#El Jean Productions

[flashfuckingflesh]

Down the Path of Darkness is EVIL. "The Long Dark Trail" reviewed! (Cleopatra Entertainment / Blu-ray)

“The Long Dark Trail” on Blu-ray at Amazon.com Set in the idyllic boondocks of Northwestern Pennsylvania, two young brothers plan to escape the abusive grasp of an alcoholic father in search for a better life.  Without a plan and nowhere to go, they go around the small town to collect money from the odd jobs the brothers worked in preparation for their abscond.  While doing so, they come upon…

[harmoniouseclipse]

The way I'm literally going insane rn

[monkey-wrench-series]

MONKEY WRENCH EP 3 - US & THEM

Episode 3 of Monkey Wrench is now live on Youtube!

Written & Directed by Joshua & Ashley Palmer

Voice Cast;

Shrike Sanchez - Jacob Barrens

Beebs - Jean-francois Donaldson

Scratch - @zitoisneato

Agari - @gooseworx

El Bandito - SrPelo

Duende - Vargskelethor Joel

Animation Crew + Socials

Music by @ockeroid

Sound design by dBPony

Spanish language Consultant: @zetaalpha10

Haven't watched the show yet? Check out;

Episode 1

Episode 2

Huge thanks to Tom Fulp of Newgrounds, my boy Lythero, my other boy Swoozie, the @farfetchedshow crew, @lackadaisycats , Glitch productions and of course our patrons for your endless encouragement and support.

Fingers crossed this one does well enough for us to start Ep4!

[deadpcnned]

Sealed by the Storm (jj.m)

chapter four

pairing: jj maybank x reader; marriage of convenience

content warning(s): references to mommy issues (reader), references to loss of a parent (reader), angst

author's note: i'm so so sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up. it ended up being a bit harder than i expected. thank you for your patience! just a little warning i will be changing the pov in this series to 2nd person (working on fixing the other parts).

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When the Pogues were dividing the Maybank Property, you didn’t get closet space. Your room was an extra storage closet with just enough room to fit a twin bed, a mirror you’d mounted on the wall, and a small nightstand with two drawers. When you first arrived at the Outer Banks, after El Dorado, you had nothing except literally the clothes on your back, so you didn’t see the point in arguing for more space. Since the OBX has become your home, you’ve gotten more things– usually, having to ask Cleo to put some of your clothing in her and Pope’s closet– but not enough because you can’t find anything white right now. Not even jeans. Sarah had insisted that if you didn’t wear white, the whole thing would seem rushed– more rushed than it already seemed– and that every part of this production had to appear genuine. 

You’re still trying to figure out how Cleo convinced you to get married. When you left all the Pogues on the porch last night, there was no way you were going to marry JJ. It wasn’t just about JJ. Your unstable upbringing jaded your view on many things, and love was probably one of them. You didn’t doubt that love was real, and the last two years had taught you that it existed in abundance. But love was temporary, with a shelf life that only lasted until one party found something more important to stick their heart to. You haven’t given it much thought, to be honest, what you think of love now that you’ve found this version of a home. It seems contradictory to concern yourself with something as fleeting as love when you’ve finally stopped defining your life by trying to survive day-to-day. Instead, you’ve focused on the other relationships in your life. For the first time, in maybe ever, you have friends, plural. Loyal and lively friends. You also have adults who care about you without expecting something in return. You can show up at the Heywards’ door at an ungodly hour, and they won’t blink an eye. 

While you haven’t thought about love since settling down, you know exactly how you feel about marriage. 

Marriage isn’t just soft-spoken promises of I love you and forever; it is a transaction, a business deal and a power struggle made to look pretty with red ribbons of romance and confident vows of companionship. You had seen it yourself, watched as the winning smiles of the person you loved most had only ever been disarming grins all along. Marriage hadn’t stopped your mother from betraying your family, nor had it shielded you from pain. No, it had been the weapon your mother used to get exactly what she’d always wanted, even more than her daughter. It didn’t matter if the union is built on love because marriage is the issue's root. The legal entanglement makes people greedy, leaving their spouses a casualty of the games.

You don’t know how you feel about love, but you know that marriage is a trap you never expected to find yourself in. Yet, here you are, about to fall off the precipice of the very thing you fear. You are going to permit another person to pull you into this game by signing off on a dotted line. And you weren’t even in love. 

You find a beige skirt buried deep in a drawer of your nightstand and figure it’s close enough to white. You begin looking for a shirt when you hear a short knock followed by the door opening. Sarah walks in with her hair wrapped in a green towel, holding something in her hands. 

“You know,” You say, plopping down on your bed, relieved for this break from looking for an outfit. “Usually, people wait for a response when they knock.”

Sarah smiles, sitting on the bed and bumping her shoulder against yours. “Force of habit. I always used to barge into Wheezie’s.” Sarah’s expression is some mix of fondness and longing that makes you want to squeeze the girl who has become like a sister to you. Instead, you just slip your hand into Sarah’s and gave it a light squeeze. If you stop to acknowledge every unfair thing life dealt all of you, you would never get anything done. Sarah nods at your other hand, where the beige skirt is balled in a fist. “No luck finding anything white?”

You shake your head with a groan. “No. It’s fine. Beige is close enough.”

“It is so not fine,” Sarah’s exasperation is completely unnecessary in your opinion, but you let her continue. “If we want to make all this believable, every detail counts. A girl marrying the love of her life would care that beige is not white.”

You give Sarah a sarcastic smile. “What about girls marrying a friend they can sometimes tolerate?” Sarah’s smile matches yours, but a line forms between her brows. 

“Hey, why are you stressing?” You reach up to smooth out the divot. “I’m the one getting married.” 

“No, it’s not that,” Sarah lets her denial sit between you two, not immediately offering any explanation. Her lips purse sideways, her brows furrowing further, a telltale sign that she is having difficulty keeping something to herself. Just as you expect, Sarah breaks without any additional pushing from you. “It’s just that… why are you so hard on JJ?”

“Are you seriously asking me that, Sar?” You roll your eyes, getting up from the bed. You walk towards your nightstand, training your focus on folding the useless skirt and putting it back in the bottom drawer. 

“Yeah, actually,” Sarah’s voice is serious, a tone she seldom uses. Unleashing her hair from the towel, Sarah throws it at your nightstand. “I am.” 

It only takes a minute for the skirt to be put neatly away, leaving you nothing to avoid Sarah and this conversation. You turn to face Sarah, whose eyebrows were now raised instead of furrowed. 

“Sarah, it’s like you guys forget everything he’s done.”

“Of course we haven’t forgotten, but we forgave him. That’s what friends do.” 

“You can’t forgive someone who hasn’t apologized,” You argue.

Sarah shakes her head, her eyes shifting to the ceiling as if she is in deep thought. “JJ…” Sarah trails off again, seemingly unable to explain herself. “He’s not good with words—”

You cut Sarah off with a scoff and cross your arms across your chest. “JJ is amazing with his words. He can get himself out of anything.” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Sarah’s tone, while it remains serious, doesn’t match yours. She remains calm as she continues. “I used to get annoyed too, you know? When I first started dating John B, we were all so caught up in the Denmark treasure, but after a while, I noticed the same things you do. He was always getting caught up in some shit he’d start, and all of us somehow ended up stuck with him in whatever web he’d spun.” 

JJ and Sarah resemble siblings in more than appearances; they often fight just like you assume normal siblings would. Fights over things like the rules of a board game or stolen leftovers usually end at the beginning of wrestling matches, that John B has to stop by physically removing Sarah from the room. However, you have yet to see Sarah genuinely upset with JJ. The Pogues never really fight, so Sarah’s lack of anger isn’t out of the ordinary, but you could never picture a time when Sarah had felt differently about him. It could be how Sarah compensates for the loss of her siblings, but despite only being a few months older than JJ, she smothers him with the sisterly love Cleo gives you. 

“Yeah,” Sarah chuckles, reading the disbelief on your features. “But then there was this day after my dad died…the first time,” Sarah cringes as she says it, and you try your best to keep your face neutral because what were your lives? Sarah’s voice changes, looking down at her hands as she continues. “His death had put JB and me in a weird place. I needed him to understand my grief, but to him, the man who’d taken his father from him was dead. At that point, I was sort of still just his girlfriend. Kie and I had just started talking about our history. JJ and Pope had no loyalty to me.

“But JJ snuck onto Tannyhill just to see if I was okay. Brought some flowers he’d picked from our yard and everything. He hated Ward almost as much as John B, but he still showed up for me. I remember Rafe almost caught him cause JJ had tripped the security alarm, and I had to convince him it must’ve been a fluke. That’s who he is. He makes mistakes, just like us, but he shows up. Sometimes more than the rest of us.” 

You don’t know what to say in response. JJ supporting Sarah is sweet, but it isn’t unexpected. You know how fiercely he shows up for the Pogues, and you undoubtedly admire that about him. It doesn’t change the fact that he is impulsive, and it seems like his impulsivity is reaching a point of no return. 

“Sarah, It’s not that I don’t know JJ’s a good guy. I do,” You sit down next to the blonde. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re still getting caught in the web.”

“People make mistakes, Y/N/N. The rest of us have, and you’ve always forgiven us. What’s so different about JJ’s mistakes?” You don’t need to think of your answer. 

“This is all I have.” 

“The shop?” Sarah asks. 

You shake your head, the nape of your neck heating up as the cost of being vulnerable. “You. The Pogues.” You will yourself not to let your voice shake. To you, every wrong decision JJ makes threatens the Pogues’ chances of staying together. This family that has somehow fallen into your lap— a gift after years of misfortune— seems to be hanging by a thread recently. 

Sarah’s expression softens, and you could laugh at the speed with which your friend’s eyes fill with tears. With all her cheek and confidence, Sarah is still the softest person you know. 

“Then you and JJ are more alike than you think,” Sarah says simply. She quickly brushes the tears that have fallen and clears her throat. “Sorry. I didn’t come in here to berate you. I came to bring you this.” Sarah reaches back on the bed, where she’d dropped the black bag she’d walked in with. It’s a garment bag. Sarah stands from the bed and unzips the bag in her hands. 

“I stole this one of the times I snuck into Tannyhill… is it called stealing if it’s literally yours?” Sarah’s usual cheer appears to have returned, and no trace of your earlier conversation is left. “Anyway, it’ll definitely do the trick.” 

Sarah carefully pulls a mess of white fabric from her bag. The dress, in true Sarah Cameron fashion, is gorgeous. It has a drop-waist silhouette that will hug the body perfectly before flaring into a soft skirt. The skirt is covered by a delicate, thin layer of netting that compliments the suggestive top half with a whimsical touch. The outline of flowers are scattered across the skirt, only enhancing the graceful look. Instead of sleeves, the dress is held together by thin, dainty straps, and the dress will likely end a little above your ankles, making it the perfect blend of romantic and laid-back.  

Simply put, the dress is beautiful. 

“You stole this? When the hell were you going to need--” You stop speaking as you are hit with the obvious. Sarah's reason for initially buying this dress doesn’t matter, because it’s glaringly obvious why she deemed it necessary to take and bring back to your house. “No way. I’m not wearing this.”

“Why not? It’s the perfect elopement dress,” Sarah whines, holding it against your frame. 

You push the dress away from your body. “Yeah, for you. It’s your elopement dress.”

“John B. and I are already married,” Sarah shrugs. 

“Sarah.” 

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Fine, yes, I stole this to wear when JB and I get legally married, but it’s fine! I’ll buy another dress when that time comes. This was originally gonna be my midsummer’s backup. It’s nothing fancy.”

“This is your backup?”  You ask, only receiving a shrug from Sarah. “Sar, why would you give me this for a sham wedding? It’s such a waste.”

“I don’t feel like it would be,” Sarah responds. Cryptic…

“And why not?”

“Does it matter? Look, you have nothing else to wear, and we have to leave in an hour,” Sarah huffs. “Just think of me as your fairy godmother and accept the miracle.” 

“Sar—” Just as you are going to protest another time, the door opens again. Cleo walks in, a bag of chips in one hand. 

“You ready yet,” Cleo mumbles around the chips she is chewing. After taking in your appearance, she sighs and swallows before speaking again. “Why are you not ready yet?” 

“Cause there’s still an hour.” Why are they all acting like this is a real wedding? It doesn’t matter how you look as long as you sign the damn papers. “I was about to change.” You look over at Sarah, who has a knowing smile on her face, and you groan. “Give me that.” 

“Careful!” Sarah chastises as you grab the dress out of her hands. Walking towards the door, you open it with a tilt of your head to indicate the other two should get out. 

“Since when do you care about privacy when you change?” Cleo asks, slumping against your bed.

“Just give me a minute.” When she realizes you are being serious, she makes eye contact with Sarah and finally gets up to leave. Once the other two girls have left, you sit on the bed, your bedding a bit crumpled from all the movement it has just endured. This is it. After you put on this dress, you will sign off the rights to your life. You know that logically, you have until you sign the dotted line, but putting on this dress is like putting up a white flag and admitting that you surrender to this convoluted plan and being tied to JJ indefinitely.  

You let your shorts and crop top fall to the floor, replacing the clothing on your body with the dress. Looking in the mounted mirror on your wall, you can only see your reflection from the chest up. It gives you that familiar itch to curl into yourself. You look so much like your mother like this. In a fancy dress, your hair still pulled up from when you’d tied it back. It was so poised and elegant, a look you desperately wanted to pull off as a kid but wanted nothing to do with now. Yet, even with all the comparisons you can draw between yourself and your mother, you can’t deny it makes you feel pretty. Even just the top half of the dress fits you so well, and it makes you nostalgic for a time when pretty dresses were your only worry. 

Taking just a minute longer before you let Cleo and Sarah back in, you pull your hair down. Your hair spills over your shoulders, softening your features and making you look younger. You aren’t ready to look that much like your mother. 

Sarah had insisted on getting you fully ready for today’s events. You were no stranger to makeup but usually you stuck to mascara and concealer. Sarah had pulled out all the stops. While keeping your base relatively simple, she’d added blush, lipstick, and even eyeliner to “give the full effect.” She had even pulled your hair back up into a bun, and as much as you wanted to fight against it, you figured avoiding the mirror would be easier than arguing.

The Pogues had created a plan for the entire day to try to convince the residents of Kildare that the nuptials between you and JJ were as true as the sky was blue. John B and Sarah would accompany you and JJ to the courthouse to handle your ruse's legal and most crucial component, while the rest of the Pogues would set up a “surprise” reception in the Heywards’ backyard. The reception had been Pope’s idea because, according to him, his parents were too close to JJ and you to not need the extra convincing that this whole thing was real. You had doubts that Pope was just finding ways to make this more entertaining for himself. 

Once Sarah and Cleo had finished helping you get ready, you’d decided to stop by the charter shack. JJ was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be found, and you had some time to kill before heading to the courthouse. Initially, you’d wanted to find Kie. Whatever connection Kie and JJ had wasn’t lost on you, and you’d been overthinking your very much overdue conversation since last night. Even though you didn’t feel like you were wronging Kiara, since from what you’d gathered, JJ and Kie weren’t anything serious, it still felt like you owed her some form of acknowledgment. When you’d asked Cleo if she’d seen Kiara, she had let you know that Kiara had gone to her parent’s house a bit earlier, making it impossible for you to have that conversation. 

Instead, you figure you’ll take the time to be alone. It’s what you always do when you can’t process your emotions. Is it the healthiest coping mechanism? No. But at least you know you do it. The shack is the closest you can get to quiet in a house with six other roommates, so you’re headed that way. As you climb the familiar footsteps, you think of the last time you’d been here. It had only been two days, but that night with JJ feels like a lifetime ago. You’d somehow compartmentalized discovering Ligthner’s body, becoming an accessory to a crime, and being questioned by the police in a way that anything before it all felt like a distant memory. 

“That’ll be 3.99,” JJ’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts as you stand by the shack's open door. JJ stands behind the register in his usual uniform of cargo shorts and a graphic tee. He reaches out his hand to a middle-aged man, not noticing that you are standing there to witness his interaction. 

JJ divies up the change before sticking out his hand to offer it to the patron, “Here you are, sir–” At that moment, JJ looks to his side, immediately doing a double take when he sees you. He falters, missing the customer’s hand entirely and spilling the change against the counter and the floor. The polite smile that JJ had worked to perfect slips off his face, his lips parting and his eyes clouding over. You can’t decipher the storm brewing in his eyes, but it sends a flutter through your belly as you meet his stare. The movement of the customer scramming to pick up the dropped change, which JJ had dealt in a comical amount of coins, catches your attention, but when you look back at JJ, he is still looking at you. With a heat that seems to burn right through you straight to your spine. 

“JJ,” you whisper, drawing his eyes from where they had been trailing down your figure and back to your face. You shift your head towards the man crouched to gather the fallen change. JJ seems to finally return from wherever his mind had ended up and quickly rounds the corner. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” JJ says, crouching to help. “That was an accident,” He apologizes again as he hands the last of the change back to its rightful owner. 

“Don’t worry,” the man winks. “I’ll get out of your hair.” He gives you a knowing look that makes you flush as he passes and leaves the shack. If he only knew. 

“Hey,” JJ mumbles, the heat in his eyes subdued. “You’re ready?

“We’re supposed to leave in twenty minutes,” you reply. “Sarah was getting restless. I think she just sees this as an opportunity to play dress-up.”

JJ chuckles, moving closer to you. “Yeah, I think John B’s choosing which one of his button-ups I’m gonna wear right now.” JJ’s eyes begin to trail back down your body, his tracking slow and that cloudy look returning to his eyes.“You look…” 

You try your best to ignore how his throat bobs when he swallows, unable to fill the gap in his words. The pooling nerves in your stomach spread, moving dangerously low. That feeling isn’t good– not now, not with him.

“Like a bride?” You try to joke, but it comes out breathy and wrong. 

JJ attempts to laugh, but it is more like a sharp exhale. Suddenly, his hand reaches behind your head, gripping the elastic band holding your hair in place. In a swift movement, he pulls your hair free of its constraints, and it falls in waves over your shoulders.  

“Better,” He whispers, and you feel an unfamiliar ache in your chest. Whatever peculiar reaction JJ is having to seeing you in a white dress needs to be stopped. 

Clearing your throat, you speak up. “You think this’ll fool everyone?”

That does the trick because JJ chuckles before pulling his arm back. “Between this and the three-act play Sarah’s putting on for the Island, we should be in the clear.” You laugh, agreeing with him. 

“What are you doing out here anyway? I figured we’d keep the shop closed today,” You ask, grabbing a Snickers bar from a shelf. 

JJ snatches the Snickers bar from your hands, ignoring your protests. “I figured I’d keep the shop open for a bit. You were right before about us needing the business.” You don’t say anything; you watch as JJ tears into the chocolate bar. Eventually, he passes the bar back to you with a shit-eating grin. 

Narrowing your eyes, you take the bar back. Then, you tore a piece of Snickers off and plop it in your mouth. After a few minutes, neither you nor JJ move to leave, and you speak up again. “Are you ready for this?”

JJ laughs humorlessly, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

You rub your lips together, unsure how much you want to give away what is running through your head. JJ is the only other person who can relate to you, but being vulnerable is never easy. JJ’s expression changes, his eyes softening.  

“I’m scared, too,” JJ says. You want to argue, convince him that you aren’t scared. You want to make him think that you are angry and annoyed and displeased beyond belief because admitting you are scared means admitting there is something with enough power to take you down. You stay silent. You can’t bring yourself to lie to him, but instead, you feel yourself move closer to him. You don’t say anything, just let your invasion of his space speak for itself. JJ continues for you.

“I’m worried that all of this’ll be for nothing. We’ll get caught, and it’ll just make the inevitable worse.” Too lost in understanding the look in his eyes, you don’t notice JJ reaching out until his hand catches ahold of yours. For the fiftieth time in three days, JJ touches you like you’re his, his thumb stroking your fingers, and it’s getting harder not to let it make you dizzy. The whole marriage thing must really be going to your head because you can’t help but feel like the weight of his thumb keeps returning to your ring finger. “But I promise you, I’m going to make sure I don’t let it touch you. Any of this.” 

 “I don’t want it to touch you either.” 

You aren’t sure if you meant it, and you are even less sure what compels you to say it. JJ gives you a slight smile that does nothing to ease your newfound worries, “You don’t worry about me, okay? I’m gonna get you out of this safe.” 

You want to argue with him and tell him that he needs to make it out safely, too, but a distant yell interrupts your train of thought before you can reply. 

“JJ, COME DOWN! I GOT YOUR CLOTHES!” 

JJ pulls back, his sad, self-deprecating smile disappearing. “I’ll see you at the finish line, I guess.” He sticks out his hand, his smile changing to the mischievous one that always looks best on him. “Let’s do this.”

“Let’s do this,” You smile, reaching out to shake his hand. “But after you take a shower.” 

You aren’t very superstitious, but today you want to be. Your dad had been extremely superstitious, always telling you to beware of black cats and search extra hard for four-leaf clovers. Today, you want to believe that things like a lucky number or knocking on wood can fix up a promising future for you. The weather is pristine – the sun bright and pleasant in the company of a light breeze. The weather is the textbook definition of a perfect day. If it had been your actual wedding day, you would probably have considered yourself unbelievably lucky. 

You want to cling to that belief as John B, Sarah, and JJ walk to the courthouse doors. This is it, the metaphorical calm before the storm. Sarah squeezes your hand tight as you reach the courthouse. You had taken hold of her hand in the Twinkie and hadn’t let go since. 

“This is it,” John B says, wiping his hands against his pants. 

JJ tilts his head, offering a brief nod, “Yup.”

“Do you guys have rings?” Sarah asks, and you want to groan. She is taking this entirely too seriously, and it does nothing to calm your nerves. 

“Sarah, we’re nineteen-year-old Pogues. I highly doubt anyone expects us to have rings,” JJ said, and you hadn’t ever been this thankful for him… ever. 

Sarah rolls her eyes, offering you one more squeeze of her hand before letting go. She walks up the five steps of the courthouse building and opens the door for the rest of the group. You and JJ follow John B. and Sarah’s lead as they talk to a few people to see where they should go. John B had called as soon as the courthouse’s office had opened in the morning, but it seems a bit pointless since there aren’t many people around. That helps with your nerves a little. Not having an audience will make some of this easier. 

JJ, unlike earlier, is the picture of ease. He had put on a pair of John B’s khakis and a pale blue button-down, looking so unlike himself. His messy blond hair, not a trace of gel visible, is the only thing that reminds you that you are about to marry JJ Maybank. He leans against the counter in front of the plexiglass like it’s the counter back at the shop and speaks to the clerk as if he is an old family friend. He handles giving the clerk all the information required, only turning to you for your license – which you’d thankfully gotten a couple of years ago. He is so… JJ about the whole thing. Playing the part so well, as if it’s just another one of your schemes. Eventually, the clerk passes a stack of papers through the opening at the bottom of the glass and speaks into his mic. 

“Once you’re ready, we’ll need your signatures on each page, and then you’ll sign this.” He passes a yellow file folder with a paper sticking through the gap. “And that’s it. You’ll be officially married.”

Your fingers shake as you reached forward to pick up the yellow folder. The portion of the paper sticking out says ‘marriage license’ in beautiful, cursive font. You are surprised you aren’t numb to the nerves twisting around your stomach by this point. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” the clerk says, turning away to his computer. You look up at JJ and then behind him at Sarah.  

“It’s going to be okay, Y/N,” Sarah assures you, but it doesn’t help. Her words can’t dissuade the nagging voice in your head saying that you are signing up for your life to become a game. 

“Hey,” JJ turns to look at Sarah and John B before grabbing the papers from the counter and your hand. He leads you both to a brown bench at the edge of the room, sitting you down. He takes a moment to look around him before crouching in front of you. “I know this is hard, but…” 

“We have to.” You fill in. JJ shakes his head immediately. 

“No, we don’t. Somehow, this crazy idea makes sense, but that doesn’t mean we have to. If you say no, then we’ll figure out another way. No one will be mad, and none of this will be your fault.” 

“You wouldn’t be mad?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t. You’re doing me a favor.” You look at JJ, knelt before you, a hand placed next to your thigh. He is utterly at your mercy and still giving you an out. No pressure, no fallout. Looking at him, you know what you have to do. 

“No, I’ll do it.” JJ looks at you as if to ask, “Are ​​you sure?” You nod in reply. “Give me a pen.” 

JJ stands up, sitting down next to you. He pulls out a pen from his pocket, and you want to joke about how domesticated the fact that he’s switched out his lighter for a pen is, but all you can bring yourself to do is swallow down the deep breaths of air you are taking in. JJ flipped through each sheet in the stapled stack of papers, signing one line before passing the pen to you and repeating. He signs, then you sign. He signs, then you sign. You focus on that pattern through all six sheets, and the flow was only disrupted when JJ waves John B and Sarah over to sign on the witness sections. When JJ finally pulls out the marriage license from its folder, you though you would have reacted less to it. It was just another four lines, but you still feel its weight as JJ prepares to sign it. You don’t move your eyes from JJ’s calloused hand– focusing on how his hand moves as he glides the pen over the paper, the sound of the pen clicking when he is done, the sharp crinkle of the paper as he holds it out for you. You try to focus on anything that would distract you from the actual act of signing the papers. 

“Wow,” John B whistles. “You guys are married.” 

You look up at him, JJ, and the signed papers in front of you. JJ’s face is paler than usual, but there is no indication of what he is thinking. You try to smile at Sarah, but you can feel it comes out more like a grimace. 

“Alright, you two,” John B says, as the Twinkie near Pope’s parent’s place. “This is when it all matters.”

You want to laugh. It didn’t matter when you were manipulating the government? 

“Everyone here needs to believe that you two are surprised by this party, but more than that, they need to believe that you’re in love,” You roll your eyes. He doesn’t have to spell it out so much. “That means you need to go full Jarah.”

“Excuse me?” You ask. “What’s a Jarah?”

“Oh God, JB,” JJ groans, his head falling back against the seat cushion. “That’s cringe even for you.” You glance at John B’s smug grin and Sarah’s love-struck gaze, and you groan. 

“Is that y’alls couple's name?” You ask. 

“The kids call it a ship name,” John B shrugs. 

“You’re so unbelievably lame,” You nod at JJ’s words, your posture mirroring his as you rest your head against the seat. 

“Maybe, but I’m also serious. You need to look like a newly wedded couple, which means lots of PDA.” 

You look at JJ, who seems just as displeased as you feel. JJ has been quiet since you got in the car, and there is no sign of the boy who’d talked you through the hardest decision of your life.

“So when we get to the backyard, be holding hands and biggggg smiles. Got it?” You regret any time you’d privately praised John B’s leadership skills. JJ is the first to exit the car, closing the door once all of you have gotten out and following behind the group. When you reached the fence of Pope’s childhood home, JJ’s entire demeanor shifts. His shoulder raise, a small smile paints his lips, and you swear his cheeks somehow turned redder. He places his hand out for you, waiting for you to take it. 

You walk hand in hand through the makeshift fence Heyward must’ve built years ago, the sound of music and the smell of barbecue filling your senses. As people begin to come into view, your jaw drops. Except it isn’t an act because you are in genuine shock. You’d assumed the party would consist of  Pope’s parents, maybe Kie’s, and a couple of JJ’s acquaintances from high school. What you hadn’t expected was for what seemed like the entirety of The Cut to be populating Heyward’s backyard. From JJ’s expression, he also didn’t expect to see this many people. 

The crowd erupts in cheers, chants of the couple’s names being heard from various corners. You feel JJ’s hand tighten around yours, but when you look at him, he seems to melt into the noise. His lips round into a cheer and settle into a wide grin as he takes in the crowd. In this crowd, JJ is in his element. With the attention, noise, and chaos, he can guide you through the rest of the evening and you can have the chance of getting out of this without being caught. You follow JJ’s lead, smiling brightly, and feel relieved when Cleo came to give you a big hug. 

“Who knew you were such a great actress,” You mumblw to Cleo, who is holding onto you with a death grip.

“The hug’s not because I’m happy for you,” Cleo whispers back. “I’m sorry, Y/N/N. But it’s all going to be okay.” When she pulls back, you don’t have the time to sit in that moment with Cleo because all your friends follow her lead.  

“JJ,” You and JJ look up to see all six feet something of Mr. Heyward standing in front of you and you immediately feel your palms dampen. This interaction will possibly be the hardest one to sell. 

“Heyward,” JJ lets go of your hand and throws his palm out to shake the hand of someone you know has played the part of a father to him. You wonder if lying to Heyward might be one of the more challenging parts for JJ, but if it is, he doesn’t let it show and instead plays the part he has to effortlessly. “Thanks for all of this,” He makes a show of taking in his surroundings and letting out a low whistle. “It means a lot.” 

Heyward’s expression is painfully untrusting, and you wish you could wither away when he turns to look at you. Over the past two years, as Pope and Cleo’s relationship transitioned from platonic to damn near a married couple, you had frequented the Heywards’ house almost as much as Cleo. When you’d returned from Poguelandia, Heyward had housed you without a second thought, and ever since then, he’d treated you like his own. Lying to him feels worse than a betrayal, even if you’re sure he would understand the situation. Well, maybe not the entire situation. 

“Sure was surprised when I heard Pope tell me this was happening,” Heyward says. The glare he would give you kids whenever he knew something was amiss, boring into you. 

You must look like a fish out of water with your mouth opening and closing, searching for an adequate response. Luckily, JJ speaks up for both of you. His arm rounds across your shoulders as he draws you closer to him. 

“I know it’s hard to believe., but when you know, you know, right?” 

Heyward hums, his arms crossing across his chest and then uncrossing again. Pointing his finger, he says, “You know, I’m just not sure how I didn’t see this happening, is all.”

JJ leans in towards you, making a show of failing to whisper, “I’m sure he doesn’t see a lot of things nowadays–”

“Oh, you think you’re funny, huh, lil shit,” With that, Heyward is back to his usual level of annoyance with JJ, and you can breathe a little easier. “Y/N, you got anything to say?”

You clear your throat, “It’s been a whirlwind, but I’m really happy.”

You don’t look at JJ as you say it and know you needed to, but lying has never been your strong suit. When you and Cleo were still with Terrance, you usually worked in the shadows while Cleo set up the distractions in the spotlight. It was easier for you that way. This whole wedding sham had made the two of you switch roles, and you didn’t have enough time to prepare. 

“I don’t know what whirlwind you’ve found yourself in now, but I’m sure I don’t need to teach you that marriage is no joke.” If only Heyward knew how deeply familiar you were with the fact that marriage was anything but humorous. “Be smart. And you,” Heyward looks back at JJ, his features stern. “Be good to her. Or Cleo and I won’t leave a body to be found.”

You finally laugh at that, and in a moment of feeling genuinely carefree, you wrap your arm around JJ’s torso. You wouldn’t have even noticed you did it if JJ hadn’t brushed the bare skin of your shoulder and drawn your attention to just how close you are. Despite your unusual affection, neither of you moves from your entanglement. As you move around the party, meeting acquaintances and a couple of JJ’s cousins, you think you could’ve sold the whole thing with how close you two are. You doubt you were Sarah and John B’s level of affectionate, but even if JJ had been the love of your life, you don’t think you’d be the kind of person to have that much of a public display anyway. 

The sun will begin setting soon, and as you look around the backyard, you feel nostalgia for something you have never had. Weddings were one of those things so many girls grew up dreaming about, spending hours thinking up the dress of their dreams and how they’d decorate their venue. You never had the chance to think of those things, but looking around you, you think maybe this is precisely what you would’ve asked for. The decorations are as simple as they could be. Cleo and Pope have strung some fairy lights– probably Kie’s– through a few trees and from the roof's ledge. It’s cook-out style for food– grills being manned by dads and barbecue being served fresh to each person. Music is playing in the background, but it wasn’t a perfectly curated playlist of love songs. From what you’ve heard since you walked in, it was probably just the playlist Pope usually put on when he got speaker control during hangouts. It is the most Pogue, life on The Cut-esque wedding, but it is more than enough for you. For a minute, you close your eyes and pretend this is a party being hosted for any other reason, sending a fuzzy feeling from your heart throughout your body. It is all you’ve ever wanted. To be loved, to belong. It doesn’t matter how you got here, but you had.  

The upbeat tempo of a Kendrick song is replaced by the much slower tempo of an unsettlingly familiar song. The opening notes of Can’t Help Falling In Love ring through the settling crowd, the blend of the piano and electric guitar muffling Heyward’s voice as he calls you and JJ to the center of the yard. You barely process the awkward look JJ shoots you, too distracted by the churning feeling in your stomach, returning more vigorous than it had all day. You hate this song. There are too many memories of watching your parents dance around the kitchen while Elvis played in the background. You used to watch them in awe of the love they shared, the way your father would melt into your mother’s arms. It was almost like the song had created a self-fulfilling prophecy about how your parents' relationship would play out. A love that had felt as sure as the flow of the river to the sea had taken your father’s life. It had taken your life. 

JJ’s hand leads you to the clearing all the onlookers have created as he mumbles about having no choice. You look around, all these people who would never know what you are thinking. You are thinking about this life that you dreamed of a couple of years ago and many years before, you wouldn’t have understood. That girl watching her parents in the kitchen wouldn’t have understood any of this, and your heart breaks for her in a way that it never has before. It is making it difficult to push past the pounding in your ears and the bile rising in your throat. JJ’s free hand comes to rest on your waist, and when your eyes met, he gives you a tense smile. 

Your right hand rests on his shoulder, mindlessly mirroring how you’ve seen your parents do this a hundred times. JJ, you soon find out, isn’t much of a dancer. His steps are clumsy, either too wide or too short. He tries to lead your movements, picking up on how you’ve gone rigid, but he lacks just as much fluidity. You know what the crowd is expecting. They want to see magic, the tender moments between two young people looking forward to every joyful second of their intertwined lives. The way you and JJ are moving is the polar opposite– the stiff movement highlighting how out of sync you two truly are. JJ’s movements are harsh and rushed, and you are grateful that he has switched out his workboots for a pair of John B’s Converse because, in a span of two minutes, he’s stepped on your toes three times. 

“Shit– sorry,” JJ mumbles, his covered foot landing on your toes a fourth time, effectively making you wince. He is so focused on his missteps that he likely isn’t noticing the judgemental side glances you are receiving from the crowd, but you do. Something about the combination of your embarrassment and the painful memories of your youth has your eyes welling with tears. You don’t cry. Not just in front of others, but never. It’s like your tears had dried up all those years ago, but now, with this stupid, stupid song playing, you can’t stop them. 

“Swear I’m not usually–” JJ stops his defense when he looks at you, his eyes widening. The tears haven’t fallen, but it is probably evident with how close JJ is to you. JJ looks around, snapping his head in various directions until he finally finds whatever or whoever he is looking for. He twists his pointer finger in a circular motion twice, and you notice Pope quickly shuffling with his phone. The music doesn’t change immediately, and JJ keeps his hands firmly against you, but he slows his swaying. Instead, he holds you still and pulls you into his body. It’s like he is trying to shield you from everything outside the two of you, and you take refuge in his arms without a second thought. He whispers against your temple, “I got you.” 

The haunting melody of Can’t Help Falling In Love is finally replaced with the rhythmic, upbeat tune of My Girl by The Temptations. JJ, firmly pressed against you, pulls back quickly and lets out an unrestrained “WOO!” He snaps in tune with the music, his movements much more liquid than earlier. The weight of the earlier song still feels like it is being pressed against you, but the energy of this song is entirely different, and it seems to infect JJ. He has a cheeky grin and looks just like the charming-to-a-fault boy you know despite the clothes that don’t belong to him and the rare bursts of softness you’ve witnessed today. 

“I’ve got sunshine,” He sins along with Ron Tyson, and if it had been any other artist, you might have thought he was giving them a run for their money. His voice is smoother than you would’ve expected. He doesn’t have the voice of a trained vocalist, but his North Carolina accent mixed with the natural timbre of his voice makes for something captivating. The smile he’d brought to your face grows as he steps towards you, his shoulder moving in time with the song. 

“I guess you say,” He continues, his eyebrows raised with intention as he looks at you. Your laughter bubbles over, already knowing where he is headed with this. “What can make me feel this way?” 

You make a show of annoyance with his antics, but as he takes your hand and spins you around three times– once for each time Tyson sings ‘my girl’-- your delight is unfeigned. After the third spin, JJ crosses your arms in front of you, hauling your back against his chest. You peer up at him over your shoulder, your noses brushing, and his grin is like the sun peeking through on a cloudy day. 

The crowd has begun to join you on the makeshift stage, but you are too caught up in the song and how much fun you are having with JJ to care. These are the moments you remember from Poguelandia, which feel like a lifetime ago now— the carefree feeling JJ brought to your life that you had desperately needed then. 

JJ’s antics only get more humorous when the song's instrumental part begins to play. He uses the opportunity to do his infamous two-step, shooting you a cocky smirk and throwing his arms out at either side of him, inviting competition. 

“That all you got?” You ask, and JJ made a show of stepping back and offering you the floor. You aren’t sure what you are doing, but you take the space and let your hips move in tune with the music. The song isn’t seductive by any means, but it is groovy, and you felt confident in how your body moves with it. From the impressed look on JJ’s face, he seems to agree, and you giggle as he inces closer slowly, wrapping a loose arm around your waist. 

As the song reaches its final verse, John B and Sarah have made their way over to you. JJ and John B look at each other, tilting their heads in unison and pointing at each other. Suddenly, JJ is spinning you over, and John B takes ahold of your hand. John B is a much worse singer than JJ, but your laughter isn’t deterred for even a moment as he leads you through the rest of the dance. You make eye contact with Sarah, who shoots you a wink and lovingly rolls her eyes when JJ spins her. John B follows suit by turning you in towards him, whispering in your ear. 

“That had to sell it.” 

taglist: @theater-bitch @ayy1234567 @tpwkyarely @loves animals0000 @B3rryb3t @mvaldez7821 @ummmmokaynotme @velyssaraptor @chloemaybank @sandaltoesocks @thexplosivegirl @rudypankowisbae @marleymarleymarleymarley @snowtargaryen @awurtzx06 @yumwhy @rudypankowisbae @kanpaeki

[elsweetheart]

no but like. dealer!ellie would be so loving and understanding with a really sensitive (crybaby) gf. like she’s at a party making great business and she gets a text from u saying that you miss her and you’re not feeling well and she drops everything to visit and make u feel better

:(((((

i’ll be your honey, if you’ll be sweet

🎀 dealer!ellie being a cutie, fem!reader being a crybaby, mentions of not feeling well, mentions of weed and alcohol. title is taken from mazzy star— give you my lovin

♡ ♡ ♡

Business was booming, as they said.

Another party at another frat house, where the guys knew nothing about the regular price of weed — and Ellie wasn’t above not pricing her stuff up to take advantage. Her stuff was good, she thought. They should be paying this much.

“How much you made so far?” Jesse yelled over the music to her, having made his way back over from doing shots. He was actually the one who got Ellie in, having friends from the house — that and the fact that no guy throwing a party was going to turn down a cool and discrete dealer with notoriously good product to keep the good vibes going.

“No idea, they keep handing me wads of cash — all I know is they’re way over paying me.” She chuckled, wiping her warm hands down her jeans. “Not complainin’.”

She’d usually be at these kind of ordeals with you on her arm, getting to watch over you having fun and dancing whilst she did her business. It made the evening go by faster, and the routine of the two of you going to grab greasy food from the nearest takeout joint was always something to look forward to. She pulled her phone out her pocket to text you, seeing you’d already left her a message.

‘how long until u come home?’

She glanced up, but she didn’t have to look to know that the party still in full swing with no signs of stopping.

��Not for a while baby, you ok?’

Ellie watched the three bubbles on iMessage appear as you type, then disappear, then reappear, then disappear before you finally replied.

‘mhm’

A call came through on your end, Ellie walking out onto the porch with her cracked screen pressed to her ear, wandering away from all the noise for a moment to check on you.

“Hello?” You croaked, voice small and quiet.

“Tell me what’s wrong, babe.”

She wasn’t expecting you to start crying, not so soon anyways. Her stomach swirled in anxiety at the sound of you upset and her brows furrowed as she picked at her nail, waiting for you to tell her. “Why’re you crying?” Her voice was soft and sympathetic.

“S’nothin’ Els, just d’nt feel well and I tried everything but nothings making it better— n’I just miss you and I’m sorry cos I don’t wanna worry you whilst you’re out but—”

“Woah, hey hey hey.” She pacified you gently, trying to hide her concern. “Don’t stress. M’leaving now, gonna be with you soon okay?” She adjusted her backpack on her shoulders, leaning over to the window to see if she could flag Jesse down. The raven haired boy was too busy losing at beer pong so she turned away, spotting a back gate to leave out of.

“You don’t have to leave, I don’t want you to lose money.” You sniffled miserably, the sadness in your voice making her own frown deepen as she pushed open the creaky back gate onto the street, locating her car.

“Got plenty of money tonight babe. Hold tight okay? I’ll be with you soon.”

You were in her bed in her dorm when she arrived back, curled into a ball with a look of sleepy distress on your face. She shut the door behind her, slowly approaching you.

“Hey babe.” She whispered, her slender fingers pushing your hair back around your ear before placing the back of her hand on your forehead. Her hand was cold and it was soothing, blinking up at her in the dimly lit room.

“Think m’sick.” Your bottom lip wobbled and she shushed you gently, not wanting you to make yourself worse by crying. She perched down on the bed beside you, cold hand now stroking up your shirt (her shirt.) and rubbing circles on your back.

“Yeah, you’re burning up a little. Can you tell me what’s hurting?” She lilted, squinting a little in the low light to try and gauge how your face was looking.

“My head, and my throat too… and everything.” You groaned tearfully, rolling over to stuff your face into the bedsheets. She shuffled a little closer, hating seeing you in distress.

“Have you had any water?” Her hand moved up to stroke your hair, massaging your head slightly.

“Mm—mm.” You moaned into the sheets and she nodded, fetching your bottle.

“I’m gonna help you sit up, alright babe? C’mon, y’gotta help me out a little, yeah?” She scooped her hands beneath you, ignoring your whiney muffled protests. You used some of your energy to push yourself up with her help and she held you in her arms sat up. Burying your face into her, she held you letting you cry a little. “I know. Fuckin’ sucks huh, sweet girl.” Ellie sympathised before holding your pink water bottle to your lips. “Sip, don’t gulp it down.” She advised, her free hand that was wrapped around your shoulder stroking your arm. “Look, you got nothin’ to worry about okay? Not only am I the worlds best dealer… I’m also a nurse. And I’m gonna make you feel all better.” She smiled making you furrow your eyebrows, moving your mouth away from the bottle to cuddle her again.

“You’re not a nurse.” You accused and she blinked into space, continuing to hold you tight.

“Well. I am now.”

The night went on, and Ellie continued to soothe you well into the night, not being able to sleep or get comfortable — often bursting into tears and needing immediate assistance. “I just wanna sleep.” You sounded devastated, and she truly pitied you— nothing was making you feel better and she knew you were just going to have to ride it out.

“I know baby. We’ll get there… when we get there.” She huffed, almost frustrated with herself for not being able to help you more. “Y’want me to read to you, might help you get some sleep? Worth a try, right?” She leant down, persuading you in a hushed tone. You didn’t open your eyes, just nodded weakly giving her the green light to get up and grab one of her books from her desk. It was the Jurassic Park novel — always having it on her being one of her favourite books.

She settled down on her bed, letting you clamber up to lay your head in her lap. She had changed into her sweatpants around two hours ago, and you found comfort in the softness against your cheek. She began reading, book pulled close to her face to be able to read the words in the low light — not wanting to turn any lights on as to aggravate your headache. Halfway into Chapter 2, she finally heard the soft snore of your eventual sleep against her leg— and Ellie felt herself relax, knowing she’d completed her girlfriend duties for now to a satisfactory level. She knew you hated being sick, and that you were miserable — but Ellie would still choose to be here looking after you than dealing at some random party any day.

♡ ♡ ♡

[emby-m]

Highway Cavalier and Dulcinea

Fifth in the “Putting Alice into Nort’s Skin Lines” project

They would tell tales of thee, if they knew thee, my Dulcinea. Instead, I, thy humble vassal, thy cavalier of the highway, tell tales of thee. A lady of grace and poise, riding astride your piebald hackney, hair of gold plaited back, eyes like suns beneath your goggles, hands like ivory steering your noble steed – any beam of the sun of thy beauty that reached my eyes would have given light to my reason and strength to my heart, so that I could be unmatched and unequaled in wisdom and valor. Thou hast strayed away from El Toboso, and yet I cannot seek thee.

Design and backstory under the cut:

Setting/text notes:

Highway Cavalier obviously based on Don Quixote with ‘the Cavalier’ and ‘Rocinante’, so Alice was a natural fit for a Dulcinea, a remote and far off lover who the cavalier acts for.

I imagine Alice died prior to the events of the story but maybe she’s just far far away…

Part of the text is directly lifted from Chapter 8 of Volume 2, in the Ormsby translation.

Thee and thou for ~intimacy~

Imagine this as an old-timey black and white photograph Norton keeps in his glovebox…

Norton’s design:

Agh agh agh so much to change so little time agh agh agh

Ok so the typical motorcycle jacket we think of wasn’t in production until at least the 20s but I figured a short riding coat would make sense. We do have motorcycle riding in this period (motor corps in World War I!) plus riding gear is consistent between that and horses.

The pants with the knee-reinforcements are normal, so I kept them but they’re not… jeans. His undershirt is a regular stand-up collar shirt – protective, but not whatever he’s got for padding there.

Alice’s design:

So women also had a motorcycle corps in World War I which is pretty cool. Their coats tended to be longer and somewhat fuller, with most of the shaping coming from the belting and some very heavy pleats in the waist. These were, quite spiffily, worn with a shirtwaist and tie. Pants/ jodhpurs were common (split skirts were too, the point being you NEED to ride astride on a motorcycle.)

The motorcycle they’re leaning on is hers, which is a contemporary Phelon & Moore 500cc single cylinder motorcycle. 

This is the age of no helmets. So. No helmets.

[storiesabouteli]

Hi! Loved your most recent story! I was thinking maybe you could write one where the reader struggles with acne and Eli makes her feel not insecure? 💕

Hope you are well!

Heey, thank you for requesting! I hope you like that one too!!

Words: 1,6K

You followed a certain logic in your mind, choosing comfortable clothes. You'd wrapped socks around your hair to make sure it looked nice, hoping it would draw attention away from your face—or maybe even from your own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Everything felt exhausting, almost pointless. Your face was freshly washed, the marks and small stinging spots seemed more noticeable. You spent a long time staring at yourself, wondering what to do—they were worse than the day before. You took care of your skin, wanting the blemishes to disappear, not to worsen suddenly, leaving scars behind.

You covered them with foundation and concealer, did your eyeliner to make your eyes more noticeable, but then leaned against the wall, disliking the texture of your skin, wanting to just stay there. You and Eli were supposed to meet Ryan and his girlfriend, trying out a new restaurant, something casual and fun, but you knew your mind wouldn’t let you feel at ease.

“You okay? Something happened?” Eli's voice was sweet, as if he hadn’t been waiting for you to get ready for almost an hour.

“I’ll be out soon, sorry.” You could hear him breathing behind the closed door, his feet shuffling against the floor.

“Need anything? I can run to the pharmacy for you, just tell me what you need.” His thick accent, full of concern, made you smile, an honest contrast to how you felt. You held the doorknob, hesitating for a few seconds, and then remembered Eli was your boyfriend—he would understand.

“No, I’m okay, El.” You whispered, opening the door to face him. He was wearing a tight band tee, showing off his arms, jeans with a belt, and his hair slicked back. He looked adorable, which made you feel even worse about the fact that he'd dressed up, only for you to now not want to go. It also seemed unfair that he'd be going out with you. You closed your eyes quickly, pushing those thoughts down as hard as you could. You hated being like this.

“You look beautiful, pumpkin. I can get dressed up more if you give me a few seconds.” That was the thing—Eli was just being himself, effortless, while you had tried so hard. He didn’t move, and the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, though you felt uneasy in your own skin. Tears welled up in your eyes, and he stepped into the bathroom with you. He looked around before his gaze settled on you. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, then he smiled softly, trying to show he was there for you.

“I can tell something’s bothering you, but I’m not sure what.”

All the beauty products—makeup, skincare solutions—were scattered across the sink. You often wondered how Eli saw this side of you. Some people could be insensitive about it, and although Eli wasn’t like that, you couldn’t help but think about it. You looked down at your feet, swallowing your words, not liking the idea of verbalizing this to him.

“Can I stay? I thought maybe you could go without me. I’m just not feeling up for it.” He frowned, thinking, still looking cute. It felt like you were a kid asking to skip school without a good reason.

“We don’t have to go.” He stepped closer, gently holding your face, trying to read you. His concern and calmness were so kind.

“But you should go—you look so handsome.” He chuckled softly.

“So do you, but what’s the point of going without my girl?” You crinkled your nose, embarrassed at how goofy he could be. He hesitated, about to brush his fingers across your cheek, but you flinched. Instead, he placed his hands on your shoulders, still wanting to keep you close, like that might ease your feelings. Your eyes drifted away from his, and that’s when he realized you weren’t avoiding him—you were hiding your face. He pulled you into a hug, and you pressed your face against his chest as he held you tight.

“I’ll let them know, it’s okay.” His lips brushed the top of your head as a wave of relief washed over you.

Eli held your waist as you sat on the counter in front of him. Your mind was somewhat blank, relieved to be staying in, but it still felt wrong. You were distant while Eli's voice echoed in the bathroom, talking to Ryan on the phone. He said he wasn’t feeling well, throwing in a sarcastic remark about you being his caregiver, which made you chuckle despite your sour mood.

“We could cook something nice, watch a movie, or just do nothing for the rest of the night. What do you think, huh?” You nodded, your eyes lifting to meet his, only to quickly look away. He kept his gaze on you.

"Sounds good, El."

Your shoulders were slumped, and Eli felt uneasy, unsure how to help. "I need to take off my makeup. You can get changed; I’ll do the same, and then we can cook something." You said this, imagining how you'd end up with your face pressed to his chest, transferring all the makeup onto his shirt. Either that, or you'd insist on hiding yourself with concealer the whole time.

"Can I?" Eli asked, his waist brushing against your knees as he reached for the makeup wipes you had grabbed earlier. You let out a long sigh and nodded. "My skin's irritated. It’s really flared up."

Your voice was barely audible, as if preparing him for the reality. “You know, I’ve seen your face plenty of times before,” he said softly, his warm, caramel eyes as tender as always as he carefully wiped your makeup away. “What do you think about them?” you asked quietly, handing him a small amber bottle. Speaking about it in code, adding a certain distance, helped make it easier to handle.

He paused, his shoulders heavy as if unsure how to put his thoughts into words. “I don’t really think about them like that,” he said thoughtfully, “They’re a part of you, so I like them.”

He applied the product to your cheeks with his fingers, lightly squeezing them, making you close your eyes and giggle at the way his thick fingers and rings felt against your skin. “How do you see yourself?” he asked hesitantly, not wanting you to speak poorly about yourself.

“I don’t know,” you swallowed, swinging your legs around him. “Now that they’re worse, I feel…”

He noticed your eyes divert once again, a sadness creeping into them. “It’s okay,” he gently lifted your chin, making you look at him. He kissed each cheek, the bridge of your nose, and then your forehead, lingering for a moment as his kisses echoed with soft pops.

You often feared Eli might find you unattractive at times, but his tenderness shattered that doubt. “I met you like this, remember? I thought you were beautiful then, and nothing’s changed. I won’t let you believe otherwise.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. You didn’t know what to say, but Eli had already brightened your day. You wanted to be enveloped by him, as if he were a cocoon.

You nodded silently, letting him apply a few more drops of product to your face. He massaged it in the way he had seen you do many times before, and it was endearing how he had memorized your routine just from watching. “What’s this for?”

“It’s an aloe vera gel; it helps calm my skin.”

His brow arched as he read the label. “Okay. And those stickers? What are they for? And the other tubes?”

You laughed, feeling a bit lighter now. Eli’s muscles relaxed, pleased to see you holding eye contact with him again. Things were looking up; everything would be fine. “I use vitamin C sometimes to fade spots,” you explained. The wrinkle in his forehead smoothed out as if it all made sense now. “And I just try to keep my skin hydrated.”

You handed him a pack of star-shaped pimple patches, and he glanced at the pile, you got slightly embarrassed by how many you had. “These dry out pimples—like the pus and stuff. But mostly, they stop me from picking at them.”

He seemed satisfied with the explanation. The patch you handed him was shaped like golden stars. “Do you still have the pink heart ones? I think you look adorable when you wear those.”

Your cheeks warmed. It was a bit jarring to realize that Eli was fully aware of your blemishes, yet he viewed them as just another part of you, while you treated them like monsters. "You like them?" You gave him the chosen patches, though the question was more a confirmation for yourself than for him.

“I do have a favorite, but yeah, I like the others too. It’s cute when you walk around the house with them on your face.” You laughed, guiding his hand as he placed the patches in random spots rather than directly on the pimples.

You peeled one off and stuck it on his cheek. He smiled, leaning in to kiss you on your lips, lingering a little longer. The tip of his nose gently brushes against yours into softness.“I’ll go change into something more comfortable and head downstairs.” You tied your hair up, abandoning any formality that might’ve lingered.

Eli nodded, removing his shirt and unbuckling his belt. You glanced over, eyes lingering on his shoulders and tattoo. He chuckled through his nose, “Okay, go get changed, little one. I’m starving.”

[strangestcase]

You remember that list of J&H movies that actually slap? I cannot find the post for the life of me and I NEED to watch that French one. Help a sister out! What was the name???

Alright SO!

Doc’s incredibly objective list of J&H films that fucking SLAP:

-Le Testament Du Docteur Cordelier (1959): obscure French TV film by Jean Renoir in which Mr. Hyde is a sex pervert played by a mime. Set in 1950s France but incredibly accurate to the book.

-I, Monster (1971): a British production with Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing as main characters. A more “realistic” science-y take on the story.

-Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920): with John Barrymore. It’s also an adaptation of The Picture of Dorian Gray. -Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931): a “talkie” version of the previous movie. Not the best writing wise but it’s gorgeous. The acting and SFX are the best I’ve seen so far.

-El Hombre y La Bestia (1951): Argentinian movie in which Jekyll is married with a four year old son. And it’s heartbreaking. Other than that is very similar to Le Testament in the ways it adapts the story and changes the setting.

-Nightmare Classics: Jekyll and Hyde: episode of the show Nightmare Classics which it is a very interesting retelling of Jekyll and Hyde.

-The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003): okay this one isn’t a J&H movie but Jekyll and Hyde are in it and they’re very well acted and characterized. Go on, sue me.

Might expand the list when and if I find more movies that are worthwhile or at least not mid.

[doeeyeseddie]

Hii :) if I'm not too late for the soft prompts, I would love some buddie + "I missed you"

hello! sorry it took me over a month to write this but i hope you see and like it <3

[read on ao3]

Buck is pacing. He knows it’s stupid, knows it doesn’t make the minutes pass faster, but he braved the hellish drive to LAX and now he doesn’t have the patience to just stand here and stare at the board displaying the arrivals, waiting for the flight from ELP to switch from “On Approach” to “Arrived”.

He stops when it finally does, but then immediately starts pacing again. Eddie only traveled with hand luggage, but it’s still gonna be ages until he’s off the plane and stepping through the gates.

He’s glad no one here knows that it’s only been three days since he last saw Eddie, they’d probably call them co-dependent. But what they also don’t know is that Eddie kissed Buck for the first time right before he left for El Paso, and that Buck has been absolutely aching to do it again since then.

Three days of only seeing Eddie’s face through the screen of his phone, three days of holding back all of the questions he still has. It kind of feels like he should ask them in person, and anyway, it wasn’t the right time. Eddie flew out to help his parents after his mom had to undergo a minor operation, just for three days until Adriana could take over, so he had plenty of other things to think about. Buck, meanwhile, took care of Christopher and slept in Eddie’s bed every night, which did not help with the thoughts swirling through his head or the buzzing of his nerves.

And now he’s only minutes away from seeing Eddie in person, from being able to touch him, from maybe finally getting answers, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

So he paces.

With one eye constantly on the sliding doors, he walks back and forth, feeling jittery all over.

And yet, the second Eddie actually, finally steps through the doors, Buck is rooted to the spot.

He’s wearing jeans – of course he is, he says sweatpants are for the gym or for sleeping and rarely even wears them around the house – and a soft sweater, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He’s carrying his duffle bag and his forearms look, frankly, indecent. His soft, product-less hair looks like it’s just waiting for Buck to run his hands through it, and he aches. But he can’t quite bring himself to move.

Three days ago, they were standing not far from here, Eddie with that same duffle bag and Buck tagging along all the way into the airport, even though there wasn’t really a reason to.

“You didn’t even remind me to call you if I have any questions,” Buck said, and Eddie shook his head with a smile.

“You know that anyway, Buck.”

“Yeah, but I know the lists you still write for Christopher’s sleepovers—”

“The same way you know all of mine and Chris’ routines,” Eddie interrupted him gently, and Buck felt himself flush. “Buck, I trust you. I know you don’t need any lists or instructions. You’ve done this before, even when there was no way to call me.”

“Maybe, but Carla was there to help,” Buck insisted, even though he’d rather not talk or even think about anything related to Eddie being shot.

“Buck,” Eddie said again, and reached up to squeeze Buck’s shoulder. His thumb brushed the bare skin of Buck’s throat, and Buck swallowed hard. “I’m not worried. You two will be fine.”

“We’ll still miss you,” Buck blurted out, and Eddie’s eyes got even softer.

“I’ll miss you too,” he murmured, and then he leaned in and kissed Buck.

It lasted only a couple of seconds and Eddie jerked back, wide-eyed. Buck opened his mouth to say…something, or maybe to beg Eddie to do it again, but he was interrupted by an announcement from the overhead speakers telling them that Eddie’s flight had started boarding.

“You’re not even through security yet,” he said instead of any of the other things he wanted to say, and Eddie blinked, his hand dropping from Buck’s shoulder.

“Shit, yeah, I–” He licked his lips. “Sorry, I– I have to go, but– we’ll talk when I get back?”

“Yeah,” Buck nodded. Somehow, at some point, his hands had made their way to Eddie’s waist, and he dropped them now. “Uh, safe flight, text– text me when you land?”

“Promise,” Eddie said over his shoulder, already a few steps away, and then he disappeared in the mass of people queuing for security.

Buck touched his lips almost absently. What the fuck had just happened?

Eddie’s walking towards him slowly, measuredly, and he’s smiling, but it looks a little bit nervous. Something about that makes Buck feel better, kind of.

“Hey,” Eddie says quietly when he reaches him, and Buck just throws his arms around him in a hug that’s probably too tight, especially considering that it’s only been three days.

But Eddie’s duffle drops to the ground by their feet with a thud and he hugs him back just as tightly, so maybe it doesn’t matter at all.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, and they just stand there for way too long, holding each other.

“I missed you,” Eddie says eventually, his breath warm against the side of Buck’s neck, and Buck tries not to shiver.

“I missed you too,” he whispers, and Eddie laughs a little.

“It’s only been three days.”

“Yeah, but,” Buck loosens his hold a little and takes half a step back, just enough to look at Eddie. “Eddie, you– you kissed me and then you said we’d talk when you got back and for three days I couldn’t tell you– I had to wonder if it was a mistake–”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Eddie interrupts him. “An accident, maybe, because the timing was fucking terrible, but. Not a mistake.”

Buck laughs, because he doesn’t know how else to deal with the amount of feelings rushing through him, and tentatively, the corners of Eddie’s mouth lift too until his adorable dimple appears, and Buck reaches out to touch it, then cups Eddie’s cheek, rosy now.

“For three days, I– I wanted to tell you that what I really wanted to say after you kissed me was,” he hesitates only for a second, the sparkle in Eddie’s eyes telling him everything he needs to know, “Can you please do that again?”

Eddie laughs, but he presses his cheek into Buck’s palm a little harder and pulls him in by the waist.

“I would’ve,” he confesses, and his nose nudges Buck’s.

“Many times,” Buck murmurs. “So many times, Eddie.”

“No objection from me.” Eddie’s lips are soft against Buck’s cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth. “I’m happy to do this for the rest of my life.”

And when he kisses Buck, he knows that he means it.

[itsdappleagain]

48 for the spotify wrapped

48: My Dead Gay Son from Heathers the Musical

oh boy. this one might be a wild ride. highly recommend you listen to the whole song if you're unfamiliar.

here is a recording of the stage production with...erm...visuals and here is the cast recording with better audio!

They're up there disco dancing to the thump of angel wings! They grab a mate… And roller skate— While Judy Garland sings! They live a playful afterlife that's fancy-free and reckless! They swing upon the pearly gates— And wear a pearly necklace!

summary: jean paul and antonio fake their own deaths in order to escape the dangerous life VILE has put them on and must secretly watch their own "funeral" in order to make sure no one suspects they are still alive.

---

It starts with a note, slipped furtively into the hand of Carmen Sandiego in a fight both of them know is going too easily. Le Chevre holds her gaze and immediately makes good on his whispered promise to to leave right then and there without a fight, telling the Faculty she defeated him as always.

The note she opens says this:

Antonio and I need your help. We are defecting from VILE- we want to start a future together, but we don't have anywhere to go. We are afraid they will find us...you know what they would do if they found out. You are the only one to have ever left VILE and lived to see another day. Please help us. We know you don't have any reason to, so all we can do is beg. Antonio and Jean Paul

Carmen, of course, helps them. It is her nature. Together, secretly, the three begin to plan the deaths of Le Chevre and El Topo.

Tigress is the unwitting unlucky winner of the "who gets to witness their death" contest. Once everything is set in place and Antonio, Jean Paul, and Tigress are scheduled on the same mission again, Carmen makes arrangements for them and the plan goes into motion.

At 11:44pm Tigress sends the duo into their empty target building to scout it out. At 11:49 the building blows up in a ball of fire and ash and shrapnel, and Tigress must flee before the police arrive, streaked with soot and, against her will, crying.

She is the first one to see the news report that the police found the charred remains of two unidentified bodies in the wreckage of the building. She is the first to alert the faculty, and the one to begin arrangements for El Topo and Le Chevre's memorial.

Back in San Diego, Carmen sits with Antonio and Jean Paul, the air heavy as they watch the news report apparently announcing their own deaths.

"Tigress will be devastated." Antonio murmurs, eyes fixed on the circling overhead shot of the blackened building they'd snuck out of before Carmen had detonated the explosives. "She acts cold, but she will blame herself."

"It will make it all the more convincing." Carmen sighs, tracing her jaw with her fingers in contemplation. "If she knew..."

"Better that she does not." Jean Paul finishes, his hand squeezing Antonio's as they lean on one another. With Player messing with the police reports to make it seem as though their bodies had been found in the explosion, they are effectively invisible. Dead. Wiped off the map, and free to start their new lives together however they wanted.

Almost.

"I'm pulling up video and audio feed now." Player chimes from the base's speaker systems. "Good thing that I have the experience now to hack through VILE's 27 layers of encryption. Where did you set up those hidden cameras?"

"Where VILE always holds its memorials." Carmen says solemnly, her eyes just barely betraying a history of seeing more there than she cares now to admit. Her eyes flick to the two former operatives in her living room and they nod.

"The great hall. Last step," Jean Paul sighs, "see if they bought it."

The video feed flickers to life on their monitors- grainy and half-hidden where the two secretly set it up on VILE Island before their final mission. Everyone leans in, squinting as the fuzziness works itself out a little bit. The camera is hardly a centimeter in diameter, and, considering that, it is doing its best.

There, gathered in the grand hall, is a small crowd of operatives and the Faculty, gathered around the small table displaying their operative ID photos. Tigress, clearly wiping her eyes and trying not to show it, has just laid down a small bouquet by their photos.

Zack emerges from the kitchen and leans over the couch to where they're watching. Ivy hangs slightly behind, still suspicious of Antonio and Jean Paul. Zack whistles, oblivious to the tone in the room. "Too bad we can't have this camera on all the time. We shoulda got a man on the inside sooner!"

"Every minute that camera stays on in there is another minute it risks being discovered." Player explains briefly, his eyes still fixed on the feed on his own screen. "It'll self-destruct as soon as the ceremony is over, when I tell it to. We just need to confirm that El Topo and Le Chevre truly are dead to VILE and then we're out."

Zack hums noncommittally, attention drawn to the camera screen. Carmen's eyes are on the Faculty, watching for a sign of suspicion.

It's a second before Tigress's voice filters through their speakers. She stands at the front of the crowd, head bowed and fists clenched.

"Le Chevre and El Topo were part of my graduating class," she begins, a very un-Tigress-like hitch in her throat. "We spent the entire year training together and while- while we had our ups and downs they were some of my first friends here. There's something unbreakable about entering this life together. The two of them knew that better than anyone. I don't believe in any- any anything, really, but I hope that wherever they are now they're together, and-and that they're happy. You were some of the best, and I'm sorry that it wasn't me in that building instead of you. Rest well."

She finishes so quietly the camera's microphone almost doesn't pick it up, and she quickly wipes her eyes again and retreats back into the small crowd of operatives as they scatter some applause into the otherwise silent room.

When Carmen glances over at the two boys, they aren't making any effort to hide their own tears.

"Do you want to leave?" She asks quietly. "I can finish watching it. This might just get harder."

They both shake their heads. On the screen, Mime Bomb steps forward and mimes a flower, placing it on the table with little of his usual theatrics and retreats as well.

"They look convinced so far," Jean Paul says quietly.

Maelstrom is the first of the faculty to speak once the other operatives have finished paying their respects, and Team Red's base goes silent as he moves.

"While I don't want to spoil the evening-" he begins, and in unison Carmen, Jean Paul, Antonio, and Shadowsan (in the other room but listening in) mutter "here we go," all traces of mourning vanishing.

"-I think it must be acknowledged that El Topo and Le Chevre were two operatives whose passion was more often in each other than in their thieving work." Antonio and Jean Paul share a glance as the professor goes on with just the barest touch of disdain. "I would never stoop to say I celebrate their loss- we have lost two fine operatives in their deaths- but I must agree that I hope they are finding their lives after death more suited to the life they wished to live together."

"Cheers, Professor, we are." Antonio laughs wryly. Jean Paul isn't taking it as well, and his fists are clenched in his lap as he stares daggers at Maelstrom.

And then, suddenly-

"Now, you wait just a minute, Gunnar!"

The gasp in the VILE congregation is echoed across the world in San Diego as the group watches Dr. Bellum shoves her way forward, finger pointed directly at Maelstrom.

"You're skirting around your own prejudices, and I'm sick and tired of it. They were not dirty!" There's a glass of some drink in her hand, which seems to have given her a little courage. "They were not wrong!"

"I never said they were, Doctor, please-" Maelstrom hisses, bending with embarrassment towards his fellow faculty member. All five feet of her shoves him backwards and he stumbles, shocked.

"You have made your steady intolerance a part of our Academy's atmosphere for far too long, Gunnar!" Her voice climbs pitches like a roller coaster. "You're too afraid to say that those boys were-" she takes another sip of whatever she's drinking, "-gay as hell!"

"Doctor!" Maelstrom pleads, but Bellum is on a roll now, and the other two Faculty behind her seem to be finding this just as entertaining as Team Red is. Cleo, in particular, is red in the face and biting her lip in a way the three ex-operatives in the room have never seen before.

"Oh my God." Jean Paul stares in disbelief, all traces of anger gone as Antonio wheezes beside him. "This is going to be incredible."

"Those boys died as they lived- together! And I for one want to follow their example. I'd rather- rather live in happiness now than have to stay half hidden like they did here. Now they're up there- dancing to "disco" music and wearing beautiful necklaces like they never could have done while they were alive here!"

Maelstrom is melting into the floor as he tries and fails to do any sort of damage control, and before he can even open his mouth again, Bellum shouts, "We must carry on their legacy in VILE as we continue our work! It should never have taken their deaths to see it!"

With that, she turns, takes the hand of Countess Cleo, and sweeps her into the deepest, most passionate kiss the academy has ever seen. Antonio, in the middle of a sip of water, shoots it out of his nose.

"Shadowsan, get in here!" Carmen shrieks, cackling, as their room erupts into whoops and cheers. Shadowsan enters, sees what's happening, and has to leave again immediately to save face. In the periphery of their hidden camera, the chaos amongst the gathered operatives seems to be an even worse mixture of hilarity and horror. Tigress seems to have passed out cold onto the floor, and Cleo and Bellum are still going.

"Doctor! Countess!" They barely hear Maelstrom shriek over Brunt's roaring laughter. Zack, Ivy, and Player are in hysterics, which is a level more chill than whatever Carmen, Jean Paul, and Antonio are experiencing. Shadowsan isn't even in the room.

"If I got to witness my own funeral, I'm glad this is how it went," Antonio gasps in between howls of laughter as they watch Cleo and Bellum barely surface for air before they go back in, crashing into their memorial table and sending the two's pictures to the ground. Maelstrom has fled the great hall in a fit, and Brunt is literally crying. Someone gasps "disco!" in between laughs behind them. "Look at all the good our death did!"

"Our legacy will be felt around the academy for decades, mon amour!" Jean Paul wheezes in return, planting his own kiss on Antonio's lips. "I think we are in the clear!"

"What was in that drink, Saira?" Cleo gasps on the screen, voice husky, as they come up for air.

"It's plain Pepsi." Bellum responds, and the last thing they see before the camera self-destructs is the two Faculty members going in one more time as the Academy dissolves before their very eyes.

[hooked-on-elvis]

A filming day during the '68 Comeback Special production (June, 1968) 🎥⚡

— Recollections by ANN MOSES, editor of TIGER BEAT and NEW MUSICAL EXPRESS MAGAZINES, as published in her Facebook on January 8, 2024, Elvis' 89th birthday.

Happy Birthday in Heaven to ELVIS PRESLEY , born January 8, 1935. He would have been 89 today. I feel the best way to honor Elvis is to share some of my in-person memories from his incredible Comeback Special from 1968 — Ann Moses

THE CONTINUING STORY OF ELVIS AND ANN MOSES (EDITOR OF TIGER BEAT) FROM NEW MUSICAL EXPRESS:

ELVIS TAKES OFF TINY TIM AND RICHARD HARRIS

Last week I told you how I was chosen to sit on the steps of the stage when Elvis was performing before the tele-film camera in Burbank. They were recording the hour-long Spectacular to be seen in American on December 3. I promised to tell you about my further encounters with Elvis this week, so here goes: As Elvis left the stage, his face dripping with perspiration, his straight hair hanging over his eyes after such an energetic half-hour workout, everyone expected the end had – too soon – arrived. Wrong! After a few moments the executive producer appeared to inform us that this had been a dress rehearsal and Elvis would be back as soon as his leather suit dried out, and go through it all again.

Great News

It was great news because to have a small taste of greatness would have been cruel. The first set whet our appetites and the gathering was openly happy that the appetite might now be satisfied (if that’s possible)! During the half-hour break, Priscilla Presley, Elvis’ wife, descended from the seats where she was watching him and glided backstage to see her husband. She did not return. Meantime, the executive producer stayed on stage to entertain the audience by answering questions about El. I asked how much he had contributed to the creation of the TV Special. The producer said El had done about 75 per cent of the creating. He also said El was easy to work with and his professionalism had cut the time allowed for filming. To fill time and keep us occupied, as if we weren’t content to merely sit and wait for him to return, the producer called the Blossoms on stage to do a song. This Negro (remember this was 1968 and the correct way to describe the black girls) girl trio, who performed on the old “Shindig” show and have aided the Righteous Brothers on their tours, backed up Elvis vocally in the special. “We’d like to sing a gospel song for you,” one of the girls said. “You know, Elvis really loves gospel songs. Every time we’ve had a break in the past two weeks he drags us off to some corner to sing gospel tunes, isn’t that a groove?” she went on.

The Blossoms (American female group): Photo 1 from 1966 (left), clockwise from top: Fanita James, Jean King, and Darlene Love. The group's formation changed over the years but those are the female vocalists of the Blossoms that worked with Elvis.

On the '68 Comeback Special, the full group appear onscreen during the Gospel number (second picture from 1968 — from left to right, Jean King, Elvis, Fanita James and Darlene Love). Darlene Love also sings the female vocals for 'Let Yourself Go' song, used for the bordello scene.

The Blossoms also have uncredited roles on the film 'Change of Habit' (1969) on which they act as Elvis' character's neighbors performing as his backing vocals for the song "Rubberneckin'", right at the beginning of the movie, although the female backing vocals for the actual song was recorded by other female artists during the American Sound Studio sessions in January, 1969. I'm not sure if for the movie version they recorded the song again, with the Blossom's backing vocals, but probably no — if that's so, the girls participation on the "Rubberneckin'" scene is specifically with their acting, lip syncing the studio version recorded previously. The movie was filmed between March and April, 1969. Still for the "Change of Habit" movie, the Blossoms sing the female backing vocals for "Let Us Pray", song used during the closing scene in the church. The Blossoms recorded a few more songs with Elvis.

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

Continuing Ann Moses' article:

Then they sang a gospel tune and it was a groove too. I would have loved to hear Elvis join with them, but anyway. . . A few more minutes, in which the executive producer introduced all of Elvis’ buddies and then HE was back. This time he was much more at ease in front of the audience. He began to joke with those of us close by, sitting on the platform. “I hope you don’t mind if we do a few of those numbers again,” he smiled, “I really goofed up some of them the last time.” The band was ready and it began again. But this time seemed even more exciting because it was likely we knew him better. That may seem hard to comprehend since we’d only been there a couple of hours, but that’s the way he makes you feel!

Some new twists

Some of the songs had been recorded previously and when he’d get to them in the medley he just cut up the original lyric. Like when “Love Me Tender” came around again he sang “. . .you have made my life a wreck and I hate you so. . .” then he’d laugh and go on to the next tune. Once through the whole medley and everything stopped for a prop change. A special set had to be set up for the finale. Instead of leaving this time, Elvis bent down to me (are you ready for that – me!) and said “What would you like to hear?” I blurted out, “Your Time Hasn’t Come yet, Baby.” * He gave me an inquisitive look and I said: “The new single.” “Right,” he said and started singing the song.

Movie soundtrack: "Speedway" (1968)

"Your Time Isn't Come Yet Baby" was released a few weeks before the movie, as a single, on May 21, 1968, with "Let Yourself Go" on the opposite side (the second song, is part of the '68 Comeback Special setlist, used during the bordello scene where Elvis acts opposite to Susan Henning). "Speedway" movie was released only a few weeks before the filming for Elvis' NBC TV Special had begin, on June 12, 1968 (although the film was completed in the early summer of 1967), while the videotaping for the "'68 Comeback Special" was filmed from June 27-30, 1968.

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

Continuing Ann Moses' article:

The microphone was turned off. He called to have someone turn it on. Another girl said, “Sing ‘U.S. Male,’” and he said in a deep voice “I’m a U.S. Male. . ." but still the mic was off. Others ere calling out songs now and while he waited for someone to turn on the mic he bent down to sign some autographs. He got back up and strummed the electric guitar and tried again, but still no sound. So he left. It’s really awful to complain in light of what we were all experiencing, but to think we would have had private little 15-minute concert except for that rotten dead-mic, well. . . it would have been great. The set was ready. It was a black box some 25 feet long and as high and wide as a room. At one end there were flashing colored lights darting in all directions. At the open end was our platform and the microphone. Elvis returned, casually, but things were not quite ready. The mic was on now. Someone asked “How’s your daughter?” Elvis answered, “Oh, about this long,” he held his hands out about a foot apart as he smiled broadly.

I found this moment on Youtube Shorts (Elvis talks about baby Lisa Marie and also sings one verse of a song we'll talk about soon, recorded by Tiny Tim):

As we know, Lisa Marie Presley was born in February 1, 1968. By the time the '68 Special was being filmed, little Yisa was close to reach 5-months-old. An infant, the King's little Princess. ♥

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

Continuing Ann Moses' article:

“How long have I got?” he questions the director, “I’m getting embarrassed.” There was no answer, so he began singing “Tiptoe through the tulips” in Tiny Tim style. It was hilarious and even he couldn’t help breaking into laughter.

“Tiptoe Through the Tulips” by Tiny Tim. Also known as "Tiptoe Thru’ the Tulips with Me", is a popular song published in 1929. Singer, Tiny Tim, release his version in April, 1968. It was a new tune when Elvis was singing it out of fun during the '68 Comeback Special filming, as Ann Moses remembered happening.

You can hear Elvis singing one verse of this song on the Youtube Shorts I shared previously when Ann Moses mentions Lisa Marie). What a funny guy, our Elvis. ♥

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

Continuing Ann Moses' article:

“Well, how about. . .’someone left the cake out in the rain’. . .” He was now mimicking, in an extra-deep voice, Richard Harris’ hit record “MacArthur Park.” Again, he laughed.

You can listen to Richard Harris' song on Youtube, here.

Everything was ready now. He took that special stance and GLARED at the camera. The music started. . .”If you’re lookin’ for trouble. . .you’ve come to the right place.” Rough and tough, he was singing “Trouble,” twitching lip and all. But then he called, “wait, wait. . .” and the tape stopped. He looked at us and said: “Did you see that?” He was laughing again. “I got my lip caught on the microphone!”

This above isn't the take Ann is referring to (I didn't found it [:(], but one of the takes he sings "Trouble" during one of the '68 Comeback Special's stand up concerts). You got the picture.

Continuing Ann Moses' article:

He goofed the famous lip twitch. Of course, it had to be right. It all started again and this time it was perfect. In the middle of “Trouble” the tape broke into “Guitar Man” with Elvis singing “well, I’ve come a long way from the car wash. . .” and he sings about heading back down the road with a guitar slung over his back. He picks up his guitar, slings it over his back and walks off down the black corridor into the flashing lights symbolizing the future. The audience was hysterical and that’s good because the reaction is all on tape too. It was so spontaneous and so beautiful. What I gather the special is all about is sort of a life story of Elvis through his music, ending of course, with him walking into the unknown future, that for him can only get better. All I can say is I didn’t sleep for two nights and I’m still having dreams. I guess that’s what can happen when you’re touched by magic! — Recollections by ANN MOSES, editor of TIGER BEAT and NEW MUSICAL EXPRESS MAGAZINES, as published in her Facebook page on January 8, 2024.

Pictures 1-2: Elvis '68 Comeback Special. Picture 3: Ann Moses on "Elvis: That's The Way It Is" (1970, theatrical version).

ON ANN MOSES: Ann is one of the girls appearing on "Elvis: That's The Way It Is" (1970) documentary on the fan interviews portion of the film. In one of her interviews years later, Ann says that she was a fan of Elvis previous to the '68 Comeback Special but her love for him hibernated for a while during Elvis' Hollywood years (60s) due to all the new music for the youth that was happening at the time, but then ever since 1968 and Elvis' comeback to performing live in 1969, Ann was again a die hard fan, instantly — and that she is until today. Every now and then she talks about Elvis Presley on her Facebook page, sharing articles she wrote on him to the magazines she was an editor for back in the days, also about her experiences watching Elvis performing live, the time she visited him on a movie set in 1969, and so on. Ann Moses published a memoir book where she talks about her experiences as a young woman living among big stars in the 60s and 70s - obviously she mentions Elvis there. Her memoir book is entitled "Meow! My Groovy Life with Tiger Beat's Teen Idols", published in 2017.

Picture 1-2: Elvis and Ann Moses during and after his press conference at the International Hotel (August 1, 1969 - the press conference was held right after Elvis' opening night at the hotel's showroom). Pictures 3 and 5: Elvis performing at the International hotel on August 2, 1969, both photos by Ann Moses. Picture 4: Ann Moses.

[e-mmygrey]

History Must Repeat Itself - Stranger Things Fanfiction (Act 1 - Chapter 1)

Author's note: Before you start, I want to say that this isn't some thoroughly plotted, new storyline to our beloved Stranger Things. It started as a thought before falling asleep: what would happen to some poor girl who fell for all three of these guys?

As I wrote this, another thought popped into mind: what if this new character's mother was a part of Brenner's LSD experiments while pregnant but didn't tell Brenner like El's mother did?

So, basically this is a cultivation of those two thoughts... Please don't judge too harshly as this was something I wrote as "downtime" to writing my own original book. 

Thank you!

---

September 1984

         My head leaned back against the wall, absently staring at the stucco ceiling. I've attended eight schools in my life. Every school in America had the same ceiling, I swear. I considered the mass production of stucco when I heard my name. Standing up, a man wearing a cheap suit stood in front of me. He gave me a judgemental look over, taping papers against his hand. Matched with my Chucks, oversized jeans and long-sleeved striped shirt was my outfit straight from my time in Seattle. From what I'd noticed in my week here, it wasn't a normal look in Hawkins.

I held back the sigh on my lips, and grabbed my backpack off the floor.

"William Hargrove?"

"It's Billy," the other student in the office stood, his own bag slung over his shoulder, politely smiling at the principal. My eyes ran over the tall teenager's figure. His dirty blonde hair was curled in a way that made me wonder how natural it was and how much product was in it. His jeans were fairly new and I could tell if the sun directly hit against his white shirt, it'd become translucent. Another look I hadn't seen in Hawkins.

"Alright then, Billy. Here's your new schedule, your locker assignment, and combination," the principal, whose name I genuinely couldn't remember, said, "feel free to come by any time and ask questions. I noticed you're a basketball player. Good man. We'll be excited to see you on the court."

Billy smiled, nodding, "yes, sir. Thank you."

Billy Hargrove glanced down at me, his smile changing to a seductive smirk as he exited the office. I kept my expression neutral, though I wanted to roll my eyes at him. Great. I was starting a new school with a golden child.

"And here are yours, Miss. Connors. Have a good first day. Hopefully, it's your last," the principal handed me my own little package. I raised my eyebrows in appreciation before the man walked away. Glad to see how the hierarchy works in this school.

I walked out of the stuffy office, scanning the papers in my hands. I've found as I've gotten older, the school administration assumed the changing of schools had to do with me as a student and person. My mother's continuous discovery of a "great new job" wasn't on their radars.

I agreed with the principal though. I hoped this was my last move like my mother had promised. I only had two years of school left. The hallways had few people lingering in them, late for their first period classes. All eyes rested on me, and the whispers began. Great. That never got fun.

"I've never been the new kid before," a gruff voice came from over my shoulder. My spine jumped at the unexpected voice. The tanned teenage boy walked behind me, but close to my shoulder. I could smell the hair spray, but my question still hung about the natural curl. His blue eyes shone, giving me a charming smile.

"It's not that exciting," I muttered, "staring, whispers, rumours, friends that stick around for a day, and people wanting in your pants. It goes away after a month when the shine dulls."

"I don't know, that all sounds very exciting," Billy said, "though I may take my time getting through all the pants around here. It's a long school year."

I snorted, looking back at him. I didn't believe him at first, but Billy's eyes roamed over a few girls in the hallway. I rolled my eyes, shouldering my way past people. Great. I'd caught the attention of a floozy within minutes of being at Hawkins High. I stopped at my assigned locker, silently entering the combination.

"I think we should stick together," Billy said confidently, but I recognized the look on his face.

"Jess?" I said, finishing his sentence. I opened the locker door, obscuring his smug face. Billy didn't take my hint, casually wrapping his arm over the door. The amused smirk was still on his face.

"Jess," he said my name with finality, "we should stick together. Get to know each other a little better. Y'know, have at least one friend who won't disappear in a few days," Billy ran a finger up and down my arm. I paused briefly, looking at his finger. I ignored him past that, taking out a notebook and pencil case along with the schedule the principal gave me from my bag. I shut the locker door swiftly, Billy's arm falling off and he stumbled. This annoyingly handsome individual looked straight off the pages of a magazine ad.

"Let me know how that goes. I'm sure there's another new student somewhere in this school who'd love your," I intentionally paused, "friendship," I said with a smirk.

Leaving the amusing boy at my locker, I started towards where I assumed my first class was. Against the lockers ahead, there was a crowd of teenagers, loudly talking amongst themselves. Seems some people didn't care about their classes. Everyone was looking at Billy behind me. Unintentionally, I made eye contact with the boy at the centre of the crowd. The handsome boy with very fluffy and manicured hair had his eyes on me. He had a careless smile on his face. I sent him a tight lipped smile, ignoring the heat pooling on my cheeks. Why did this small town high school have such attractive people?

           High school never changed. The first two weeks went by as it always did at a new school. I said my name more times than a person should have to. I learned so many people's names and after eight schools, I was fairly skilled at remembering them. People spoke to me every opportunity. I was rarely alone and it was a pain in the ass.

Much to my surprise, Billy Hargrove was either at my car or my locker before class every day. I rarely answered him past basic answers. I was annoyingly amused by his consistency. I thought he'd have given up already. I noticed every day, Billy had a new girl hanging off his arm. He was always surrounded by the teenagers I'd figured to be the popular kids. The kids had given up on trying to recruit me after a week when I wore a band shirt to school. They left me alone thankfully.

Though he weirdly tried to be my friend, I didn't think Billy and I had anything in common. That was until the third day of school, when we pulled into the school parking lot at the same time. 

My younger sister, Madison, didn't stop talking from the moment we left the house. Unlike the people I went to school with and interacted with daily, I didn't remember any of the names Madison told me. She didn't either.

Luckily for mine and Madison's habit of sleeping in, the middle school shared the same property as the high school. Another point of proof to Hawkins to being a small town. I'd driven my sister to school since I got my licence and first car at sixteen years old. Like our mother, Madison was bubbly and friendly with everyone. For the most part, that personality trait skipped me. 

As I backed into the parking spot, I thrusted my daily mug of tea into my sister's hands. Madison already made friends with her entire class and the mornings brought a level of excitement from the thirteen-year-old that I didn't understand.

"Max, hey!" Madison yelled across me into the next car, pushing the travel mug back into my hands and throwing her door open. A young red-haired girl stepped out of Billy's Camaro. She gently smiled at my sister, replacing the surprise on her face. Madison ran over, throwing me a half-assed "thanks" as she walked beside the other girl. Stepping out of the car, I tried to call out that she needed to be out right after school, but they were already out of earshot. Billy didn't give his sister a second look.

I sent Billy half a smile, reaching into the back seat for my bag. The gravel behind me shifted, and I sighed. I wouldn't get inside or finish my caffeine before my daily Billy interaction. Billy stood behind me wearing his signature smirk with his hands resting on his sides. Weirdly, I felt more comfortable around the boy. I was even starting to like him more than I found him annoying.

"I didn't know you had a sister," I commented, shutting the car door.

"Step-sister," Billy corrected with a snap, uninterested. He leaned against my car with his hand on the roof. Billy's face was close when I looked up, his breath gliding across my cheeks. It smelt like mint, even though I'm sure he'd smoked at least two cigarettes this morning. I glanced past him. Teenage girls walked past, whispering and glaring at me. Unsurprisingly, my daily Billy conversations weren't appreciated by the hormonal females. It definitely affected their friendliness levels.

"It's nice of you to drive your step-sister to school," I said, stepping out from his intense gaze, towards the school.

"My dad makes me," Billy fell beside me, "if you want, I can pick you and your sister up one day. We could drop them off early and spend some time together."

I huffed a laugh, "as much fun as that sounds and as much as I would love a few hours off from babysitting Madison, my mother might kill me for letting her in a random boy's Camaro."

Billy chuckled, "you watch your sister a lot?"

I'd only seen my mother for an hour each day this week, work and sleep consuming all her time. Well, what I assumed was only work and sleep. Our longest conversation was about which groceries she wanted and how we should be parking the cars. 

From the day I could take care of myself and Madison without burning the house down, that's how my interactions with my mother went.

"You could say that."

Billy held the school door open for me. I paused, not expecting his chivalry. But then he winked at the girls walking by us and followed the rears as they passed. Billy was dizzying.

"I have a proposition for you," Billy muttered in my ear as we got to the thicket of students.

I wearily glanced at the handsome giant, "am I going to throw up?"

Billy smirked, "how about I drive your sister home after school a few times, let her and Max hang out," I heard something in his voice as he said his step-sister's name, "then I'll bring her home. Give you some time to yourself. I'll introduce myself to your mother so your sister isn't with a stranger. I'm great with parents."

I smiled at the familiar faces I knew, walking up the stairs towards my locker. I glanced at Billy before watching where I was going. Maybe after three days, he'd already figured out his regular tactics weren't going to work.

"What's the catch?" I asked.

"The catch, Jess Connors, is that you have to go out with me."

I looked at Billy as we stopped at my locker. I didn't know he'd remembered my last name from the first day. Billy slung his arm over the top of my open locker door, his usual spot.

I sighed, "I'll think about it, Billy."

Billy winked, tapped the metal twice and walked away. As he passed the floppy hair boy a few lockers, who I knew now as Steve Harrington, they glared at each other. I rolled my eyes, grabbing my things for the morning two classes. I swear Billy used his vat of nice words during our morning conversation. His player attitude flowed through every interaction I saw from him during the day. Too bad for him and anyone else who dealt with him after me.

          As it was every morning, the door to my first period English class was still locked. The teacher hadn't arrived. He was often late, a trail of alcohol fumes behind him. I leaned against the door frame with the other students gathering in the hall. It was the second week of school, and some days I was certain, I was getting second hand drunk. How this man still had a job, I didn't know.

"Murphy's class, right?" the boy at the locker next to the door asked, a kind smile on his face.

I nodded with a smirk, "how did you know?"

The boy chuckled, his long curls tossed off his shoulders as he removed his denim jacket. It was covered in patches of bands that I recognized and a few I didn't. I didn't get the chance to look longer.

"That room smells like straight vodka by the end of the day. The summer is the worst. I'm sure Murphy's been drinking in his office since the early sixties."

I chuckled, "is that why he tried to hand out Romeo and Juliet as the first assignment?"

The boy nodded his head enthusiastically, "that happened to my class three months into my junior year."

I tilted my head at the expression on his face. It was like he was thinking much further back than last year. The boy shrugged, a bored expression dominating his face now.

"I'm not very academically inclined. 1984 is my year though," he laughed with a wink. He stuck his hand out, "I'm Eddie Munson."

I shook his hand, "Jess Connors."

My eyes flickered down to our connected hands, feeling the rings adorning his fingers. This Eddie Munson was already the biggest character I'd come across in Hawkins, Indiana.

"Good to meet you. Let me know if you ever need anything," Eddie looked behind me, "except for alcohol. I think Mr. Murphy has that covered if you ask nicely."

I followed his gaze to a rough looking Mr. Murphy coming down the hall. I glanced back at Eddie, rolling my eyes. He had a natural smile across his face. It pulled at my heartstrings. He was possibly one of the cutest people I'd ever seen. He just radiated goodness.

"Thanks. Alcohol really isn't my extracurricular of choice. Grade nine Jess learned it the hard way," I commented, following my classmates into the now open room. As we all began to sit down, Mr. Murphy announced for the students with last names in the first half of the alphabet to pick a name out of the box on his desk. That would be our project partner.

Internally, I swore. Partnered projects never went well. Though I was glad we weren't picking our partners. I'd have ended up with the kids who didn't do any work or the ones who wanted to do all the work. I sat on my foot as I waited for my doom.

A brunette girl came up to me, a piece of paper in her hands. She awkwardly smiled at me.

"Jess, right?" I nodded, "hi, I'm Robin Buckley. We're working together."

I smiled, shaking her hand as she sat on the chair in front of me. I noticed her blue eyes, and wondered why all the prettiest people at this school were crossing my path. Was the universe trying to damage my self esteem? Remind me that Seattle was far away?

Before either of us could say more, Mr. Murphy began explaining the assignment. Thankfully, the assignment would be easy if we both did work. It took Murphy longer than necessary to explain what we had to do. He continued to stumble over his words and forget where he was on the rubric. Robin gave me a look of exasperation and I held back my laugh. Instead, I rolled my eyes, making her silently laugh.

         Almost an hour later, Mr. Murphy slunk to his desk hidden at the back of the room. He opened a reusable water bottle, and took a long sip from it. The sigh he let out afterwards was too relieved to be from water.

"I've got work after school today, but we can meet tomorrow at lunch," I told her.

"Where are you working?"

"Palace arcade," I answered with a question mark in my voice. Robin's eyes widened.

"Oh, my gosh I love that place! I'm definitely coming by tonight and we can figure out what book to do. I might sneak off and play a video game for a bit though. Unless you don't want me to," Robin's mouth pursed, "but we need to get started, so I'll come by. What time do you work?"

The weight on my chest lightened by Robin's ramblings. She couldn't get her thoughts organised before they came out of her mouth, but I liked her. I filled her in on my work schedule and Robin confirmed that she would come by. Once that was done, we got to know each other. We bonded over playing the trumpet, though I insisted I wouldn't be joining the band at Hawkins high school. My patience for teachers turned conductors was burnt out at my last school. I didn't feel bad for laughing with Robin in the middle of class. Looking around, I don't think anyone was working.

         Sitting on the hood of my car, I waited for Madison to make her way across the field. Tapping my foot against the fender, I watched high schoolers flood the parking lot. With Journey playing in my ears, my eyes landed on Steve Harrington. His girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler walked beside him but neither spoke. Passing in front of my car, Steve glanced in my direction. His brown eyes met my grey ones, light reflected in them. His face was emotionless, but his eyes were friendly. Nancy looked up at her boyfriend. He took his eyes from me, and gave her a half smile.

"Hey Harrington," a familiar voice dryly called.

Steve, Nancy and I turned. Billy strutted across the parking lot with his friends. I couldn't use a different word to describe how he walked. Steve froze, and Nancy hid herself behind his shoulder. Stopping my music, I slowly took my headset off. This was a different Billy than who spoke to me every morning. Billy's eyes were darker, looking for prey. His friends were horrible. I didn't know their names, but during lunch, Robin told me about them. She gave me a run down on everyone I was going to school with. The people Billy hung out with, the "popular kids", made everyone's lives miserable. From what Robin had seen, they were Steve's friends the year before, but now clung to Billy.

Billy must've felt my gaze as he tormented Steve. He looked at me, his gaze staying dark. I didn't look away when I was caught.

"What can I help you with, sweet thing?" he asked, cruel tone in his voice.

We stared at each other. His friends shifted on their feet, looking at me too. They were waiting for instructions from their pack leader. My tongue wet my lower lip. I felt tempted to make a snarky comment, but I didn't want to set anything off. It wasn't worth it and I hadn't been at this school long enough to know  how the people around me would react. Instead I turned to Nancy.

"Hey Nancy, did you get the science homework?"

Relief appeared on her face, and with her hand latched to Steve's, she tugged them over. I glanced at Billy, the challenging smirk had turned into one of annoyance. The corners of my lips turn up, sliding off the car's hood. I knew I'd ruined whatever plans Billy had. I briefly wondered if this would end our morning conversations.

"Thank you," Nancy whispered once they were in front of me.

I shrugged, "he doesn't need the extra attention. His head is big enough."

I talked with Nancy casually for a few minutes as Steve looked on. Eventually, getting bored, Billy's friends dispersed and he wandered to his car. Instead of resting with his back against the Camaro's door, he faced us, forearms against the roof. I felt his gaze on the side of my head. I didn't look at him. Like I said, Billy didn't need the attention.

Once the pack had disappeared completely, Steve and Nancy walked away. Steve mumbled a quiet 'bye' to me, the first word he'd even sent my way.

Once I was by myself, I glanced over to Billy. I raised my eyebrows, encouraging him to share his thoughts. Billy smiled, different than the last, winking at me. His smile was genuinely amused, but I didn't know why. His expression enticed a smile on my own face with a quiet chuckle. Billy's smile gave me warm feelings.

"Can you take me to the arcade? Max says there's a really cool game that I need to try," Madison asked after calling my name, tossing her bag through the back door's open window.

I rolled my eyes dramatically at my sister, "well, since my first shift there is today, of course, I can drive you," I turned to the red-headed girl who silently was getting into the Camaro, "Max, would you like to go? I can drive you home afterwards. I'm only training for a few hours."

Max looked at Billy for permission. He rolled his eyes, waving towards my car.

"Whatever. I'm sure she won't kill you. You're too annoying."

Slamming the Camaro's door shut, Max rolled her eyes at her brother. She mouthed 'thank-you' to me as she slid into the back seat. I turned to Billy to confirm when I would bring his sister home but he only winked at me, got in his car and drove away, revving the engine. 

[familyabolisher]

The individual tomb is more narrowly a product of the eighteenth century and therefore more explicitly related to public health guidelines for the reorganization of urban space. Yet their logic was still largely olfactory and thus equally resonant with Laporte’s analysis. Vic D’Azyr, for example, recommended a four-foot distance between separate graves in cemeteries; individuation and separation were designed to keep the “morbific rays” that emanated from the corpses from intermingling in deadly brews. What quickly became an issue of personal dignity was initially sought in terms of individual odor and public promiscuity: to each his cesspool and to each his grave. The same olfactory/excremental factors that transformed body, bed, and tomb into distinct spatial units were operative at the level of the building and the city. Their influence is clearly demonstrated in the evolution of the hospital during the second half of the eighteenth century, a process in which many recent introduction studies have recognized the emerging physiognomy of modern space. Its characteristic feature is discernible in the consistent compartmentalization and fragmentation of space into discrete components with sharp edges and clearly delineated contours. For instance, in Jean-Baptiste Le Roy’s 1777 proposal for a new Hôtel Dieu to the Académie, the wards are isolated and aligned as separate pavilions. “By means of this disposition,” he argued, “each ward is like a kind of island in the wind, surrounded by a considerable volume of this fluid so that winds can carry off and renew it easily by the free access between them.” A single and easy step separates architectural reforms in hospital and cemetery design from public health policies, large-scale urban interventions, and utopian schemes for ideal cities.

Rodolphe el-Khoury, 'Introduction' in Dominique Laporte's History of Shit

[dailyanarchistposts]

Footnotes

[1] I here gladly acknowledge my obligations to Victor Drury, {15} whose classification I adopt and follow.

{1} Actually Say may have gone farther.

{2} From Royal Commentaries of the Incas (1609) by El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega (c. 1539-1616; not to be confused with the earlier Spanish writer of the same name); Lum quotes from the 1871 translation by Clements Markham.

{3} Principles of Sociology I.ii.10

{4} Probably American historian John Lothrop Motley (1814-1877).

{5} Swiss historian and economist Jean Charles Léonard de Sismondi (1773-1842).

{6} Jack Cade, leader of 1450 peasant rebellion; John Wycliffe, 14th-century Catholic dissident; Jacob van Artevelde and Philip van Artevelde, father and son, 14th-century Flemish nationalist leaders; Étienne Marcel, bourgeois leader involved in the 1358 French peasant rebellion known as the Jacquerie; rising of the Swiss cantons: a 14th-century confederacy that threw off Habsburg rule; Cola di Rienzi, 14th-century Italian revolutionary leader; Hanseatic League, Renaissance mercantile alliance of northern Europe.

{7} A reference to Auguste Comte’s (1798-1857) division of history into theological, metaphysical, and positive/industrial phases, though in his description of the details Lum seems closer to Spencer than to Comte.

{8} Barebone’s Parliament, form taken by the British Parliament in 1653, between the dissolution of the Rump Parliament and the rise of Cromwell’s Protectorate, taking its name from the involvement of religious dissenting leader Praise-God Barebones or Barebone or Barbon (c. 1598-1679); Emmanuel Joseph Sieyès (1748-1836), French revolutionary leader who served in the national legislature known as the Convention.

{9} “Progress and Order” (or equally “Order and Progress”) was a popular slogan among followers of Comte; see the Brazilian flag.

{10} Pen name of American humorist Benjamin Drew (1812-1903).

{11} Bonds payable only upon the death of a third party, though here used metaphorically to mean payable only in the afterlife.

{12} “The voice of the people [is] the voice of God.”

{13} Scottish writer Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881), whose description of economics as “the dismal science” has often been thought (as probably here by Lum) to refer to its conservative aspects (e.g., Malthus’s alleged proof that improvements in the lot of the working class were unattainable), though in fact Carlyle meant to be condemning its liberal aspects (specifically its opposition to slavery).

{14} plural sic.

{15} Victor Drury (1825-1918), French-born American anarchist active in the Knights of Labor.

{16} William Godwin (1756-1836), English anarchist philosopher who advocated voluntary equality of property.

{17} American economist Henry George (1839-1897), who though generally a free-market advocate regarded society as the legitimate owner of all land, and consequently favoured replacing all taxation with a single tax on land; American state-socialist writer Edward Bellamy (1850-1898); Lum’s line “looking backward to Sparta and Peru” is a sarcastic reference to Bellamy’s utopian 1888 novel Looking Backward.

{18} A reference to an example in Henry George’s 1881 book The Land Question.

{19} German economist Wilhelm Roscher (1817-1894), an important influence (perhaps surprisingly) on both the German Historical School and the French Liberal School. The passage quoted is from Joseph Lalor’s 1878 translation of Roscher’s 1854 Principles of Political Economy.

{20} A frequent misquotation from Shakespeare’s Tempest IV.1.151-57, eliding “the baseless fabric of this vision” with “we are such stuff as dreams are made on” a few lines later.

{21} English economist David Ricardo (1772-1823) had argued in his 1817 Principles of Political Economy and Taxation that there was a natural tendency for wages to approach the cost of production of labour, which he held to be the bare cost of keeping the labourer alive and able and willing to work; however, he also held a) that wages may be kept above this natural rate indefinitely in an improving economy, and that b) willingness to work depends in any case on cultural factors (including prevailing standards of comfort and decency). Dropping these qualifications, Ferdinand Lassalle (1825-1864) and other socialist thinkers developed Ricardo’s theory into an Iron Law of Wages according to which wages are doomed to stand forever at bare physical subsistence so long as the wage system survives.

{22} Classical liberal English statesman John Bright (1811-1889), free-trade and anti-imperialist activist; the quotation is from Bright’s Glasgow University installation speech in March 1883.

{23} Whatever source Lum is quoting (presumably by Henry George) is evidently to be found reprinted in the 1901 Sunset Club.

{24} In Greek mythology Cerberus was the three-headed dog who guarded the entrance to the underworld.

{25} A standard Spencerian concern, taking the line of progress to run toward greater differentiation. By “to greater differentiation” Lum presumably means “in preference to greater differentiation.”

{26} The quotation is from Spencer’s 1876 Principles of Sociology V.18 §570.

{27} This phrase often means “piecework,” but in the present context seems to mean labour done on one’s own without cooperation.

{28} The English phrase “to go without saying” derives from the French aller sans dire, although aller de soi, “to go of itself,” may be the more common French idiom.

{29} Lum had had an acrimonious falling-out with the Greenback Party ten years earlier.

{30} Change of antecedent sic.

{31} Presumably there should also be a hyphen between “from” and the first “day.”

{32} An agrarian association friendly to the urban labour movement, formed in Michigan in 1889; a similar movement of the same name was formed in Ontario the following year.

{33} The passage that follows is drawn from the article “‘Greatest Happiness’ Principle” (Westminster Review XI, no 21 (July 1829), which is apparently but not explicitly by Bentham; see Macaulay’s discussion.

{34} The quotation which follows is from Herbert’s “A Politican in Sight of Haven.”

{35} Principles of Sociology V.xviii.563.

{36} Probably a reference to the title of Henry George’s 1879 Progress and Poverty.

{37} Either American economist Amasa Walker (1799-1875) or his son Francis Amasa Walker (1840-1897).

{38} American anarchist and currency reformer William Batchelder Greene (1819-1878).

{39} Hebrews 11:1.

{40} This makes no sense, and is an error for “will not go bankrupt at the same tine” in the original.

{41} Should be “since it is subscribed.”

{42} From Proudhon’s Organisation of Credit and Circulation (1848).

{43} Science of Wealth (1866), ch. 5.

{44} Another quotation from Roscher.

{45} “The great thinker is the secretary of his age”: from English philosopher George Henry Lewes (1817-1878), Problems of Life and Mind (1874).

{46} The Land Question (1881), ch. 16.

{47} Bavarian-American anarcho-communist Johann Most (1846-1906).

{48} French novelist Edmond François Valentin About (1828-1885).

{49} First quotation from Rights of Man (1792), II.1; next three from First Principles of Government (1795).

{50} Reference to a quotation from Malthus.

{51} Science of Wealth, XI.6.

{52} American abolitionist, businessman, liberal economist, and antiwar activist Edward Atkinson (1827-1905).

{53} German-American anarchist August Spies (1855-1877), one of the Haymarket martyrs.

{54} Isaiah 58:1.

{55} American abolitionist poet John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892), in “Stanzas for the Times.”

[kimseokjin2024]

BTS' Jin Drops New OST for tvN Drama 'When the Stars Gossip'

The group BTS continues to work hard.

According to multiple officials, Jin recently sang the main theme song of tvN's new drama 'When the Stars Gossip.'

This is the second time Jin has sung a drama OST. As it previously showed off its global popularity by topping iTunes' top song charts in 90 countries including the United States with the main theme song of the drama 'Jiri Mountain', it is expected that the response to the new OST will be hot.

Jin has been showing off his horizontal and horizontal performance since he was discharged from the military.

On the 15th of last month, he released his first solo mini-album 'Happy', ranking 53rd on the Billboard main song chart 'Hot100' and 4th on the main album chart 'Billboards 200'. With the album, Jean also ranked second on Billboard 'Artist 100'. In addition, it achieved another career high with initial sales of more than 900,000 units.

In addition to his main job, he is giving off a sense of entertainment that he has been hiding by confirming his guest appearance of 'Neighborhood Star K4'Handsome Guys' on Sundays' and a regular appearance of 'Crazy Arcade'.

As such Jin searched for OSTs, fans' welcome is growing.

'When the Stars Gossip' is a work about the life of a boss 'Eve' who works on a zero gravity space station and an uninvited guest 'Dinosaur' with a secret mission. The production team of luxury goods including producer Park Shin-woo, who directed `Secret Forest'. On top of that, Lee Min-ho, Gong Hyo-jin, A.M.S. Han Ji-eun, is drawing attention as the best anticipated film in the first half of 2025 as all actors such as Kim Joo-heon and Lee El appear.

The work will be shown on January 4, 2025 in a follow-up episode of 'Love on the Single Tree Bridge'.

Source: Sports Chosun

[agendaculturaldelima]

#ProyeccionDeVida

🎬 “VICKY CRISTINA BARCELONA”

🔎 Género: Comedia / Romance

⌛️ Duración: 96 minutos

✍️ Guion: Woody Allen

🎼 Música: Giulia y Los Tellarini, Juan Serrano, Paco De Lucía, Muriel Anderson & Jean-Félix Lalanne, Emilio De Benito, Biel Ballester Trio With Leo Hipaucha & Graci Pedro, The Stephane Wrembel Trio y Juan Quesada

📷 Fotografía: Javier Aguirresarobe

🗯 Argumento: Vicky (Rebecca Hall) y Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) son dos jóvenes norteamericanas que van a Barcelona a pasar unas vacaciones de verano. Vicky es sensible, racional y tiene intención de casarse; Cristina es apasionada y busca aventuras emocionantes; en realidad, no sabe muy bien lo que quiere, pero sabe perfectamente lo que no quiere. En Barcelona, ambas se ven envueltas en una relación poco convencional con Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem), un conocido pintor vinculado sentimentalmente a su tempestuosa ex mujer María Elena (Penélope Cruz).

👥 Reparto: Javier Bardem (Juan Antonio), Penélope Cruz (Maria Elena), Rebecca Hall (Vicky), Scarlett Johansson (Cristina), Patricia Clarkson (Judy), Chris Messina (Doug), Christopher Evan Welch (Narrador), Kevin Dunn (Mark) y Pablo Schreiber (Ben).

📢 Dirección: Woody Allen

© Productoras: The Weinstein Company, Gravier Production & Mediapro

🌎 Países: Estados Unidos-España

📅 Año: 2008

 📽 Proyección:

📆 Jueves 24 de Octubre

🕗 8:00pm.

🎦 Cine Caleta (calle Aurelio de Souza 225 - Barranco)

🚶‍♀️🚶‍♂️ Ingreso libre

🙂 A tener en cuenta: Prohibido el ingreso de bebidas y comidas. 🌳💚🌻🌛