#Carl R White

[thepersonalwords]

Belief is a wonderful way to pass the time until the facts come in.

Carl R White

[antigonenikk]

hoosier and leckie are actually not cringe to me at all....at any modern day university leckie is the super hot dude in your english lit class who u see around town on dates with actual models. hes kind of annoying when it comes to literary analysis, but will always open the door for you and is polite to the professor. not cringe. meanwhile hoosier is the most desired man on campus. definition of nonchalant. faded on dabs 24/7, chain smoking cigarillos, blasting the loudest rap in the world from the speakers he smuggled into the dorms. always has on a ripped vetements hoodie he stole from bucky's dorm room to piss him off. invites to every frat party on campus. opposite of cringe.

[slayfk]

I just saw your post about western North Carolina. I've been following the situation (mostly through social media) and I'm devastated. This part of the country has always been one of my very favorites to visit (I'm in Georgia) and I want to help if you know of any mutual aid or organizations? I donated to the Red Cross but thought I would ask if you had any suggestions. I'm so sorry this is happening to y'all

i included resources and donation links at the bottom of this post

the great smoky mountains (appalachians) are the most visited national park in the united states, having received over 13 million visitors in 2023. despite this, its residents are hated or at least largely ignored by the majority of the united states. they are portrayed as hillbillies and conservatives that deserve nobody’s time. this is far from the truth. appalachians have been mistreated by the government and general populace for generations. they are given next to nothing and expected to be able to survive that way. it’s disgusting.

everyone who is not from appalachia , i recommend reading more about just how much it and its residents has been abused by the united states government. even reading through the wikipedia article on the social and economic stratification in appalachia can be helpful in understanding how fucked up this area has become due to the abuse of capitalism. i urge everyone to do some research on the coal mining industry when you have the time. not many people know just how bad it really was, and just how much it’s affected the mountains and the people in them.

here are some interesting articles i found on a quick search:

“Coal Mining in Appalachia” by The Moonlit Road

“A History of Appalachian Coal Mines” by Kenneth Lasson

“Coal’s Legacy in Appalachia: Lands, Waters, and People” by Carl E. Zipper and Jeff Skousen

“Nearly 60 years after the war on poverty, why is Appalachia still struggling?” by Dr. Abigail R. Hall Blanco

“Human Rights in Appalachia: Socioeconomic and Health Disparities in Appalachia” by Evan Smith

“Passive, Poor, and White? What People Keep Getting Wrong About Appalachia” by Elizabeth Catte

“Culture, Poverty, and Education in Appalachian Kentucky” by Constance Elam

[carolmunson]

wake up slow | barista!steve harrington

entry for my fall frenzy requests this request comes in from @superblysubpar: 'there's a scenario with bookstore / library date AND a dialogue prompt that says "what are you reading?"' with steve harrington summary: it's 1990. you're on the opening shift at the bookstore you work at, only to be surprised at a newcomer claiming to be up for an interview for the open barista position in the cafe at the back. sort of put off to start, it's no surprise when things start to bloom over time, and i'm not talking about coffee grounds. tl;dr carol writes a mini romcom.

tw: minors dni, there's nothing too out of whack in this one but i still don't want minors in here. reader is a little sassy but also like, pretty normal overall.

That damn key jams every time it rains -- doesn't help that you left your umbrella at home. Doesn't help that the 'light mist' turned into a heavy downpour the closer you made it to the book store. Doesn't help that you had to park a street over because of street cleaning and had to walk a block in the rain. Now the damn key.

"Come on," you grumble, jiggling an wiggling to no avail. Insert, r-insert, slight tilt to the right, jiggle, pull out a little, turn a little left and then -- nothing. You take the key out only for it to fall to the ground with a fairy like tinkling.

"Come -- the fuck -- on," you nearly growl under your breath while your coat gets heavier and heavier with rain, hood soaking through and dripping water onto your face. You bend down to get the key with a sigh meant for people with back pain, coming back up again to see the coffee bar manager on the other side of the glass door. He chuckles, salt and pepper beared thick over his chin and cheeks. Ruddy skin beams red even in the cool grey light of the morning, 30 years a butcher who pivoted into coffee when he turned fifty and had a really good knack for it.

"Easy morning?"

"Does it look like one, Carl?" you ask, stepping in when he opens the door. He laughs again, a hearty belly laugh that might as well have transported him into a Santa suit in December. "What happened to you?" he asks, following you into the back room where you start putting your stuff in your cubby. You switch out your wet sneakers and socks for the platform loafers and knee highs in your bag. Now that the fall weathers hit, it's all corduroy and knit sweaters, circle skirts and tall socks. If you're going to be on your fifth year working at an idyllic bookstore, you might as well look the part.

"Weather app lied, street cleaning, forgot an umbrella," you shrug, "Just another manic Monday, y'know?" "I know," he nods, "Gimme one second." Carl comes back with a white paper cup and black lid that makes you smile from the inside out, "Is that what I think it is?" "Isn't it always?" he smiles, "I got it ready the second I saw you on the schedule. Caramel latte, hint of cinnamon. Since its -- ya know, fall officially, I put a little maple in there, too." "You spoil me," you sigh, taking the cup from him and letting the warmth radiate through your hands.

"I do," he nods, "But, that latte was the last of my regular milk so I need to run out and grab a few gallons before we open up. You okay to be hangin' out by yourself?"

You nod, of course you're okay to be hanging out by yourself. You take the first sip, letting the caramel flood your tongue. The maple is a good addition. You're about to tell Carl to add this to the seasonal menu but he's already out the break room door with his coat before you can. You hear the jingle of the bell and the lock of the door and eventually the silence settling into the store around you.

You start to re-organize the window display which should've been done last night but 'last night you' said that 'this morning you' could handle it. You wish you could punch last night you in the face, but this is what you get for taking an assistant manager position.

You stack the back to school reads next to your knees where you're sat on them. The dust billows when you move them, making you sneeze with each turn of your head. You rub at your eyes, realizing at that very moment that the mascara you put on this morning has now definitely smudged -- you can't even find the emotional capacity to check considering the store opens in forty five minutes. You wipe down the display shelves, letting the oak gleam under the spot lights. The color is a warm reminder of the cozy moments to come the way that they do this time of year. As you start separating the 'cozy reads' from your 'spooky reads' in the pile on the other side of your knees you hear a knocking at the door --that's not very like Carl to forget his key.

You look over your shoulder, not seeing Carl at all, and if it is, he had some kind of Seventeen Again magic happen to him in that time at the store. You stand up, wiping off your knees and straightening your skirt before getting to the door where the rapping continues against the glass. "We aren't open yet!" you call out.

"M'here for Carl!" you hear, muffled through the panes. "For the barista spot?" you yell back. The guy nods under his hood, the rain picking up in heavy sheets. You sigh, unlocking the door and letting him in. "Carl's not here, he ran out to get some more milk but um, you're welcome to wait in the break room if you want," you explain, wiping a palm over another display through the main hallway and wiping the dust off on your hip. "Thanks," he says, hood coming down to reveal a head full of thick chestnut hair. A gold ring shines on the the hand that runs through it, looks like a family crest type, right on his middle finger.

"I'm Steve," he says with a smile, hand now outstretched to take yours. You look at it and then at him, finally taking in the sight before you. Prominent straight nose, warm amber eyes, lips that definitely use chapstick regularly. He has a nice smile, the kind you read about in the romance novels in the back of the store, the kind people write about.

You take his hand and introduce yourself, he has a business major handshake and you only know that because you dated a handful of them back in college. You try to stifle a chuckle but it comes out airily out of your nose.

"Something funny?" he asks when you both let go. "No, no, sorry, I just thought of something from the other day," you shake your head, "Don't worry about it." He nods, taking off his coat and closing his umbrella following your lead to the back, "It's a cute place."

"Yeah, it's nice in the morning," you nod, "I normally close but -- doing a favor for a key holder today; so you have the pleasure of seeing the troll of the store in her natural habitat."

"What?"

"Nothing -- nevermind," you shake your head, cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassment when you look back and notice that he's genuinely very handsome. You get to the break room, pointing out the spare cubby where he can hang his coat and umbrella. He's in a sweater you swear you've seen on the Cosby Show -- dark green and patterned, a perfect combination of colors against his skin. It cuffs at the wrists, you can see a sliver of his white t-shirt underneath at the collar, a whisper of a gold chain tucked beneath it.

"Yeah um," you start, feeling your heart start to patter in your chest when he takes a seat at the table by the cabinets, "You can just wait here. I'll let Carl know when he comes back."

"Okay," he smiles, "Thanks."

You nod again, heading into the employee bathroom to collect yourself for a moment -- seeing your reflection. You forgot you had rubbed your eyes, masacra smudged in black smears nearly down to your cheeks. "I look insane," you whisper in horror, "Oh my fucking god."

You cover your face for a moment, trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment racking your chest. Definitely looking like the troll of the store, you silently scream into your palms, another dramatic whisper of, "I should just fucking kill myself."

Despite the humiliation, you know it's funny. This would happen to you. This hot guy would come in when your mascaras a mess and your hair is fucked up from the rain, when the weather is bad and your tights have a run, when your allergies are rampant from the dust. Of course he would!

You wet a paper towel and do your best to wipe off the smudges, happy to look a little less insane after a dab of tinted lip balm makes it onto your lips and cheeks.

When you re-emerge he's fiddling with his CD player and his over ear headphones, working on a knot in the wire. You go back over to the counter and take a sip of your forgotten latte.

"What do you drink?" he asks.

"Carl makes it special for me, it's not on the menu," you tell him over the black plastic top before taking another sip. He grins, a soft nod moving his hair with him -- so it's like that. "I didn't ask if it was on the menu. I asked what you drink," he says, leaning back in the chair. His eyes lingering on you sends a zip up your spine, wondering if he's giving you a once over or not.

"It's a caramel latte with maple and cinnamon," you tell him. His confidence both intruiges and enrages you, both making you want to tell him to get out but also learn more about this hot guy that wants to be a barista with a Wall Street handshake, "So why do you wanna work here?"

"Is this the start of my interview?" he laughs.

"No, I'm just wondering," you shrug.

"I'm back in school about twenty minutes away," he says, "Did it for a little when I was in high school -- coffee, I mean. Ice cream shop after that, video store after that. Went to school, took a break, back in it. My dad thinks having jobs like this builds y'know -- character and whatever."

"Jobs like this?" you ask, jaw tensing with annoyance.

"Like, y'know, jobs with the people," he tries to explain, pink building on his cheeks when he realizes he might've said something shitty, "They're not like bad jobs, that's not what I mean -- I mean like, y'know -- not suits kind of jobs. Regular shit."

"Regular shit," you nod, biting back what you wanna say. That gold crest ring should've been enough to tip you off, but your next question is the ace in the hole, "What're you back in school for?"

"Getting my MBA."

Of course.

"Nice," you lie, fake smiling into your next sip -- the latte going cold as your insides when you come to the conclusion that he's just some hot grade A asshole, "Well, good luck."

"Thanks," he calls out while you make your way back to the floor, "I really like your name, by the way! It suits you."

You try not to let that compliment change your mind.

He gets the job, but you don't see him a lot. He opens an then goes to classes at night, you close most of the time -- only catching him really in the first hour of your shift and the last hour of his. You're both too busy to be finding time to talk; him with his mid-shift clean and you with your hourly sales goals and mid-day schedule re-adjustments.

But he does wave when you come in. He calls out your name when you bustle past the coffee counter and weave through the tables to get to where you need to go. It's nice of him, you guess, but the stain of him explaining that the job he's doing is just for regular people taints it for you. Maybe he thinks you're just some menial worker bee that he only knows for now, since his daddy probably has a job lined up for him once he pays through his masters degree.

Job with a suit where the bookstore will be a distant memory for him, whereas you're on a two year track to becoming the manager and likely future owner when the owners get too old to manage it. Job with a suit where he'll pass by the store and shake his head at 'how stupid it was', a 'can you believe people work there?' head toss to a coworker while he get a coffee somewhere else. Meanwhile, it's your entire life, and so are all the stories inside.

A few weeks pass and the days get a little colder, the nights starting earlier as they go. You have an opening shift that chills your bones, hugging your wool coat tight to your body while you fiddle with the key at the door, groaning at the tinkling of it hitting the concrete again.

"Rough morning?"

You look up to the door opening, seeing a pair clean white Nike Air Force 1's singaling who it is.

"It is now," you mumble, grabbing the key and bustling inside.

"Surprised to see you here," he says, following you to the back, "You're not on the schedule." "Last minute switch up, Rochelle has a christening," you say, hanging your coat in the cubby and switching out your sneakers for platfoms again.

"Oh, nice," he grins, "So why is it a rough morning? 'Cause I'm here?"

"Sorta kinda," you shrug, "Did you alread--"

"I got sales report from yesterday on the check out desk, yes," he crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"And th--"

"And the inventory report, and before you ask, yes I checked that all the milk is in stock and that we aren't low on beans. I've been here for a month, honey, I know what I'm doing," he mutters.

"Gross," you pull a face at him over your shoulder, "Don't call me honey."

He shrugs with a smirk, "Rochelle likes it."

"Can you go skulk to your caffeine den and leave me alone?" you snap, "I'm trying to open a store, here."

"Skulk, huh?"

"Too big of a word for you, Harrington?"

"You're on fire this morning," he smiles, that smile they write about.

"I kinda like it," he adds before turning out of the door and back into the warm light of the store towards the coffee bar. You swallow while you watch him leave -- I kinda like it ringing in your ears and floating down to your chest where is settles in, cozy and kind.

The reports are where he said the would be, neat and organized like he was the manager and Carl was his employee. You normally spent at least thirty minutes trying to figure out what Carl had written in chicken scratch on the forms, but Steve's sharp and elegant script was easy to read and perfectly spaced. Annoying.

Even his signature was handsome.

After you get the registers counted and ready you file the forms and mark the reports so they'll be ready for your manager when they get back in store. You check the list of what needs to be done, the chilly late October air swooping in from the cracks under the door. Your face sours while you make your way over to the coffee bar in the back, seeing Steve set up the pastry delivery in the cases on the side.

"Did you come back here to yell at me about something?" he asks, focused on the task at hand, "I got all morning."

"You didn't turn the heat on," you cross your arms, "That's like, the first thing you're supposed to do."

He scoffs quietly, shaking his head, popping back up to lean on glass of the case, "Did you read your morning report or just sit there and admire my handwriting?"

"Excuse me?" you bite back.

"Heats fucked," he shrugs, ducking back down to finishing his display, "They're sending someone to take a look at it later today."

"Whatever," you grumble, turning on your heel to go dust the front shelving and reshelf the returns from yesterday.

"Hey," he calls out, waiting for you to turn around before he continues. Your eyes catch his amber ones, sparkling with a mischief reserved for school boys who are mean to the girls they like, "You look nice today."

You look him over, sucking in your cheeks to kill the smile growing on your lips. His navy sweater hugs a bit across his chest and shoulders, giving way to billow slightly over his midsection and arms. Kahki chinos cut just at his ankles so his sneakers don't even look stupid paired with the outfit, socks just the right height to look cool and not forced. Awful.

"Yeah, you too Harrington," you agree quietly before walking away; and while you killed the smile, he was able to catch that crease in your eyes, the twitch in your shoulders. You thought that was nice, he wonders if he can make you do that again.

You head over to the back of the cafe during your break, no windows near your designated 'break chair'. It's close enough to the fireplace that it always feels like a rainy day even when it's nice outside. Now that Carl started his shift he got your drink ready to go the moment you walked over.

"Well la-di-da," Steve cocks his head when Carl walks over to greet the customer at the register, rag in his hands wiping up the pick up counter, "Expert service and you're not even gonna tip?"

"Here's a tip: leave me alone when I'm on break," you bite. Why did he have to be so handsome? Slight pink on his cheeks from the heat of the espresso and coffee machines, the lights overhead. The heat finally works again and it's almost working too well from the small bead of sweat forming above his brow. He runs a big hand through his hair again, the same way he did when you first met him. You try to ingore the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve when his arm stretches.

His tongue runs over his teeth, settling between them for a second before looking straight at you, "Good one."

"That's what you get when you read books," you say sarcastically, "You should try it sometime."

"You should teach me," he leans over the counter, resting his chin on his palm, "Bet you're a great teacher."

You bite your tongue, pulling in your lips and squinting your eyes to keep the smile from brewing a second time. You pick up your mug and sip your latte while he crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing this time?" he asks, waiting for you second blow. You shake your head no, occupying your mouth with the rim.

"No?" He asks, you shake your head again, somehow glued to the spot under his stare. He slings the rag over his shoulder, still looking at you. "Well I don't wanna keep you standing here," he teases, offering you a wink that is so soul crushingly charming you could just die, "Enjoy your break."

You've never turned around so quickly in your entire life.

The following week you take another opening shift, happy to settle into the quiet of the cafe now that the morning rush of moms, dads, students, and aspiring writers have cleared out. The fire crackles just right, the leather warmed up to your body heat while the book sucks you in further an further. Thirty minutes pass when you hear a shift infront of you, the subtle squeak of leather being sat in with a soft crunch.

"What're you reading?"

You peer over the top of the spine to see Steve sat in the chair across from you, legs open wide while he leans his forearms on his knees. His long fingers slide together, gold ring shining in the light again to remind you of who he is and where he comes from. As handsome as he is today in his black henley and white t-shirt combo you'll never quite forget the fact that some MBA bro is perched in front of you like a puppy with nowhere to go.

"Sound out the cover, that should tell you," you boredly mumble before tucking back into the chair. His fingers peak over the spine, pushing the book down from the top. He pulls the leather chintz closer to yours with ease -- of course he does.

"Or you could tell me," he says with a softness you weren't ready to hear. Your chest gets warm again, creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's Pride and Prejudice."

"S'that your favorite book or something?" he asks, elbow driving into his thigh so he can rest his chin on his fist.

"One of them," you shrug, "I always read it this time of year, kind of fits the mood of the season."

"Hm," he nods, like he's really listening, "What's it about?"

"Basically," you start, thinking of a way to describe it in two sentences or less, "It's like -- hm -- it's about two people, a love story. One guy is some super rich asshole and he's a jerk because the girl isn't as rich and him. And the girl isn't from the same social standing so she's a jerk because she already assumes that he's a super rich asshole. Like...I don't know, idiots in love who are too stubborn to love each other."

"Hm," he nods again, grin splitting his face, "Interesting."

"What's your favorite book?" you ask, wanting to wipe that smug grin right off his face. His dumb handsome face with that perfect sloped nose, and eyes that look like they're looking directly into you.

"I don't have one," he shrugs.

"You have to have one," you balk, "Like, even if it's one you read in school or something." "Hmm," he sits back up, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting just under his chest.

"You have to know how to read to run a business," you shrug.

"I know how to read, honey," he laughs, "I just don't have a favorite book."

"At least try," you ecourage, albiet annoyed. He taps his fingers on his diaphragm, one knee bouncing while he thinks about it. His shirt rides up just a smidge in the back, revealing a sliver of skin you didn't think you'd ever see.

"Shel Silverstein," he says finally, "Where the Sidewalk Ends."

"You didn't strike me as a poetry guy," you say, closing your book over your finger to hold your place.

"My mom went through this poetry phase -- and I'm my mother's son, so I had a poetry phase with her," he shrugs, "We wore that book out, think we had to get a second copy cause the first one was just like -- destroyed."

"Well that's...you know," you lean your head from side to side, "That's nice. It's cute."

"You'd know, right?" he smiles, that god damn smile Shel would write about in a new book. You'd bring back book burning just to throw it in the flames after it was published. He gets up, disappearing behind you for a moment and reappearing with your favorite green mug. He gingerly places it on the side table next to you.

"Compliments of the chef," he says, presenting it like a Michelin star meal.

You look at it, a perfect pour -- the cream rosetta leaf striking against the warm brown espresso. You can smell the caramel and maple already wafting off it, cinnamon sprinkled delicately on top.

"Um, thanks," you say quietly, taking the mug to your lips. He looks down at you eagerly when you take a sip, waiting for your reaction.

"Did you do something to it?" you ask before you take one.

"No I'm just -- damn, come on. I'm excited to see you try it," he sighs, "I worked hard on it."

"Fine, fine," you murmur, letting the latte flood onto your tongue. Its -- regrettably -- one of the best iterations of you've had in a while. The perfect creaminess without being too milky, enough caramel and maple without being too sweet, the espresso's bitterness cuts the sugar in just the right way to make it smooth. He knows he did it right by the way you go for a second sip without saying anything.

"I did good?" he quirks a brow.

"You did good," you nod.

"Good," he smiles, tapping the top of your chair, "'Cause Carl's putting it on the menu starting in November."

"How come?" you ask into your third sip, the steam billowing over your cheeks.

Steve lets his eyes flicker over your face slowly, offering a half shrug, "I told him to."

November brings the first pre-season snow, not that it mattered now that your favorite drink was a regular menu item now. Caramel and maple always in stock, espresso machine always on first thing in the morning.

You open twice a week now, seeing Steve more often than not. Dropping your key became less common now that he was normally at the door when you'd get there, ready to let you in.

"Another great day, right?" he'd tease.

Now that the holidays were in full swing the bookstore was busier than ever -- sales, bundles, events. You even started carrying children's coloring books and crayons in the kid's section; a whole set up just for kids to sit and color while their parent's browsed.

The stress was getting to you, constantly checking and rechecking the end of day sales versus last year, wanting to make sure everything was on a steady incline with a nice cushion for the next. It helped that the cafe seemed to be absolutely climbing in numbers since September. More and more people wanted to spend time over there, and the more time they spent the more time they looked at books or started reading. It wasn't shocking to see people checking out at the counter with a second coffee and a new book or two in hand.

You don't want it to be true, but you're sure the new barista had a play in what makes so many people stick around. You'd see the way Steve would flirt when he took orders, how he's listen to them intently, make every customer feel like they were the only person in the room.

At least that's how he'd make you feel when he caught your gaze from over the shelving, helping find books for new patrons from the college nearby. You both started to wave at each other at each passing glance, each look caught by surprise, each accidental yearning stare.

Mid-November greets you with a bitter chill, the very early morning doesn't even have the decency to greet with you the rising sun. It'll be atleast another half hour until then.

For the first time in a long time you don't drop the key, pushing into the store with ease. You waste no time turning the heat on, making sure the radiators bled a bit before hand. You rub your hands together while they settle in, putting your coat away in the cubby and switching out your shoes in the break room.

Opening on a Saturday morning isn't common for you, but it's the first event you've planned by yourself. A very simple read-along story telling with some kids from the neighborhood and their parents. You collected three solid winter time reads: The Mitten, The Snowy Day, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. A solid hour of reading while the parents could peruse, or sit and watch while their kids tuned into a book instead of cartoons on Nick Jr.

Once you've given yourself the onceover for the morning you feel more confident about the upcoming next few hours. Your knit tights fit snugly over your legs, a touch sheered out with the stretch over your thighs but the pleats in your plaid maroon skirt cover that just fine, hitting just above your knees -- still covered, still sensible. Still cute enough to snag a single dad if one were to show up.

Your feet stay tucked in a pair of worn in platform mary-janes stolen from your sister's New York City closet when you went to visit her over the summer. The chunky knit sweater over the whole ensemble completes you, a spitting image of a 'caught on the street' look you saw in a Seventeen magazine that you still get delivered to you despite being well past the age group.

You thrifted the sweater with Steve in mind, it looked like something he'd wear.

Anyway.

As you set up the 'reading rug' in the cafe area you hear the familar unlocking of the door. The sun finally starting to seep in in golden shards through the panes, leaving squares of light on the wood floors and carpets below.

"Hey Carl!" you call out, "I got everything up and running for you."

You hear the keys jingle but not his smoker's cough, not his heavy steps finding their way to the cafe area. Instead you look up to see Steve with his hands on his hips, watching you struggle to move the leather chintz to the back wall as your reading chair.

"Redecorating?" he asks, looking around the cafe. Under his shearling lined aviator jacket is an open hunter green flannel you wouldn't expect to see him in, his white t-shirt underneath hugs tights to his chest and stomach. You unfortunately noticed how great of a view that is for you.

"Um," you started, looking around the room and the dissaray you seem to have made without realizing, "Why are you here?"

"Same reason your here," he says, stepping forward to shoo you away from the chair, "I'm on the payroll."

"You don't work weekends," you say, crossing your arms over your chest while he lifts the chair over the rug with a soft grunt.

"I do today," he says with a slight strain, "Where do you want this?"

"Uh," you start, "Just right in the center against the wall so everyone can see me."

"Oh, so you're reading to the kids this morning?" he laughs to himself after putting the chair down. He wipes his hands off on each other, shrugging off the jacket and holding it in one arm, "Bitter Betty is gonna entertain the young minds of Main Street?"

"Bitter Betty, huh?" you challenge, following him into the back room, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he shakes his head.

"I am very sweet," you tell him, a serious edge to your voice, "There are so many customer reviews saying how sweet I am."

"Sure," he nods, putting his coat away in his cubby, "I bet there are; since y'know, you're selling them something."

"I'm not just nice when I'm selling something," you say softly, arms coming protectively across your chest. A frustration bubbles in your chest while you look at him, following him back out into the cafe so you can keep getting the place ready before the families start to show up, "You think you know everything."

"I don't," he shakes his head, smiling while he checks over the machines and gets the first pot of coffee started.

"Yeah, you do. You walked in here two months ago and swear you know everything," you huff, getting the cafe back to a place of organized coziness.

"Okay," he chuckles, "Whatever you say, boss."

"You're infuriating," you mumble under your breath.

"Got that caramel latte coming right up for you, by the way," he says warmly.

Your head turns to see him watching you, he smiles, "Maybe you're a little nicer after you've had a coffee."

You smile back, unable to stop it this time.

"So that's a yes, right?" he cocks his head, fingers drumming on the counter while he watches you. That Harringtom charm pumping out at full speed.

"Y-yeah," you nod, "Whatever. You gonna go chop down a tree, Harrington? What's with the flannel?"

He looks down at his shirt and then back up at you with a soft shake of his head, "I better hurry up and get that started for you."

The kids look up at you with starry eyes, their parents smiling along with their coffees, lattes, espressos, and pastries. The Mitten was a hit and The Snowy Day is so far showing up to be a great follow up.

You take your time to really point out the pictures and adding on to the story since all three of them are pretty short. However, you're finding that kids between two and five are pretty easy to entertain if you do enough counting and make enough sound effects. Maybe you should've been a kindergarten teacher -- or maybe not. Maybe you should just keep doing book events.

You're halfway through when you show the illustrations to the group again, listening to them ooh and ahh at all the snow.

"Did um -- Miss -- did you know -- it snowed? It snowed at my house," one of the older kids announces, arm straight up in the air.

"It snowed last week, Michael, that's right," his mom pipes up, "Daddy had to shovel outside."

"Has everyone else seen snow? Raise your hand if you've seen this much snow!" you announce in your perfect parentese, watching while the older kids and parents raise their hands. The two year olds don't really get it so they just sit there and laugh.

You look up at all the hands, an enthusiastic 'Wow!' coming out of your mouth -- but you barely hear it. Behind the hands are a set of warm amber eyes looking at you from the coffee bar, soft and gentle. Enthralled even. You swallow and lick your lips quickly before smiling, catching his smile back as you look back at the book to start again.

After each couple of pages you catch each other, the pink on his cheeks rising when he looks away -- pretending to be occupied with something else. Cleaning, organizing, resetting the espresso machine. He can tell you're flustered by the way you clear your throat whenever you start to read again.

After The Snowy Day you take a ten minute break so that the parents can take their kids to the bathroom or re-up their beverages. The tip jar is full to bursting because nobody knows how to make a single mom feel like Steve Harrington does; and husbands will pay anything to get him to leave their wives alone.

You reset your chair, making sure the books you're reading are on display for purchasing on the shelving close by in your Winter Children's Bundle for a discounted price. As the ten minutes closes up you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Here," you turn around to Steve with a green mug in his hands, "It's just regular coffee this time, but -- figured you could use it."

You take it body first, reaching around for the handle only to feel his fingers brush against yours at the hand of. The soft touch isn't electric like it is in the books, it's like that but better. Warm like an oven, the gooey parts of you rising in a slow bake when you see him look down and turn away -- running that same hand through his hair on his way back to the counter.

"Thanks," you say over the chatter of parents and kids coming back to sit.

"Can I have something ready for you for your break?" he asks back.

"Surprise me," you shrug, sitting back on your chintz chair and taking the final book onto your lap. The kids cheer when they see Snoopy on the cover, a well loved favorite cartoon to finish off their morning. With the crack of the spine you can already smell the sales coming once this little event is over.

You work through your break, ringing up and helping customer after customer on easily one of the busiest Saturday's you've seen in a while. It normally doesn't get busy like this at least for another couple of weeks.

The stress of working through lunch barely matters though because your event was a bigger success than you could've hoped for -- logging in the notes for Rochelle that you should probably start doing this throughout the season just for good measure.

It's starting to get dark by the time your shift ends and the store closes -- early on Saturdays at a tight 4 PM. You let your sales girl go a little early, wanting to take the time to close up the store properly since you were the one who made it such a mess this morning. As you start to put the chairs back that had been moved from the cafe to the children's section you hear him, fingers tapping on the counter.

"You didn't come by for your break," he says, "And I put a lot of effort into that drink."

"Sorry, we can't all be flirting through our shifts like you can, Harrington," you snark with a grin, flipping the last chair over onto it's accompanied table.

"You don't have to clean up the coffee part of the store," he says, coming around with another mug in hand, "That's my job, y'know."

"I know," you say, "But I kind of fucked it up this morning so -- just doing my part."

"Well, here," he says, mug outstretched in his large hand, gold ring gleaming back at you, "For doing your part, I guess."

"You guess, huh?" you laugh lazily, taking it -- he places his fingers in a way that you have no choice but to touch them. You wonder if he did it on purpose, "What do you call this one?"

"'Surprise me'," he replies in a mocking drawl, flipping the rag over his shoulder again and leaning against the counter's edge. The first sip is unfortunately one of the most even temperatured hot drinks you've put past your lips.

"You're good at this," you blurt out, almost offended.

"Well don't look so upset about it."

"I am upset about it," you nod back over the lip of the mug, taking another sip. Mocha -- something. It's like hot chocolate and espresso but better, still caramel, still cinnamon, like a hug from your past but caffienated like your present.

"Consider me surprised," you nod, licking your lips again, "It's good -- it's um -- yeah. It's really good."

"Thanks," he smirks, "A few of the mom's thought so, too."

You let out a sigh through your teeth, rolling your eyes. He expected that, taking a step forward when your gaze comes back to center. You can smell the left over wraiths of his cologne and Old Spice deodorant, count the moles on his neck adorned with his hidden gold chain, see the hair on his forearms from his rolled up sleeves.

"You know something," he says quietly, "If I didn't know any better -- I'd think you like me."

"Like you?" you balk, eyes widening, "You wish."

He clicks his tongue when you get so defensive because it just proves him right. He crosses his arms with another step forward, head cocking to the side slightly while he sizes you up. Why did his creator need to make his forearms so beefy? So perfectly sculpted that you can't look at them without losing your train of thought? Stupid.

"I don't think I have to wish, honey," he says softly, Doc Martins creaking on the wooden floors, "I think...uh, I think I must allow you to tell me how ardently you admire and like me."

Your mouth falls open, staring at him with eyes as glassy at the kids who watched you read this morning.

"You -- no -- you read it?"

"Maybe," he says, another step forward, his arms bumping against your chest.

"Maybe?" you ask back, brow quirking.

"Yeah, maybe I did," he runs a hand through his hair, falling back away from his face to show off his sturdy brow bone, watching you with admiration down the slope of his nose.

He reaches down and takes the mug out of your hand with smooth finesse, arm long enough to reach back and place it on the counter behind him. When he leans back in place he's closer than before, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose.

"Maybe I bought it the day you told me about it," he shrugs, "Maybe I thought it was pretty close to something I had goin' on with a girl I know."

"A girl you know?" you challenge. You know exactly who he means, but it might be fun to hear him say it. "Yeah, sometimes I only see her like, an hour a day. But sometimes I get to watch her read on her break, sometimes I get to close with her on Saturdays," he explains warmly, the timbre of his voice deep against the crackling of the fire in the back corner of the cafe.

"This is the only Saturday you've closed with me," you counter, head tilting up slightly, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his.

"Who said I was talking about you, honey?" he murmurs back, mischief in his eyes that are half hidden by his eyelids. You feel a puff of his breath over your top lip, still minty fresh like he just brushed his teeth.

"We both know you're talking about me," you smirk, self satisfied while his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes. He steps at an angle, making you step back so you're against the pick up counter.

"So sure of yourself," he he scoffs quietly, leaning over you and getting into your space. Each hand coming to the side of you to lean on the granite, caging you in, "I like that in a pretty girl."

"Most do," you shrug matter of factly.

"Yeah," he nods, "Think that's what I like about you."

"Maybe that's what I like about you, too," you nearly whisper out.

"Maybe?" he asks, lower lip ghosting over yours. "Mayb--"

The hand he uses to run through his hair finds itself flat over the back of yours, sliding down to over your cheek and jaw where he keeps you angled just right. He closes the millimeters between you, warm lips catching yours in a kiss that feels like passion but a power play you want to match.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, heads moving in soft tilts when you change angles. When you find yourself sat on the edge of the counter he uses the leverage to pull you close to him, hips between the fullness of your thighs.

His tongue skates over yours when it slides into your mouth, free hand ridding up the soft material of your tights, tips of his fingers inching under the hem of your skirt in an innocent tease.

Even the way he breathes through it is sexy, leaving you with a lingering guess of what he can do when he presses his lips against your neck. Tongue flitting and striping while he nearly nips a bruise onto your skin. You let out a gentle gasp, enough to admit defeat to him -- much to your chagrin. Steve comes back up to your lips to meet you with a few final deep kisses before you break apart.

He steps back once, the deep golden light of the sun setting cracks through the panes of the back window in the cafe, adoring him in a glow that shines of his hair and eyes. The kind of glow they write about, the kind of glow you read about.

You both take deep breaths, eyes hungry for each other -- unsure if you should go for more. He lingers, coming forward again to rest his hands on your thighs.

"I didn't read it," he confesses. "Pfffft. Why am I not surprised?" you huff, exasperated.

"But! But, but, but," he argues back, pecking you feverishly, "I had to go to like, five different places to find the movie from 1980 so -- I did actually put some effort into it."

"I love that one," you say back.

"I get points for that, right?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah, fine. You're luck you're cute," you explain, "But you do definitely have to read it, at some point. If you wanna keep making out with me in the cafe after closing."

"Oh, absolutely," he grins, hand reaching to pull you in by the back of the neck for a final searing kiss, "You'll have to teach me, remember?"

You of course start closing together every single Saturday.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

[diorsluv]

feather , part 23

“ like a feather, like a feather, like a feather ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( second post is based off of the request/ask “oh my god what if she doesn’t go to the lake house cause she thought luke and the girl were going to be there but the girl wasn’t there, so she went to a different place for the summer for no reason :(” )

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by dylanduke25, trevorzegras, _quinnhughes, and 104,680 others

yourusername i need these cakes and i need them now

view all comments

luca.fantilli is that charles leclerc 🤨

→ yourusername yes what about it

→ colecaufield oh god don’t remind her

→ jackhughes calm down cole it was lando norris not leclerc 🙄🙄

→ yourusername i would actually really appreciate it if you baked me a cake and put an edible photo of carlos sainz on it

→ trevorzegras first of all yourusername you’re delusional and he’s like 10 years older than you

→ yourusername incorrect but proceed 😒

→ colecaufield and also your obsession is getting scary

→ yourusername IT WAS A JOKEEEE 🙄

username36 wondering how luke feels about this

username17 i just know luke’s punching the air

username26 luke’s prob sayin “why am i not on those cakes”

username92 if i don’t get a cake like that i’m throwing hands

mackie.samo LMAOOO IS THAT EMINEM

→ yourusername shush thyself

→ mackie.samo what 💀

markestapa you’re desperate

→ yourusername STOP DRAGGING ME

→ markestapa you could do a lot better

→ yourusername A LOT BETTER THAN DYLAN O’BRIEN?? i beg to differ

rutgermcgroarty smash

→ yourusername #harrypotterdefender4life

→ rutgermcgroarty wasn’t talking abt him but yes queen he’s hot too!!!!

→ yourusername oh.. why r u speaking like that it’s kind of scary 😥😥

lhughes_06 they’re not that hot 🙄🙄

→ yourusername I’M SORRY WHAT????

→ lhughes_06 idk theyre mid tbh

→ yourusername check ur eyes kid

→ lhughes_06 ok lil buddy

→ yourusername ihy

→ lhughes_06 i love u too

→ jackhughes 👀

→ luca.fantilli 👀

→ _quinnhughes 👀

→ trevorzegras 👀

→ mackie.samo 👀

→ colecaufield 👀

→ rutgermcgroarty 👀

→ adamfantilli 👀

→ _alexturcotte 👀

→ dylanduke25 👀

→ markestapa 👀

→ jamie.drysdale 🤢

→ yourusername you guys need to stop doing this so much oh my god 😭😭

username15 yall all keep asking how luke feels but what abt the bigger question: ARE THOSE THE STURNIOLO TRIPLETS???

→ username7 okay but the biggEST question is: IS THAT GRIFFIN GLUCK?!?!?!

→ username55 i thought it was fucking white boy carl 💀 username7

trevorzegras i sorta approve of your taste in mid white boys

→ yourusername says the mid white boy

→ trevorzegras HEY ☹️

dylanduke25 “smash” means

→ dylanduke25 goddammit i didn’t mean to post without the definition

→ yourusername get ur definition shit AWAYYYYY 🤺🤺

→ markestapa dilf is an acronym for "dad i’d like to fuck". a dilf is any man (typically between the ages of 30-50) who is incredibly attractive and has kids. they are usually really cut, from activities such as pushing strollers, giving piggyback rides, and intense trips to the local park or disney world. the also have a killer smile and sense of childlike joy, because they play with their kids all the time. unfortunately, getting with them is hard, as they are typically very faithful to their wife (see milf).

→ yourusername that’s plagiarism ‼️‼️‼️

username11 the taste in men is immaculate

colecaufield now i don’t comment a lot on your posts anymore but i want you to REAAAAALLY think about what you’ve done here

→ yourusername i posted pictures of hot white men’s faces on cakes!

→ colecaufield yes yes and how do you think that might make other people (cough cough) feel?

→ yourusername grateful because i showed them these masterpieces 🤗🤗

→ colecaufield oh kid you’re hopeless

jamie.drysdale dad asked what dilf means

→ yourusername tell him it means “drake is literally fire”

→ jamie.drysdale too late he saw mark’s definition 😂😂😂

username46 draco malfoy 💚

missseraphina lmao fangirl

adamfantilli let’s split the cake in half

→ yourusername sure <33 you can get the part with the word on it and i can get everything else 🥰

colecaufield i’m surprised crosby isn’t somewhere on there

→ _alexturcotte goddammit whyd u bring it up

→ yourusername SID!!!!!!

→ jamie.drysdale she still has that pinterest album of ONLY pics of him

→ trevorzegras lil drizz u had a crush on him when you were like 5

→ yourusername we all had a crush on him 😒

_quinnhughes would now be a bad time to tell you he’s punching his pillow in the other room

→ jackhughes hey he made us promise to not snitch

→ _quinnhughes stop acting like we actually do what he tells us to do

→ jackhughes you’re right we never do that

→ lhughes_06 you snitched i’m telling mom

→ jackhughes mom doesn’t care ur such a baby

→ lhughes_06 fine i’m telling dad

→ _quinnhughes dad does not give a flying fuck

→ jackhughes dad wouldn’t even know what we’d be talking about

→ jackhughes actually scratch that moosey you’re really damn obvious

→ yourusername what the hell is going on

yourusername

liked by markestapa, _alexturcotte, dylanduke25, and 94,292 others

yourusername oui oui paris 🥖🎀 (creds to jamie for the pics ig)

view all comments

jamie.drysdale wow i’m so honored you remembered to give me creds

→ yourusername because we’re not allowed to argue on our trip 🤬

→ jamie.drysdale dad said and i quote “no squirreling”

→ yourusername what the fuck is squirreling

→ yourusername WAIT DO YOU MEAN QUARRELING 😭😭

→ jamie.drysdale yeah yeah so we can’t squirrel

→ yourusername it’s QUARREL

username88 mother is in her coquette era

username34 HOW DO YOU LOOK SO GOOD WITH A FACE MASK ON???

trevorzegras come backkkkkk wmy

→ yourusername no can do trev 😔

username21 hold up but i thought everyone was spending the summer at the lake house?

rutgermcgroarty but WE were supposed to go to paris together 🙁

→ yourusername no sweetie it was athens..

→ rutgermcgroarty either way it’s still in france

→ yourusername no…….. no its not 😭😭

→ rutgermcgroarty damn it i’m just trying to say you’re always going to OUR dream places with other people 😒

→ yourusername I WILL TAKE YOU TO JEJU ISLAND I PROMISE

→ rutgermcgroarty is that in europe

→ yourusername 😟

_quinnhughes it’s so weird not hearing you badly scream-sing in the shower at 2 in the morning

→ yourusername oh shut up you love my hamilton marathons

adamfantilli you should be the one wiping out on the wakeboard not me 😔😔

→ yourusername wow i feel sooooo missed

→ adamfantilli we do miss u tho (PLEASE COME BACK WE NEED YOU)

username2 wait why didn’t you go to the lake house 😟😟

→ yourusername jamie and i didn’t feel like getting harassed 💔

→ username2 BY WHOOOOO??

→ username2 actually that’s a dumb question i know who

username75 this is the first summer they haven’t spent at the lake house 😧

luca.fantilli don’t worry lil drizzle we bought u two tickets so u can come back 😁

→ yourusername noooooo

mackie.samo you need to come back rn no excuses

markestapa WE NEED TO TAKE OUR ANNUAL GROUP PIC 😕

edwards.73 duker almost burnt the house down please we need you back

jackhughes NO ONES EVEN HERE PLEASE JUST COME BACK

→ yourusername thought my cyberbully was going 😣😖☹️🙁😓😥

→ jackhughes LMFAOOO as if

→ yourusername i’ll consider it 🙄

_alexturcotte our karaoke nights are so boring without youuuu

→ yourusername you can solo our mariah carey songs trust 🙏🙏

→ _alexturcotte NO I CANT

→ yourusername turcs we booked our hotel for 3 weeks i can’t do anything 😭😭

dylanduke25 i almost burnt the house down making waffles

→ yourusername oh duker..

username24 the way they’re all begging her to go back to the lake house lmao

missseraphina it’s giving nepo baby

liked by yourusername

→ username1 LMAOAOAO at this point drizz is just clowning this bitch

lhughes_06 i need you here

this comment has been deleted

lhughes_06 we need you here

next chapter notes ) so regarding the request; i wasn’t sure if it was like a request or more of just a thought but i felt like it could add more angst so i took it as a request anyways 🤍 i also wanted to say that the time between the first and second post was a bit of a jump but like let’s just say the first post was during finals week and the second one was obv during the summer and WE ARE FINALLY IN ACT IV WOOOOOOO 👏👏👏 also thank you all so much for 300 followers AHHHH!! it genuinely does mean so much to me and i’m glad you’re here on my journey to stir up more shit between luke and “his” girl

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02 @ho3forfakeguys @loveforaugust

[sinsandsweetness]

Please for the love of god write something about Rick chasing the reader down in the woods I’d DIE

(Rick and Daryl x fem!reader)

cw- reader already has a baby with the boys, reader being chased in a maze, threesome, smut, slight breeding kink… think that’s all…

notes- happy Halloween! This is a fun little one shot placed in Alexandria. It is a follow up of “taking turns” however you don’t need to read it to read this. It’s just the same relationship, a couple years later. I had a few requests for a follow up and for some chasing/hunting vibes so… here you go! I won’t lie this is a bit rushed and not proofread at all so I apologize for any errors or if it’s not my best… but i hope you enjoy and tell me what you think<3

“Alright,” Rick breathes out with a sigh, dropping the large box onto the ground. Daryl right behind him with another.

The kids run over. Judith, at just 4 years old, Gracie, Sam, Carl and a few of the older kids and teens in Alexandria. Your own baby coos in your arms. Incoherent, yet adorable babbles leave her mouth, with chubby little hands grabbing into the air in the direction of her daddy.

While Rick cuts open the cardboard box of costumes, Daryl sneaks away from the cluster of children, all way too excited to get their hands on a cape and a mask. Or a dress and a tiara.

“C’mhere, sweetheart,” he grabs your daughter from your arms. Immediately she’s smiling all big and giggling into his jacket.

“Were you good for your mama while I was gone?” He whispers against her dark curls before pressing a kiss to her head.

“She just missed you, I think.” You respond. In reality, she was fussy. You figured that would happen after two nights without her dad. Daryl definitely being her favourite parent.

The kids are noisy as they ooh and awe and fight over the Halloween costumes.

Rick finally makes his own escape with a costume cowboy hat on his head.

“Hey, officer,” you tip your head up for a kiss as he wraps his arms around your waist. Eager to hug you. To touch you.

He stays holding you for a moment. Just soaking in your warmth.

“Miss me?”

“Every minute.” He confirms against your mouth for one last kiss, before moving to kiss your daughters cheek.

“How’s our little princess?” He asks to no one in particular.

“She missed her daddies. Kept me up all night.”

“What?” Rick faked a shocked tone, “our little princess would never. That doesn’t sound like her at all, does it?” He runs his hand over her hair and plants a kiss on her head.

You roll your eyes but your smile peaks out anyway. The sight of your men being such good fathers will never fail to make you smile.

“Daddy! Daddy look!” Judith’s high pitched voice brings attention as she tugs at Ricks pant leg.

When the three of you turn to look, she’s dressed in a unicorn onesie. Adorable. A bit warm for the weather. But adorable.

Rick picks her up with a groan, “oh my goodness, almost too big for this, aren’t you?”

She nuzzles into Ricks chest, little arms wrapping around his neck.

“I think someone needs a little snooze before all the festivities tonight, hm? You feelin’ a little tired, Judy?” He asks her. You don’t hear anything but you see the white fluffy ears on her hood move up and down as she nods into her fathers shirt.

“This little rascal should have one too.” You nod towards your own sleepy girl, “I can go put em’ both down for a nap.”

“Nah, I’ll do it.” Daryl insists.

“Are you sure-“

“I’ve got it.” He scoops Judith up in one arm, balanced on his hip and very happy to be carried to bed. A snuggly little 6 month old on his other. He starts off upstairs and leaves you and Rick in the living room. Surrounded by a foam sword fight battle that appears to have ensued between a couple ninja turtles and a fairy Princess.

The whole reason for Rick and Daryl’s last run was to find these costumes. Among other Halloween decorations and as much candy as they could salvage. Anything to make it a special day. To show the kids what things used to be like. To remind the ones who did know, exactly how fun the holidays were. You weren’t even sure it was Halloween. Sure, the leaves were beautiful tones of orange and yellow, falling to the ground and crunching beneath your shoes. But you arent sure what day it was. Honestly, you arent entirely sure what month it is. However, according to Eugene’s calendar, It is in fact the 31st of October.

Ricks head tips low to your ear and he whispers an invitation to go shower. He needs to clean up. And he really wouldn’t mind some company.

“Carol,” he turns for a moment and nods to her in the kitchen, prepping some food for tonight. “Can you…” he motions to the living room full of children running around. Carol nods and you can hear her telling them to beat it and go play outside while you’re led up the stairs by the hand.

—

The party is supposed to start at 7. Carol offered to take your daughter for the night, to give you some time off. To have fun. To go to sleep early if that’s what you wanted.

It’s a bit cold out. So you’re in a cream knit sweater and some jeans. A pair of cheap bunny ears are on your head. Your daughter is dressed in the smallest costume you could find in the box, a plush orange carrot. And she’s the cutest carrot you’ve ever seen, that’s for sure.

There’s wine. Lots. And food. And candy. Eugene is setting up a spooky film to be played on a projecter in the middle of Alexandria. A few bonfires surround the yard, scattered with jack-o-lanterns. Carved and lit up with tea lights and glowing eyes.

It’s beautiful. Slightly spooky. And so familiar. It’s everything you remember about Halloween.

An arm snaking around your waist startles you as you sip on your wine. But the smell of smoke and leather soothes you quickly.

“Hey,” Daryl says. You turn to face him, only slightly confused as his voice is being muffled by something.

He’s wearing a mask. A scream mask more specifically. The rest of his attire is typical. His leather jacket on, though no vest tonight. Dark jeans and boots.

“Mmm, spooky.” You lean in and press a quick peck to the white plastic. You can’t see him smile under the mask, but you know it’s there.

Another arm wraps around your waist from the other side. It’s Rick. You know by the thick brown jacket brushing against you. He’s also in costume, wearing a Friday the 13th hockey mask.

“Well hello, Jason,” you tease.

“You scared yet?”

“Should I be?” You ask. Though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

Rick opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by some commotion from the yard.

Eugene has a microphone, standing on a picnic table and telling the crowd to sit down and get comfy. That the movie will be starting in two minutes.

“Well, are you two ready for some Hocus Pocus?” You ask.

They look at eachother through the masks. What the hell are they plotting?

“What…?” You finally ask.

“We were thinking… maybe we could do something a little different.”

“What, you wanna watch something else?”

“Not quite,” Daryl chimes in, “we were thinking that while everyone is watching the movie, the three of us can make our way through the corn maze.”

The maze is outside the walls of Alexandria. A bit dangerous, but it was part of the fun. The kids had all had their turns in it earlier in the day, heavily supervised by adults and parents. Ones with weapons and training for situations outside the safety of the walls.

“You want us to all get lost in the maze?” You bite your bottom lip and smile.

“We want you to get lost in the maze,” Daryl corrects you.

Rick dips down to your ear and lowers his voice, “and we’ll try and find you. Play a little game.”

“Grown up hide and seek?” You ask. Heat raising to your cheeks at the thought of what they want to do once they find you.

“Exactly.”

You swallow, looking back to the yard where the kids are all lid out in sleeping bags and on blankets. Focused on the film playing in the dark.

“Ok.”

“We’ll give you a two minute head start,” Rick hands you a switch blade. Just incase. Nodding towards the back fence, where you know you can sneak out without being caught. Your heart is already starting to race a little at the thought of having to hide. At the thought of them searching for you. Hunting you down. And Daryl’s little comment when you start off towards the fence doesn’t help either,

“Good luck, little bunny.”

—

It’s pitch black when you reach the maze. Actually, as soon as you made it over the wall and into the woods, it was dark. But inside the maze, the stalks of corn all towering over 10 feet tall and fluttering creepily in the breeze. The only light you can see is a faint glow from the moon. And even then, it’s only when you’re out of the shadows.

You walk into the maze. Immediately met by multiple twists and turns. You weren’t one of the supervisors earlier, so you really didn’t know the route. The straw and leaves crunch under your feet as you walk further into the maze. A quick, brisk walk trying to find the best place to hide. Or, if you’re lucky, to find the end of the maze before the boys even get in.

But you know that’s unrealistic. And you’re sure your two minutes must be up because you can hear them. Footsteps and muffled voices behind a couple walls of corn. Shit.

You start to walk faster. A borderline jog at this point, trying to keep your footing light.

It didn’t occur to you until now how easy it’ll be for them to find you. Daryl’s a hunter for Christ sake. He’ll be able to track your path through the maze in no time.

They’re closer.

Fuck.

You have to run. You can hear their voices. They’re so close.

“You’re gonna have to be quicker than that, baby.” Ricks voice rings out towards you. He’s on the other side of the wall. Through the thick corn stalks and the pitch black of the night, you can’t make out exactly where he is. But he’s close.

You run.

And they follow right after.

The sound of their footsteps is clearer and clearer the further away from Alexandria you get. And the further into the maze.

You shriek at the feeling of a hand on your sweater, jolting forward and starting to sprint. It was Daryl. He’s behind you.

And though him and Rick are both stronger, you have one advantage. You’re faster.

Over your shoulder as you sprint you can see them. White masks still on, glowing in the moonlight.

“Fuck”, you swear to yourself when you

come to a dead end. You only have two options. Turn around, or be caught. They couldn’t be more than a few seconds away.

Without really thinking, you shove your way through the stalks. Catching on every leaf and stick, but ultimately coming out the other side without a scrape.

You can’t celebrate your quick thinking victory too long because you still hear them.

“Split up,” Daryl whisper shouts at his friend, and with their footsteps scattered, it’s even harder to tell where they are.

Fuck.

You keep going. You take a left. And then a right and another dead end. Shit. Is this … is this the same one?

You turn back and take the left instead. But it’s another dead end.

What the fuck?

You’re lost. You don’t even know what direction you came from anymore. Circling the same two dead ends before you finally take a right that leads you a couple meters further than the other options.

You hear a stick crack on the ground behind you, but there’s no time to see who it is.

You turn the corner fast with your heartbeat so loud it drums in your ears.

“Shit,” you stumble right into a brown jacket in front of you. Arms wrapping around you and picking you up. You scream.

Someone warm presses against your back as your feet touch the floor again.

You’re trapped.

“Gotcha,” Daryl’s gravelly voice is already in your ear.

You’re breathing heavy in their hold, sandwiched between the two men.

Their hands grab at your sweater and start to roam.

“Take this off,” a voice demands as you struggle against their arms,

You try for a moment to reach the mask covering Ricks face. But Daryl, or maybe Rick’s, hands are clamped on your wrist.

It’s claustrophobic, but you don’t entirely mind. As long as it’s their arms your trapped between, you’ll never complain.

They don’t kiss you. They can’t. But everything about their demeanour is screaming that they want you. That they want to be in you.

Hands gripping and tugging at your jeans. Your hands snake around Ricks neck in front of you as they peel your jeans down your legs. The air is cold and gives you goosebumps, but your legs wrap around his waist immediately. Daryl’s bulge pokes at your ass while his hand trails under your sweater to pinch your nipple. Ricks pants are tight as his own bulge rubs against the thin fabric of your panties. Your jeans long lost to the straw and dirt ground underneath you.

It doesn’t take long for them to get you how they need you.

Granted, the three of you did have a lot of practice. Your panties swiftly ripped off by the man behind you who wanted more access. The cold metal of both their belts hit your skin.

And with little preparation other than some spit and arousal, you’re stretched to the max with both men. Both holes filled with very little regard for your comfort.

They know you’d say something if it really hurt.

But it hurts so good. The pain of being so fucking full. Stretched to a limit you’d experienced over a dozen times, but no matter what, it just never gets any easier.

“Wanna kiss you,” your voice comes out in wet gasps, lips brushing the plastic of Ricks mask. One hand trying for Daryl’s hood, reaching awkwardly around. You need their touch. Their lips on your lips. Tongues tracing each-other and fighting for dominance.

They’d win.

They always do.

The three of you find a rhythm quickly. Hands on your thighs, holding you up and using you as leverage to pound as fast and hard as they could. Your moans and their grunts fill the air as pleasure starts to swirl low on your abdomen.

“Please,” your head tips back in ecstasy. “Please, please,”

“Please what, sweet girl?” The cold plastic of Daryl’s mask brushes your ear.

“Please- want- uh,” you’re interrupted by sharper thrusts from the two men, catching you off guard. Their both picking up their pace.

“Speak up, darling.” Rick demands, nails digging into your hips.

“Fill me up,” you gasp again. “Want it so bad, Rick, please.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on the swirl in your stomach. The one that keeps getting warmer and warmer and warmer until-

“I’m cumming,” you tell them as a courtesy, but you don’t have to. The way you’re involuntarily clenching down around them gives you away far better than a couple raspy words.

“You really wanna get filled up, baby? Bred like the little bunny you are, huh?” Ricks words send you over the edge and a hand toys at the fluffy rabbit ears that are shockingly still secured on top of your head.

You’re out of words. Too stimulated to talk. So you just nod in agreement. Yes. Please. Please.

Their hips stutter to a stop and warm liquid seeps out to drool down your inner thigh.

Breathing heavy, you’re lowered back to the ground, colder now. without the friction of their bodies.

“Here,” Daryl grabs your jeans from the ground and dresses you again. His soft side peaking out now that he’s had his release. Your shoes are back on and your legs a little shaky, and finally, the boys finally take their masks off. The whites of their eyes are bright in the moonlight.

“You alright?” They both ask you as the three of you somehow manage to find your way back out of the maze.

“A little cold…” you smirk.

“But we didn’t-we didn’t scare you too bad right?”

“No.” You smile, “Don’t know if I could ever get that scared by you too love bugs.” You tease, arms wrapping around their waists and pulling them in close to you.

“Pfft,” Daryl brushes off the comment and Rick only smiles.

“Well if we didn’t scare you, then maybe next time we oughta try a little harder.”

“Next time?” You ask. The thought already going straight between your thighs.

The boys share a look over your shoulders that can only mean one thing.

“Hey, baby,” Rick catches your attention, hand guiding you towards the community gates by the small of your back as he searches in his jacket pocket for his keys. “You ever been to a house of mirrors?”

[transmutationisms]

do you know any texts on the connection between fascism/the right and cleanliness/hygiene (purity) rhetoric? anything that goes a bit in depth on the topic?

Getting Under Our Skin: The Cultural and Social History of Vermin (2021). Sarasohn, Lisa Tunick. ISBN: 9781421441382

Dirt: New Geographies of Cleanliness and Contamination (2007). Campkin, Ben & Cox, Rosie (Eds.). ISBN: 9781845116729

The Sanitation of Brazil: Nation, State, and Public Health, 1889-1930 (2016). Hochman, Gilberto. ISBN: 9780252099052

Clean and White: A History of Environmental Racism in the United States (2015). Zimring, Carl A. ISBN: 9781479826940

Colonial Pathologies: American Tropical Medicine, Race, and Hygiene in the Phillipines (2006). Anderson, Warwick H. ISBN: 0822338041

Bacteriology in British India: Laboratory Medicine and the Tropics (2017). Chakrabarti, Pratik. ISBN: 9781580465908

The Great Hanoi Rat Hunt: Empire, Disease, and Modernity in French Colonial Vietnam (2018). Vann, Michael G. & Clarke, Liz. ISBN: 9780190602697

Soap and Water: Cleanliness, Dirt and the Working Classes in Victorian and Edwardian Britain (2010). Kelley, Victoria. ISBN: 9781848850521

Contagion: Disease, government, and the “social question” in 19th-century France (1999). Aisenberg, Andrew R.

Rome, Pollution, and Propriety: Dirt, Disease, and Hygiene in the Eternal City from Antiquity to Modernity (2012). Bradley, Mark & Stow, Kenneth R. ISBN: 9781107014435

Sanitizing South Africa: Race, Racism and Germs in the Making of the Apartheid State, 1880-1980 (2015). Fabio Terence Palmi Zoia. PhD. Dissertation, Indiana University. Available from ProQuest Dissertations & Theses Global. (1682266398)

there are also a few theoretical texts in social / cultural anthropology that will be frequent touchstones here, including norbert elias's 'the civilising process' (first published 1939) and mary douglas's 'purity and danger' (1966). i don't honestly think it's worth it or necessary to read these directly, both because they're dated in certain ways and because i think the historical studies are generally more useful. but you will probably notice these two texts & a handful of others repeatedly cropping up in introductory footnotes on this topic.

[carllgrimesgf]

Stalker

—

Warning: this story contains stalking, watching someone sleep, swearing, drinking?, talking about CNC (Thinking) , pet names (angel and good girl) everyone is 18+ so MDNI❗️SMUT

NOTE! : I got the idea from the book called Haunting Adeline which is a good book but also traumatizing.. anyways enjoy (this is my first one shot story!!)

—

——

It’s late at night. I’ve been feeling someone has been stalking me for the couple of days. I don’t know how to put it, but it’s just every time I look out the window. I feel like someone staring me.

“Are you sure someone is watching you?” Enid question me I was currently on the phone with her telling her about the feeling I have for the past few days “Yes, I’m sure I would hear weird stuff around the house I mean yeah this house is from my mother who passed away but still I feel like someone is watching me every corner that turn” I explained to her as I sip into my wine I was in the kitchen making food for myself

Hearing Enid on the other side of the line sigh, I knew she’s trying her best to believe me. “Maybe it’s your mother trying to scare you. I mean no offense, obviously” she jokingly said to me I chuckled at the thought of my mother, trying to scare me, but she would never do that even if she was a ghost. Right?

hearing something from upstairs that came from my room I stopped talking listening. It definitely hear like someone is walking around I quietly grabbed a knife that was on the table. I was making a small dinner for myself, but looks like I have other plans now “Hey Enid, I’ll talk to you later” I said as I hanged up on her not giving her time to talk back

As I leave the kitchen to walk upstairs, my dumbass thought it was a good idea to yell “Hey asshole! I know you’re in here!” I yelled out yeah I should’ve not done that. I hear my phone ding. I looked at my phone that was gripping on my hand seeing a message from an unknown number gulping I opened it. yeah. I should have not yelled.

Unknown- you look so cute being scared.. are you afraid of me my little angel?

Me- don’t call me that.

Unknown: I’ll get to call you whatever I want. you belong to me.

Me- what do you want from me..

Unknown- You. I want you.

—-

Unknown POV

It’s been almost 3 days since i’ve texted her and visit her recently I found out that her mother had a stalker as well. I guess history like to repeat itself and it’s honestly, turning me on. 

It’s now midnight i’m currently in her closet watching her getting into bed. The only thing she’s wearing is white shirt and black shorts no bra under. I sucked into the air trying not to stare at her chest but It’s making it hard for me. Yet I looked her nipples getting harden at the sudden coldness. I shivered yet I didn’t care

As I see her pull up her white covers she drifted off to sleep. It was hard for me to not take care her in while she asleep I feel my cock tighten inside my pants trying to push the thoughts away, but I couldn’t. I wanted to feel her tightness around me clenching on to me as I take her.

After calming down a bit, I opened her door from her closet, walking slowly to the side of her bed. I reach out my fingers gently tracing her face. Her skin soft I almost leaned down to kiss her forehead but I stopped knowing that it’s gonna wake her up I looked down towards her chest. her nipples still harden gulping I knew I had to go so that’s what I did. I quietly left her.

Walking outside, getting into the car, turning it on I quickly went back home, but I stayed in the car unzipping my pants I pulled out my cock jerking myself off letting out a sigh finally freeing myself from my pants I started going up and down imagining it was her instead of my hand

Letting out a pant I closed my eye “Fuck.. you’re so good.” Imagining her tight pussy around me making me grunt “Yeah that it angel, you’re such a good girl for me.” I said almost whimpering I could hear her moaning my name making me go fast “Carl please.” I could hear her saying that as she tries to run away from me “shit, shit, shit, fuck let cum in you please.” I whimper still having my eye closed. I let out a small pants feeling my cum covering my hand finishing

“Shit” I muttered under my breath. What is this girl doing to me she’s gonna be the death of me. I need to make her mine. No she is mine and I’m willing to do anything to remind her she’s mine

[whore-ibly-hot]

what are ur ocs endgame goals??? like with or w/o reader, what are they hoping for. like r we talking white picket fence n a golden retriever or is it like "reader lets me,,, look at them,,,, today :3"

Hmm... good question! Well, let's examine our boys and girls!

The mean girls haven't even really put that much thought into it, but they'd like to drag you along to whatever sorority they join in College.

Fritz wants to marry you, of course and have a minimum of three babies. Johannes would of course just desire to serve his general, and his generals wife. He adores you, and would help to raise the kids as uncle Josie. Fritz goal is just to love his family and keep all of you safe. He wants his sons or daughters as far from the army and war as possible.

Patrick and Ahmed have different goals. Patrick wants to feel in charge of something for once, to own your body. He also craves the softness you provide, so he seeks to keep you as a girlfriend. His pretty little partner on his arm, his own caring, soft pocket pussy, all for him, (and Ahmed when he's feeling generous.). Ahmed has no specific goal, besides being owned by you (quite the opposite of Patrick). Want a house husband? Great! Want him to work? He won't like being away from you, but his father can get him a good job. Don't want a marriage? As long as your gaze and touch remains on him, he doesn't care. He'll be your dog if that's what you really want.

Joey wants as many kids as he can get in and out of you before you just can't have anymore. Preferably quite a few animals too. He wants your young ones to have the experience and knowledge of farm life that he had as a kid. He wants you to stay at home, but you don't have to cook and clean if you don't want! Just sit pretty, and let him hold you and all your babies at the end of a hard day. And maybe, just let him put on more in you.

Mattias's goals is to give you the world. He knows your living in the slums right now, and this isn't the life he wanted for him and his ma, and certainly not for you. He's gonna make money boxing and kicking teeth in until he can afford to get you whatever you want, and put you up in a safe place. Maybe then, the two of you will slip up more, and you might get pregnant. He doesn't crave fatherhood as much as some of the guys, but once he sees his dark-haired little hijo or hija, he's hooked for life. Now he's gotta ramp it up, he's got his baby and his love to look out for.

Puck isn't one for setting goals, but he does have one things he needs. See, he lives hundreds of years, and you don't. He likes your mortal naivety, and how amazed you are at magic, so it shouldn't be that hard to trick you into drinking or eating something to make you immortal. He just can't imagine spending the rest of eternity without his favorite playmate!

Carl wants your eyes on him, and him only. He'll knock yo up, then you'll have to marry him? Right? Shit, he doesn't care most nineteen year olds shouldn't be dads, you've got his baby, and your gonna be hid wife. Who else would you want to marry besides your best friend? He's got a big family, he's sure he can figure out how to parent and be a good husband. Just... don't go anywhere.

Joshua knows you're not leaving the cult anytime soon, and you'll have to marry eventually. No boys or girls would dare go against him, not when he's as intimidating and revered as he is. It won't be hard to convince Gabriel to marry you to him. He couldn't really care less if you had a baby with him. He's not one for kids. He's mostly just excited to have you to bed, now that you're married. He's got a lot of hormones built up from years of abstinence in the cult.

Morgan wants to spoil you. He has to make up for all the awful things your ex-husband put you through. Gifts, vacations, a penthouse, it's all yours. He just wants to show you what a real man can provide. Of course he wants to marry you, but he's more eager for after the wedding, when he can finally call you his wife. He wouldn't know what to do with a baby, but whatever you want, he'll get you.

[wormsinmyearss]

Tell me who ur fave moots are and why pookie

fav mutuals with categorization and reasoning:

baddest bitch ever/wanna be like u when i grow up/insert corny big sister general kamala harris joke. when these ladies show up in my notifs i feel like girl power sister’s before misters:

@maggotttgf

@trulese / @your-sweetgirl

@bunnyycocaine

funny white women who i think r interesting or cool:

@labcorp

@unlicensedmortuaryy

@retiredoggggggggggggggggggggs (idk if this ones white tbh)

we’re friends in my head. like sort of. idk you or talk to you and i will never have to probably but we are friends..

@solaceishere

@tvrded to some degree but i think i just find this guy funny

@bru1sedr1bs

@aboytion

victims of my stalking/fixation/being parasocial and annoying:

@rodentflesh i like watching this guys brain

@aangelicimp & @maggot-prinzessin together and as separate entities. i feel like a creepy over invested voyeuristic third wheel.

@anatomyofdisorder i think this guy is #cool and #nice

my tangible bffs whether they (or i) like it or not:

mf was @basudero but de activated.

@devilladyman boywife + penpal + ellipses for later

carl for when he returns

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in August 2024 🌈

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Happy reading!

[ Text list below ⤵ ]

❓What was the last queer book you read?

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Failure to Comply - Sarah Cavar 🧡 I Spit On Your Celluloid - Heidi Honeycutt 💛 You're Embarrassing Yourself - Desiree Akhavan 💚 Death of the Hero - Briona Johnson 💙 Between Dragons and Their Wrath - Devin Madson 💜 The Crimson Crown - Heather Walter ❤️ Sacrificial Animals - Kailee Pedersen 🧡 Oath of Fire - K. Arsenault Rivera 💛 The Palace of Eros - Caro De Robertis 💙 This Ravenous Fate - Hayley Dennings 💜 Mistress of Lies - K.M. Enright 🌈 Wolf Bite - T.J. Nichols

❤️ In the Valley, A Shadow - Samantha Tano 🧡 Follow My Lead - Adrian J. Smith 💛 The Last Woman I Kissed - Venetia Di Pierro 💚 Full Shift - Jennifer Dugan & Kristen Seaton 💙 Hers for the Weekend - Helena Greer 💜 Come Out, Come Out - Natalie C. Parker ❤️ Rules for Ghosting - Shelly Jay Shore 🧡 How to Leave the House - Nathan Newman 💛 Plot Twist - Carmen Sereno 💙 On the Far Side of a Crescendo - Kalyn Hazel 💜 Tiny Oblivions and Mutual Self Destructions - Maxwell I. Gold 🌈 Daylan and the River of Secrets - Edd Tello

❤️ The Italy Letters - Vi Khi Nao 🧡 The Gender Binary Is a Big Lie - Lee Wind 💚 The House Where Death Lives - Alex Brown 💙 Ash's Cabin - Jen Wang 💜 The Avian Hourglass - Lindsey Drager ❤️ The Heart Wants - Krystina Rivers 🧡 A Grand Love - Janna Barkin 💛 You Can't Go Home Again - Jeanette Bears 💜 Libertad - Bessie Flores Zaldivar 🌈 Her Golden Coast - Anat Deracine

❤️ Mighty Millie Novak - Elizabeth Holden 💛 Rise and Divine - Lana Harper 💚 Dying for You - L Flowers 💙 I'll Have What He's Having - Adib Khorram 💜 Changing Her Tune - Amanda Kabak ❤️ Monogamy? In this Economy? - Laura Boyle 🧡 The Rainbow Age of Television - Sayna Maci Warner 💛 Medusa of the Roses - Navid Sinaki 💙 Confounding Oaths - Alexis Hall 💜 Idol Lives - K.T. Salvo 🌈 Brother's Keeper - Quinn Cameron

❤️ Key Lime Sky - Al Hess 🧡 Crushing It - Erin Becker 💛 The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou 💚 Not for the Faint of Heart - Lex Croucher 💙 Tasting Temptation - JJ Arias 💜 Ami - S. Jae-Jones ❤️ You're the Problem, It's You - Emma R. Alban 🧡 Cubs & Campfires - Dylan Drakes 💛 The Dark We Know - Wen-yi Lee 💙 Practical Rules for Cursed Witches - Kayla Cottingham 💜 Riyati Rebirth - Kalani Shimizu 🌈 The Brujos of Borderland High - Gume Laurel III

❤️ A Bánh Mì for Two - Trinity Nguyen 🧡 Dance of the Starlit Sea - Kiana Krystle 💛 Scattered Snows, to the North - Carl Phillips 💚 Beyond a World Apart - Caitlin Myers 💙 Don't Let It Break Your Heart - Maggie Horne 💜 Nothing Heals Me Like You Do - Harper Bliss ❤️ How It All Ends - Emma Hunsinger 🧡 How Do I Sexy? - Mx. Nillin Lore 💛 The Palace of Eros - Caro De Robertis 💙 Prince of the Palisades - Julian Winters 💜 Better Left Buried - Mary E. Roach 🌈 Back to Back - Jo Fletcher

❤️ DITCHLAPSE / [REALLY AFRAID] - Tommy Wyatt 🧡 The Love Archives: Bonus Scenes & Excerpts for Palestine - Various 💛 Guardian: Zhen Hun - Ying Priest 💚 The Sunforge - Sascha Stronach 💙 Queering Reproductive Justice - Candace Bond-Theriault 💜 Gender Explained - Diane Ehrensaft & Michelle Jurkiewicz ❤️ The Unlikely Pair - Jax Calder 🧡 In Universes - Emet North 💛 We Love the Nightlife - Rachel Koller Croft 💙 Lessons from Cruising - Martin Goodman 💜 Wild Ginger in the Rhubarb - Eule Grey 🌈 Not My Circus - Delicia Niami

❤️ Asunder - Kerstin Hall 🧡 The Phoenix Keeper - S.A. MacLean 💛 Encounters with James Baldwin - Various 💚 Verity's Game - Jennifer Giacalone 💙 Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase - Fae Quin 💜 The Audacity Omnibus - Carmen Loup ❤️ Haunted to Death - Frank Anthony Polito 🧡 Blood Orange - Paige Grunewald 💛 The Bad Things We Did - Chris Archeske 💙 Dark Restraint - Katee Robert 💜 Worth the Wait - Kenna White 🌈 The Maid and the Crocodile - Jordan Ifueko

❤️ Loving Corrections - Adrienne Maree Brown 🧡 The Last Witch in Edinburgh - Marielle Thompson 💛 The Duchess of Kokora - Nikhil Prabala 💚 The Scales of Seduction - Rien Gray 💙 Survival Is a Promise - Alexis Pauline Gumbs 💜 Loka - S.B. Divya ❤️ The Every Body Book of Consent - Rachel E Simon 🧡 Southern Lights - Liz Arncliffe 💛 Then Things Went Dark - Bea Fitzgerald 💙 Death at Morning House - Maureen Johnson 💜 The Last Doorbell - William Parker 🌈 The Pairing - Casey McQuiston

[technicolorfamiliar]

D O U B L E F E A T U R E !

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari Dir. Robert Weine 1920 // Orlacs Hände (The Hands of Orlac) Dir. Robert Wiene 1924

I recently watched both, Caligari specifically because I was invited on a friend's podcast to talk about the film (I was totally normal about it and definitely didn't make color coded note cards about the making of the movie… I did, I did make color coded note cards). So I figured I would lump these two in one post to switch things up.

--- Even though we talked about the movie for an hour and change, the conversation we recorded for the pod easily could have gone longer. There's so much to unpack about The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Between its historical, cinematic, artistic, and cultural significance and legacy, but also the various players on and off camera, not to mention the film's genesis from concept to page to screen -- there's no shortage of rabbit holes to go down.

Something I wish I had brought up during the recording was the score: The score matters! These updated silent film scores really do affect the viewer experience, and they're so often hit or miss. Of course, the original score for Caligari has been lost to time, but I read that the premier of in New York had classical music (Prokofiev, Stravinsky, etc) played along to the screening; part of me thinks this would be fun to try to recreate. I have no memory of the music when I first saw the film in 2009, but when I rewatched Caligari about a year ago, early in my Conrad Veidt journey, I chose a version on Internet Archive (which is, as of late October, sadly still out of commission *cries in nerd*) and the updated score was almost entirely minimal strings, which created a suitably eerie effect. I couldn't find that exact version elsewhere, so I this time opted for the 2014 restoration that's on Kanopy. The 2014 score is… fine. It’s very busy, trying too hard to sound like a traditional movie soundtrack. There's another version with a really painfully bad guitar-heavy score that I couldn't sit through even 5 minutes of, and still another that's entirely synths. Apparently the new 4K UHD/Blu-Ray that was just released has two new options for the score -- hopefully at least one of them doesn't totally suck!

I noticed deep into my third time viewing the film that I hadn't reached for my phone once. These days, I'll occasionally pick it up and mindlessly scroll through social media while watching a movie. But I think Caligari and a few other silent films require closer attention since they're a purely visual medium. I found myself greedily devouring every frame of Caligari. No shot or scene feels wasted. Honestly, I feel like every movie should be 90 minutes long or less. Anything longer should be turned into a miniseries. But in all seriousness, Caligari is another film I want to physically walk into. It would be pretty easy to recreate these sets, life size in grayscale black and white. The more I think about this, the more I need it. So, so bad.

I also came away this time with a lot of questions, mostly about the main part of the narrative, the story Franzis is telling. But the framing device makes the questions pointless. If the main story is just Franzis's delusion, then the absurdity of the script is totally fine I guess? Except the script that Hans Janowitz and Carl Mayer wrote didn't have Franzis as a patient at the asylum, they hated the framing story twist that was forced on their movie, so all those weird parts of the script and character choices that I'm overthinking and reading too much into are rendered meaningless. It's all in Franzis's head! The story and the characters in it don't matter! Or else are just part of his subconscious! Face palm. Eye roll.

Does the movie even work without the framing device? It would be interesting to show an edited version of the movie without the first and last scenes to someone who's never seen it. And if the twist ending was supposed to dumb down the anti-authoritarian message of the script, I don't know that it's successful. In the end, I still have empathy for Franzis. And we still have an ambiguous ending: Caligari/The Asylum Director looks at Mad Franzis and says, "I know just how to cure him," and there's a creepy iris wipe in on Werner Krauss's face that maybe leads us to think Franzis isn't as delusional as we think he is. So like… even if the whole Dr. Caligari with his sleepy twink in a box story is fake, whatever is happening at the asylum is probably just as messed up if not worse.

Speaking of the twink in a box, I love that Conrad Veidt's German Expressionism is totally different from Werner Krauss's German Expressionism. They both trained and performed with Max Reinhardt, so their foundations as theater actors in the 1910s and 1920s were likely similar. But, regardless or in spite of that shared experience, they are diametrically different human beings and that comes across in their performances in this movie. These two actors are like the textbook definition of "showing" your art vs. "being" your art. Krauss as Caligari is like "ooOOOoo look how ooky spooky and evil I am!", whereas Connie's performance as Cesare, even though it's hyper-stylized, is infused with something deeper, something primal that feels believable in the context of the film.

If Cesare has been asleep his whole life, waking only to be fed Chunky Campbell's Soup and commit murder at Caligari's bidding, then no wonder he reacts the way he does when sleeping Jane finally brings him out of his trance. When she freaks out, he freaks out too because he's had no opportunity to learn how to behave like a human or how to filter his primal emotions in a socially acceptable way. He hasn't lived his life except to be a madman's puppet. He reacts to Jane's panic on instinct and impulse, his desire and fear feel feral, like he's more creature or an animal than a human man. He may not actually want to hurt Jane, but he reacts violently because fight or flight is a basic human stress response! He runs away and eventually collapses because his body can't handle the sudden onslaught of stress and emotion he's never before experienced! And this internal, instinctual tendency to violence is subtly alluded to in the final scene when Asylum Cesare both caresses and slowly picks apart the flowers he's holding. Ahhhhh, I have so many FEELINGS.

And that said… Connie's performance here is wild, but it's real in a way that Werner Krauss's work could never be because Connie was a spiritual humanist who cared deeply for others and Krauss was an anti-semitic piece of shit who therefore could NEVER dig deep enough into his soul or into the collective unconscious the way Connie did to breathe life into his characters. So everything Krauss is doing here and in The Student of Prague is all surface, it's "showing" the audience his training and his actor toolbox rather than bringing a level of honesty and in-the-moment groundedness to these roles.

This is not to say Connie's intense commitment to his work couldn't be, uh, excessive. I really hope Lil Dagover was being serious when she said he would lurk around the studio in character when off camera. Can you imagine? You go up to the craft services table for a snack. Suddenly you feel like you're being watched. You look up and he's looming over you in the shadows, his unblinking glazed eyes boring into your soul. God, I hope this happened and I hope whoever it happened to peed themselves a little.

I also wish we had a behind the scenes photo of Connie in costume with the Cesare dummy. I can't believe someone actually had to make that prop. It'll haunt me forever. (The 1920 Cesare Dummy isn't real, the 1920 Cesare Dummy can't hurt me.)

Bottom line: It's an important film, I appreciate it for both its timelessness and timefullness. But it's not a movie I need to revisit often, regardless of how enchanting Connie's nostril acting may be.

---

The first time I watched The Hands of Orlac, I was floored by the visuals, the staging, and the heavy eroticism. Up until that point, I hadn't seen very many silent films, certainly few as visually striking. I think my initial impressions of this film were somewhat muted on a second watch, but that may just because I knew what to expect.

This time, I wasn't as swept up in the magic of silent era German Expressionist cinema, although stylistically I'm still absolutely 100% obsessed. Art direction wise, this is my favorite between the surviving Wiene-Veidt films (I haven't seen Furcht and I don’t plan to). Orlac is like the darker, sexier, more grown up sister to Caligari's mall goth teen. It's Vampira vs Lydia Deetz.

Orlac is just as much if not more of a cinematic feat than Caligari. The production design and art direction alone feels more mature and in itself tells more of a story.

Very early in the film, we're thrown into a very impressive, very realistic train crash. Opening the movie this way was a really interesting choice -- we don't get to meet the characters before the accident that starts Paul and Yvonne Orlac on their doomed and bizarre trajectory. There is a brief establishing scene of Yvonne reading a really horny letter from her husband, and one of pianist Paul at his final concert before returning home. Then there's a very long sequence of the aftermath of the train crash that almost kills Paul, and this scene brings a level of realism you don't really get in other films of this genre/done in this style. The set construction looks expensive; the mangled train cars piled up in heaps may have been fabricated in the studio, but because of the lighting in the night scene, the billowing smoke from passing locomotives and fires from the crash, it looks pretty damn real for 1924. It's extremely effective and harrowing, especially as Yvonne races to the site of the crash and climbs through the wreckage to try to find her husband. The chaos of the scene, made all the more disorienting by the movement of search lights and the haze of smoke and steam, feels true to life. People are running around, pulling bodies from the ruined train cars, carrying them away on stretchers. Survivors look around dazed, clutching their belongings in shock. It's such a well directed moment in the film, but maybe not the first thing people remember about it. And I think it's inclusion is important because it offsets how weird the movie's about to get.

And boy, does it get weird. However, the doctor does say Paul suffered a skull fracture, so it's not a huge stretch to think he also has some kind of brain injury. So I wonder if that has something to do with how the filmmakers chose to show Paul's intense fear and paranoia, as well as the movie's shift in tone and style after his accident. The nightmarishness of the film, from the exaggerated performances to the set design, feels like an extension of whatever might be going on in Paul's head as a result of his injury.

Regardless, I love the choices the art director made. The set, especially the Art Deco mausoleum the Orlacs have for a home, is so perfect. The huge, cavernous rooms are completely unnecessary, but they make the characters look and feel so helpless, like dolls in a doll house. The lines of the walls and the furnishings draw the eye through the frame with just as much intention as the painted sets of Caligari. Even places outside their house become symbolic and iconographic. The news stand is just a window cut out of a massive wall of loose sheets of newspaper that takes up the entire frame. The interior of Orlac Sr.'s house is like a old, drafty castle, looking more like the home of an evil, miserly king. The tavern where Paul is confronted by Nera feels dank and subterranean, just a lamp or two removed from literal catacombs. The outer world is fully a reflection of poor Paul Orlac's inner torment and despair and I AM LOVING EVERY MINUTE OF IT.

The new music composed by Paul Mercer is perfect, too. It's all skronky violins and cellos, ominous percussion and piano. It's just atmospheric enough, creating moments of soundscapes, echoing footsteps, aural suggestions of the oppressive cave-like rooms where the story unfolds. There aren't really any memorable themes like in the updated score for The Student of Prague, but that works for this movie. I would buy this soundtrack and actually listen to it on its own, it's that good.

Everyone in the ensemble is basically on the same page in terms of acting style, no one feels out of place or miscast. Connie of course steals the show, but Alexandra Sorina as Yvonne gives him a run for his money. She's a good match for him, delivering an appropriately desperate and hysterical (and deeply, deeply horny) performance as the touch-starved wife. Their scenes together are maybe some of the best on screen romantic moments of Connie's silent film work because these two are wildly hungry for each other. This movie is so funny, it tells you immediately how horny it is; in the first 30 seconds of the movie, Yvonne gets a letter from Paul that says, "I will feel your body beneath my hands," like they're telling you straight up this is going to Horn Town. And the way she grabs at him, presses her open mouth to him, hovers over him in his hospital bed, she is DTF anywhere any time. And no shame, no shade, good for her. This is a sex positive film, and we love to see it. But she's not just the sexy wife, she's also totally ride or die for Paul. She truly trusts him and believes his absolutely buck wild story about being blackmailed by a dead psycho killer. What a gal.

Then there's Paul, aka Eraserhead Baby… because when he wakes up from surgery covered in bandages, he looks like the Eraserhead Baby. Connie is doing some of his finest nostril acting in this role, I have to say. As always, I am fascinated by his physicality and the choices he's making with movement and gesture. When his bandages are finally removed, he reacts as though drugged, his movements slow as though underwater or in a dream. And when he confronts his surgeon after discovering the original owner of his newly transplanted hands, he holds them out and away from his body as if they were coated in something dirty or disgusting. As Paul's life and sanity unravel, his hands and fingers are in almost constant motion, curling, twitching, clutching; his body language becomes more creature-like, moving in a way that calls up Cesare the sleepwalker -- interestingly, the two characters both seemingly at the mercy of forces outside their control.

We don’t get to know what Paul was like before the accident, how much this traumatic event changed him. There's something this movie is trying to say about trauma and how it affects people. The doctor tells Paul, "Nature and a strong will can overcome anything." But if Paul sustained any kind of serious brain damage, who’s to say his personality wasn't affected, or that he wasn't fragile and suggestible to begin with? Either way, in the wake of the accident, Paul's vulnerability and circumstance makes him a perfect target for Nera's grift.

Even without being targeted by a sick weirdo con artist, it's no wonder Paul's really going through it. He tortures and punishes himself relentlessly for something that wasn't his fault! (Been there.) He puts on a recording of one of his old concerts and crumples in grief for having lost not only his livelihood but also his outlet for creative expression -- not being able to do what you used to creatively because of trauma is REAL. He's trapped in his misery. Even his handwriting is different, now a violent scrawl he imagines is due to the murderous acts his hands supposedly committed. He secretly retrieves the planted murder weapon in order to further convince himself he's somehow become evil, wielding it as through he committed the crimes of the dead man whose hands now belong to him. And the scenes where Yvonne comes to him, wanting to both devour and comfort him, he cannot bring himself to touch her. Clearly they love each other very much and their relationship was very physical, so the agony and yearning in his face when she embraces him is UGH IT'S SO GOOD. It's heartbreaking. There's a lot to unravel here about trauma, body dysmorphia, and intimacy that I'm interested to dig into during subsequent viewings.

Final thoughts: There's an annoying part of my brain that wants the movie to make sense, for the timeline to be clearer, for loose ends to be tied up. But I know that none of that really matters because this movie is better received as a dream or a nightmare. And by that logic, it doesn't have to make sense. The Expressionist beats are being hit particularly hard, but the surreal quality allows the filmmakers and cast to get away with it. For fans of Conrad Veidt, this is a must-watch, even before Caligari -- he gets more screen time in this film, gets to play with his silent film artist's palette, and gets to do pathos like he's the king of tragic, pathetic characters. He's gangly, glassy-eyed, and trembling like a small wet dog the whole time and it's superb. Despite not really getting a chance to know the Orlacs before they're thrown into their own personal hell of body horror and credit debt, they're both pretty sympathetic. From psychological commentary to the erotic visuals and tension, it's all very ahead of its time.

[insteading]

Doing a big batch cook for the week with my housemates this weekend (pineapple peanut stew; chana masala; cabbage Parmesan; red curry with eggplant and tofu).

I've been listening to my 12 Days of Christmas playlist. It is mostly not Christmas music. Instead, it starts with one song about a pear tree, then two songs about doves, then three about chickens, then four about colly (coal-black) birds, five about gold rings, etc. I had to get all the way to geese before I hit a song that I'm "meh" about ("Surrey with the Fringe on Top"-- if you have another suggestion of a song with a goose in it, let me know!).

Anyway: thank you past self, this is hitting the spot. Full list below if you're curious! All of it's on YouTube.

Pear tree: Olya Fryz, "Posadzhu Ya Hrushechku (Pear Tree)" Turtle doves: Jess Klein, "Little White Dove" Prince, "When Doves Cry" French hens: Mussorgsky, "Ballet of the Unhatched Chickens" from Pictures at an Exhibition Fairport Convention, "The Hen's March Through the Midden" Louis Jordan, "Ain't Nobody Here but us Chickens" Colly birds: Beatles, "Blackbird" XTC, "Rook" Alan Parson Project, "The Raven" Arthur Baynon, "When Rooks Fly Homeward" Gold rings: Beyoncé, "Single Ladies" Boiled in Lead, "Step it Out, Mary" Leah Jenea, "Gold Ring" Kimbra, "Plain Gold Ring" (both this and previous are riffs on Nina Simone's "Plain Gold Ring") Emmylou Harris, "Golden Ring" Geese a-laying: Rodgers & Hammerstein, "Surrey with the Fringe on Top" Pigpen Theatre, "Goose Song" Kate Rusby, "The Wild Goose" Debussy, Prelude Book 1 L 117, arranged by Dan Golding for Untitled Goose Game Jethro Tull, "Mother Goose" Ravel, "The Fairy Garden" from Mother Goose Suite Swans a-swimming: Carl Orff, "Burning Swan" from Carmina Burana Camille St. Saens, "The Swan" Tchaikovsky, "Dance of the Little Swans" from Swan Lake Dua Lipa, "Swan Song" BTS, "Black Swan" Loreena McKennitt, "The Bonny Swans" Jean Sibelius, Movement 3 of Symphony 5 (I vaguely remember reading that Sibelius was inspired by seeing swans in flight, if I'm wrong I'm wrong) Maids a-milking: Three Gaelic milking songs performed by Kate Nicholson The Longest Johns, "The Milkmaid" The Red Krayola, "Dairymaid's Lament" Donatan ft. Cleo, "My Slowiaenie" Heather Breeze, "The Dairymaid" Paddy Roberts, "Poor Little Country Girl" Sean Maguire, "The Dairymaid" R. Langgaard, "Saeterjenten" (Dairymaid) Ladies dancing: Dua Lipa, "New Rules" Boston College Dance Ensemble dancing to "Hallelujah" Sasha dances to "Istanbul, not Constantinople" on Bunheads Ballet sequence from The Red Shoes "Cell Block Tango" Beyond Words Dance Company dancing to "Closer to Fine" Fourth and final part of Martha Graham's "Appalachian Spring" "Canned Heat" from Center Stage Beyoncé, "Formation" John Gardner, "Tomorrow Shall be my Dancing Day" Lords a-leaping: Alvin Ailey Dance Ensemble, "Sinnerman" Kriss Kross, "Jump" "Candy Canes" from Balanchine Nutcracker "Candy Canes" from Debby Allen's Hot Chocolate Nutcracker Donald O'Connor, "Make 'em Laugh" from Singing in the Rain Gregory Hines and Mikhail Baryshnikov, Duo Dance from White Nights Turf Feinz soloists No Noiz, Man, BJ, and Dreal dancing to music by Yung FX, Erk tha Jerk, and COOP Virsky Hopak soloists of the Ukrainian Dance Company Alvin Ailey Dance Ensemble, "EN" Pipers piping: Medieval Baebes, "Old King Cole" The Rogues, "Gravel Walk" Big Country, "In a Big Country" (yeah I know it's actually guitar, but it's the best pipe approximation I've ever heard from guitars) Migos, "Pipe it Up" "Scotland the Brave" Loreena McKennitt, "Mummer's Dance" Paul McCartney, "Pipes of Peace" (also "meh" on this one) "Toss the Feathers" and "The Bunch of Keys" Pointer Sisters, "Banging on the Pipes / Steam Heat" Pipe Guy (Adelaide) playing a 10-minute house / trance / techno set on PVC tubes Charles Widor, "Toccata" Drummers drumming (okay, this is where the actual Christmas music disproportionately comes in): "Patapan" Sally Avant, "Reel Around the Sun" Leslie Odom Jr, "Little Drummer Boy" Morehouse College Glee Club, "Betelehemu" Bindley Benjamin, "Parang Soca" Chieftains / Elvis Costello, "St Stephen's Day Murders" Christopher Tin, "Baba Yetu" Arlindo Cruz, "Natal Diferente" XTC, "Stupidly Happy" Kwadwo Donkor, "Afehyia Pa" Duke Ellington / Tchaikovsky, "Danse of the Floreadores"

[todaysdocument]

President Lyndon B. Johnson Signing H.R. 18763, the Bill to Authorize Pre-School and Early Education Programs for Handicapped Children

Collection LBJ-WHPO: White House Photo Office Collection Series: Johnson White House Photographs

Original Caption: Standing (l-r): Cong. Hugh L. Carey, Cong. Dominick V. Daniels, Cong. Carl D. Perkins, Cong. Albert H. Quie, Sen. Winston L. Prouty, and Sec. Wilbur Cohen. 9/30/1968. Location: Cabinet Room, White House, Washington, DC.

Color photograph of President Lyndon B. Johnson sitting at a table and signing a document.  Six men stand behind him observing the signing.  Behind the men is an American flag.  To the right is a podium with the presidential seal.

[drifting-rocket]

Wishes

[A video attached. The exact source is unknown.]

[Watch?]

It's a wide view of a large testing chamber. Behind a screen several scientists in long white coats emblazoned with a red "R" are at work.

They're calibrating a massive machine that takes up most of the room. The machine itself is composed of three large chambers, with the two outermost chambers being connected to the center by coils of wire and large tubes. There's several locking mechanisms on each of the doors, and a few grunts in slick white outfits go about checking these.

One locks another inside- and immediately there's a shout from one of the scientists, "Hey! You two! Cut it out."

The grunt on the outside groans, "lighten up Carl, geez." and unlocks the door, letting his friend out. The two snicker to each other and move on to the rest of their checks.

After a few moments, from out of frame walks a lady with spiky red hair in a slick white outfit- Ariana. She approaches the scientist that had scolded the grunts.

"Is everything ready?"

"Yes ma'am. The machine's been calibrated. I've had the engineers running checks all morning."

"Good."

There's a bright flash, and whatever's recording loses vision for a moment. When it comes back, something similar to a mew is floating next to Ariana.

Its features are sharper than the average mew, and it's belly and tail have darkened in color to a more purplish tone. It tilts its head at Ariana.

"Preparations complete, executive?"

"Yes. A reminder that if you harm any of my team once you have the power you want, I'll have your head, Point 5."

"There will be no loss of life."

"Hmph." Ariana crosses her arms, "If you say so."

A door opening is heard, and Ariana turns to look, she smiles, "Ah, Mammon. You've decided to join us?"

"I'm not late, it's barely even 2 o clock yet." Drifter appears in frame, he stands at about the same height as Ariana, and as usual he wears his drifblim mask. He's followed by a shorter human, in a drifloon mask wearing a rather fashionable Rocket Grunt outfit.

Ariana snickers, "I just like to tease, you know this. You're not really the hands on type anyhow. You used to sit stuff like this out."

well, today is important." He adjusts his collar, turning his attention to the Mew still hovering nearby. "And, How are you, Point 5? Ready for world domination?"

"..."

There's no response from the Pokemon. It's staring at the machine.

"...Point 5?" Ariana raises an eyebrow at the mew, it suddenly jolts, turning back to the executives.

"...Apologies. I was...thinking. Yes, I have great anticipation for this experiment. It will be something good."

Drifter narrows his eyes, but then shakes his head, relaxing his expression, "That's...quite an odd way to put it. But, glad you're excited." Drifter looks at the grunt in the drifloon mask. "Dune, could you go check on our guest?"

"Yes Boss." Dune nods and then heads out of frame.

"Let's go to our seats, Mammon. Petrel and Proton are already waiting."

As the executives walk off, Point 5 looks at the camera and disappears in a flash of light. The camera fizzles and comes back again. Though this time when it does the video has split into different sections.

In one, the main view of the machine, the same as before.

In another, is Aegis's cell. He's returned to his original form of a shieldon and is laying on the floor asleep, though seems to be sleeping rather fitfully, twitching and kicking his legs.

In the final, are the executives. Sitting at a round table in a room above the test chamber, they're chatting about whatever.

---

In the video of Aegis's cell, the door opens to reveal Dune and Aegis snaps awake. He whimpers and backs up away from the door.

Dune rubs the back of their neck and crouches down in the doorway, "Look, little dude, this'll be over quicker if you just come with me quietly. I don't really want to chase you."

Aegis continues to cower, but eventually closes his eyes, and lets out a deep breath with a little 'huff'. His shaking stops and he walks to Dune with a sort of confidence. Dune smiles. When he gets close she picks him up, he doesn't squirm.

"Thanks for making this easier, little dude."

Moments later as Dune exits with Aegis, the feed to that room cuts out and it's just the two other cameras.

Dune and Aegis appear in the test chamber camera. Point 5 appears in a flash of light. Dune visibly winces, Aegis stares in wonder at the Pokemon, but doesn't have long to look before he's set down in the rightmost chamber, the door locked tightly by a few grunts standing by.

Point 5 looks at Dune as she runs off camera- presumably to go join the executives in the room overlooking the testing area- Point five then floats over to the leftmost chamber and goes in. The doors are locked behind it.

"Project MewThree, subjects secured- engaging stage one." The head scientist says through a microphone, so the message is heard throughout the chamber.

As a few buttons are pressed, a low hum fills the room, and lights on the outermost chambers of the machine begin to glow, as trails of electricity flow through them and towards the center chamber.

"Power stable. Engaging stage 2."

The main scientist pushes a lever on his desk about halfway forwards. The hum rises, growing more high pitched. The central chamber lights up now, and the tubes on the machine light up as some sort of liquid flows through them.

---

Up in the executive's observation room. The four watch with interest, Ariana taking notes on a clipboard, Petrel standing near the window, Proton leaning back in a chair at the table, and Drifter sits with hands clasped in front of him.

As the test enters stage two, Proton frowns.

"...Y'know. something doesn't feel right."

"What?" Drifter looks over at him, placing his hands flat on the table.

"Point 5. Something's not right with that thing. You could tell couldn't you, Drifter?" Proton puts his feet down on the floor, leaning forwards.

"Point 5 is a mew, or- even just a ditto. Nothing more." Drifter fidgets with a ring on his finger, Petrel turns around, putting a hand on his hip.

"Yeah, what are you talking about, Proto? None of my team noticed anything out of the ordinary with it. And we spent the most time with it."

"You didn't fight it." Proton says plainly. "It fought like..." He groans. "I mean it's crazy but it fought like Silver."

It's like the world goes quiet at Proton's words. Only broken by the sharp snap of Ariana putting her pen against the clipboard.

"Silver is gone." She says quietly.

"Well yeah- but-"

"Proton now is not the time for one of your jokes." Drifter's hands curl to fists.

"I'm not kidding around! It used all of his Pokemon's moves- favored them even- Flame wheel, Air Cutter, Icy Wind- I could go on."

"That means nothing." Ariana's tone is cutting as she turns to face Proton. "Any Pokemon can use those moves. And mew is able to learn any move, any ability. Do not do this to me Proton."

Proton grits his teeth and stands. "I taught that kid everything he knows in close combat and self defense. I know the way he moves."

"So what, you're saying that Silver's been reincarnated or something?" Petrel narrows his brow. "That's ridiculous, Proto."

"Well even if it ain't him- there's still something wrong with that damn Mew-"

"Proton shut up." Drifter hasn't moved, save for his hands now gripping the edge of the table.

"Why would a mew follow home team Rocket, huh?"

Drifter stands now in a rush. "Lance, stop. This isn't funny."

Proton turns to Drifter now. "That's not a damn answer, Elliott, and you know it. It recognized us somehow. And if it were some byproduct of the MewTwo experiment it would've run or tried to kill you or- anything. Not follow you home."

Drifter grits his teeth and grabs Proton by the collar.

"He's been gone 24 years and I will not have you ripping apart his memory like it's one of your damn assassination targets you mother fu-"

An alarm begins to blare in the test chamber.

---

Back down in the chamber, the lever the scientist was slowly pushing forward suddenly SLAMS forwards. He yelps as he loses control of the control in front of him, and desperately tries to pull it back to a more reasonable position.

"What's going on over there?!" Another scientist shouts.

"I don't know! It just slammed down on its own I-" a few other switches on the dashboard begin to flick into position all on their own, the scientist steps back, terrified, "Shut it down. Shut everything down right now!"

It's at this point that the alarm begins to blare, as the energy levels in the chambers rise to their maximum capacity.

The cameras fizzle out.

---

And the camera feeds reappear, now with one in each chamber. Showing a terrified Aegis and a calm Point 5. A conversation between the two of them can be heard. The two voices overlap somewhat.

"P-point 5- I'm scared! It's so loud-"

"I know Aegis. Apologies. I need to borrow you for just a minute."

"Wh-what do you mean? What's happening? What-"

"Do you remember how you said you wanted to know if I chose another name?"

"y- yeah! But! Now doesn't seem like a good time-"

"Well, I have chosen a name, but I need some help remembering it,"

The voice changes. It sounds like Point 5, and yet at the same time...someone else entirely.

"Can you help me?"

"uh- Uhm-!! Yeah! Yeah I can help!"

Point 5 smiles.

"good. Thank you, Aegis."

---

In the testing area, a wave of psychic energy emits from the machine, knocking unconscious the scientists and engineers desperately trying to pry open the doors and get the machine to stop.

Aegis sees memories of a young boy raised by six well meaning- but morally misguided people. Of that boy meeting another named Gold. The two form a good natured rivalry- and friendship. Of an avoidable accident at a radio tower. Of waking up. And waiting, while the world above changes.

And in the leftmost chamber- someone long dead lives again.

---

When the wave has faded, the executives in the observation chamber uncover their ears, though some sense of the immense pressure remains. They descend into the testing area.

As they enter the large room, the doors to the chamber open- as a fog clears...out of one steps a young man, with spiky red hair, and black eyes, when he sees the executives, the look on his face turns pained, but he ignores them in favor of going to the other chamber. From within it he picks up an unconscious- but still breathing- Aegis.

"Silver-" nearly all the executives say his name at once, but they're cut off by a look from the boy.

"...I'll find you when I'm ready to talk." And in a burst of pink energy- the cameras fizzle. And he's gone.

The video feed ends.

[Cinnabar Secrets and Birthday Wishes Arc: Concluded]

[deadpresidents]

LYNDON B. JOHNSON •Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream by Doris Kearns Goodwin (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •Lone Star Rising: Lyndon Johnson and His Times, 1908-1960 by Robert Dallek (BOOK | KINDLE) •Flawed Giant: Lyndon Johnson and His Times, 1961-1973 by Robert Dallek (BOOK | KINDLE) •The Years of Lyndon Johnson, Volume I: The Path to Power by Robert A. Caro (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •The Years of Lyndon Johnson, Volume II: Means of Ascent by Robert A. Caro (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •The Years of Lyndon Johnson, Volume III: Master of the Senate by Robert A. Caro (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •The Years of Lyndon Johnson, Volume IV: The Passage of Power by Robert A. Caro (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

RICHARD NIXON •Being Nixon: A Man Divided by Evan Thomas (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon by Richard Nixon (BOOK | KINDLE) •President Nixon: Alone in the White House by Richard Reeves (BOOK | KINDLE) •The Haldeman Diaries: Inside the Nixon White House by H.R. Haldeman (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •Nixon, Volume 1: The Education of a Politician, 1913-1962 by Stephen E. Ambrose (BOOK | KINDLE) •Nixon, Volume 2: The Triumph of a Politician, 1962-1972 by Stephen E. Ambrose (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •Nixon, Volume 3: Ruin and Recovery, 1973-1990 by Stephen E. Ambrose (BOOK | KINDLE) •Nixon Agonistes: The Crisis of the Self-Made Man by Garry Wills (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •All the President's Men by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •The Final Days by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

GERALD FORD •An Ordinary Man: The Surprising Life and Historic Presidency of Gerald R. Ford by Richard Norton Smith (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •Write It When I'm Gone: Remarkable Off-the-Record Conversations With Gerald R. Ford by Thomas M. DeFrank (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •When the Center Held: Gerald Ford and the Rescue of the American Presidency by Donald Rumsfeld (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •31 Days: Gerald Ford, the Nixon Pardon, and a Government in Crisis by Barry Werth (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •Gerald R. Ford: An Honorable Life by James Cannon (BOOK | KINDLE)

JIMMY CARTER •His Very Best: Jimmy Carter, A Life by Jonathan Alter (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •White House Diary by Jimmy Carter (BOOK | AUDIO) •President Carter: The White House Years by Stuart E. Eizenstat (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO) •The Unfinished Presidency: Jimmy Carter's Journey Beyond the White House by Douglas Brinkley (BOOK | AUDIO)