you did it back then without help, he can not understand. 

Oikawa still fumbles around with the ribbons of the corsage in front of the mirror, when suddenly the door opens and you stand with your mouth open in the door frame and look at him with big eyes. 

The girls’ trip was canceled earlier because your friend had an emergency in the family and you wanted to surprise Oikawa with your early arrival.

 “Ho, ho, ho, my little elf.” Are your first words after you laugh and grab your phone to take a picture. 

“Hey babe, stop! Oh my god! It’s not what it looks like!” 

You promised to delete the photo and not send it to Hanamaki and Iwaizumi, but now Oikawa has to wipe the floor once a week. That was the deal.

Osamu is actually always on his feet, because his shop really keeps him busy. Since he had injured his leg, the doctor ordered him to get six weeks of bed rest. 

At first he did not want to understand it and still went to work, but then had to be instructed by Kita and you that this could lead to him being even longer without his oh so beloved shop. 

So he does nothing but lie in bed, watch Netflix and whine about him being bored. Y

ou promised him you’d run the place in the meantime. 

After almost five weeks, however, he has the feeling that his butt itches and somehow feels strange, and instead of typing the question “butt itches and feels like its unfamiliar bodies are on it” in Google, he accidentally wrote it Atsumu. 

Embarrassing enough that his brother still teases him about it today, but now that’s a different story. 

After Atsumu had laughed at him for half an hour, he had told him he might have hemorrhoids, and that he should just look with a mirror how it looks down there between his legs. 

At first Osamu rolls his eyes and is unaffected by his brother’s idea, but he goes into the bathroom and sees if he can somehow use the bathroom mirror to look anyway. But it hangs a bit too high when Osamu notices your little make-up mirror. 

After this exhausting day in the shop, you come home, want to bounce to the toilet, as you open the door to the bathroom and find Osamu there. With one foot on the toilet seat, he squats. He spreads his legs. Naked… And holds your beloved make-up mirror under his swinging balls. 

“Do I really want to know?” 

Osamu would have liked to sink into the ground, but there is no time for that. 

“Well, I can explain, but I have to remove this tick from my butt crack first.” How a tick has come to the inside of his buttock, none of you know, but now it is there. 

And although it may sound strange, at the end of the day Osamu was squatting in front of you, spread his buttocks with his fingers so that you could remove the tick with a pair of tweezers. 

If someone had seen you now, especially Atsumu, he would have laughed all his life at every encounter with you. 

You work from home and have all conversations with your customers in the office room. 

Since you never actually have your camera on in teams sessions, Suna always comes in, always brings you a fresh coffee when he comes from his training and gives you a kiss on the hairline. 

It’s really super cute. 

Sometimes he just comes in to ask if you still need something or to tell you that he goes out again. These are all things you can only answer with a quick nod or a thumbs up without interrupting your own call. 

One day you had turned on your camera because you had talked to a customer you already work together for years. You both get along well, so you decided that it’s okay. 

You both talked about the business but also about a few private things, when your client suddenly stopped saying anything in the middle of the sentence. 

In your small camera image at the bottom, you could see that something is moving behind you and have turned around just to see Suna standing in front of you. Only in shorts… 

“Babe, I’m gonna take a shower.” He says and drinks a sip of the coffee he wanted to put on your table when you still look at him with big eyes and he grins. 

“Does my girl like what she sees?”

“Rin, I turned my cam on… I’m talking to Duarara-sama right now.”

Instead of being affected by your statement in some way, Suna turns to the camera and drinks a sip of your coffee again, before lifting the cup and says, “Nice to meet you, Duarara-sama. I’ve only heard good things from them. Well then, see you next time with a shirt, I promise.” 

With these words, he kisses you and walks out of the room, leaving you embarrassed while your client finds your honest reaction really sweet.

“That’s a fine guy you got there. No reason to be embarrassed, especially in the home office. Something funny has happened to all of us. The next time we talk, we laugh about it.” 

Since then, you always lock your office door when you talk to customers.

That Ushijima has communication problems is nothing new. 

Only sometimes it’s really uncomfortable. 

Tendou was once again around your town and visited you two. He wanted to try this new place, which was known for its breathtaking desserts, so you made a reservation for the three of you. 

It is a fancy restaurant, also the prices are anything but cheap but you wanted to do him the favor. 

Once there, the restaurant was already full with people when you got the table in the middle of the room, surrounded by all these pretty dressed up people. 

The food was wonderful and the dessert even better than you expected.

Ushijima just came back from the toilet when Tendou told you that you have to do something like that again. 

Still standing, Ushijima puts his hand on your shoulder and the other hand on Tendou’s shoulder and looks over to both of you. 

“I also think that we should have another threesome soon.” 

The face of Tendou and you freeze, as well as these of the hundreds of other people who sit in the restaurant and look at you. 

Ushijima had once seen in an interview with his team that two young women had said to his teammate that they wanted to have a threesome with him. 

It was a little uncomfortable for him and he had refused. So Ushijima wanted to know what’s so bad about a threesome or what it is. 

His teammate who was still embarrassed, then only told him that this is an interaction of three people who just perform the same act. 

So it seems to be nothing bad, Ushijima thinks and is sure that it was only so unpleasant for his friend because he did not know the two women so well. After all, you do nothing with people you don’t know. 

But since Ushijima loves you, and Tendou is his best friend, he likes to do something with you. 

“Why do you look like that?” 

“Toshi baby, that’s not how a threesome works.” 

While Tendou had at some point rediscovered his old form and now only laughs his ass off, you have explained to Ushijima what a threesome really is and will probably never go back to this restaurant with him. 

[let-me-write-shit]

Can you write an imagine about Harry confessing feelings for you and you’re scared to open up but you finally do and then smut! Just like slow but seriously intimate. Hahahaha

WARNING: SMUT!!!! and some fluff!

Word Count: 3,923

Requests are OPEN! If you have a request for a blurb, oneshot, imagine, whatever, Send me a message HERE!!!

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It was the way the light reflected in the colors of her eyes when she smiled, and the way his heart fluttered when she laughed. It was because she was the first thing he thought of when he woke up in the morning and his last thought before he went to bed. Those were just a few reasons Harry had fallen for Y/N. It started small, as it usually did. He met her through a friend of a friend at a party, another typical encounter. But Y/N was anything but typical. They introduced themselves to each other. He thought she was attractive, of course, but he was kind of seeing someone at the time. Well, that didn’t work out; another commonality. But their inner circles managed to keep crossing paths several times over the course of a year. Eventually, their circles combined and he found himself spending a lot of time talking to Y/N at these parties, and their friendship grew.

They began hanging out in small groups outside of the party scene. Sometimes he’d head back to her flat that she shared with a couple of roommates. Pretty soon, Harry and Y/N were talking almost every day and had gotten in the habit of having movie nights, alternating who got to pick the films. It always seemed platonic. Until one night.

Almost a month ago, now, it was Y/N’s turn to pick the movie. The Visit. She had been wanting to watch it for a while, but hadn’t dared to watch it alone; her roommates hated scary movies. So Harry agreed. They had talked for ages and already finished their takeaway by the time they started the movie. Her sofa was big. Big enough to fit four people. But they squeezed close to each other towards one end of the couch, like they always did, legs tucked under the blanket. Harry teased her, poking her sides during the tense scenes which always made her yelp and slap him. But she always smiled.

Then, a jump scare happened. Honestly, it got Harry pretty bad, too. He flinched, his whole body jerking, and his heart began to race. He almost certainly said a curse word or two, as well. He didn’t even notice Y/N was burying her head in his side, hands pressed tight over her eyes until he turned to say something to her. He snorted, but his first reaction was to wrap his arms around her and rub her back.

“I think I’m about done with this movie,” Y/N’s voice was muffled as she spoke into his shirt.

Harry let out a chuckle, “Oh, come on, we’re not even halfway through. It’s just a movie. I’ve got ya.”

Y/N leaned back and looked up at him. It was the first time he saw her scared. And for some reason, he got a better look at her at that moment than he had in the past year and a half of knowing her. He didn’t know why it clicked then. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline, or maybe it was all of the chocolate they were munching on throughout the movie; he had heard it was an aphrodisiac somewhere. Whatever it was, it caught him off guard. He couldn’t look away from her. It was like their eyes were locked onto each other’s and their sense of reality just went fuzzy. All he could think about was how soft her lips looked at that moment and how badly he wanted to kiss her. He noticed her eyes flickering from his, down towards his lips, then back up again. Maybe it was a trick of the light? Did she feel it, too? And just as he was about to make the move, Y/N seemed to suddenly snap back into herself and she shook her head, pulling away a bit.

“Yeah, sorry, I-Uhm,” she sat straighter, body turned away from him and eyes staring towards the floor, “Can we just pick another movie?”

“S-sure,” Harry stuttered, straightening up himself.

And she hurriedly pulled out her phone, scrolling through the options until she landed on Pineapple Express. They barely spoke the rest of the night, which was something Harry wasn’t used to with Y/N. She never stopped talking.

As mentioned, Y/N was anything but typical. She seemed like a walking contradiction. Super outgoing and would talk to everyone but somehow seemed to shy away with no rhyme or reason. She was loud and adventurous, but so soft and cautious at the same time. There were times where Harry thought he could read her like the back of his hand and others where he couldn’t even begin to know what was going on in her head. She was so obvious, but, yet,  mysterious. One constant thing was that she wasn’t afraid to talk to Harry about anything. And I mean anything. She’d talk about period problems, farts, bathroom difficulties, food, boys, friendships, work, you name it. Opening up to him was never a problem until that night.

He couldn’t get her out of his head. The rest of that night was awkward, but by the next day, she pretended like nothing ever happened. At first, he thought he was going crazy. That he had imagined a spark between them. Until those moments happened again at their next movie night. And again at a party. And again while on Facetime at the end of a long week. Again, and again, and again. And all the while, his feelings for her grew. All he could think about was her. All of the songs he scribbled down in his journal were about her. Every intrusive thought was about Y/N, and every time they talked, he swore it would be the time that his thoughts would finally burst out of him.

Another movie night. It was at Harry’s house this time, purposely picked. Harry decided tonight was the night he was going to do it. He has been trying to pluck up the courage to say something for weeks now, and he wasn’t going to let another night pass by without telling her. He just needed the right moment to do it.

“What’s on the docket for this evening, sir?” Y/N asked, taking a bite of her sushi.

Harry swallowed his food and blotted his mouth with a napkin before he said, “Was thinking something scary if you’re not too chicken shit this time. Kind of over the rom-coms now.”

“Harry Styles doesn’t want to watch chick-flicks? Are you feeling well?” she teased.

Harry rolled his eyes with a smirk, “Must be the end of the world.”

“That’s the only logical explanation,”  Y/N nodded in agreement.

They finished eating their dinner, grabbed some gummy candies, and ventured to his couch, sitting close together at one side where they started their typical pre-movie chat. The lights were already off, a faint glow from the television, and under-cabinet lights in the kitchen were enough for them to see each other.

“I’m pretty excited for it, honestly,” Harry smiled, giddily patting his thighs, “I mean, it’s not official, yet. They’re still in negotiations, but they want me to play the part, so there’s a strong possibility.”

Y/N was smiling proudly, head tilted to the side, “It’ll happen. I’m so proud of you! I can’t wait to see the movie, it sounds amazing!”

“Maybe you can visit me on set one day. Or go to the premier or something.”

“That’d be lovely.”

There it was again. That moment. He felt his body begin to stiffen, unblinking, and unable to break eye contact. Their smiles faded into something more serious now and he strained to fight the pull on his chest that urged him to fill the space between them. And like always, Y/N was the first to break.

Flustered, she cleared her throat, and looked towards the television, avoiding eye contact, “Right, what movie were you thinking? Were we gonna try The Visit again? I think I’m up for it, now.”

Harry froze, stunned for a moment. How could she so easily push this aside? Now was the moment. He wasn’t going to back down. He needed to get it off his chest, at the very least. If she didn’t feel the same way, that was fine, he’d figure out a way to get over it. But they at least needed to talk about it.

The left side of his lips twitched upward and he felt the blush rise to his cheeks, something that always happened when he was nervous, “Y/N, what is this?” he asked.

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed, turning her attention back to him, “What do you mean?”

“Come on, I can’t be imagining things.”

“What are you talking about, Harry?” She tried her best to sound clueless, but she was scared. And he saw it.

He took a deep breath, pausing for a moment while he attempted to collect his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, locking eyes with her and spilling his mind, “Look, I like you. And I just thought that maybe you felt the same? It’s just that...every time we’re together all I can think about is kissing you. Well, it’s not just that,” he muttered, “You’re all I think about. And then we have these moments where I think we might kiss, and then you pull away.”

Y/N stared at him, her face beginning to flush as she tore her eyes off of him and looked down at her thumbs which twirled together, hands clasped tight, “Harry….no you don’t,” she shook her head hesitantly.

He retracted, bewildered by her response, “What?”

She looked back up at him, forcing a smile through her sad eyes. He heard the crack in her voice as she started to talk, “You don’t like me. You’re just bored, and I’m here. We barely know each other.”

His mouth parted, unsure how to respond to that. At first, he was angry. But it quickly changed into confidence. He shook his head, smiling, “You’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong?” she repeated, tryingly.

“Yes, you’re wrong. I know you, Y/N. I know you say your favorite color is blue, but it’s really that orangey-purple color the sky makes when the sun starts to set. I know your favorite drink is a sidecar. I know that your favorite holiday is Christmas Eve. I know you detest mornings, but not as much as your hatred for clowns. I know you like to sleep on the side of the bed that’s furthest away from the door and if you’re not sleeping with someone, you line up pillows under your sheets in case an intruder comes in and they’ll stab the pillow person first,” that one made both of them laugh.

“Harry-” she started.

He shook his head, cutting her off and continuing, “You hate complicated Starbucks orders, you hate bad tippers, and you hate the sound of styrofoam rubbing against cardboard. I know how hard you work at your job and how underappreciated you are there. I know that you’ve always dreamed of getting married when the leaves just start to change colors and you’ve always wanted to have at least three kids. Your family means the world to you. Your dream vacation is Greece. You can’t decide if you’re a cat person or a dog person. You have a habit of falling for the wrong people and have gotten your heart broken more times than you can count, but you haven’t given up on love yet.”

His smile was wide and sure. And she stared at him, speechless, frowning slightly.

“See?” he urged, “I know you.”

There was silence again as they stared at each other. And her eyes began to pull away from his again, shifting down to her thumbs. His heart dropped, afraid that he just poured his heart out to her for nothing.

“Please say something,” he begged. He thought his chest was about to explode.

She took a breath, pausing with her mouth open for a moment before. There was barely a foot between their faces and he could see every crease of her eyes and forehead, unspeaking. It was the first time Harry had seen her at a loss for words, and he was terrified for what would happen when she finally spoke.

“Harry, I-” she started, her eyes searching his face, trying to find the right words to say, but nothing came. She sat there, sputtering.

Harry stared at her, waiting. And when she didn’t say anything, he pleaded with her, “Please don’t make me feel like an idiot, Y/N. Say something. Anything. I just need to know.”

“Yes, Harry, obviously I like you,” she finally forced out, taking a deep breath and locking eyes with him as she finally let it all out. It was like he had just unplugged a tidal wave of pent-up thoughts and they started to pour out of her, “But you’re Harry-fucking-Styles. And that shouldn’t matter, but it does! I’m not the kind of girl that dates the popular football star, Harry. I’m the one in the back of the class who no one notices. I keep my head down and only have three real friends. Do you know how stupid I feel for liking you?”

He couldn’t listen to her say such horrible self-deprecating things about herself anymore. Not when she sat twelve inches from him, her eyes illuminating from the glow of the tv and her soft lips taunting him with the words that kept echoing in his mind since the second they came out of her beautiful mouth. ‘Obviously I like you’. That’s all he needed to hear. Nothing else mattered. A smile was stretched across his face and he couldn’t hold back any longer. She was still talking, but he couldn’t hear a thing and he lurched forward, closing the space between them as he pressed his lips on hers.

The suddenness of it startled her for a moment, but once she realized what was happening, her eyes closed and she sunk into him, allowing it to happen. She felt Harry smile into the kiss, which only made her do the same, and he deepened it by snaking his hand up her arm and to her neck, tangling the tips of his fingers in her hair.

Her hands instinctively roamed to his chest, placing her palm gently against the soft cotton of his red graphic t-shirt and she could feel his heart beating rapidly as they kissed, their tongues now dancing together, lips moving in sync. Had she known she’d be kissing Harry Styles tonight, she might have thought to bring some chewing gum after eating all the sushi for dinner.

Harry felt her start to kneel on the couch and he leaned back as she began to hover over him, swinging one leg over his lap, straddling him now on the couch and she deepened the kiss, both of her hands now on his jawline. His member began to throb against his pants and his hands started to roam her back and sides and even grabbing onto her ass, squeezing firmly. He hesitated for a moment as his hands slid back up the side of her body, underneath her shirt and stopping just below the underwire of her bra.

He took hold of the hem of her shirt and pulled away to see Y/N breathing a little heavier, her lips swollen and slightly red from all of their kissing, and he was almost certain he looked the same, yet somehow she looked even more beautiful.

“Can I-?” he tugged on the bottom of her shirt.

She nodded, sitting back a bit to give him more room to lift her shirt up over her head. He stared for a moment at her perfectly round breasts that sat holstered by a baby pink bra until the urge overwhelmed him and he began to press his face to her soft, cushioned skin, doting kisses all over her chest. She felt his hands slide towards her back and unclasp her bra with ease, letting it slip down her arms and revealing her full breasts, cupping one and bringing her nipple into his mouth while he massaged the other with his free hand.

Slowly he began trailing his suckling kisses up her chest and towards her neck, making her head fall back as he hit a sweet spot, a small moan escaping her soft lips. It was the push she needed that sent her over the edge. She wanted him. All of the things she had fantasized about doing with Harry came rushing to the forefront of her mind. He was being so soft and gentle with her, making sure each kiss was intimate and deliberate. She tugged at his shirt, letting him know she wanted it off, and he pried himself off of her to allow her to pull it over his head to reveal his tattoo ridden chest and arms.

Immediately, he wrapped his arm around her waist and twisted her so that her back was propped up against the armrest of the couch and he was hovering over her. He began kissing her again, hand slipping down to her jeans and rubbing where her crotch was, making her hold her breath from the feeling. And when he started to unbutton her pants, he pulled away.

“Is this okay?” he asked, earning a vigorous nod, her mouth slightly parted.

He pulled her pants off, underwear going with it, and traced kisses from her toes up to her muff where he began to suck at her clit, running his tongue along her slit. Her breath shallowed when he inserted his fingers in her cunt, flicking them upwards as he lapped at her juices, unable to control her moans. He looked up at her as his nose was buried in her pussy, roused by the look of indulgence on her face and he pulled away, causing her to lock eyes with him.

Y/N leaned forward, pressing her lips to his once more. She began bent down, peppering his neck and chest with kisses, trailing down his stomach and he leaned back on the couch, legs separating as she slinked herself between them, knees hitting the floor. He watched as she unclasped his pants and slowly pulled them down to his ankles, eyes staring hungrily as his dick popped out of its hold, waving in front of her face.

She took hold of him at the base and used two hands to pump him, feeling every ridge and vein as she slid her hands up and down his erection. She dropped a hand, cupping his balls and massaging as she ran her wet tongue from the base of his member to his tip before taking him into her mouth. Harry’s jaw dropped and jutted forward from the sensation, watching her through half-closed eyelids as her head bobbed up and down.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as she took his balls into her mouth, pumping him with her hand.

She held out as long as she could, but Y/N couldn’t wait any longer. She wanted him inside of her. So she got to her feet and straddled him again, holding onto his shoulders for balance. His eyes were full of lust as he scanned her body, their eyes locking as she slowly lowered herself on top of him, with his help for guidance. Both of their mouths were parted, thin gasps as her warm box engulfed him, steadily bouncing up and down.

Everything about it was sensual. Every desirous kiss, every longing look, every craved touch, taste, and movement felt almost overwhelming. His senses seemed to go crazy and the world around them turned fuzzy. For a moment, he forgot who he was. He forgot he was a separate entity, not entangled as one with Y/N. She rode him with such passion that he couldn’t bear the thought of it ending.

He wrapped her arm around her waist again, pulling her tight into him as he readjusted her back onto the couch, hovering over her again. She sucked in air as he began to pump into her, painstakingly slow. Her back arched with desire, breathing his name and a small formed on his lips, bending down to kiss her.

She wrapped her arms around his body, pulling him closer to her chest as he took a firm grasp down at her waist, pushing himself deeper in her, slowly still. He could feel her hole start to throb around him and her breaths started to shudder, louder now. She was close.

“You’re gonna make me cum, Harry,” she whimpered, forcing herself to look at him.

He brushed her hair out of her face, trying to keep his pace to not throw her off her path. He stared down at her, searching her face as he panted. God, she was so beautiful. He planted a hard kiss on her lips and nodded, “Finish, Y/N. You can do it.”

Her eyes tightened in focus, and her mouth opened wider and wider as she gripped on his back, digging her nails into his skin, stinging as she sucked in a huge gasp of air, held it, stiffened as she finally released. He paused, letting her collect herself as she finally let out her breath and that’s when he began to pump faster.

Her moans started up again and he pushed his chest away from hers to get a better look, pulling her waist to his and watching her breasts bounce every time his hips collided with hers. He was close. He gritted his teeth, pumping faster now as he looked down at her, her hair sprawled on the couch underneath her, little red marks along her chest and stomach from him being pressed against her for so long, and a sign of their lovemaking shown on her collarbone in the form of a faint purple hickey which made him even more enthralled.

He felt the rush in him begin to rise like a ball of fire as he began his climax, gripping tighter now on her waist, not breaking eye contact. She bit her bottom lip as he went faster, and faster until he felt that ball of fire creep into his groin, and quickly, he slipped himself out of her. She grabbed hold of his soaking cock just as he busted, letting out a shaky moan, and she pumped him a few more times to make sure it was all out.

After a moment to collect his breath, he bent down and grabbed his shirt, using it to clean up. And before she could get her clothes on, Harry collapsed beside her on the small bit of space left on the edge of the couch, pulling her closer to him and pressing a kiss on the corner of her mouth. She turned to face him with a satisfied grin, and he tucked her hair behind her ear to get a better look at her.

“You’re amazing,” he said, looking between her eyes, “And I know that being with me sounds scary, but I promise I’ll always be there if you’ll have me.”

Y/N pursed her lips, trailing her fingers from his forehead, to his ears, and down to his plump lips which she traced with her thumb. She nodded, lips twitching upwards in a grin, “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he smiled, hugging her tighter.

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

Taglist:

@thurhomish @odetostep

[lockdownuk]

Lockdown Diary Part 1

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day 1: Last night Boris called it, today we’re doing it. I had started working from home (wfh) yesterday as had most people at my work (RCI)..last week I had been preparing laptops as fast as poss for everyone. Even just today, the idea of going into work seems alien and dangerous. Now lockdown (ld) means that it would soon be illegal to do so unless utterly necessary.

Online, FaceBook (fb) especially, is awash with reaction…a lot of calling out people who are out and about in greater numbers than 2, which is against ld rules.

Day 2: Just trying to let work occupy my thoughts and time which is easy enough ‘cos everyone I support (IT engineer) is new to wfh and is having teething problems with all the new laptops. Meanwhile, I keep abreast of comings and goings online…actually socially interacting more than I might otherwise, weirdly

Day 3: Highlight of the day is an online quiz organised by a chap called Jay Flynn on fb…a bunch of us took it as individuals while chatting on Messenger while Jay streamed quiz over fb live and YouTube. It was a good crack and I had two cans of Coors Light which got me pissed!

Day 4: Work is still mad - so many people with IT issues wfh…it’s challenging trying resolve all these probelms remotely but I am rising to it. I actually enjoy it. It satisfies my want for problem-solving.

The ld is in full swing but it’s very early days. The news is dominated, obviously, by Covid-19 and the ever changing stats of infections and deaths. Today, for example, the USA took over, from China, as the country with the most infections. I know there will be an end to all this and I am determined to be there, going out, getting pissed down the pub, gigging, shaking hands with my mates, hugging anyone and everyone who’ll let me - it’ll be a proper party. But I am filled with a dread that it’s going to be a fucking long time coming.

This evening was spent virtually with Foggy, Ham and Andy P…doing a quiz - a rehearsal for Foggy in the hope of doing one to a wider audience next week. It was good fun and great to have a few beers chatting with everyone, Later I video called Fog and we drank ‘til gone midnight, putting the world to rights. I was well pissed.

Day 5: First non-work day of the ld. Housework, daily walk, out for supplies (drop a script order off…queuing outside boots for 15 minues!, bread, baccy and booze). This evening, I’m listening to the next album in NME list of 1985 albums I’m working through - Grace Jones Slave to the Rhythm…fucking pain in the arse ‘cos it’s not on Spotify so I am searching for each song, in order, on YouTube. Plus eating and drinking, of course. Quick video chat with karen and Grace, Dan in the background. I wanted a tin of kidney beans for chilli but Karen hasn’t got one ffs. Burger it is. They are all playing scrabble - I’d love to join in…

Day 6: A quiet day…housework, cooking, daily walk. Highlight was a half hour chinwag with dad who, as I would expect, despite his 84 years, is coping and doing just fine. Most other people with a dad that age would have, on top of their own concerns, something more to worry about during this crisis….for me, it feels like I’ve got someone to turn to, should I need to.

Day 7: Work is starting to feel more routine but it’s a long way off being in the office, which is never routine anyway. That may seem surprising since I do IT support but it’s a varied role, especially at the modern dinosaur of an organisation that is RCI. I try to be as disciplined as possible but I miss not dressing for work, not driving to work, not needing to actually prepare lunch (until lunchtime). I don’t actually need to shower every morning. I don’t think I have to ordinarily but do because I’m mixing with others in the office. I certainly don;t need to now. I only mix with me, so showering becomes a chore but I’m doing it every other morning in the name of the aforementioned discipline. I am worried how long RCI can keep going before laying staff off. I dread being out of work full stop, let alone during this ld, or even thereafter. I think the economies of the world will need time to recover so finding work will be tough à la 2008. I think, if lay-offs were to occur, I’d be in real danger. Last in first out and all that. But, I’ll cross that bridge if and when I come to it.

Day 8: At work there was a large online meeting whereby the MD told us that RCI are going to furlough some staff. The UK, and Ireland staff will be consulted this coming Thursday and Friday (it’s Tuesday today). I shall be reading up on what the furlough arrangements are in the UK due to Covid-19. I know the government have set aside some money, I need to know what I might get paid and how to claim it. In the past, when I’ve been out of work, I’ve been entitled to jack shit other than JSA, This time around, should I be laid off as I expect, I might not have to eat into my savings, fingers crossed. Meanwhile, I have decided to knock up another blog with a photo of myself each day of the ld (from now on) - it’s a sister to this diary.

Day 9: Actually typing this on day 10. Yesterday was a strange day as I contemplate being furloughed (hope for the best, expect the worst)…I’d be paid 80% of my wage according to what the government have said to assist in the Covid-19 crisis…so, were that to be true, I’d be OK money-wise, although still earning way less than I want to prepared for retirement (I am currently still waiting for feedback on a pay increase request I put in at work last year!) I’m more worried about how I would fill my day if I wasn’t working. So, that being said, I flopped and moped about all yesterday evening after my daily walk and, without achieving much at all, didn’t find time to write this entry on the right day…so maybe I can fill my days without much effort!

Day 10: I was furloughed today, starting 5pm tomorrow (Friday 3rd April) and it’s fucked me off. I know it’s not personal but, actually, do I? They’re cutting back the Kettering Desktop team by one, redacted It seems obvious to do this by the ‘last in, first out’ maxim but what about money? others are on more than me (redacted). What about offering it voluntarily - others might go for 80% pay for fuck all - others have family at home to occupy the day  (redacted) . A little bit of me thinks it might be preferable furlough me  (redacted) …others seems to be a favourite and that annoys me. It annoys me because I think I shoot myself in the foot too often. I’m too vocal about some of the (redacted) decisions and practices at work, plus other reasons that I know but can’t be bothered to type. But, my point, is I don’t play the politically correct, corporate game and therefore forget to look out for my own best interests. FUCK.

So, as of tomorrrow evening, I’ve no work to do. The challenge will be to find a way to occupy my day. I’ve already registered to volunteer for the NHS during the ld…let’s see what becomes of that. And I’ve signed up for web development course. I’m going to get fucking pissed this w/e, starting early tomorrow evening.

Day 11: It’s day 12 as I am writing this entry…that might tell any reader, and remind me, that I did as I promised and got pretty drunk. I spent the day geting my work affairs in order i.e. clearing down support tickets assigned to me. I did a good job, nothing left to handover to the remaining team (Jim, Cristina and Mark) and onky one ticket put into the assigned pool. Some nice converstaions were had with associates, many of whom are, too, being furloughed. Nice words were said and Jim and Mark both were supportive in conversations and messages - they both know I don’t wnat this and, I think, they are both relieved it’s not happening to them. 5 pm arrives and I shutdown my work laptop for the last time for at least 12 weeks. After my daily walk, I video chat with Karen, crack open a beer, make Chinese chicken curry (fucking loads, fucking tasty), finish watching The National Theatre stream of One Man, Two Guvnors (really good, see twoinchreview) and the caught up with, and talked bollocks with Andy, Marc and Ham - we tried getting Rog in on it, no dice. I then watched The Heat (I fucking love that film), ate some more, smoked several single-skinners, drank, in total, three cans, seven bottles. I went to bed shortly after 4am. I felt resigned to my furlough and pleasantly wasted.

Day 12: A subdued day…didn’t wake until gone 1:30pm. Jaded but not really suffering. Mooched about, social media, listening to music, watching telly, farting about on the iPad. My daily walk, over the last fews days, has taken a twist…I am trying to run parts of it. Mainly short distances, 80-100m (I estimate) three, maybe four times. It’s fucking knackering me out. I used to run everywhere when I was a teen. Attempting to run now just makes me feel fucking old. Well, I am, so that’s about right.

Day 13: Another day like yesterday except I got up at 10:30 and didn’t feel jaded. The subdued feeling comes from the realsiation that the ld isn’t being treated as seriously as it should be across the board. The news and even posts by locals on FB (Oundle chatter group) suggest groups still meeting up. The weather this w/e has been a factor - 17°c today. I think a total ld will be enforced soon and that would fuck me off. My daily walk is pretty essential for me nowadays not least for the ‘good for your soul’ benefits that dad has always mentioned. Even today’s walk saw a car parked at the gates to the field on the way to Ashton and people on a blanket soaking up the sun, dogs off their leads and people (looked like a family) playing footy on South Road field. Individually they are not presenting any danger, what with the fact they are either living together or far away from others. But they are flaunting the rules and the more that happens the less likely they’ll carry on getting away with it, which will mean total ld for all! I finished the 50 1985 albums today. It mostly confirms to me that I only listened to two albums released that year (Kate Bush, The Waterboys) any other vinyl I spun would have already been in my collection pre-85.

The sausage casserole I made for tea was fucking lush - 4 birdeye chillies. I saw and spoke with Dan and Grace this morning, they were just coming back from a walk. I am pleased to fuck they are together and sorted out the issues they had earlier this year.

Day 14: My first day proper of furlough. Finished my two inch review of the NME 50 albums. Long chat with Rita, quick one with dad. Messaged Sam about Romiley���s present - she’s 10 on the 9th April (Thursday) - ordered some Lego thing from Amazon. Turned the car engine over (reminded myself the driver-side wing mirror is fucked) and moved it to another spot in the Co-op car park - bumped into Matt T. He’s struggling - no work coming in and he can’t claim any of the money on offer ‘cos he’s not being totally honest about his circumstances - made me realise I’m not that bad off…..but I feel depressed about it all, especially with the news that Boris has gone into intensive care.

Day 15: I began a diploma (?) course on web design with Shaw Academy (it was free). They have actual classes (which are recorded) which you schedule yourself. The first one was, I have to say, really interesting - I look forward to continuing. On my walk today, I saw a car parked at the gate to the field at the bottom of Riverside Close; it was branded with Cunninghams Estate Agent with a 01536 number. I am pretty sure I saw the driver walking her dog (unleashed) on the field. I took a photo and rang the number. Yes, I ratted the culprit out…fucking annoys me that I had to. Better than reporting to the police, all round. Hopefully her work will put a stop to her doing it and, the more people that adhere to the rules without the police getting wind of infractions, the more likely we’ll be able to continue to exercise away from home.

Day16: More online learning including checking out other sites (pluralsight) for more learning opportunities. Coded my first web page, basic but mine, in HTML and CSS. A few beers & smokes and watching White Boy Rick in the evening, interspersed with the usual social media / messaging shit, incuding this entry, of course!

Day 17: Typing this on Day 18. After a few beers last night while chatting with Fog (twice - the first chat ended with him ‘having’ to go to bed. Later, I noticed he was commenting on FB, so I video called him…round two of chatting!). I got quite fucking pissed. Bed around 4am.

Day18: Up at 1pm. Long walk today, 7 km. Anything over 40 minutes, I’ve realised, results in a hypo.

Day19: Well, having gone to bed at gone 5am I got up at nearly 1pm feeling far better than I should have. Breakfast followed by a walk, spoke with Karen (mowing her front lawn) and Dan. He and Grace have split up which is sad news but he seems OK. Went shopping (milk and sweets) and ended up with a shit load of booze, the post of which on FB was quite amusing. Homemade burgers for tea (they’re in the fridge as I type) - gonna try and make Five Guys…

Day20: The Five Guys burger attempt didn’t go as well as I wanted. I think less than 5% fat mince just doesn’t bind that well. However, I managed to get something resembling a burger into the bun and, with cheese, hot sauce and jalapeños, it was tasty enough. More of the same when I finish typing this entry. Strange Easter Day today, as I knew it would be. The best thing I saw today was a video Tom posted on FB of him and Molly doing a mashup of Starsailor and George Michael - Tom on guitar singing the former, Molly singing the latter. It was fucking fantatstic.

Day 21: Easter Monday. Surreal…it’s feeling very surreal now, this lockdown.

Two things that bother me right now:

i) The political point scoring on FB. I get it, I really do…people like to bring up ‘obvious’ failings in the party’s mistakes. For example, Marc posting comparisons between UK and Germany’s figures of cases and deaths due to Covid-19. I doesn’t make impressive reading for the government and it should be held accountable. But not fucking now!

ii) Will they introduce rotational furloughing at RCI? It’s only been a week, 11 to go. And, it bothers me that I was furloughed rather than Mark. Pathetic of me, I know! But, should it last the 12 week stretch, I want to go back to work and let someone else have the chance to have fuck all to do all day! That being said, I’m still learning web design through Shaw Academy. Even today, bank holiday, I revised Lesson 2.

Day22: Nice catchup with Dad today - he and Rita seem to be more than OK with lockdown. I actually cannot wait until we can meet up at The Farmers again!

Day 23: While I had a Corvee engineer come to the house today to do a gas safety check (I waited upstairs while he was here, self-isolation and all that), and had the fourth online web design lesson, had a trip to Boots to pick up insulin, got milk from Tesco’s, saw American Rachel and had a chat (while we both queued to get into Tesco’s) and had a very nice walk along a different route from the norm, in the pleasant sunshine and watched Contagion on Netflix - all today - I AM STILL BORED AS FUCK!

Day 24: I had plans for today - revise the last two lessons of Shaw Academy’s web design course, investigate a ethical hacking course, do some washing, clean upstairs (or at least the bathroom) plus all the usual stuff. Then, as a reward, have some beers. Well, guess what. I am not having beers this evening. I managed the laundry. Plus I manged to subtitle my YouTube perfect snabby video (something I have been meaning to do for a while, but, come on!) It took me fucking ages. But it is funny! So, a fucking far from fruitful day. Plus the government announced at least 3 more weeks of lockdown. There’ll be loads more, I reckon. Tomorrow…I promise I’ll be better tomorrow…

Day 25: I did do better! Firstly the Corveee man fucked the boiler which I only noticed late yesterday but still managed to get sorted today. I did some excellent revision and learning of HTML (tags) and CSS. I cleaned the bathroom and hall. And I discovered TikTok (fucking excellent dancing and funny vids) plus discovered a new FaceBook word game (Sam sent me an invite) called WordBlitz and I am pretty good. Having beers now (nearly 11pm).

Day 26: Today I found myself calling 111. I had a pain in my side last night, I thought it might be constipation! That not being the case (!), today I went to 111.nhs.uk and, following their questions, it recommended I seek out a GP straightaway. Once I let the website know that is not possible, it directed me to visit walk in centres. I spoke with Karen thereafter - for advice about whether it’s a good idea to enter such an establishment - I really don’t want to increase me chances of catching the Covid-19 virus. Karen recommended ringing 111 since the website does not take into account my diabetes (so bloody sensible a suggestion!)

After ringing and answering many questions, the lady said she’d get an OOHS GP to call. The doctor called soon after and it seems most likely I have a grumbling appendix (chronic appendicitis) and to ring again (well, 999) if the pain becomes unbearable.

I now have a bag at the ready for hospital which I really hope I don’t have to use. Today, I  have, therefore, done fuck all - not even a walk - but I am having a beer now (midnight) and shall attempt to sleep as well as possible and hope this pain subsides naturally…

It occurs to me that I turn to Karen when things become flumoxing - my excuse, this time, is she works at the surgery but that was mere convenience.

Day 27: My ‘appendicitis pain was the same when I woke up (10:20) but no worse. I managed to change bed clothes and clean my bedroom but didn’t risk a walk (in case something drastic happens when I’m in a fucking field).

People’s responses and questions online have been heartening (Rachel Harris, Susie Grange, Bethan, Jo, Tracey Weber, Debbie De Prisco and, not least Dan). As the day progresses, I feel better but not right. I spoke with Dad about it and, as I told him, I shall ring Oundle GP tomorrow. Meanwhile, I did Sam Clew’s FB Live quiz, which was good, and am now having a beer or two.

Day 28: The pain in my side has definitley diminished. I called the Oundle surgery today to talk about what treatment I should have for ‘grumbling appendicitis’. The reseptionist organised a call back from a GP - Dr. Cash. Basically, he said he didn’t believe the condition existed, that acute appendicitis doesn’t happen after the age of 35, and ‘his gut felling’ is it will all just clear up.

I shall seek a more sensible diagnosis after lockdown and hope it doesn’t flare up again before then.

Day 29: I sent an email to the team at work today (Jim, Mark, Cristina and Sueanne). I hadn’t heard from them and I wanted to check in and, also, make a point that I will be posing the ‘rotational furlough’ question to HR at some point. It was as I wrote the email that I realised it’s only been two weeks and two days of furlough, and that includes Easter! Seems so much fucking longer. Anyway, everyone replied and it was good to hear from them….Mark came off his bike and broke ribs and collarbone! Lesson 5 of the Web Design course with Shaw Academy. It’s becoming apparent that, if you don’t pay for the course ‘toolkit’ it’s all rather patchy! The instructor dives into lines of code (HTML, CSS and Java) with no explanation….I feel like I did on the ifrst lesson of further maths ate Stamford School! I shall soldier on and beef up the missing parts with W3Schools (a great website and learning aid for coding). Two quick points. I am no longer running any part of my daily walk; hurts too much. I am addicted to Wordblitz and TikTok. Day30: I am writing this on day 31, I just forgot yesterday! It was a non eventful day. I did watch Midnight Run (again!) and had a couple of midweek beers though.

[harlow-creed]

CHARACTER INTRODUCTION

HARLOW CREED

[ HARLOW CREED ] has arrived in Ardere! Under the bonfire light, this [TWENTY EIGHT ] year old [ FEMALE ] is sometimes mistaken for [ MEGAN FOX]. Since graduating from [DURMSTRANG ], they have been working as a [EXECUTIONER/HIT WITCH ]. Right now, they are currently residing in [LONDON].

- HARLOW ISKRA CREED - APOLLO AIN’T GOT NOTHING ON THIS BITCH

- 28 YEARS OLD

- BISEXUAL

- DURMSTRANG ALUMNI

- HIT WITCH & EXECUTIONER FOR THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

- LIVES IN LONDON 

- NO FAMILY LEFT - HER DAD MURDERED HER MUM WHEN HE FOUND OUT SHE WAS HIDING A CHILD AND THEN TOOK HARLOW AWAY. SHE WAITED IT OUT AND MURDERED HER DAD IN COLD BLOODED REVENGE AT THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN AND TOOK HIS THRONE. LIFE COMES AT YA FAST. V IS FOR VENDETTA BITCH. ALEXA PLAY BILLIE EILISH ‘YOU SHOULD SEE ME IN A CROWN’ 👑

- HARLOW WAS OBVIOUSLY CAUGHT BY THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC BUT WAS OFFERED AN OUT WHEN THEIR PREVIOUS EXECUTIONER WAS DUE TO STAND TRIAL FOR CRIMES COMMITTED DURING THE SECOND WIZARDING WAR AND GOING ON THE RUN TO AVOID CAPTURE. THE MINISTRY SAW HER POTENTIAL AND CLAIMED THAT THE ONLY WAY SHE WOULD AVOID PRISON OR BEING EXECUTED HERSELF WOULD BE TO TAKE ON THE POSITION. HER FIRST TEST WAS TO EXECUTE THE PREVIOUS EXECUTIONER. A WEEK AFTER HER EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY HARLOW HAD ALREADY TAKEN TWO LIVES.

- HER MIDDLE NAME IS ISKRA WHICH MEANS ‘SPARK’ IN BULGARIAN. IT CERTAINLY LIVES UP TO IT SINCE HARLOW IS AN ABSOLUTE FIRECRACKER. SHE DOESN’T TAKE SHIT AT ALL. #TALKSHITGETHIT

- HARLOW IS QUITE DETACHED FROM LIFE. SHE’S LEARNED TO SEPARATE AND COMPARTMENTALISE HER LIFE. HER JOB TAKES A TOLL ON HER LIKE IT WOULD WITH ANYONE AND SHE’S CHOSEN TO MENTALLY REMOVE ANY FROM OF EMOTION TO THAT PART OF HER LIFE. SHE’D NEVER SLEEP OTHERWISE WITH HER CONSCIENCE HAUNTING HER.

- LOSING HER FAMILY YOUNG HARLOW HAS GROWN COLD. FROM THE VERY GET GO IN LIFE SHE WAS TAUGHT THAT IT WAS HARSH AND SAVAGE. SO HARLOW BECAME WHAT SHE HAD TO BE.

- EVERYONE IN HER LIFE THAT HAS EVER MEANT ANYTHING TO HER HAS BEEN CRUELLY TAKEN FROM HER AND NOW SHE DECIDES THAT ITS EASIER TO BE ON HER OWN IN AN ATTEMPT TO AVOID THE HEARTACHE OF LOSS AGAIN.

- HARLOW IS SHARP-TONGUED, QUICK WITTED AND DOESN’T HAVE THE PATIENCE FOR PEOPLE THAT WANT TO PLAY DUMB AND CUT ABOUT LIKE A FART IN A TRANCE 💨 

- HER TEMPER IS W I L D LIKE THIS WOMAN IS NOT A WOMAN YOU WANT TO EVEN LOOK AT THE WRONG WAY - HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE HARLOW CREED SCORNED 🔥🔥🔥

- HARLOW IS INTELLIGENT IN GENERAL BUT SHE’S GIFTED IN THE SUBJECTS THAT SHE WAS RAISED AROUND. DARK ARTS WERE WITH HER FROM A YOUNG AGE THANKS TO WHO HER FATHER WAS. SHE HAD ACCESS TO RESOURCES THAT SHE SHOULD HAVE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO GET HER HANDS ON AND THE MINISTRY HAVE ONLY BEEN MORE THAN HAPPY TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THESE ABILITIES IN HARLOWS ROLE. 

- AS MUCH AS SHE COMES ACROSS AS A BITCH WITH A MURDER COMPLEX, SHE’S ACTUALLY A GOOD PERSON TO BE AROUND. SHE’S FRIENDLY, SHE’S CHATTY AND SHE’S MORE THAN HAPPY TO BE AROUND OTHERS. IT JUST TAKES THAT INITAL GETTING PAST THE FRONT AND THE CAREER BARRIERS. ONCE YOU’RE THROUGH THOSE, IT’S ALL GOOD. 

- HARLOW IS AWARE THAT PEOPLE TALK ABOUT HER JOB, IT WOULD BE HARD NOT TO WHEN IT’S A MASSIVE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM. 

- LEGIT ORGANISES NIGHTS OUT FOR THE ADULT SQUAD WHERE THEY ALL JUST GO AND GET DRUNK BECAUSE HOW ELSE ARE THEY SUPPOSED TO DEAL WITH LIFE FULL OF DRAMATIC GREMLINS. SHE’S STARTING A GANG WHO AGGRESSIVELY SUPPORT EACH OTHER WHILE TRYING TO SURVIVE LIFE. SO LET HER KNOW IF YOU WANT IN BECAUSE IF WE GET ENOUGH PEOPLE WE’RE GETTING JACKETS.

- BAD ASS, SMART ASS, GREAT ASS

- NO TEARS, JUST TEA. ☕️

- 100% WILL THROW HANDS, NO DOUBT ABOUT IT.

- KNIVES OUT, BONNETS ON! 👒 

I WILL ADD TO THIS AS I GO ALONG

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS

FRIENDS

EX’S

HUSBAND/WIFE - THEY COULD ALREADY BE MARRIED (OPEN TO EITHER SINCE HARLOW IS BI)

ON AND OFF AGAIN

BEST FRIENDS

CHILDHOOD FRIENDS

ENEMIES

FLIRTATIONSHIP

CLIENT 

TARGET

CRUSH

SQUAD - AIN’T NOBODY FUCKIN’ WITH MY CLIQUE

POWER COUPLE - CAN BE A RELATIONSHIP OR JUST FRIENDS

STUDENTS

TRAGEDY/ANGST

THE DIVIDE - THE OTHER MIGHT FEEL LIKE HARLOW IS GOING DOWN A PATH THAT THEY CAN’T FOLLOW THANKS TO HER JOB

I’M OPEN TO ANYTHING WHEN IT COMES TO PLOTS. IF ANYONE WOULD LIKE TO PLOT PLEASE HMU OR LIKE THIS AND I’LL DROP YOU A MESSAGE

[johnismyreason]

Episode 4: « I force the entrance »

gif credit: @peakystitches

PREVIOUS EPISODES

The next day, as expected, the Solomons and the Shelbys met at the same café the day before, at the same time. They had coffee and breakfast and set off.

"I have several places to show you, in several different parts of Paris, all different. What kind of customers do you want ?”

“The best” answered straight away Arthur.

“That has the merit of being clear. Well, I have what you need."

They get into a car, which Elsa drove. They crossed all types of streets, boulevards, avenues,... Once again the English discovered Paris and marvelled inside. They're English, they don't let anything appear, right ? They finally arrived in front of a fairly busy café-bistro: it was a mixed population. There were bourgeois, merchants, craftsmen, workers,... They were all mixed because they come to this café particularly because it made most of the sports bets, especially horse racing. The manager sees the group entering his establishment and already knows what will happen.

"Good morning, gentlemen and lady. My name is Clément. What can I do for you ?”

“We're going to have some tea," Elsa replied.

“Good. Green, grey, black tea ?”

“Give us the color you want, man. We're going to sit down.”

“Perfect” he swallowed. “I'll bring this to you right away.” He waved to them to move forward in the room to settle in. They sat on a red couch under large mirrors.

“So what do you think ?” asked Alfie.

“I say it's fucking chic here. This makes me want to fart in silk" said Arthur. John laughed at his brother's remark, while Tom looked up at the ceiling, jind of desperate.

“The place welcomes all types of people. There are no longer any social classes when it comes to making money effortlessly," said Elsa. “It seems that the manager makes 5000 francs in just one week. Not just when there are horse races. People bet on other sports too.”

“It looks very good to me," said John.

“Besides, if you have a racehorse, people will take it as their mascot, and bet on it. They will come to consume and play even more.”

“It's a good strategy," commented Thomas. “Are the games rigged ?”

“No, everything is in order.”

“And the manager, what do we do with him ?”

“We'll take care of it.” At the same time Clément walked in with the tea and served his customers. “Do you need anything else ?”

“Yes. Your business.” Elsa answered, looking into his eyes. Clement, stopped moving and breathing. He knew he was going to lose his bistro the moment Elsa came in with his gang.

“I can't, miss... This bistro has been in the family for generations. I can't sell it to you.”

“Who told you I want to buy it ?”

“I thought that....”

“No, I'm gonna put the pressure on you, the pressure of my gun on your skull and either pull the trigger or not. It's up to you.” She took a sip of her tea, as if her threat was a little friendly message.

“Miss Solomons, I'm really sorry, I can't give it to you.” Elsa put her cup down.

“The thing is, it's not even for me. It's for them” she pointed at the Peaky Blinders with her chin. “They wanted to have a business in Paris and I thought this was the best place to do it. You know, you're very lucky it's for them and not for me. They're much softer than I am. They may be willing to buy it from you.”

“Again, the bistro is not for sale.” Clément raised his voice, which Elsa didn't like.

“Very well. We're leaving. I'll leave the tea on your account, huh... As compensation for the bad service.” She got up and signaled to the men to do the same.

“We're leaving ? asked JOhn who didn’t understand the conversation in french.

“Yes, he's a wanker. I'll find you another place. Come on.” Thomas caught the young woman by the arm.

“There is no way I'm leaving," he said quietly to Elsa.

“Who told you we were leaving ?” She freed herself from Tommy's grip, and turnt to Clément. “Where is the phone, please ?”

“There is one only in my office," replied Clément.

“Well, where's your office, then," she sighed.

“It's this way.” Clément showed him the way to his office. They entered a small room with a window. He handed Elsa the phone. She took the member who allows to hear and stunned Clément with it. He fell to the ground but Elsa immediately lifted him up by the collar, and punched him in the nose. Then a second time, a third time. That was when the Peaky Blinders came into the office, alarmed by the screams.

“Elsa !” shouted Tommy. But the young woman didn't care and put Clément against the wall. He moaned in pain. She approached his ear and whispered:

“You're gonna give me your bistro or I'm gonna blow your fucking head off, understand ? I'm losing patience here, I don't know if you've noticed.” Clément cried and grined. His whole body was shaking with fear and pain. As he gave no answer, Elsa pulled out her weapon, removed the security and pointed it at the poor man's temple. “I count to three Clement, then I blow your brains out. One... two... two... thr…”

“Alright !” he shouted. “It's okay! It's okay! Take the bistro... Take it…” he sighed. Elsa had a smile of satisfaction on her face.

“Thank you. Wise decision.” She dropped him to the ground and he curled up moaning in pain and sadness. “There you guys are, you're the new owners of the bar. We'll make new documents saying you own the place. My guys will do that.” She paused for a short while and examined the desk and the man on the ground, then turnt to the Peaky Blinders. “Shall we have a drink to celebrate ? You invite me hahahaha !” She laughed hysterically. She took her uncle's arm and they left. Arthur got behind the bar and served the group some whiskey. They each had a drink and Elsa rose hers. “To the new bosses ! Welcome to Paris, darlings !” She made her glass ring on those of others who imitated her.

A customer walked up to a server and asks: "I would like to bet on Moca, number 7. I bet 150 francs". Elsa looked at the boys who didn't understand what the man had just said.

“Guys, you're going to get yourself some golden balls," she said, drinking a sip of her whiskey.

“It's all thanks to you," said John. “If you knew it made a lot of money, why didn't you take it ?”

“I don't know... I wanted to have other businesses than bars and restaurants. Also, I like to save bistros that suck. So there was no challenge there.”

“Anyway, it's a very nice place. Thank you again Elsa.” Tommy rose his glass in her direction.

“I should learn from you, Elsa," said Alfie.

“What do you mean?

“Put my fist in someone's face to get what I want. That's the only thing they understand. When I get home, I'll do that. The guy you just smashed up, he barely fought for what he has ! It's so easy.” Elsa laughed, but not the Peaky Blinders, still embarrassed by the young woman's methods of persuasion. They finished their drinks and left.

“What do you want to do now ?” asked Elsa.

“Let's go see the Bastille! I want to see where the fucking French cut off their fucking king's head," laughed Arthur.

“Arthur, first of all the Bastille was destroyed during the Revolution, there is nothing left, so you won't see the prison," explained Elsa with a slight hint of contempt in her voice. “Secondly, he was guillotined in the Place de la Révolution, now called Place de la Concorde. If you want we can go, and then there is the Tuileries garden and the Louvre. What do you think of that ?”

“It's perfect," replied Alfie always very enthusiastic. Let's go!"

They climbed into the car and Elsa drove them to Paris. They arrived in a perpendicular street to the Place de la Concorde, where they parked. They got off the car and walked towards the Obelisk. Once in the square, Elsa recounted what happened on January 21, 1790, the day the French guillotined their king. They then headed for the Jardin des Tuileries in the direction of the Louvre:

"It's still incredible that you dared to behead your king," John told Elsa. The other three men being further ahead. “You really have to hate your sovereign.”

“I don't think we hated our king. We hated the system to which we gave everything, but which gave us nothing in return, not even the right to express ourselves, not even the right to count in society. It had to stop. But you're not going to tell me you love your king, are you ?”

“I could !” he replied. “No, the thing is, I don't really care. I do my business and that's it. Politics and all that crap, it's not for me.”

“Your stuff or Tommy's ?”

“What do you mean ?”  

“Well, he's still the one who makes all the decisions without ever consulting you and Arthur, he makes you do the dirty work,... Alfie told me that.”

“That's not true. We decide together.”

“Oh, yeah? What about the story with the Russians ? Alfie told me no one knew what was going on except Tommy. And that he was giving you assignments and that you shouldn't ask questions. Isn't that true either? I thought your company was a family business. Tommy is a family member, he's not the family alone. You deserve to know what's going on.” She stopped talking for a moment, and saw that John was uncomfortable. “Anyway, it's none of my business. Let's talk about other things.”

“ About what ?” asked the youngest of the Shelbys.

“Anything you want.

“All right. Would you like to have dinner with me ?” dared to ask John. And here it is again, that naughty smile that has certainly broken many hearts. Elsa was surprised by his request.

“I don't know. I don't know. If it's asked correctly, we can work something out," she says.

“Elsa Solomons,” John stopped and standed in front of the young woman so that she faced him, “would you do me the great honor of having dinner with me tonight ?” He smiled and she didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Avec plaisir. But tonight I can't, I have business to do. Tomorrow, I'm free," she smiled. John imitated her, satisfied with the answer of his future date for one night. They started walking one step faster to catch up with the rest of the group.

They finally arrived at the pyramid. They then decided to enter the museum. They visited a few rooms, examining paintings and other works of art. Everyone stopped at different paintings to look at them.

"It pisses me off with all this museum bullshit stuff,” grunted Arthur. “What the fuck are we doing here ? And then this painting, what's so special about it ?”

“It's Arthur art, try to appreciate it.” said Thomas.

“Yeah well, it pisses me off," he replied, sitting on a bench in the middle of the room.

Thomas joined Elsa who was admiring a huge canvas depicting a war scene. She saw him approaching in her field of vision and started the conversation:

"Don't you think we feel the fear of the soldiers ? But also their hatred towards their enemies. I don't understand that.”

“ What don’t you understand ?”

“War.” Thomas closed his face in confusion. “After all, they are men used as pawns in a context they did not choose. The kings, the government chose, not them. They just wanted to survive and hope one day to live.”

“Isn't that what you do ?”

“War ?”

“Yes. You manipulate people, you use them as your pawns. You're confronting other clans. And the people you torture, they didn't choose that.” Elsa listened to the Shelby chief carefully, but didn’t look at him.

“Of course if they chose it. War is something I do locally, between two damn Mafia clans. Civilians are not in danger. You choose to be a gangster. I don't manipulate, I'm an open book in terms of my working methods. I'll let you know. People don't listen, it's their problem, they pay the consequences.”

“Did you choose to be a gangster ?” asked Thomas. Elsa thought, staring into the void.

“I chose to survive, Thomas. I had several choices, I chose this one. I will pay the consequences for the rest of my life.” She turnt to him. “So will you.”

“I’m not like you.”

“Fuck no, you're not like me. You're weak and scared... You're sentimental and you let your emotions guide you. We don't play in the same class, Thomas. You're not like me. But you're a gangster anyway, because you chose to get involved in this, and now you're already starting to pay the consequences.” She started leaving but Thomas kept talking.

“How do you plan to integrate my horse into Longchamps ?”

“How do you expect me to do that ? I force the entrance, old sport, I force the entrance…” She joint her uncle, and continued the visit.

After a two-hour visit, the Peaky Blinders and Solomons decided to return to their hotel, so they headed to their car. The vehicle was still there but someone was inside. Elsa pulled out her gun: "Get the fuck out of there, asshole ! Hurry up!". The thief started the car and it exploded, propelling the group backwards.

[nothingman]

South Park turns 20 years old this summer, meaning that if those foulmouthed, crudely fashioned 8-year-olds that were first introduced on August 13, 1997 followed the rules of linear time, they’d all be adults farting down the barrel of 30. Similarly, there’s now an entire generation of people—spanning high-schoolers to middle-aged people who remember watching its early seasons in college, and who can’t believe they’re reading/writing 20-year retrospectives on it now—who were actually raised on South Park.

The show celebrated this existential crisis-inducing fact last year with a tongue-in-cheek ad, depicting South Park as a sort of benevolent guarantor keeping reliable watch over a girl from infancy until her first trip to college. It was a typically self-effacing joke, but it’s true: Our world is now filled with people for whom South Park has always been there, a cultural influence that, in some cases, is completely foundational to their point of view. The ad doesn’t end with the girl logging onto Twitter to complain that social justice warriors are ruining the world, but otherwise, spot on.

After all, for most of its 20 years, South Park’s own point of view has more or less been this: “Everything and everyone are full of shit—hey, relax, guy.” It’s a scorched-earth, deconstructionist approach steeped in equal-opportunity offensiveness that’s made South Park one of the funniest satires ever produced, and particularly potent in the time in which it debuted. “When we started, [it was] Beavis And Butt-Head, and us, and in some ways The Simpsons, and Married With Children—shit like that,” Matt Stone told Vanity Fair last year, putting the Comedy Central cartoon in the company of other ’90s series that diverged from the “bland… shitty sitcoms that were just so lifeless” Stone and co-creator Trey Parker were reacting against. But South Park has now lived long enough to see the experimental become the conventional. And it’s outlasted all but one of those series not just by subverting formulaic TV, but by feeding directly off current events. As a result, for many of those raised by South Park, the show has functioned as sort of a scatological op-ed—in some cases, maybe the only op-ed they’ve ever been interested in.

To these acolytes, Parker and Stone have spent two decades preaching a philosophy of pragmatic self-reliance, a distrust of elitism, in all its compartmentalized forms, and a virulent dislike of anything that smacks of dogma, be it organized religion, the way society polices itself, or whatever George Clooney is on his high horse about. Theirs can be a tricky ideology to pin down: “I hate conservatives, but I really fucking hate liberals,” Stone said once, a quote that has reverberated across the scores of articles, books, and message-board forums spent trying to parse the duo’s politics, arguing over which side can rightfully claim South Park as its own. Nominally, Parker and Stone are libertarians, professing a straight-down-the-middle empathy for the little guy who just wants to be left alone by meddling political and cultural forces. But their only true allegiance is to whatever is funniest; their only tenet is that everything and everyone has the potential to suck equally. More than anything, they’ve taught their most devoted followers that taking anything too seriously is hella lame.

So while they’ve advocated, in their own fucked-up way, for stuff like the right to abortion, drug legalization, and general tolerance for others, they’ve also found their biggest, easiest targets in liberalism’s pet causes, those formerly rebellious ideals that had become safely sitcom-bland over the Bill Clinton years—all of which were steeped in actually, lamely caring about stuff. Taking the piss out of the era’s priggish, speech-policing, Earth Day-brainwashed hippies was the most transgressive—and therefore funniest—thing you could possibly do. And so, South Park joked, global warming is just a dumb myth perpetrated by “super cereal” losers. Prius drivers are smug douches who love the smell of their own farts. Vegetarians end up growing vaginas on their face. “Transgender people” are just mixed-up, surgical abominations. The word “fag” is fine. Casual anti-Semitism is all in good fun. “Hate crimes” are silly. Maybe all you pussies just need a safe space.

“Did South Park accidentally invent the alt-right?” Janan Ganesh asked recently in the Financial Times, articulating a theory that began gaining traction as an entire political movement seemed to crystallize around the show’s “anti-PC chic” and general fuck-your-feelings attitude. Way back in 2001, political blogger Andrew Sullivan had already coined the term “South Park Republican” to describe the supposedly emerging group of young people who, like the show, were moderate on social issues like abortion and gay marriage, but also rejected the stuffy doctrines of diversity and environmentalism. They also believed, as Parker and Stone would soon illustrate in Team America: World Police, that the world needed American dicks to fuck assholes, over the objections of liberal pussies and F.A.G. celebrities. That voting bloc never actually materialized—though to be fair, the show was only four years old at the time. It would take at least another decade of people with Cartman avatars just joshin’ about hating Jews before the South Park generation would truly come of age.

Let’s be real, though. South Park didn’t “invent” the “alt-right,” even accidentally. The “alt-right” is the product of lots of things—disenfranchisement; internet echo chambers; aggrieved Gamergaters; boredom; the same ugly, latent racism that’s coursed beneath civilization’s veneer for millennia; etc. The growing, bipartisan distaste for Wall Street-backed career politicians and the epically bungled machinations of the Democratic Party certainly didn’t help, nor did the frustrating inability of the social justice movement to pick its battles—or its enemies. Furthermore, it’s always dangerous to assign too much influence to pop culture, even something that’s been part of our lives for this long. And as South Park itself derided in “The Tale Of Scrotie McBoogerballs,” you shouldn’t go looking for deep sociopolitical messages in your cartoon dick jokes. (Then again, only three years earlier, it also argued that imaginary characters really can change people’s lives and even “change the way [you] act on Earth,” making them “more realer” than any of us—so you decide.)

Still, it’s not that much of a stretch to see how one might have fed the other, if only through the sort of intangible osmosis that happens whenever an influential artwork spawns imitators, both on screen and off. South Park may not have “invented” the “alt-right,” but at their roots are the same bored, irritated distaste for politically correct wokeness, the same impish thrill at saying the things you’re not supposed to say, the same button-pushing racism and sexism, now scrubbed of all irony.

There’s also the same co-opting of anti-liberal stances as the highest possible form of rebellion: Parker and Stone used to brag that they were “punk rock” for telling their Hollywood friends how much they loved George W. Bush; Parker even told Rolling Stone in 2007, “The only way to be more hardcore than everyone else is to tell the people who think they’re the most hardcore that they’re pussies, to go up to a tattooed, pierced vegan and say, ‘Whatever, you tattooed faggot, you’re a pierced faggot and whatever’”—a quote that may as well have been taken from 4chan’s /pol/ board this morning. “Conservatism is the new punk rock,” echoed a bunch of human cringes a decade later. Whatever, you faggot, a dozen Pepes tweeted a few seconds ago.

But well beyond the “alt-right,” South Park’s influence echoes through every modern manifestation of the kind of hostile apathy—nurtured along by Xbox Live shit-talk and comment-board flame wars and Twitter—that’s mutated in our cultural petri dish to create a rhetorical world where whoever cares, loses. Today, everyone with any kind of grievance probably just has sand in their vagina; expressing it with anything beyond a reaction GIF means you’re “whining”; cry more, your tears are delicious. We live in Generation U Mad Bro, and from its very infancy, South Park has armed it with enough prefab eye-rolling retorts (“ManBearPig!” “I’m a dolphin!” “Gay Fish!” “…’Member?”) to sneeringly shut down discussions on everything from climate change and identity politics to Kanye West and movie reboots. Why not? Everything sucks equally, anyway. Voting is just choosing between some Douche and a Turd Sandwich. Bullying is just a part of life. Suck it up and take it, until it’s your turn to do the bullying. Relax, guy.

Again, it’s a world that South Park didn’t create intentionally, just by setting out to make us laugh, or by Parker and Stone trying to get rich off a bunch of farting construction paper cutouts. But even Parker and Stone seem slightly, if only occasionally uneasy about the overarching life lessons they’ve imparted—often expressing that anxiety in the show itself. In “You’re Getting Old,” South Park’s most moving half-hour, Parker and Stone grappled directly with the cumulative effects of perpetually shitting on things—of allowing a healthy, amused skepticism to ossify into cynicism and self-satisfied superiority, then into nihilism, then into blanket, misanthropic hatred. That dark night of the soul later formed the through-lines of seasons 19 and 20, where South Park wryly, semi-sincerely confronted the series’ place as a “relic from another time” by putting the town under the heavy thumb of PC Principal.

Then—after hooking its red-pilled fans with an extended critique of the emptiness of neoliberalism, epitomized by a sneering, “safe space”-mocking character that was literally named Reality—it tried confronting the audience who had most embraced their ramped-up anti-PC crusades. Last season kicked off with Cartman admitting to Kyle, “We’re two privileged, straight white boys who have their laughs about things we never had to deal with,” a confession rendered only slightly tongue-in-cheek by the fact of who was saying it. And it culminated in Gerald, who’d spent the year gleefully harassing people online, squaring off with the Danish prime minister, a stand-in for every troll the show’s ever nurtured:

I want to stand here and tell you that you and I are different, but it’s not true. All we’ve been doing is making excuses for being horrible people. I don’t know if you tried to teach me a lesson, but you have. I have to stand here and look at you. And all I see is a big fat reflection of myself.

Ultimately, of course, Gerald comes to a familiar conclusion: “Fuck you, what I do is fucking funny, bitch!” he cries, before kicking the prime minister in the balls. Fair enough. South Park is, and always will be, funnier than any of the maladjusted creeps who have spent decades internalizing the show’s many false equivalencies and ironic racism, then lazily regurgitating them in an attempt to mimic its edginess—or worse, by treating them as some sort of scripture for living. And to be certain, there are millions of Poe’s law-defying viewers for whom South Park really is just a comedy, one that satisfies the most basic requirement of saying the things you shouldn’t say, in a far more clever way than you could say them. But regardless of their satirical intent, or the humanity that grounds even their nastiest attacks, it’s clear that even Parker and Stone sometimes question the influence they’ve had on the world, and who is and isn’t in on the joke.

Which brings us (as all 2017 articles must) to Donald Trump, the ultimate troll, and one that Parker sees as a natural outgrowth of South Park’s appeal to a nation bored with politeness. As he recently told the Los Angeles Times:

He’s not intentionally funny but he is intentionally using comedic art to propel himself. The things that we do—being outrageous and taking things to the extreme to get a reaction out of people—he’s using those tools. At his rallies he gets people laughing and whooping. I don’t think he’s good at it. But it obviously sells—it made him president.

Trump’s blithe offensiveness, rampant narcissism, and faith that everyone but him is stupid makes him a natural analog to Eric Cartman. But instead, South Park made him into Mr. Garrison—a decision that makes some logical sense (Mr. Garrison is of constitutional age, hates Mexicans and women, and doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself), though it also felt a bit like dissembling. Nevertheless, as the election wore on, South Park again seemed to acknowledge its role in helping to create a world where someone like Trump could seem like an exciting, entertaining alternative to conventional blandness. And it made a real, concerted effort to stymie any suggestion of support by having Garrison declare repeatedly that he was “a sick, angry little man” who “will fuck this country up beyond repair,” all while openly mocking those who still loved him anyway as nostalgia-drunk idiots.

“Is it just me or has South Park gone full cuck?” wondered fans on Reddit’s The_Donald immediately after that episode aired, and probably not for the first (or last) time. But in the aftermath of Trump/Garrison’s election, those same, vigilant cuck-watchers were back to crowing over how South Park had really stuck it to politically correct types in a scene where Trump/Garrison tells PC Principal, “You helped create me.” That South Park positioned this as less of a triumphant comeuppance than a suicidal backfire didn’t seem to matter. And the show more or less left it there—portraying Trump/Garrison as a dangerously incompetent buffoon, but also as the ultimate “u mad?” to all those liberals they fucking hate.

All of which makes Parker and Stone’s recent declaration to lay off Trump in the coming 21st season a real disappointment at best, cowardice at worst. The duo is, of course, under no obligation to tackle politics—or anything else they don’t want to, for that matter. They’re also right that mocking Trump is both redundant and “boring,” and also that everyone does it. For two dyed-in-the-wool contrarians, Trump comedy feels every bit as bland, lifeless, and sitcom-safe as an episode of, say, Veronica’s Closet. Furthermore, Parker’s complaints of the show just “becoming CNN now” and not wanting to spend every week endlessly restacking the sloppy Jenga pile of Trump-related outrage is completely understandable. Believe me, I get it.

That said: Man, what a cop out. South Park has already spent the past 20 years being CNN for its CNN-hating audience. Meanwhile, Parker and Stone have proudly, loudly thumped for a “fearless” brand of satire that’s willing to mock everyone from George W. Bush to Scientology to Mormonism to Muhammad, even under death threats. To shrug now and say, as Parker did, “I don’t give a shit anymore”—right when, by their own admission, the influence of the show’s worldview has reached all the way to the White House—feels especially disingenuous, and suspiciously like caving to the young, Trump-loving fans with whom they have forged such an uneasy relationship. (“South Park bends the knee on their fake-news-fueled portrayal of President Trump,” one The_Donald post gloated, followed by many, many more.) If they truly believe that those trolls in the mirror are “horrible people” who are helping to “fuck the country up beyond repair,” it would be truly fearless to tell them why, with no hint of ambiguous, everything-sucks irony that can be willfully misinterpreted.

Instead, Parker now says he’s eager to get back to “the bread and butter of South Park: kids being kids and being ridiculous and outrageous.” Which is great! South Park is absolutely at its best when it focuses on that stuff, and I look forward to watching it all on my hurting butt. Still, after 20 years, even they seem to realize that many of those ridiculous, outrageous kids for whom it’s “always been there” have long since grown up—and some of them have gone on to do some real, destructive adult shit. Like their inspirations, South Park’s generation of trolls are tiny but loud, and they’ve had the strange effect of changing the world. It sure would be nice if South Park would grow up as well and take responsibility for them.

Or, you know, maybe I just have sand in my vagina.

via A.V. Club

[nigeiadigitalmarketingcompany]

Politics is Show Business for Ugly People…

Digital Elixir Politics is Show Business for Ugly People…

  “It’s too late baby Now it’s too late” –Carole King

  Politics is show business for ugly people. And you’ve got to play by show business rules.

Show business is all about preparation, getting the act, song, movie, TV show, ready and then marketing it so people will be aware of it and buy it.

And you always want to be first, and you want to eliminate all chance.

You want an upward curve, even if you start low and slow.

You want no lulls. You want to keep people interested, by teasing them with new information on a regular basis.

You want to control the narrative.

And what is the narrative the Democrats are trying to sell?

Damned if I know. The only thing they can agree on is they hate Trump. I hate KISS, but that doesn’t keep them off the road, playing to empty arenas, their fans support them. And speaking of KISS, Gene Simmons is one of the greatest marketers of all time, a complete blowhard, but he’s making it work for himself and the band. Maybe he learned it all from Neil Bogart, who changed his name from “Bogatz,” to give the right “impression.” Bogart failed on his first attempt, trying to sell a record of Johnny Carson routines, it went instantly into the cut-out bin, but then he pivoted to disco and Donna Summer and KISS.

And Bogart was a showman, full of crap. Seemingly everything he said was inflated and wrong. Remember when there were four simultaneous KISS solo albums and Neil said they were instantly gold? The press bought it, even though all of them but Peter Criss’s came back.

You see it’s all about perception. Sell the myth, not the facts.

It’s more important that Elizabeth Warren be seen as a fighter against the man than any specific policy position. People don’t go that deep. CONGRESS doesn’t go that deep! Did you read the “New Yorker” story on Al Franken? His accuser told boldfaced lies, there was history disputing her account, but she got out there first and what she said ruled, even though she was working for a pro-Trump radio station. Once again, the Democrats reacted, and now they’re doubling-down, can’t see why they were wrong. Kirsten Gillibrand, YOU’RE HISTORY!

The press said Trump was losing because he brought up the “i” word before the Democrats. But Trump knows you get ahead of the blowback, you make the first punch, and you load the media with so much b.s. that it can’t keep up.

Meanwhile, the public doesn’t know the difference between impeachment and conviction and Pelosi seems as old as she really is. She’s Perry Como after the Beatles. Doesn’t she realize THE RULES HAVE CHANGED?

Happens in entertainment all the time. Suddenly you can’t sell hair bands. Suddenly hip-hop is burgeoning. And if you fight the tide, you drown. Oh, little fish can still swim in their own private backwaters, but if you’re playing for everything, if you want to run the table, you’ve got to be looking to the future, not the past!

Trump speaks to the public. Pelosi speaks to insiders.

That’s why AOC gets so much traction, she speaks to the public-at-large, it’s less about legislation than attitude, which is move over you old farts and let the younger generation take the reins, you oldsters have no idea what is going on anymore!

But Team Pelosi says you’ve got to run to the center, because you’ve got to appeal to those districts that flipped for Democrats in 2016. That’s like making Aerosmith play acoustic, and refusing to let them play new material.

Of course, Aerosmith doesn’t play new material, and Chris Christie is a big Boss fan. It’s kinda like long hair. Once upon a time it symbolized something, you were either for us or against us, then it was just a fashion choice.

Anyone who plays to the rearguard is always disrupted. Didn’t you ever read Clayton Christensen? Everybody pooh-poohs the new, saying it’s not as good as the old, and then it becomes better and the old folds overnight. Christensen says to embrace the new, and then eliminate the old when the new gains traction. The DNC is being disrupted and their answer? Let’s go back to Good Ol’ Joe. That’s like asking your grandfather for music advice.

So what we’ve got is candidates who want to throw the baby out with the bathwater and the Democrats are freaking out, they can’t even get aligned on one position. Criticize the Republicans all you want, but after Trump they all got in line. That’s how you win, when you play like a team!

And if you try to appeal to everybody, you lose. The road is littered with middle of the road artists, who fail on the chart and play to a dwindling audience in Branson and clubs. You want to get people EXCITED! That’s what Warren and Harris and Bernie and Buttigieg are doing.

And what does the establishment say?

THEY’RE TOO FAR LEFT!

AC/DC was too heavy until suddenly they weren’t. “Back In Black” is still streaming prodigiously today, “You Shook Me All Night Long” is an American anthem! Of course Mutt Lange helped. The right has Karl Rove, who do we have on the left?

So the reason you wanted impeachment is so the whole world would watch, so Trump’s bad behavior, criminal or not, would infect the public. When the truth outs, it’s hard to deny.

But no, it was never time. Pelosi and her pals are like a Silicon Valley outfit that never releases its product. It’s so busy getting it right that it can never come out. Meanwhile, Facebook becomes so big by having a motto of “move fast and break things.” Forget that Zuckerberg is the enemy now, he’s on top of the pyramid, he controls the conversation more than not only Congress, but the mainstream media! Furthermore, he just pivoted, saying it was about private conversations, when the Democrats are still looking for that elusive consensus. Everything worth paying attention to starts off the radar, small, and then it blows up and BECOMES THE MAINSTREAM!

So Barr says Trump is innocent.

The Dems folded their tent.

Then Mueller sends his letter and they think…wow, maybe there’s something here. Like a band the label has stopped working that is suddenly selling tickets…the label is on to something else, it’s hard to get it restarted on your old product.

And then the Democrats placed all their hopes on Mueller testifying. That’s like taking someone with a great record, who’s never been on stage, and having them headline Coachella! No one would do that, the odds of failure are too high.

So Mueller didn’t deliver. Oh, don’t make it about Russia, the Dems thought Mueller was gonna blow a hole through the curtain, reveal that Trump was culpable and should be charged. Not only did Mueller not do this, he said as much after he delivered his report earlier…this was his final statement!

And the Dems are playing by old rules and crying to the nonexistent refs that the Republicans are cheating. No, Trump and his posse have invented new rules, like no one in the regime needs to testify. When they up the ante, so do you! You don’t say there’s no crying in baseball!

So now, on left wing radio, all the talk is about getting the transcripts from the grand jury. God, even in the NFL when you lose, you lose, no matter how heinous the call. Because without rules, you’ve got no game.

And that’s what’s happening now, WE’VE GOT NO GAME! Trump and his cronies are running ragged and the Dems and the media are so flummoxed, they do NOTHING!

Come on. Even the most lame influencer knows you’ve got to deliver product on a regular basis. You’ve got to hook the audience and deliver. That’s certainly what Trump has done, and all the left keeps saying is HE SHOULDN’T TWEET!

Meanwhile, these same wankers are posting to Instagram, the national pastime, and despite their constant disparagement of the internet and Twitter, Twitter is where the news happens, and if you’re not on it, you don’t know what’s going on.

So impeachment failed in the marketplace. It’s like Annapurna, Megan Ellison’s movie company. No matter how great the film, and she’s put out plenty, they never reach expectations. “Booksmart,” one of the best-reviewed movies this year, which appeals to oldsters and youngsters…dead. Product is only one part of the puzzle, you need the aforementioned marketing. The big studios may put out lame films, but they’re experts in marketing them.

When you fail, you write it off. Just look at the Fortune 500, that’s what they do. Did Bezos try to improve the Fire phone? No, he deleted it from the catalog. And today, your mistakes don’t haunt you as long as you continue to play and make noise. Once again, the game has changed, there’s so much noise that the biggest challenge is just reaching the public. And if you don’t, people forget what you were selling, they’re inundated with new messages.

And I’ve used a plethora of metaphors here, but now I’m gonna use one more. Pro football used to be a running game. Now running backs make a fraction of what they used to, all the emphasis is on passing and receiving! You change with the times!

Seems like everybody can change with the times but the Democrats.

So forget impeachment. This is the gang that can’t shoot straight, even if they have clear evidence that Trump needs to go, the right will spin it otherwise and rule the marketplace, i.e. public opinion. And just like a record, you don’t have to appeal to everybody to win. How come Trump knows this and the Democrats don’t?

Instead of clinging to the past, trying to rebuild the old edifice, it’s time to build a new one. And there are a number of candidates promising this. Safe rarely succeeds. Can you say Romney? Can you say Kerry! One of the reasons Obama won was because he HAD little history. There was little to nail him on and he promised hope.

Believe me, Ol’ Joe is not promising hope. He’s like a boomer musician waiting for Hilary Rosen to save them from streaming. But Hilary’s moved on from the RIAA, and streaming has already won, soon there won’t even be any hardware to play discs! Apple kills the iPod because the innards are no longer manufactured, and the Democrats keep trying to prop up oldsters, held together by baling wire. Bill Clinton had Linda Bloodworth-Thomason and her husband selling him, and despite baggage, he won anyway!

Who do the Democrats have?

Maybe it’s time to hire Bill Belichick.

Oh, that’s right, HE’S A TRUMPER!

  ~~~

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[docmurph12]

Alright so the last review was a lot of fun, so I kind of want to do another one. I dont know who is even reading these but it's a blast watching these with a critical mind rather than a fanboy one and writing a semi professional review. I think I'm going to make a hobby of this. Anyways.

So this one I was actually a lot more hopeful for than I was for Aladdin. Maybe as a result I was....let down more than I was watching Aladdin. I am actually writing this after about the first 20 minutes of the film. I'm not going to post until I'm finished with it, but I dont see a lot changing here, and you will know why in a moment, so don't hold your breath for a rollercoaster review, because it's going to be about as flat as the film was.

So going in, I knew what I signed up for at least. Sarah was a little bitter, having to rewatch the first 15 minutes again. I'm going to say this is almost a SHOT for SHOT remake. I mean FRAME FOR FRIGGING FRAME, LINE FOR LINE. Even the timing is ALMOST EXACTLY THE SAME. Honestly I might be just as much to blame for this as the next guy. I wear nostalgia glasses loudly and proudly. Just take a look at my living room. But the further I got into this thing the more I found myself asking "Is this truly what I wanted?" A few points before I finish this thought, because I am definitely going to lose my train of thought between the baby and the continuing movie.

-This feels like Disney wanted to go shot for shot, and only partially committed. Shots were almost copied verbatim, could have been traced in some cases, but because they were going live action.....I dont know how else to explain it but if there were an uncanny valley for animated animals it undoubtedly lives here, in the "Pridelands".

-Unfortunately the voice casting suffers a bit here too. It certainly isnt helped by the...lifeless animation (yes I know live action animals dont generally emote, but for christ's sake all things considered it's the goddamned Lion King. Come on now), but the performances are largely flat and dull. Standouts in disappointment especially pointed at the death of Mufasa, large parts of James Earl Jones' performance (mostly just because you can hear the age in his voice, where in 1994 he sounds about where he should have been age wise. There is a youthfulness in his wisdom that literally is bringing tears to my eyes thinking of the strength of that performance, compared to this one), NOT Jeremy Irons, oh sorry, Chiwetel Ejifor, and the shameless insertion of Beyonce (sorry folks, she is the Kristen Stewart of voice acting, and clearly in it just for the money as opposed to actually adding anything to the craft).

-There should not have been so much freedom allowed with the musical performances. With a couple small exceptions, The vocal performances were stale. It kind of felt like the performances were a meal and SO much was eaten up by the original performers that there just wasn't much left for the usurpers, or that they just didnt know what the hell to do with it.

-All hate aside, this film is visually stunning. I sort of hated the animal performances, or lack thereof anyways, but it is still a beautifully realized film. My favorite scene visually is 1000% where Simba is speaking with the spirit of his father, and the lightning is rolling through the clouds, outlining parts that look like a lion's head, instead of outright just being fully visible. Fucking beautiful. (By the way, we just got through the final fight between Scar and Simba. I didnt know it was possible to trace a cartoon with a computer but they did it. W......T......F......of course it has to happen as I'm complimenting it.....)

-Seth Rogan and Billy Eichner were pretty charming. The only outstanding performances in the movie from top to bottom. That said, Donald Glover was pretty good too. Speaking of exceptional performances in the face of an overall poorly performed film, my OTHER favorite part of the film was the three of them singing The Lion Sleeps and running through the oasis. Holy shit that was charming.

-Sad and kind of disappointing was the fact that the VERY little original writing, or improv, or whatever the hell it was was really good. I loved the quipping between Timon and Pumbaa, and it was REALLY good when it went a little meta. The fart joke and the piece about "Be our guest" was immediately recognized as both reverent reference and irreverent ribbing and was appreciated by both me and Sarah. Sort of shines a disappointing eye on Jon Favreau. I loved what he was able to accomplish with The Jungle Book. I realize he probably didnt do a lot of the screenwriting on either film, but with producer credits comes criticism for laziness where high quality is expected. Cmon man, I love what you do. SO DO IT ALREADY.

-I largely think this film could have been helped on a few fronts with one improvement. OR possibly changing a way the movie was put together, that is, if what I THINK happened was what actually happened. Animated films originally gave you a at minimum believable performance by capturing the physical performance of the voice actor performing ADR, and giving a rough animation estimate of that performance, since movement and expression largely impact what comes out vocally. I am not 100% sure that isn't what happened, but it FEELS like it didnt happen. If animating aspects of physical performances isnt the route, I genuinely think that having a sort of facial motion capture coupled with ACTUAL emoting could have drastically improved performances. It's interesting to see what happens when you put primarily voice actors in front of a camera, or primarily screen/stage actors in front of an ADR microphone. You can truly see the depth (or sometimes lack of) of their abilities as actors. One of my absolute favorite voice actors is Bryan Cranston, for that very reason. Unbelievable performer, in every arena. One of my least favorites is FUCKING BEYONCE. Goddamn is she a one trick pony, if that trick was simply existing. Truly a MASTER OF THAT CRAFT. That said, its 2019 (at that point), if we can give Andy Serkis EVERY tool to be successful, Disney should be able to put out a LITTLE Disney money to allow their actors to, you know, act.

Long (looooooooooooooooong) story made super short is The Lion King (2019) is more of the same, and symptomatic of a problem we created for ourselves: Shameless money grabs at nostalgia. Disney miscued like crazy at remaking a thing I didn't realize until only now how precious it was to me as a kid. Couple that with the fact that they have done SIGNIFICANTLY better doing the same thing but doing a different take, with a different, more modern and possibly more poignant message (I'm looking DIRECTLY at you, Maleficent). Honestly, as much as it KILLS the kid in me to say it, leave the sacred cows alone. Sometimes a good thing just needs to be left to be admired. Nobody ever thought they needed to improve on, say, Miles Davis' Kind of Blue, Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy, or Ridley Scott's Blade Runner with a sequel or a remake. Wait. Shit. I mean Lewis Carroll's Alice in WonderlandGODDAMNIT. I QUIT.

Verdict--4/10. Seriously please make it stop at Mulan. I really want to see that one, see it not suck, and see it STOP. And for the love of god PLEASE DONT CAST BEYONCE IN IT.

[tonimarienotbutler-blog]

So lets reel it back a little..

and try to make some sense of the past few weeks by writing about them. 

Sam’s been an issue, a major one. Let me start by explaining who Sam is to me.. We met when I had just gone into Year 9 and he was a first year along with my brother Alan. They’d had a scrap and Alan had left him with a big black eye, I noticed it and apologised, asked if he was okay etc and that’s how we got talking. Him and Alan made up and were mates for a while but it was always me he looked for at break times and me he called on the housephones when we got in from school. Some nights we’d stay on the phone from getting in from school to going to bed, we’ve bathed shat and slept all on the phone together. We’re best friends. 

His mum has always been a part of my life too, a responsible adult I could look up to. I’ve called her a few times drunk and emotional and she’s talked me down. His sister Jaymee is a bit younger than me with the same passions but far more beautiful. She’s a nice girl with aspirations who’s heading somewhere. 

Sam on the other hand.. He is a nightmare. 

When he was in either year 8 or 9, they moved house to Billingham and Sam moved schools. He started meeting new people, mainly the wrong kinds of people, and slowly headed on his way on the slow path of self destruction. 

We’ve always stayed close though, no matter what we’ll always have that bond, he’s like family to me. Every time I’ve seen him over the years, as few and far between as these visits may be, he just seems to get a little worse. Like the time I hadn’t seen him in a couple years and heard the news he’d been stabbed! I went to see him in the hospital right away, I felt I had to given the life/death situation. It was strange seeing him like that, that was when it first hit me that my little Sammy had gone. Lost to the world of drugs and violence that is Teesside. Sad really. Since then he’s got progressively worse. Every time I see him he has a new scar. 

He got in touch a couple weeks ago and asked me to go for a joint at his mates, but when I got there him and his mate came and got into my car as we were going to his other mates. We pulled up to a dingy looking block of flats, and on the way in to the block Sam told me he had recently beat this guy up and threw a kettle over him in his own house. The guy was the shiftiest looking most blatant stereotypical drug addict. He introduced himself, shook my hand, asked me if I wanted a key nicely whilst his eyes burned no thank you into me, then went over to the microwave and started pressing buttons randomly. 

It was your typical crack den, a nicer looking crack den, like you could see he’d made an effort to decorate the space with the things he had, but a crack den none the less. So as if my head isn't already farting, in walks a bronzed and muscular alright looking lad wearing nothing but Calvin’s. Like what the heck are you doing in this scenario right now plz? He left and then in storms an angry old lady with a dog, shouting about how she doesn’t care who’s in the flat and what they’ll do, asking him why she bothers helping him and feeding him when he’s just going to let the dickheads back in his flat again. 

I empathised with her and told Sam to shut up when he asked her what her problem was. Denise was her name, I think. Not that it’s relevant. Sam’s mate who we had came with, Kecca (but not Kecca Ions) said that his head was bent and he was going to sit in the car, and well he couldn’t sit in the car without me so I went with him. We sat for a few minutes waiting for sam, in surprisingly not awkward silence, both just trying to wrap our heads around who Sam is now and the kinds of people he associates with. 

After that I'm surprised I went out the second time, but I guess I had to see him again to get some answers. He messaged me late at night and asked me to go to his friend, Lauren Bellerby’s, this intrigued me cos I’m sure she had something to do with why he got stabbed, and from the look on Ali’s face when I mentioned her name she definitely did. 

Anyways the setting wasn’t so bad, really nice house just over the road from where Jonny lives just a few people having drinks and playing Youtube through the television, nothing too crazy. I made a spliff and felt relaxed, the girl and her mate were nice and I’m always comfortable with Sam anyway. Until his friend Baz came. As soon as he came in the door he walked over and put a pill in Sam’s mouth, as if he wasn’t fucked enough already.. After that Sam was a state, kept asking the same questions over and over and could barely talk let alone walk. 

He asked me if I'd take him and Baz to get some narcotics, and when I asked sniff? he gave no response. I was already suspicious from the way the pair of goons were acting but Baz dropped him in it by asking for a 20 stone on the phone to the dealer. The dealer who just so happens to be one of the dirtiest families in Stockton, well Teesside, they spread like wildfire. All low life dirty thieving rats, bred by low life dirty thieving rats. They do say behaviour breeds behaviour after all. 

Anyways he apologised a thousand times for doing crack in front of me and shouted at his mate for scraping the pipe out to get the most out of their crack when they had company hahaha. That Baz had a beautiful blue English Bulldog so I didn’t care, she kept me distracted. I remember all I kept thinking was that I wanted to either smash the flat up or scream crying, but I didn’t want to show him up in front of his mate, no matter how low this mate may be, I couldn’t do that to him. 

It got even worse when someone rang Sam’s phone for crack, as that Baz sells it. They didn’t have any in obviously or we wouldn’t have gone elsewhere to pick it up, but Sam agreed and seemed to be arranging to meet this person? Next thing I know they’re melting and cooling candle wax to pose as crack and selling it to the same ginger drug addict from the flats so they can buy a real ‘stone’. I’ve never been more disgusted, scared, repelled, and distraught in all my life. After witnessing the effects of crack cocaine with my uncle Paul I certainly don’t want to be doing it with my 22 year old best friend. Paul has always been an addict, smack weed whizz pills you name it he’ll take it, but when he got on the crack there was a definite change in him, he lost more weight, had less money, less fucking teeth. It’s just a dirty rotten drug that everyone should avoid. 

I didn’t know what to say to him, so I said nothing for about a week. I kept trying to get in touch with Jaymee, tormenting myself over whether to tell her or Alison or not, whether it would actually make any difference. Instead I messaged Sam, and basically told him that I love him and he needs to sort his life out. He messaged me back saying that he knows, he’s going to try living with his mam to sort his life out if she’ll let him, and invites me over for tea with them. 

He wouldn’t tell her, I thought thats what the night was about, being honest with himself and his mam about what he’s been up to and starting to move on from it. He said he wouldn’t let me tell her, and began to get a bit threatening with his tone, which is when I told him there’s fuck all he could do about stopping me unless he was going to cut my tongue out, and got up and left. 

He messaged me yesterday asking if I was out of my strop yet, I simply said no and reiterated that he needs to be honest with himself, and miraculously he told his mam. He must be ready, he must know himself that he’s fucked his path up and he needs to get back on track. I can’t imagine how she felt, I know it will of broken her heart. She’s a lovely woman its such a shame. I haven’t spoken to Sam since that, only his mother, to tell her that she’s not alone in this and I will be there every step of the way helping him, that I'll never give up on him. I wish I could, truly. I put far too much time and energy into people, especially people who neglect me in my time of need. 

I guess it’s just who I am though, I shouldn’t be any less nice of a person just because it seems the rest of the world isn’t. 

[jackblankhsh]

“Constant as the Northern Star Old Gibson used to occupy a booth at the back of The Blue Gator, a scummy dive on Main Street near Kilpatrick. He spent so much time there customers sometimes wondered if he was part of the decor. He certainly seemed to have stepped out of Louisiana swamp country. Whenever he arrived he deposited seventy-five dollars on the bar. The bartender then filled a small glass jug with cheap scotch. Handing it and a glass to Gibson, the bartender never said a word. Old Gibson nodded his thanks then proceeded to the booth where he spent however long it took to drain the diminutive jug. On the way out of the bar he occasionally paused. A frown spread across his face. Some thought swimming into the forefront of his thinking he might mutter something like: “And thus I clothe my naked villainy with old odd ends stolen out of holy writ and seem a saint when most I play the devil.” Though no one applauded, or even seemed to have paid attention, he bowed before shuffling out the door. This pattern replayed for years until one night a young man came into the bar. He looked like the kind of dashing rogue one sees in silver screen classics. Errol Flynn perhaps would’ve played him. He spoke to the bartender, “Hi. My cousin is Jimmy Odinson. He said there’s a guy here who does drunk Shakespeare.” “You’re looking for Gibson.” The bartender pointed to the booth, “Back there.” The rogue made his way over. He introduced himself — “Matt Lilliman.” — and uninvited, took a seat opposite Gibson. Matt said, “I produce internet videos. Recently I heard about you from my cousin Jimmy Odinson.” “Jimmy is a classless lout.” “Sure. I...” “He thinks a fart is the highest form of comedy.” “Totally agree.” Seeing Gibson frown, Matt quickly added, “With you, not him. I’ll get right to the point. I want to record you doing Shakespeare.” Gibson raised an eyebrow, “Why?” “I think it would entertain people. High class theatre performance in a dive bar. The juxtaposition is perfect.” Gibson nodded. He refilled his glass. Staring into the liquid, reflecting on better times, he asked, “Does it pay?” Matt shrugged, “Not much. Say fifty bucks a performance? You wouldn’t have to do anything other than you already do.” That sold it. Not many folks get paid fifty bucks just to do what they normally do anyway. As such, once a week Matt and a hipster camera operator arrived in The Blue Gator. They occupied a booth near Gibson until the old man informed them, “I’m ready.” Quickly setting up a RED digital camera, Matt and his friend stood back while Gibson unleashed Shakespearean pearls. He spun Iago’s venomous lies, spewed King Lear’s madness, and pined for Romeo. Oh Gibson never felt restrained by a character’s gender. If their words fit his mood he used them to express his innermost feelings that night. Delighted by every show Matt gladly handed over fifty dollars. Grinning from ear to ear he would say, “Perfect. That was perfect.” He often left immediately, desiring to get home, and post the performance online. This went on for weeks. Matt regularly informed Gibson, “You’re a hit,” telling the old thespian numbers that meant nothing to Gibson. It didn’t matter to him if a clip received a million views. Unable, in a sense, to hear the applause the audience felt too ethereal. So, curious about his fans, Gibson went to the library. He went to Matt’s site. He read the comments. The next time Matt arrived in The Blue Gator Gibson beckoned him to come sit. Matt said, “Camera chick’s running late, but she should be here soon.” Gibson said nothing. For a moment they sat in awkward silence. Then Gibson said: “So it’s all a joke.” “Sorry?” Matt said. “I saw the site. I read the comments. You’ve turned me into a joke.” Matt smirked, “You are a joke, and I mean that as a compliment. I really do. Not everyone is naturally funny. I mean — the slurs — when your incomprehensible, but think it’s eloquent, that’s gold.” Gibson drained his glass, downing a double in one gulp. Sighing he said, “There’s some truth to that I suppose. Still, I can’t help, but think of why I left the stage once before.” “Okay,” Matt said while scrolling thru text messages. “Are you curious why I left?” “Sure,” Matt said as he typed a message. “Someone broke my heart.” “That’s a shame.” “So I’m afraid I have to do what I did then.” “Uh huh.” Gibson stretched a hand across the table, “I must bid you adieu.” Matt glanced at the hand, “Are you quitting?” “This is goodbye.” Matt shook his head. Shaking Gibson’s hand he said, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Gibson’s hand tightened, “We must have a parting glass though. I insist.” Noticing the empty jug Matt said, “And I suppose I should get that.” “Not at all.” Gibson reached into his tweed jacket. He discretely removed a small flask. Pouring its amber contents into the rock’s glass he said, “We can’t part ways drinking what they have here. It won’t do things justice.” He pushed the glass over to Matt. Holding up the flask Gibson said, “Cheers.” Matt returned the sentiment. He tapped the flask with the glass then downed his drink. He nodded, “That is good.” Gibson refilled the empty vessel, “Then have some more. I insist.” Sipping the second round Matt noticed, “You’re not drinking.” Closing the flask Gibson remarked, “Why would I want to drink arsenic?” “What?” Matt chuckled then coughed. His eyes started to look unfocused. Gibson said, “I wish you hadn’t made this necessary, but I know only one way to treat those who’ve broken my heart. I can only react one way for.” Gibson grinned, “I am constant as the northern star.” Matt fell forward. His head thudded as it slammed into the table. Gibson collected the glassware. He set them on the bar remarking, “Kid can’t handle his liquor,” then walked out, and was never again seen in The Blue Gator.