#I can’t see the whole structure of football changing

[orlandospride]

I just don't understand the logic of wanting smaller goals and fields. And for me it's not about sexism or the sport being the same or anything. The question for me is: what problem does that solve? I think anytime you want to do something er should start at identifying an issue and than thinking about a change that could solve it. Your other examples make sense: problem: women have more non-contact injuries solution: making women specific cleats problem: women are at greater risk of concussion solution: hard to say but possible ones: getting rid of headers or limiting their use, greater punishments for high elbows, knees and feet in congested areas. But I don't know what problem changing field and goal sizes solve, I think we have to start with the problem, specially because any changes comes with downsides, some tenporary and others permanent. With the goal, temporarily we might see more post collisions while players adapt to the smaller space, longer term we may have fewer goals and more draws, what is the upside to balance that?

there is a quality gap in women’s football and I don’t think anyone would (or could) deny that. there’s a gap in men’s football too and high scorelines aren’t restricted to any particular league or country. sometimes things go wrong and really weird things happen. a top side will have 6 put past them totally out of the blue, but they’re far less of an anomaly in women’s football and you can all but guarantee the winner when a top 3 side plays...anyone else

I don’t see less goals and more draws in a game that currently has lots of goals and lots of (one sided) wins as a bad thing. I think draws more often between say, arsenal and chelsea, is a fair trade off if it means bristol city aren’t getting 48 goals put past them in 17 games (some of those stats are even more dramatic outside of the wsl, I’m just using the wsl as the example because it’s the league I’m closest to following)

I fully acknowledge and accept that goalkeepers aren’t always to blame for goals and smaller goals aren’t magically going to make the teams at the bottom suddenly able to compete because the issue is so much bigger. for me the problem is parity between clubs in almost every division in any country, and whilst there isn’t one singular quick or easy fix to it, I don’t think it’s out of the question that smaller goals might be able to help with that. having a smaller goal would (probably) mean there’s less of them . having a smaller ball would (probably) mean less concussions and faster passes giving you a more fluid and exciting game

it always has to be about balance, IE how do you stop the top 5 or so teams in the world from stockpiling world class players and therefore being able to score 50, 70, 100 goals a season without punishing them for being the relatively few clubs who are actually willing and able to invest? the only league I can think of where the parity is not so much of an issue, though often does still lead to the same handful of teams leading the table and winning tropes, is the nwsl. but that’s because they’ve had very specific rules which europe has never really had a willingness or desire to emulate. I also think it should be about fun. football is a sport, but it’s also a game. it’s supposed to be fun and personally seeing some massive one sided victories or goals that could have been saved kind of….isn’t. smaller fields are unpractical and doesn’t translate well to grassroots, but a game with smaller goals, smaller fields and a lighter ball I think could bring hugely exciting and really enjoyable games

I love football. I want it to be good. I know with the disastrous implementation of VAR there’s, to some extent, an attitude of “just leave football alone” but I think there are some changes which could genuinely be fun. I remember when perez got slated for suggesting a 60 minute match instead, granted his suggestion was for monetary benefit, but I also think in hindsight that one could have been fun too. and as someone who sits through 100 minutes of men’s football dross every Saturday, and I just think football could be more fun if we, collectively, weren’t so resistant to change. football is old and old is great, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be better or that we at least shouldn’t entertain new ideas

[superhero--imagines]

Part 1 here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here!

A/N: I can’t always do tags since these parts are long but if you want to be tagged just lmk @thecrazytealady

* Honestly, everything feels so normal

* You’re sitting in the stands of a football stadium as a sea of graduates pass in front of you

* Well it’s mostly normal except for all the stares you get

* “You’ll get used to it” Kate tells you from your right side, you’re not sure when it happened but somehow you’ve become her favorite little member.

* “Sometimes we stare back to mess with them” Irina says from your other side with a teasing grin.

* Irina also seems to really like you, she’s probably you’re favourite

* While everyone else treated you like a child (which in a sense you are), she treated you like an adult

* You hope you can save her if things go exactly like they did in the book

* You’re hoping your close friendship with Edward changes things

* “Oh look there they are now-“

* And right on cue Alice was called first, then Edward

* An entire group of cheers erupt from your section, a few stands above you sits the entire Cullen clan

* Apparently the rest of them have already “graduated”, Alice and Edward are playing a year younger

* You catch him after the ceremony on the -pretty cold- field along with your-

* aunts?

* You’re not really sure what the official family structure is.

* “So what is this, your thirtieth time graduating high school?” You whisper to him after handing him his graduation present

* Some sheet music you know he’s been eyeing and a card that says “you only graduate once”

* You think he’ll appreciate the joke

* “It actually only my sixth” he grins, he so close you can feel a ghost of a breath on your ear

* You notice a couple of boys, adorning similar green graduation gowns staring at you. When you meet their eyes they hastily look away.

* “Hey Edward, what are those guys thinking right now?”

* He follows your line of sight and grins even wider

* “They’re thinking that it suddenly makes sense why I’m not interested in anyone at this school when I’m already dating someone as beautiful as you”

* And if you were anyone else you might have realized how you and Edward look when you’re together to everyone around you

* And it might have been the first sign that things have started to veer of the future you imagine

* But of course you don’t, and you say:

* “Really? You want me to believe two teenage boys used such eloquent language?”

* He laughs

* “I might have picked some.. kinder diction.”

* You both laugh, another private joke that would be referenced for years

* “And where’s my graduation gift?” Alice asks, you hand over a brightly wrapped package, it’s a magic 8 ball and a Chanel scarf, Edward already read Alice’s mind and assured you she would love it.

* “That’s hilarious” she says with a laugh, she hasn’t even opened the package, already seen what’s inside with her gift.

* “Are you coming to our graduation party tonight?” When she notices your confused expression she gives a pointed look to Edward. “You didn’t invite them?”

* Edward rolls his eyes

* “I didn’t think it would be that fun,” he looks to you and explains. “It’s just a party Alice likes to throw to help us fit in better.”

* “It also to commemorate graduating and going to college, which is Infinitely more fun.” She grins, a hand on Edwards shoulder

* He turns his attention to you, his mouth quirked in a lopsided smile

* “Do you want to go?”

* The party scene in Eclipse sure looked fun

* “Sure, sounds like a fun time.”

* It’s decided you’ll drive up with Edward after they all split up, and go to the party with him.

* You’re telling Kate and Irina when they get a look on their face

* “Is that not okay?” You wonder if it’s about Tanya, and how maybe she doesn’t like you spending so much time with Edward.

* “No it’s fine it’s just... will you be alright with all those humans?”

* You had done fine on the stands, but a house party was different, you guess it’s probably easier to eat someone when there are so many dark corners and so many suspects to pick from

* You wrinkle your nose, honestly you don’t get what the big deal is, sure they smell kiiinda nice, but the scent is comparable to one of your deers.

* Also, who knows where these people have been and what they’ve been eating. The thought of eating an alcoholics blood makes you scowl.

* “I think I’ll be fine” Irina laughs, and rests a hand on your shoulder

* “We’ll tell the others, do you want me to bring you a drink later on?”

* You shake your head, you ate a little bit more since you were going to be around so many people today.

* “I should be fine, Edward will probably drive me home, but if not I can always run”

* You always forget you can run faster than a car now.

* “I doubt Edward will refuse the opportunity to spend more time with you.” Irina smirks and you roll your eyes

* You’re both just friends, stuck in family’s where everyone seems to be in a relationship (except for you that is)

* There’s only so much you can take watching Eleazer and Carmen’s pda

* “I’ll see ya later” you excuse yourself to find Edward, who seems to be talking to a group of boys

* “So what’s their deal, are they your cousin or something?”

* “Um... they’re a family friend”

* Looks like Edwards confused about your family structure too

* “They look older are they in college?” Another asks, Edward hesitates, well you are older but you’re not really in school

* “Are you hooking up with them?” Edward winces

* “No we’re not close like that.”

* You decide now is a good time to intervene in the conversation

* “Hey, are you ready to go?” Edward looks relieved to see you

* “I’ll see you guys tonight at Alice’s party” he offers a polite smile before leading you towards his car

* When you’re finally out of earshot, you say

* “You know, I always thought we were the closest of friends” You think he’ll grimace at your teasing but instead he grins.

* “Do you enjoy being the subject of several teenage boys imaginations?”

* “I mean, it’s not-not a little bit flattering.”

* On the drive back to his house Edward takes you through town and points out every mundane landmark like you’re on a safari tour

* “And that is the grocery store I never visit, and next to it is the diner I had to pretend to eat food at during my mandatory “senior breakfast””

* “So what you’re saying is, this is the worlds’ most boring town.”

* “I would say boring adjacent, the town we’ll move to next doesn’t even have a major grocery store”

* He’s definitely talking about Forks.

* You must have killed quite a bit of time with your impromptu tour because when you get to the party it’s in full swing

* You and Edward stand in a corner and play your favorite game

* “Blonde girl in the corner.” He says

* Edward picks someone, and you have to guess what they’re thinking. You’re never right but it’s still funny

* “Hmmmm I’m going to say she’s thinking... ‘This is what all the hype was about? Can’t believe I’m wasting my Saturday night HERE.’”

* He laughs and shakes his head

* “She’s actually thinking about how the object of her affections hasn’t noticed her once, and has been spending all his time with someone else instead.”

* You totally miss the meaningful look Edward gives you.

* You make a face, unrequited love was the worst

* “Well that sucks, I wish there was some way we could help.” Edward only shrugs

* “They’re human problems, for us even if the person we love doesn’t love us back, we just wait a a decade or so, and they usually change their mind.” He grabs your untouched red solo cup

* “I’ll go get us some more drinks.” For a second you wonder if maybe Vampires can drink alcohol, but then you immediately deflate.

* Oh right, the human act, you almost forgot.

* You’re standing by yourself when the “unrequited love” girl from before approaches you, another girl with hair the color of caramel in tow

* “Hey, I haven’t seen you around before, do you got to our school?”

* Any person could see this was a hostile encounter

* anyone except you that is

* “Nah, I’m taking a gap year right now.”

* “Oh?” Miss. Unrequited lights up at that. “Didn’t get into your first choice school?”

* “No my parents died.” You say it causally, but they both freeze at that. So much has happened, colleges and your parents are the last thing in your mind. You notice the reaction though “It’s been a while though, so everything’s fine now”

* You give your best smile and the girl in front of you seemed flustered

* “How do you know Edward?” Miss. Caramel asks, while her friend takes a long sip from her cup.

* “Well- I guess he’s a family friend, but really I met him through Carlisle.”

* “Through Carlisle?

* “Dr. Cullen,” you quickly supply, to them he’s just the local handsome doctor. Not exactly someone who they’re on a first name basis with. “Yeah, Carlisle talked about Edward a lot when I was in the hospital.”

* Before you can scar either of these girls further, Rosalie appears by your side

* “Hey! Glad to see you made it!” She gives you a side hug and turns her amber eyes to the girls in front of you. “Amber, Bethany glad to see you. What are you guys talking about?”

* Both of the girls fall speechless in front of her, probably from her beauty you guess.

* You still get the urge to shield your eyes when you look at Rosalie.

* “Edward.” Rosalie rolls her eyes

* “Of course, the most perfect man alive.” You snort at that.

* “Perfect my ass, I saw him snort drinking yesterday and he sprayed the whole counter top.” Rosalie raises a well groomed eyebrow

* “Really?” A smiles tugging on her lips

* “That’s not even the worst part, do you know he took 43 minutes to clean it up.”

* Rosalie laughs, and the other two look at you with awe.

* “Edward Cullen snorts?” The caramel Coloured hair one, Bethany asks.

* “To be fair I did say a pretty good joke”

* “What was the joke?” Amber asks, and you grin.

* “What did the vampire say to the girl?” They look at each other and shrug

* “What”

* “See you next month” The two girls don’t seem to think it’s good, but Rosalie is dying of laughter

* “He must have hated that!”

* “Oh I’m sure he did, that’s why I said it” Rosalie laughs even harder

* By the time Edward comes back, it’s basically just a two way conversation with you and Rosalie roasting the ever loving crap out of Edward, with two humans eagerly watching

* “One time while we were eating Edward just kept complaining about how “existence is agony and how none of us have a soul” like dude, we’re eating, could you just chill for a second please?” Rosalie says and you laugh

* “I have the perfect Edward impression” you clear your throat and set your face to the best “I’m constipated and existence is agony” face you can manage “I’m an outsider. No one can understand me. No one has thoughts like I do. Existence is agony”

* if Rosalie could die she would have died of laughter, she’s hunched over and every time you think she’ll stop laughing she starts another wave.

* “To be fair, I don’t think anyone has thoughts like mine” You turn to see Edward behind you, he’s actually got an amused smile as he hands you a red solo cup.

* “It’s Henrietta,” he whispers in your ear. “ I figured all the laughing might have made you thirsty”

* “For an outsider like yourself, that’s awfully kind of you.”

* The laughing did make you thirsty, it also explains what took him so long. You wonder if he ran all the way to your house to get you a drink.

* Rosalie doesn’t say anything just grins as she watches you two, Edward’s eyes flick from you to her, and you wonder what he’s experiencing right now

* You’re not going to lie, his narrative of mind reading was your favourite part of midnight sun

* “Do you want to dance?” Well that question came out of nowhere.

* “Sure”

* Queue you and Edward awkwardly waltzing on the makeshift dance floor

* “Who taught you how to waltz?” Edward asks as you step on his feet yet again, you’re glad he’s a vampire and can’t feel pain.

* “You. Right now. I’m learning from the school of life experience.” You grin and he rolls his eyes

* “Here,” he picks you up, and places your feet on top of his. “Better?” You nod and laugh

* “They’re kind of cute right?” Rosalie says to Amber and Bethany, a twinkle in her eyes. Amber sighs.

* “Yeah they are.”

* Rosalie feels kind of bad. She didn’t mean to rub it in her face, but she doesn’t like anyone being mean to you. She already kinda liked you from The game night , and after tonight she REALLY likes you. It’s nice to have someone else on the “roast Edward squad”

* “Oh look, it’s Bradley from the swim team, should we go over and say hi?” Bradly was definitely single, and Rosalie loves playing matchmaker “Sure”

* Edward drives you home at the chaste time of 11:30

* “Did you have a good time tonight?” He asks, walking you to the front door. Ever the gentleman.

* It’s not like a thing alive could hurt you anymore.

* “Yeah it was really fun!” He let’s out a sigh of relief and a nervous smile.

* “That’s good, you’ve been seeming kind of... off lately so I was worried”

* Ah, so he had noticed. You had been feeling off lately. Only four more years with him at most until he moved somewhere far away.

* “Yeah, I’m just a little jealous I guess.”

* “Jealous of what?” His eyebrows thread together. And you sigh.

* “You get to go to college and I can’t.”

* You really are jealous about that, While you’re stuck in the house, Edward will get to move forward and make all sorts of relationships and memories

* His mouth purses, and you feel bad. You shouldn’t have said anything, there’s nothing he can do about it after all.

* “Ah, don’t worry about it, I’m just glad to be here with people who care about me.” That only makes him frown more. But he offers you a small smile.

* “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says and then he does something really unexpected:

* He kisses your forehead, before retreating back to his car. You watch his car wind away down the circle driveway from the porch. A hand on your forehead where his lips touched and a flutter in your heart.

* Man, Edward was so unintentionally smooth, no wonder Tanya was still hung up over him

* Wait, was Tanya still hung up over him?

* Somehow you found her behavior not consistent with someone with unreciprocated feelings

* The days pass on by, Edward’s around more now because it’s summer break.

* Likewise trips to the Cullen residence are also more frequent because it’s summer break

* You oddly enough spend a lot of time with Rosalie, you mostly roast Edward but occasionally you reminisce about human stuff

* “What do you miss the most?” She asks and you think for a minute

* “Probably Italian food, maybe alcohol” She let’s out a moan

* “Oh my god, how good does mushroom ravioli in a creamy Marsala sauce sound?”

* “Good enough to kill for”

* By extension you also get close to Emmett, but in a totally different way

* “Alright hit me with everything you’ve got!”

* “Uh are you sure about this Emmett?”

* You’re both in a clearing about thirty feet apart

* “Yeah, just show me what you’re made of” He giving you a wicked grin, no doubt glad to have someone new to spar with.

* You shrug, he is asking for it

* He doesn’t even make it a foot forward before he crumples to the ground. You’ve been holding back so long, it almost feels good to not have to contain all your body’s grief

* You reel it back in when he taps out. You expect him to look at you like you’re a monster but he just grins

* “You’re really something else kid”

* You even get close to Esme who assists you in drawing up a schematic for a barn, and Jasper helps you build it.

* “I think the door should go here” he tells you

* “But then it would be facing the fence and that doesn’t seem right”

* He scratches his head and you stare at the architect sketch in your hands

* “It’s supposed to be right here” Alice tells you, already searching through the future for the correct placement.

* And of course you and Edward continue your piano cat and mouse game, where you each start a piece and wait for the other to catch up to your playing.

* Maybe it’s because things are going so well that you can’t help but wonder what went wrong with Tanya and Edward

* So one night, when you’re sitting together in the library, you ask her

* “Tanya why do you hate Edward�� She sputters

* “I don’t hate him!” You raise a skeptical eyebrow and she sighs “it’s just- it’s embarrassing !”

* She tells you about how Carlisle had told her about his son, and how he was the last to be without a mate, and was very depressed

* “I thought of it like I was doing a service you know, we would date for some time and have a brighter perspective on this life.”

* You can already guess how this story ends, but you ask “So what happened?” She huffs

* “Well he flat out rejected me, told me I wasn’t his type, can you believe that? A forever 17 year old telling ME I’m not his type.”

* Yeah for a woman like Tanya who was every man’s ultimate fantasy that does seem pretty mortifying

* “Is it-“ you meet her eyes “is it okay that I’m friends with him then?”

* Her eyes soften and she beckons you into a hug

* “Of course it is little one,” she kisses the top of your head “and if it ever happens to grow into more than that that’s okay too.” You wrinkle your nose

* “I wouldn’t bet on that Tanya.” She rubs your shoulder

* “Well you never know, and if that happens, and for some reason he’s lost his mind at tells you you’re not his type don’t take it personally, there’s something seriously wrong with that boy.” You laugh

* The days pass by in a blur.

* Edward starts college studying veterinary science, and every day he comes back and teaches you what he learned

* “Sometimes I feel like I’m getting more out of this than you” he tells you as you do his homework

* “It be like that sometimes”

* You start experimenting with other animals blood, mostly chickens, ducks, and geese.

* You also have a moose now so that’s cool

* After many faithful years Henrietta passes away. You stayed in the barn with her all night, and planted a pine tree over grave.

* “All things die in the end huh?” You whisper as you stand over the first deer you befriended, and Eleazer rubs your shoulder

* “Not us” he whispers

* “Not us” you repeat

* You and Edward are lying next to each other in your bed, both of you pretending to sleep

* “What was it like when you turned?” Edward’s the one break the silence. He always is when you do your dreaming sessions

* “It was... nice” it really was, the venom was warm like a blanket, lulling you into a peaceful last sleep. This surprises him.

* “Are you some kind of masochist?”

* “Well what was it like for you?” You roll your eyes. He goes on a long descriptive tangent, but in short: it was absolute agony.

* “Well that’s weird, I wonder if Alec had some kind of special venom or something.” He flinched at the mention of Alec but doesn’t say anything else.

* The days pass on, just as they always have, but something starts to feel off. Both in your household and in the Cullen’s house. Some sort of tension

* You think about asking Edward or Eleazer about it, but decide against it.

* Maybe you’re just being paranoid

* One day you’re getting blood from the kitchen, when you notice the entire coven is sitting on the kitchen table

* Weird, but maybe they do this all the time and you just never noticed.

* “(Y/N) can you come here for a moment?”

* Well crap

* They all ramble over each other for a few minutes, and you only catch bits and pieces of what they’re saying

* “Everyone here loves you-“

* “It won’t be forever-“

* “Carlisle might even get you a blood bag or two-“

* “Enough!” Tanya roars and immediately the others fall silent, she looks at you with warm eyes and a kind smile

* “(Y/N), the Cullen’s are leaving,” ah, so it’s already time for them to go, Tanya explains how the Cullen’s move around more often than your coven does, on account of Carlisle’s job. Well you knew this was coming. It was nice while it lasted

* “-And that’s why we think you should go with them”

* Wait what.

* “You want me to leave?”

* “No of course not!” Irina shouts, wide eyed, she’s sitting the closest to you. “It’s just-“

* “We see the way you look at Edward,” Eleazer says. Oh not this again, how many times do you have to say it. YOU BOTH ARE JUST FRIENDS.

* “Like you want what he has.” He finishes

* Oh

* “We’re too late in the cycle to send you to school, Irina and Kate have already gone, and it will be another ten years before we decide to move.” Carmen says, her teeth digging into the flesh of her lip. “A lot of things could happen in ten years,”

* The Volturi could want you back on ten years

* “so we think you should go with the Cullen’s and get an education and have a normal life-“

* “Normal-adjacent,” Kate interjects, because life was never going to be completely normal for you ever again. Carmen grins,

* “Normal-adjacent life, you’ll get to have friends, and you could study whatever you want, you don’t have to learn secondhand from Edward.”

* “And you can come back whenever you want!” Kate reassures. “If you decide you don’t like it, and that it’s not what you want, you can always come back, we’ll be right here.”

* They all stumble over each other to reassure you that it’s your choice, and if you decide to stay that’s fine too. But there’s only one question on your mind

* “Do the Cullen’s already know about this?” The table falls silent.

* “Yes, they do.” Tanya says

* “And what do they think about the arrangement?” All eyes trail to Eleazer, so he was the go between for your Covens

* “I think they’re all pretty excited, Carlisle wanted you from the start.”

* Carmen sucks her teeth and lightly slaps him on the arm. “What it’s true, you know Esme’s been cross with him ever since she met them, she wants you too.”

* They’re all looking to you waiting for an answer. You’re not sure what the right thing to do is.

* You’re not stupid, you know things have changed from the original story line, you know the Volturi isn’t going to want Bella as much now that they have you.

* But still... you do want an education, a chance to do everything the way you always imagined

* You also kind of want to see Edward and Bella’s love story play out. Especially now that he’s your friend

* Also you think you should really deter him from watching her sleep, that crap was creepy as hell

* You sigh, there’s really only one choice

* “I’ll go with the Cullens’.”

[notmrskennedy]

Bites and Bullet Holes

(Spencer Reid x Female leaning but sorta GN! Reader)

Summary: Spencer, during college, was bitten by a dog. Working a case involving dogs brings back old memories and friends...

W/C: 3,384

Warnings: Dog bites, bullet holes, bad writing? 

A/N: Guess what I found y’all? I haven’t edited it one single bit but I hope it goes over well anyway. When I was working at the kennel I kept having anxiety over one of my kids getting into a fight so I made this. Be a little extra gentle with this one. 

---

As he leaned over the victim, he made the mistake of thinking about you. Spencer thought he’d gotten over it. The whole randomly thinking about you thing—the thing that’s happened too many times before. He’d chalked it up to you being best friends 15 years ago. Told himself that it’s normal to miss your friends from college. 

But over a dead body? This was new. 

Though he supposes the dead girl could’ve looked like you in another timeline. There’s facial structure similarities—at least to you 15 years ago at 19. She’s been strangled with her dog’s leash and there’s some unspoken quality about her that just…jerks him into nostalgia over you. 

(You are probably the one that got away, but if he’s being honest, you live in DC. He could go see you right now if he wanted to.)

Morgan leans over Spencer and points at the dog leash. “It had to be someone she knew if the dog went off with our un-sub.”

Spencer nods, fidgeting with the 15 year old scars on the inside of his wrist. Whether or not Morgan noticed, he thankfully doesn’t press. Spencer is having enough trouble stamping down that knee-jerk reaction to think about you, let alone if Derek thinks to point out the magical, ‘hey weren’t you bitten by a dog?’

Spencer doesn’t remember the incidence well enough to comment. He wonders if you do. 

“We’ll have to check shelters for the dog,” Spencer remarks. “3.3 million dogs enter shelters every year in the US.” 

Morgan nods, pulls off a glove, pulls out his phone. Spencer looks around the park. Behind the police tape are plenty of people walking their dogs. The sorts of breeds that you’ve gushed about 15 years ago. His brain knew too much about dobermans, shepherds, mallinois—he could even hear that pretty little gasp you had when you’d point out a particularly well trained monster of a pet. 

Spencer wonders if you ever did anything with your finance degree, if you even ended up finishing college at all. You’d come close to dropping out over calculus—he hadn’t been around long enough to help you through the even harder stuff. This wasn’t the first time he’d wanted Garcia to look you up, but it was the first time he’d considered it. 

“Music to my ears, mama,” Morgan laughs into the phone and Spencer tunes back in. 

“I’ll get that puppy BOLO out,” Garcia chirps back. Spencer can imagine her wringing a fluffy pencils through her fingers. “We’re going to find this doggie and make sure that psycho didn’t get him too.”

Spencer smiles despite himself. Penelope would’ve liked you. 

#

JJ sets coffee down in front of his stack of files. She smiles, gracefully sits down next to him. Spencer tries his best to ignore her insistence. Tries to ignore the ever prominent eye contact screaming ‘We’re going to talk about something uncomfortable!’ 

“So, Spence,” she says, pausing for his attention with a sip of her own coffee. He looks up for half a glance before going back to the files. He doesn’t know why, but he’s sure there’s something in this stack of work the first victim had brought home with her. They all knew the un-sub, he had to be somewhere. 

“Spencer,” she says more insistently. He makes the mistake of looking up, of letting her place a hand on his. She gently turns the wrist over and pointedly glances towards the teeth marks. “Are you doing okay?”

He opens his mouth, but decides some things are better kept to himself. He thinks about saying that no, he wasn’t alright, that being plagued by thoughts of the first-love-of-his-life is haunting him more than the dog fight. 

That he can see your face in each of these victims. In their dogs. In the places they died. 

Dogs didn’t like him. They never did. The dog bite wasn’t the big deal out of the altercation. 

JJ won’t understand, so he offers her a truthful smile and says, “I’m okay. Seriously. More than 4.5 million people are bitten by dogs each year. I’m not special.”

JJ nods. Spencer goes back to his files. He forgets to hide his lovesick agony. JJ forgets not to notice. 

#

It’s 4AM and he knows he’s remembering it wrong. That the dog hadn’t been that big. That the teeth hadn’t really gotten him that bad. The bright red devil eyes and thousand yards of slobber were more than grossly incorrect. 

He sits up in bed and forces himself to remember the parts that were real. How real you had been. Before and after. 

Your car had broken down as you were leaving for work—already late—and you’d begged him for a ride. Promised calculus homework on your boss’s couch and only having to let the dogs out. No shit. No bleaching crates. No nothing. Just you, him, and some calculus homework. 

He’d caved. Now, running his hands over his eyes, he laughs at how obvious he had to have been. A skinny little 19 year old pimple of a boy majorly crushing on the first person to pick him out of a crowd and decide they’d be friends. The first friend who’d forced him to a tailgate at a football game. The only person he’d do absolutely anything for. 

And it was just like you promised. Your cute little nose wrinkle. Your horribly frustrated glares. Your over dramatic ‘I’m dropping out!’s every fifteen minutes. And it’d been great until you both heard a thunderous snap of a wooden fence and the wildest, most murderous howling he’d ever heard. 

You’d both bolted for the door, scrambling to get through the gates into the back. There’d been a moment of calm. Another beat. Another. And…you both had stumbled around the corner to find the next door neighbour’s dog, broken chain, trying to kill one of the kennel’s dogs. 

There had been no moment’s hesitation on Spencer’s part. He’d stupidly rushed forward, lodged his hand between the neighbour’s mutt and the sweetest dog he’d ever met. He’d yanked her free from the mutt’s jaws, only to find his own wrist dragging along the teeth. 

(He realised later that he’d always had a propensity to run head first into danger. No calculations needed.)

There’d been two beats for the dog to process it’s chew toy was in Spencer’s arms. To process that Spencer made a better victim. That Spencer’s throat and limbs were softer and easier to tear. Thankfully, he’d scrambled back enough that when the dog launched, it didn’t catch flesh. It chomped on air. Less than three inches from him. 

Fangs. Tightened lips. Black gums. Slobber. 

The mutt could be equated to Stephen King’s The Sun Dog. Always hesitant to process his trauma, it’s the one book—gifted by you during a Halloween birthday for him—that sits untouched on his bookshelves. There’s too much of you in the inscription in the cover. Too much of that horrible mutt in the pages. 

The next part of the night blurred in his memories. In his near perfect memory, it blurred. Trauma, right? 

You’d screamed. You were in front of him. You had the dog’s chain in your hands. He was running. The dog was heavy in his arms. His arm stung. You were screaming. He should’ve gone back. 

Five god-awful minutes later, you’d come into the house. Limping. Clutching onto your arm. You’d taken one look at Spencer running his wrist under the tap and forgotten about your own injuries. Despite the blood dripping off your arm. Or the quiet yelp every time you stretched. You’d barely taken ‘I’m fine, you’re the one bleeding’ as a reason to not bandage him up first. 

The only thing that calmed down the dream every time he had it was the memory of holding your hand while you got stitches. How your face pinched with the pain. How you’d said, ‘next time, it’s your turn to take the bullet.’ How he’d smiled and promised. 

Spencer watches the clock tick by and decides it’s too late to go back to sleep. Hotch’ll be up in an hour. No need to delay his start. Women were dying. Women you would’ve been friends with.

#

“Okay, crime-fighters, I found our connection,” Garcia chirps over the speaker phone. “All of our victims attended very specialised dog training courses at a facility just outside of DC. The owner said they’d send in one of their trainers to talk to you. Should be there anytime now.”

“What kind of specialised training?” Emily asks. Spencer feels like he should be contributing, should be processing any of this, but his head is pounding. He doesn’t have a hangover, but god does it feel like it. 

Garcia hums as she types. “It’s a military facility. Awww, they’ve got puppy pictures on their website!”

“Garcia—“

“Right, right. It’s a top notch facility and oh! A bunch of the FBI dogs graduate from there. I wonder if they get little caps and gowns and—“

“Hey, baby girl, the trainer’s here. We gotta run,” Morgan interrupts, though he’s all smiles to stare at whomever is plaguing his interest. 

There’s another squeal of please get puppy pictures before the call cuts and Spencer finally has the self preservation to look. And god does he look. 

15 years has made no difference on your skin and he can’t believe he’s not staring at you from across a lecture hall. The only indication you’ve changed is the nervous smile you’ve plastered on and the dog at your side. Every fun fact about german shepherds instantly crosses his mind and he can’t help but drop his jaw a little further. 

It sinks to the floor when you spot him and wave. You wave. At him. In front of coworkers. 

He’s out of his seat before he can stop himself. That easy smile reserved for movie nights falls back into place on your lips. Twinkles in your eyes. 15 years haven’t passed. Maybe he needs to check for pimples again. 

“Y/n,” he croaks and the same time his name leaves your lips. The dog at your side stands and you correct the gesture with a harsh word in what he’s sure is German. 

“FBI, huh?” Your eyes trail over every inch of him, crossing your arms in a relaxed, familiar kind of way. “I expected more math, Mr. I Like Derivatives.”

“The shepherd there doesn’t look like finance either, y/n,” he teases back like no time has passed. Like he doesn’t immediately feel incredibly guilty for ditching you for the academy. 

“Oh come on,” you huff, “you really think that I was cut out for an office job? I lasted six months.”

And before he can warn you, even think about warning you about the team that’s slowly creeping up behind him, they are all suddenly there. Very keen on knowing the ins and outs of how you know Dr. Spencer Reid. 

“Reid, you gonna introduce us?” Morgan smirks, clapping a painful hand on Spencer’s shoulder. You busy yourself with petting the dog at your hip, looking everywhere but Morgan’s insistent gaze. 

“Guys, this is my friend y/n from college.” 

JJ raises an eyebrow at the lack of explanation, but plows ahead with introductions. Takes charge of guiding you to an interview room. Gets through the entire interview without once asking about your relationship with him. 

Morgan watches Spencer rubbing the scars and makes the leap. “You okay, kid?” 

Spencer breaks from staring at your face as you talk about getting your start in Germany—Germany—and swallows. This was fine. It’s okay to tell his friend—his brother—about the story he’s never really talked about. 

“I stupidly put myself in the middle of a dog fight,” Spencer grits out, flexing and un-flexing his fingers. Every scar burns and he can’t help but stare at your smile again. “Y/n saved my life. She choked out the dog, Morgan, before he got a hold of me. Left the hospital with 12 stitches.”

“Oh,” was his all too helpful response. They both turned back to the interview. How everything jovial about your entire countenance shifted once JJ started mentioning the victims. 

“Look, Agent Jareau,” you say, leaning dangerously far away from the conversation, “They are—they were really smart women with some dangerous dogs. I don’t know—I just—there’s a lot of sickos out there.”

Every profiler within a 20 mile radius can hear the change in tone, can hear the fear. Spencer knows a lot can change in 15 years, but he thought for sure you’d never become a serial killer. He doesn’t know if it’s all his years in the bureau or if he’s still too attached to you, but you don’t seem like the killer. Not like JJ seems to think so. Sure, you’re terrified, but the dog you have is nosing your arm. Giving you big ole puppy eyes. Spencer doesn’t think a serial killer can pour that much into a relationship with an animal. 

“What do you mean?” JJ clocks the movement and switches to a maternal type of body language, tone. “Is there something going on?”

Your hand pauses on the dog’s head, and it noses your hand into action. “I, uh, just got a weird letter two weeks ago. It wasn’t—it was just weird. Off-putting.”

“Right before the first victim,” Spencer mutters. Weird letters indicated stalking. Victims with you as a central point meant stalking. Stalking meant you were probably next. Oh, god, you were next. 

JJ stretched a hand across the table and took yours. “You’ll get through this. You’ll get through this, y/n.”

#

Spencer didn’t know what to do with his hands. It was so much worse than normal. Should he stand? But what should he do with his hands because crossing them seemed too defensive? Or should he just sit down? But where? And was that rude?

Instead, he just took the cup of tea you offered and followed you like a lost puppy. Granted, it was your house and he was definitely lost. He also felt vaguely at home—there were a decent amount of bookshelves by his standards and even more mismatched furniture than he had. The house was well cared for and when you sat him down on your couch, you swept away a stack of training manuals, all sporting worn covers. 

Was it wrong to feel like he was settling onto your old apartment couch for movie nights?

You puff out a breath of air and lean your head dramatically into the back of the couch. “So, since you’re my FBI escort, is it wrong to ask if you still like cheesy 90s movies?”

He shakes his head. Grins. “You still have Legally Blonde?”

You just giggle as you head for a stack of movies. You strike up some conversation as you rummage and he knows he’s hooked all over again. It’s going to take weeks to get over you again. It’d taken months the last time, and he feels slightly less attached this time. But did he really think it would take more than a simple question about the latest thing he’s read? He wishes he knew you better, just as well as you seem to still know him. 

Though by the end of the movie, you’ve both returned to your college days. Practically curled into each other’s side. You still have horrible commentary about the movie, peppered in with Spencer’s annoying movie trivia. If it was anyone else, he figures, he would’ve been kicked out long ago. 

You still distinctly smell of vanilla, flailing the scent around as you move closer and further and closer again. You wear enthusiasm with your whole body and if you aren’t turning rapidly between facing Spencer and the movie, how could you possibly begin to explain correctly? 

Your shoulder keeps a constant pressure against his, your knees half over his thigh. There’s too many instances of hollering and laughing that you grab onto his knee to steady yourself. If this hadn’t been a protective detail, he might’ve lost his mind. 

Thank god for focus. Work. Work. Work. Not your hands on his knee. Definitely not your smile as you declare your affection for scented resume stationary. Totally not how hot it’s getting under your too affectionate gaze. 

“Spence, I really missed this,” you whisper, nudging your shoulder with his. “I know it’s weird to be thrown together after 15 years, but I—I missed you.”

“I—“ missed you too; fell in love with you in college; think I love you now. 

But there’s no time for heartfelt declarations when someone’s incessantly banging on the door. Spencer’s got half a mind to get the door for you, holster his gun, focus on keeping you safe. The banging doesn’t soften as he calls out that he’s on his way. If anything it gets worse. 

And it should’ve been the first red flag of the night. 

Spencer opens the door and thinks very loudly, “why the fuck do I always run headfirst into danger?” 

Their un-sub, a buzzcut that looks more Army that not, shakes a pistol at Spencer and demands to be let inside. There’s only so many ways to defuse the situation, so he back ups, tucks you behind him. Their un-sub winds a little tighter, shaking like one of those monkeys with cymbals. 

“McLaggen?” you whimper behind Spencer and the Army man fires a shot into the floor. You grip tighter onto Spencer’s shirt, digging in your fingers dangerously close to his skin. 

The buzzcut is red, boiling over with rage, words bubbling out of his throat. “Y/n, I just can’t stand to see you with them. You never notice me. You’re always working, so I thought I’d get your attention. Cut the competition. I just—you mean so much to me, y/n. You mean too much.”

Spencer is sure he won’t remember this day accurately as he pushes you just a little further behind him. He’s about to do something so incredibly stupid. Dear lord, why the fuck is he like this? And he lunges. 

The gun’s trapped in both of their hands. There’s one more bullet fired—at the ground he’s sure. There’s a squeak of fear. Just enough of a distraction. One more ounce of weight thrown around. One more lasting punch. McLaggen lands on the floor. The gun skitters away. McLaggen groans as he’s handcuffed.

You gasp and he realises immediately that he’s bleeding. That he’s on the floor. That there is a bullet lodged in his thigh. Again. 

One string of swears later, you’re on the phone with 911. Yes, he’s shot. Yes, there’s another in handcuffs. No, I’m not a whore, send the damn ambulance.  

You take his hand as he lays there, much like he did in the hospital 15 years ago. Unlike then, you’ve got tears pricking at your eyes. You’re sniffling like a school girl, and he’s not sure if you’ve said that aloud. 

“Spencer!” You wipe a stray tear. Squeeze his hand too tightly. “Why the hell, you freakin’ moron, did you take a bullet for me?”

He laughs, bubbling up out of his chest before he can stop it. You are too pretty to be this upset at his laughter. You are too lovely to be worried about him. To still be worried, like nothing has changed one bit. 

Every inch of him is trembling. Blood loss and bullets are bitches.

“Y/n,” he wheezes through dry lungs and more leg pain than he remembers there being, “I promised.”

You blink your eyes. What the hell are you talking about, Spencer Reid, you absolute idiot?

“I promised I’d take the next bullet. In the hospital.” He grins, groans as he moves to drag you into a hug. “I’m a man of my word, y/n, and I promise that if I keep the leg, we’re going out. Properly.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you grumble into his ear and squeeze his neck tighter. If the paramedics don’t bother to pull you off, who’s to say you won’t stay like that forever? Attached to the loveable, danger prone idiot, who traded dog bites for bullet holes?

[maxwell-grant]

Having seen your thoughts on his deeply-unpleasant daddy, might I please ask if you have any thoughts on The Gladiator himself, Hugo Danner? (THE SUPERMAN WHO MIGHT HAVE BEEN, if you will).

What would you do if you were the strongest man in the world, the strongest thing in the world, mightier than the machine? He made himself guess answers for that rhetorical query. "I would—I would have won the war. But I did not. I would run the universe single-handed. Literally single-handed. I would scorn the universe and turn it to my own ends. I would be a criminal. I would rip open banks and gut them. I would kill and destroy. I would be a secret, invisible blight. I would set out to stamp crime off the earth; I would be a super-detective, following and summarily punishing every criminal until no one dared to commit a felony. What would I do? What will I do?"

The thing that strikes me about Gladiator is that it almost feels like the book is unfinished. The quality and pace of the book is all over the place, but you can boil it's general story down to "unlucky bastard is born Superman before it's time for Superman to exist, without the necessary support, mindset and structure to become Superman, in a world that neither supports nor accepts the existence Superman, and just as he's about to have the life-changing epiphany that could make him something, he gets struck by lightning and dies in the 2nd-to-last paragraph".

The whole book is like if in the first Spider-Man story Peter Parker just gave up after Uncle Ben died and we never saw him again. It's a superhero/supervillain origin story that gets cut short right as it's about to lead to the birth of the character proper. It's frustrating, yes, but to my scavenger goblin brain that likes to dig through pop culture's trash to find nice forgotten trinkets to polish and make into something new, it also invites a lot of promise, if we get into the question of what could have happened to Hugo Danner if he didn't die on the cusp of his origin story. It's an idea I plan to use for my own pulp writings.

It's not so much whether or not Hugo MIGHT have been Superman, so much as: COULD he be Superman? Maybe, maybe not. I'd argue not, because even with all his power, and even with his parents trying to raise him as best they could, even with Hugo genuinely trying his best to be good and heroic and turn his gifts to mankind, it wasn't gonna pan out. The right pieces weren't there, the family structure wasn't there, the necessary aspects of the origin story weren't there, and ultimately, Hugo Danner wasn't cut for it. He is a failure at everything he tries to be super at.

At college on the football field, he kills a man. As a soldier on the Great War, he slaughters thousands for years, but fails to end the war, despite having been able to do so from the moment he enlisted. He is fired from a steel mill for working too far beyond the abilities of his fellows, and then fired from a bank for freeing a man from a locked safe, because the bank president suspected that Danner planned to use his powers to rob the vault. He tries using his powers to enact social change and fails again and again. He can't even enjoy daily life, because he cannot compete fairly with ordinary people, and because of that he must constantly hold himself in check, never able to fully express himself. And when he's presented with the idea of creating a race of people like him to dominate the world and to “conquer and stamp out all these things to which men of intelligence object,” he finds it ultimately distasteful, because he knows better than to expect good things to come out of his life. And then he curses God and dies. The whole book is one long argument as to why Being Superman Sucks.

He's not the break from tradition that Superman represented, he's a sci-fi superman who met the same tragic ending his predecessors did. In that paragraph above, the very first thing he thinks about, after remarking over his failure to end the war, is thinking about becoming some galactic dictator murdering everyone who steps out of line, before he considers becoming a fascist super-detective. Kind of a damning perspective to present your hero, isn't it? If Gladiator was released today, exactly as is, people would be quick to assume it's an origin story for a Homelander/Plutonian/Omni-Man kind of character. Hugo Danner was a Superman deconstruction before that became a pop culture cliche.

My favorite sections of the book are those that describe Hugo in the war. By far the best-written and most evocative, almost bordering on horror story. And they may be the most damning sections of them all. He never forgives himself for not ending the war when he could, because he's spent all those years killing and toiling away when he was just about the one person who could conceivably leap all the way to Germany and force the war to end. I imagine a lot of pulp heroes who suffered in the war, or any war, and walked out of it with a resolve to protect and do good by others, would be pretty pissed when discovering that, all along, there was this living god among them who actually could have ended the war single-handedly, but was just too damn busy slaughtering his way through fields of people who couldn't possibly fight back, to think about it.

And for all that Hugo says that he hates war and murder and bloodshed, he sure seems like a total natural for it:

Hugo, out of his scarlet fury, had one glimpse of his antagonist's face and person. The glimpse was but a flash. He was a little man—a foot shorter than Hugo. His eyes looked out from under his helmet with a sort of pathetic earnestness. And he was worried, horribly worried, standing there with his rifle lifted and trying to remember the precise technique of what would follow even while he fought back the realization that it was hopeless.

In that split second Hugo felt a human, amazing urge to tell him that it was all right, and that he ought to hold his bayonet a little higher and come forward a bit faster. The image faded back to an enemy. Hugo acted mechanically from the rituals of drill. His own knife flashed. He saw the man's clothes part smoothly from his bowels, where the point had been inserted, up to the gray-green collar. The seam reddened, gushed blood, and a length of intestine slipped out of it.

Hugo stepped over him. He was trembling and nauseated. The bellow of battle returned to Hugo's ears. He pushed back the threatening rifle easily and caught the neck in one hand, crushing it to a wet, sticky handful. So he walked through the trench, a machine that killed quickly and remorselessly

Hugo was learning about war. He thought then that the task which he had set for himself was not altogether to his liking. There should be other and more important things for him to do. He did not like to slaughter individuals. The day passed like a cycle in hell. No change in the personnel except that made by an occasional death. No food. No water. They seemed to be exiled by their countrymen in a pool of fire and famine and destruction.

And then later, after they kill a friend of his

He leaped to the parapet, shaking his fists. "God damn you dirty sons of bitches. I'll make you pay for this. You got him, got him, you bastards! I'll shove your filthy hides down the devil's throat and through his guts". He did not feel the frantic tugging of his fellows. He ran into that bubbling, doom-ridden chaos, waving his arms and shouting maniacal profanities. A dozen times he was knocked down. He bled slowly where fragments had battered him. He crossed over and paused on the German parapet. He was like a being of steel. Barbed wire trailed behind him.

Bayonets rose. Hugo wrenched three knives from their wielders in one wild clutch. His hands went out, snatching and squeezing. That was all. No weapons, no defence. Just—hands. Whatever they caught they crushed flat, and heads fell into those dreadful fingers, sides, legs, arms, bellies. Bayonets slid from his tawny skin, taking his clothes. By and by, except for his shoes, he was naked. His fingers had made a hundred bunches of clotted pulp and then a thousand as he walked swiftly forward in that trench. Ahead of him was a file of green; behind, a clogged row of writhing men. Scarcely did the occupants of each new traverse see him before they were smitten. The wounds he inflicted were monstrous. On he walked, his voice now stilled, his breath sucking and whistling through his teeth, his hands flailing and pinching and spurting red with every contact. No more formidable engine of desolation had been seen by man, no more titanic fury, no swifter and surer death. For thirty minutes he raged through that line. The men thinned. He had crossed the attacking front.

A man dipped in scarlet, nude, dripping, panting. Slowly in that hiatus he wheeled. His lungs thundered to the French. "Come on, you black bastards. I've killed them all. Come on. We'll send them down to hell."

And years later, when he's thinking back to the misery that had been his life:

His deeds frightened men or made them jealous. When he conceived a fine thing, the masses, individually or collectively, transformed it into something cheap. His fort in the forest had been branded a hoax. His effort to send himself through college and to rescue Charlotte from an unpleasant life had ended in vulgar comedy. Even that had been her triumph, her hour, and an incongruous strain of greatness had filtered through her personality rather than his. Now his years in the war were reduced to no grandeur, to a mere outlet for his savage instinct to destroy. After such a life, he reflected, he could no longer visualize himself engaged in any search for a comprehension of real values.

If he could but have ended the war single-handed, it might have been different. But he was not great enough for that. He had been a thousand men, perhaps ten thousand, but he could not be millions. He could not wrap his arms around a continent and squeeze it into submission. There were too many people, and they were too stupid to do more than fear him and hate him. Sitting there, he realized that his naïve faith in himself and the universe had foundered. The war was only another war that future generations would find romantic to contemplate and dull to study. He was only a species of genius who had missed his mark by a cosmic margin.

Even when he's thinking about the places where he went wrong, that he blames himself for, even when's engaged in introspection, his thoughts still gravitate towards violence and hatred, of squeezing continents into submission and of how much the masses are stupid to not appreciate him (because really, all Hugo wants is to be loved and appreciated for what he is), and how unlucky he was to miss his mark.

There's just no place for Hugo Danner. Maybe it was actually rather merciful that he got to have his misery ended briefly by lightning strikes, before he could either turn into something worse, or have his life ruined more throughly.

[michaelsheenpt]

Michael Sheen: The pandemic has shown what is possible on homelessness

The actor now uses his Hollywood cash to fund his passion for activism. Sheen reveals why he revels in spending money on the things that matter and why he has hope for the post-Covid future.

Michael Sheen, activist and actor. It is in that order these days. And he’s doing rather well in both spheres. He has spent the last few years trying to find a way to balance his twin passions. And, he says, he is slowly getting there.  

“A big part of it was shifting things in my head and knowing what the priorities were,” says the 51-year-old.

“I made the shift psychologically to go, right, the acting work and everything that comes with that is going to support the other stuff I’m doing.  

“So even though to the outside world, maybe it wouldn’t seem like it – because I’ve been doing lots of acting work and things that have kept the profile up and all that –  from my point of view, the priority has been different. Now the acting work fits in around the other stuff.”

That ‘other stuff’ involves supporting the Homeless World Cup and the fight to expand access to affordable credit, campaigning to get the right to a good home enshrined in law in Wales and combating loneliness with the Great Winter Get Together (an idea inspired by the late MP Jo Cox). Then there’s working with Social Enterprise UK, for whom he is a patron alongside The Big Issue’s Lord Bird, helping local journalism and communities get access to trustworthy information, publicising and supporting both foodbanks and theatres and fighting period poverty.  

It’s a heady and righteous cocktail of vital causes. And it takes up a lot of Sheen’s time. With the Covid pandemic of 2020, and Brexit around the corner, he feels his activism is going to be more important than ever in 2021.

“Everything that was happening before Covid came along which has been exacerbated,” says Sheen. “So it’s not like issues I was focused on beforehand – around homelessness and high-cost credit – are going away.

“We’re bracing ourselves for it getting a lot harder and more people being involved. The work that was going on pre–pandemic is going to get even more pressured. Because when you look into anything around poverty and inequality before the pandemic, the fallout from the way Universal Credit was being rolled out was having a massive effect. Well, there’s going to be a lot more people on Universal Credit now.”  

But Sheen also sees this as a moment to seize, a chance to rebuild society anew, a period that is packed with potential.  

“We saw what was possible around homelessness during the pandemic, where people were able to get off the streets and were put into accommodation and given support that wasn’t there before,” he says.  

“That has made a lot of people think. If that’s possible during a pandemic when people are really motivated, then why can’t it happen afterwards as well? Why does it take a pandemic to do it? We have seen that the fact there are still people living on the street is a political choice.

“So while we are bracing ourselves for really challenging times, that’s balanced out by a sense that there’s the chance to build up from the ground again. How do we reimagine who we are and how we live and how we work together? The status quo wasn’t working. So we have to innovate, we have to reimagine, we have to reinvent – there is a moment of possibility to build back better.”

He is on a roll. He sounds like a politician. A good politician. With that rich, sonorous voice rising as he advocates a new way of living, a new vision for society. He compares the imminent, we hope, post-Covid moment to the situation facing the post-war Attlee government. 

“When you go through a big, nation–changing event, which this has been, there’s the opportunity to reimagine a different relationship between the state and society and between us as a community,” he continues. “To see how communities have pulled together gives you a new awareness of who we are and what we can be. We can rebuild our nation in the light of that.  

“There won’t always be that window of opportunity. We’ll go in a new direction and a new status quo will emerge. Let’s hope it can be a fairer one.”

But Sheen is not just about ideas for a brighter future for Wales, the UK, and beyond. He’s also at the top of the acting profession. And we’ve seen a lot of him in 2020.  

There was his brilliant, uncanny, portrayal of Chris Tarrant in Quiz back in March – the memorable pop-cultural drama-doc which drew a massive lockdown audience to its exploration of the infamous, scandalous, did-they-didn’t-they ‘cheat’ storm on ITV’s Who Wants To Be A Millionaire – shedding light on the inventive, pre-internet ways WWTBAM fans across the country hooked up to game their way onto the show.

Sheen was – not for the first time in a career that has seen him portray with such skill a diverse crowd of famous names, including Brian Clough (The Damned United), Kenneth Williams (Fantabulosa), Tony Blair (The Deal, The Queen and The Special Relationship), and David Frost (in Frost/Nixon) – utterly, bewilderingly believable as Tarrant and the three-part series, aired over consecutive nights, was genuine event television. 

Then, when it became clear this pandemic and these lockdowns weren’t going anywhere fast, Sheen joined forces with his Good Omens co-star David Tennant to make Staged – the first, and perhaps only show to capture the tedium, the disconnectedness, the discombobulation of lockdown life.  

With the big–name actors playing heightened versions of themselves – Sheen pompous, cultured, guzzling wine, Tennant eager to please, upbeat, hapless – it was a roaring success on iPlayer.

“David is very different to what you see in the series in real life,” says Sheen. “But although I’d like to say I’m different to the version of me in Staged, that’s pretty much what I’m like.”

The surprise second series of Staged catches up with Sheen and Tennant (or should that be Tennant and Sheen?) a few months down the line.  

“We knew the series was very easy to do, filming it at home on a laptop – or that even if we went back to a more normal life again and were working elsewhere, we could film it anywhere,” says Sheen.  

“And by the time we came to the second series, it was different. Even though we were still spending a lot of time at home, the second series was during a period where everybody, including David and I, were trying to go back to do things. Then the rules kept changing.  

“So you never quite knew whether what was going to happen from day to day. The second series reflects that. But obviously, going back to work and trying to go back to normal is very different from me and David than they are for a lot of people – so we were aware that had to be dealt with as well, because never wanted it to be about two poncey actors and their lives. We wanted to find a way to do it so that people could still identify with it.”

This year, Sheen, like most of us, has spent more time at home. He has, he says, enjoyed catching fewer planes, appreciated his friends and extended family more than ever, raced through five series of Line of Duty and been wowed by Normal People, starting his way down Schitt’s Creek but still found little time to read novels (“I’ve asked for a few from Father Christmas”).  

Because if he does find time to read, it is usually research on housing, on fighting poverty, on rebuilding the broken or the out-of-control housing market, alongside the occasional script.

But if 2020 has been about anything for Sheen, is has been about spending time with his baby daughter Lyra.

“When we went into that first lockdown in March, she was only five months old,” he says.  

“So our focus has been her this whole time. Really our experiences wouldn’t have been massively different. The main overwhelming part of our experience of the last year has been having a baby, as opposed to Covid. And I know I’m very fortunate to be able to say that. But anyone who’s had a baby knows that that just takes up all your bandwidth.

“They give you structure, don’t they? A reason to get up in the morning. A lot of people have said it is difficult getting motivated to do stuff – but that’s not an issue when you’ve got a little one, is it? So I have got very used to being in the house. I even got to do two seasons of a TV show from my kitchen, which is pretty nice…”

Staged returns to BBC One and iPlayer on January 4

Michael Sheen on the legacy of the Homeless World Cup in Wales

In the summer of 2019, Cardiff hosted the Homeless World Cup. As the football tournament, featuring players from around the world, all of whom were experiencing homelessness, kicked off, we knew Michael Sheen had played a huge role in bringing the event to Wales.

What didn’t emerge until later was that, when some promised funding failed to emerge, Sheen was faced with a choice between sinking more than £1m of his own money into making it happen or cancelling the event.

He paid. They played.

It was a triumph and will last long in the memory. So how does Sheen feel now about it?

“It is an extraordinary event that happens every year,” he says. “It was going to be in Finland this year, which I was really looking forward to – because Finland has been quite pioneering in the Housing First strategy and I was looking forward to being able to find out more about that. But I still feel the way I did before – and what motivated me to try and make it happen here in Wales is that it is life-changing for people and can be a transformative experience in all kinds of ways.

“For some people who take part in it, it has an immediate effect. And for others, it may be years later that the effects of it manifest in their life. But that was why I was so committed to being a part of making that happen.

“A lot of the motivation for us in Wales was about what it could act as a platform for afterwards. And that has been affected by the Covid crisis, because a lot of the legacy work we were doing was unable to move forward in the way we’d hoped because of all the restrictions. But what I learned and discovered during that period has made a massive difference to me and the work I’m doing around homelessness.

“The relationships we developed through that time with support service organisations, the people I met and the insights I got into what people are struggling with and what would help were invaluable. It’s been a huge thing for me. I’m still paying for it. So that still affects my life as well, obviously, and things that I’m doing.

“But my acting work is there to support the other stuff. I’m putting money into things constantly, even though I still owe money to do with the Homeless World Cup. So until the time comes when I’m not able to earn money in the same way, then I’ll keep on spending it on the things that matter to me.”

SOURCE

[fabianocolucci]

Updates on the Aurora Leone misogynistic scandal at a charity football game

Hey, everybody. As you may have read on my blog, yesterday, May 25th, social media in Italy were talking about a misogynistic scandal that occurred in relation to a charity football event that was going to be broadcasted that night.

However, if you have no idea about what happened, here’s a recap. Ever since 1991, there’s this charity event called “La Partita del Cuore” (the game of the heart), a football match where (usually) a team of singers plays against someone else, and the event is broadcasted in Italian television so that an organization can receive donations and funding. It is a beautiful event, and, this year, the 30thanniversary was about to be celebrated, and the funding was going to be directed to an association that researches cures against various forms of cancer, a noble cause.

Yet, something absurd happened the night before. Those who were invited to play the game gathered together for a dinner. One of them was comedian Aurora Leone, member of a group called The Jackal. She was with another member of that group, Ciro Priello, when the executive director of the singers’ team, Gian Luca Pecchini, approached them and asked her to leave the table. Both of them thought that, maybe, the reason was that they were supposed to play for the opponents, and stood up, but Pecchini told Priello that there were no problems with him at the table. It was just that Aurora Leone could not sit there, because that was the players’ table, and she could not participate, because she’s a woman. (Mind you, she was invited to take part at the game, and was even asked to give them her measures so that she could receive the kit. When she mentioned it, apparently another man said “you can wear it in the stands. Since when do women play football?”)

Then, even though Priello tried to tell him that it makes no sense to have this behavior at a charity event (especially when they were given masks with “no violence on women” written on them), the two of them were taken away from the dinner, without even getting to get back to the hotel.

Of course, this whole story, as soon as Aurora Leone told it on her Instagram, was quickly heard and spread throughout Italian social media, and the vast majority reacted with hatred to this kind of behavior.

Now, this is what I told in that post I made last morning, but this is what has happened the following day.

· The singers’ team posted a story on their Instagram where they mentioned how other women had participated at the event (and they even misspelled Nobel Prize winner Rita Levi-Montalcini’s last name) and how they have many women in their staff, all while essentially blaming Aurora for the negative reputation they are giving them. It was deleted after at least one hour, but it looked like the typical “hey, I can’t be racist, I have a black friend” type of excuse, you know;

· One of the singers, Enrico Ruggeri, even went on the news and warned that the game must be held, otherwise no donations would mean fewer diagnoses, almost as if they were passively blaming her if the event was not as successful as they hoped. Still, he did mention that two volunteers from the staff were taken away after what happened, which raised some doubts because how would the executive director be a volunteer? He then even invited Aurora Leone to come and play anyway, although she had already left to go home, at 800 km away from where they were playing;

· Some of the singers invited to the game started withdrawing from the event, either by writing some apologies before leaving or just by straight up leaving (like drummer Andro, who simply showed on Instagram that he was driving his way home);

· Professional player Cecilia Salvai even revealed that she was invited as well, but, apparently, they changed their minds because there were already too many women;

· Pecchini did eventually resign officially, stating that all of that was just a misunderstanding (how saying “you are a woman, you can’t play” can be misunderstood I have no idea, but that’s what he said), and that none of the other guests had noticed what happened until she left the place;

While all of this happened, people were still mentioning that it would be unfair if nobody would end up donating to cancer research, so they were still sharing the organization’s website so that people could donate anyway.

However, a few hours before the game, there was the huge problem that there were not enough people to play a football game. As such, they decided to invite the women’s team of Juventus Football Club to play the beginning of the match.

Oh, right, because I forgot to mention that: someone said “since when do women play football?” while being in structures that belonged to Juventus, who was celebrating the fact that their women’s team had just won their fourth championship in a row. In fact, it was so funny to see that, while Pecchini’s words were circulating, their Instagram account was sharing pictures of them celebrating their winning title.

This is such a bad event to have happened, especially if we consider that, as I said, a noble cause was behind it. Anyway, these are the updates of what happened.

[infinitefandomimagines]

Consequences - Harry Bingham x reader

WARNINGS: ANGST, LANGUAGE, CRYING, 

REQUEST: Hiiii, I saw that you were taking The Society requests and I was curious to know if I could submit a request for the reader being with Harry and finding out about Harry, Campbell and Lexie’s scheme with Allie and Will and being super conflicted. If possible could it be super angsty? I love your work so much, thank you for taking the time to read this even if you don’t decide to write it. Love ya xo

+

Hello!! Love your work, can I please request a Harry Bingham angst imagine?

-

You weren't supposed to find out, that much was obvious. The shock on Harry's face the second you confronted him in his room told you he didn't plan on telling you, and the disappointment on your face told him how screwed he really was.

"So what exactly was your plan, huh? Keep me in the dark forever, or just until you and Lexie were the new rulers of New Ham?" Venom dripped from each word as you tried to mask just how truly hurt you were, how betrayed you felt.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but as far as you were concerned those questions were rhetorical, you weren't finished saying your part.

"On day one you said it was just you and me, that no matter what we could trust each other, that we would have each other's backs. We promised-You. Promised." Your voice was starting to betray you, shaking as your emotions tried to break through, but you refused to cry, refused to let yourself lose control. "Did you even think of how this genius plan of yours would affect me? How it would affect anyone who isn't you?"

"Campbell promised you'd be safe, I made sure-"

"Oh yeah, cause Campbell is so fucking trustworthy!" Your voice was slowly climbing in volume despite your attempts to stay as calm as possible. "Campbell doesn't give a shit about me, or you, or anyone in this town, he only cares about himself. Can't you see he's just manipulating you? You really think you're gonna be the one making the decisions? You're his fucking puppet Harry."

"Give me some credit, I have it handled, I-"

You cut him off again, "Can you honestly tell me that you've actually thought of the consequences of your little plan?"

Y/N-"

"I mean honestly Harry do you think of anyone but yourself? Did you even consider-"

"Would you let me fucking talk?" He yelled, a bit louder than he intended. The outburst startled you, the surprise clear on your face. Harry let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair, "I wanted to tell you, alright? But we couldn't risk telling anyone who wasn't involved and have the plan getting out."

"And what exactly was this plan of yours? Have the guard, the people we all trust to keep us safe, storm Allie's house, and what? Arrest her? Then what? Take over by force and arrest anyone who gets in your way?"

"I know it sounds bad-"

"Bad?" You were shocked at how ignorant he was, did he really not realize his harmful this could before the town? "Harry everything is finally working, stores haven't been raided, people are doing their jobs, an expedition is set to go out soon, and the committee on going home is actually making progress. This town is fragile, even the smallest shift in structure could cause a panic. Your plan would shatter this town."

"You're telling me you're seriously okay with picking up trash every day for what could possibly be the rest of your life?"

"Yeah it sucks, I don't like it either, but it works! What Allie is doing works."

"Yeah well not for me," he fired back, the two of you now in a big yelling match, "Okay, this place sucks! Everything about it sucks! The food, the jobs, the housing, the leaders." Harry felt bad for yelling at you, he hated fighting with you no matter how big or small the argument was, but everything was getting so heated that it was becoming too easy to say regrettable things

"We're on our own! We don't get to live in luxury anymore, Harry! We have to make sacrifices in order for things to work around here, I know you think you can do better than Allie, and who knows maybe you can, but this is our life now, we can't do much better!" Your voice was starting to get raw and scratchy from the amount of yelling, tears stung the back of your eyes, and you were beyond exhausted.

"Yes we can, we can do so much better! Why can't you just trust me on this? I thought we promised to have each other's backs?" He said the last part almost mockingly, and you felt your anger skyrocket, so much for trying to remain calm and collected.

"No!" You yelled in his face, "No, you don't get to throw that in my face, not after all the shit you've pulled! Going behind my back, lying to me, lying to everyone in this town!" Your voice got weaker with each word, finally reaching your breaking point.

Everything was so fucked up, Harry's head was so far up his ass that deep down you knew there was no changing his mind, and the right thing to do was so obvious, you needed to tell Allie and Will, so why weren't you already doing that? Why were you still here trying to convince Harry to change?

You knew why, and you hated it, hated how head over heals you were for him, hated how you still believed in him, hated how even after everything he'd hidden from you, you still loved him. You were stressed, angry, conflicted, but above anything you were just so tired. Tired of the fighting, the yelling, the chaos, the unshakeable feeling something horrible could happen at any moment, you just wanted to be home, back with your family. You'd give anything to have your old life back, Friday night football games, date night every Saturday with Harry, stupid high school drama and cast parties.

You sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, hunched over with your elbows resting on your knees and you head in your hands, the tears you'd been holding back finally finding their way to the surface. Your body shook as you took in ragged breaths, small sobs escaping your lips.

It seemed as though your breaking point happened to be Harry's as well, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, that's why he was so adamant with Campbell about you being safe no matter what, that you would have a say in what happened after he was finally in charge. He knew you wouldn't like the plan the second it was made, and maybe that alone should have told him there was a flaw or two with it, he considered you one of the smartest people in both West Ham and New Ham, but it was the only way to fix things and have a better life. Right?

But seeing you like this? It almost made him want to throw the whole plan out the window. Almost.

Harry took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he crouched down in front of you, his mind searched for some magic phrase that would make everything better, but he knew there was no such thing.

"Y/N," he whispered softly, "Baby look at me."

When you didn't budge he gently gripped your wrists and pulled your hands away from your face, revealing red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. He held your hands in between his, lifting them to his lips and placing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"I am so sorry I didn't tell you, I should have been honest with you the second Campbell mentioned the plan," your jaw tightened at the mention of Campbell, telling Harry to keep him out of the conversation. "I never meant to hurt you, and if I could go back and do it all over again I would, I'm sorry, Y/N."

He was genuine, and that gave you the silver of hope you needed to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could stop him from doing something he couldn't take back.

"Then tell Allie, stop all of this before it gets out of hand, run for office and try to win fairly," you pleaded. "Please, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut as he prepared to answer. He didn't know who this would hurt worse, you or him.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he couldn't even look at you as he spoke, his gaze meeting the ground instead. The sliver of hope you'd felt before had been crushed, your heart dropping into your stomach when it finally hit that there was no changing his mind. You were now the one with a choice, tell Allie and betray Harry, or support Harry and go against what you felt was the right thing to do.

"It's not fair Harry," you said in a small, squeaky voice, "It's not fair for you to put me in this situation." You were right, he couldn't argue with that.

"You don't have to do anything, just keep quiet and I promise you will be safe, but if Campbell finds out you know and you're not on board. . . Just, can you promise me you won't say anything?" Harry's eyes finally met yours.

"I don't know, Harry," you whispered, looking down.

"What?"

"I don't fucking know, okay?" You raised your voice, standing up abruptly. "You're asking me to chose between you and what I know is right for this town! I- I just need some fucking air."

You pushed past Harry, wiping stray tears from your cheeks as you rushed towards the door. You gripped the cold metal knob and pulled the door open. However, a hand came down on the door, pushing it shut.

You whipped around to see Harry, his arm extended past your head, leaning against the door to prevent you from opening it again. You let out a sharp breath, scoffing at how actions. You looked up at him in disbelief, but it seemed as though he couldn't quite meet your gaze.

"Open the door, Harry," you said in a dangerous and low voice.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave." His tone held a sense of pain in it. He didn't enjoy what he was doing. Nonetheless, he shifted his body so that he now stood with his back pressed to the door, completely blocking your only way out.

"Fucking what?"

"I'm sorry, I can't until I know you won't tell Allie and Will."

You reached for the doorknob again, even though you knew your efforts would be unsuccessful. Harry grabbed your wrist, his grip was gentle, but that didn't do anything to calm the rage bubbling up inside of you.

You instantly ripped your wrist from his grip, giving him a few choice words in the process. Frustration and anger burned inside of you, and you could feel more tears stinging the back of your eyes.

You turned your back to Harry, walking over to the window at the far end of his room. Soft footsteps echoed from behind you as Harry hesitantly walked towards you, choosing to stop a couple feet away from you.

"Y/N I-"

"Just get out, Harry." You said coldly.

"What?"

"If you won't let me leave the least you can do is give me some space."

There were a few seconds of silence before you heard Harry sniffle. "I'm sorry," he whispered in a broken voice. When you heard the door open and softly close you turned around to make sure he'd actually left.

When you saw he did, you collapsed onto his bed, letting out all of your emotions.

Everything was so fucked.

[all-souls-matinee]

The Best of Inside No. 9

Inside No. 9 (2014-) has the best Halloween special of anything ever. It’s actually one of my favorite episodes of television ever and I want more people to see it, thus today’s primer on a random show that has nothing to do with Halloween or with movies. It’s a precursor to an episode I won’t spoil in any way but that you need to have seen at least a few other episodes to appreciate.

This list is broken down by series; I’ve gone through the arduous task of choosing my two favorite episodes from each season (though not necessarily the best) and compiling them into a helpful list. The premise of the show is that each can be watched as a stand-alone; all unique short stories with totally different characters across an array of genres. The things uniting them are:

Every episode stars creators/writers Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton to some capacity

Every episode’s setting has something to do with the number 9 (an homage to 1944′s Gaslight) 

Every episode has some sort of a twist ending or revelation

It’s drawn a lot of comparisons to other things but there’s nothing quite like it. The Twilight Zone maybe comes closest in terms of plot structure/episode length, which is why these reviews are shorter than usual! No spoilers, but trigger warnings on request (for a dark comedy things can get downright nasty.)

S1E1- Sardines

This one has such a seamless transition from silly hijinks into a downright upsetting twist that it was difficult to believe they could ever top it. It’s a story about a simple party game of hide-and-go-seek, and as with any family gathering, buried secrets. 

S1E2- A Quiet Night In

This one shows off the more technical side of the show and how far they were capable of taking things, as it’s done with no real dialogue to speak of (haha.) The audio we get is instead diegetic sounds and reactions, including the soundtrack, as we follow a very tense burglary that doesn’t go as planned.

S2E1- La Couchette

This one is funny! And gross! And set in a train car (the world’s greatest setting!) Banter between so many characters we don’t know or have any reason to care about is extremely tricky to write, and they’d already pulled it off once with the first episode so this is just showing off. The twist is a lot of fun too.

S2E2- The Twelve Days of Christine

This one is heartbreaking, and in a change for In9 it’s not one of the more original twist endings they’ve had (maybe that was the real twist all along.) What matters here is some incredible acting from Sheridan Smith, as we follow a single mother through several off-kilter years of her life.

S3E3- The Riddle of the Sphinx

This one is batshit insane. Series three has the most consistently solid episodes of the whole collection so there were a lot of runners-up here, but I have to demur to the one that tried for way way WAY too many twists. It’s confusing and ridiculous and- at its most literal- an instruction in solving a crossword puzzle.

S3E5- Diddle Diddle Dumpling

This one is... odd, but in a way that I find so charming I can’t even describe it. It’s easily one of the more refined and down-to-earth episodes, but we’re also getting into how far the number 9 can take us. Here it applies it to a shoe size.

S4E3- Once Removed 

This one is a screwball comedy, but evil. Nonlinear storytelling! A hit gone wrong! Poisoning! Concealed weapons! Grievous injuries! Literal games of telephone! Estate agents! Andrew Lloyd Webber! And a twist that will shock and delight you!!!!!

S4E6- Tempting Fate

This one is set up like a story in the horror collections I used to love so much as a kid, but the payoff is better than anything those had to offer. Three contractors are clearing out the house of a dead man when they find an object that may be able to grant wishes, and there’s just enough meta-ness to make them wary, but not quite enough to stop some terrible decision-making...

S5E4- Misdirection

This one is the magician episode! Unfortunately, as someone who was addicted to watching The Prestige 2005 all day every day when I was 17 I think it might be one of my ultimate favorites. I could watch it over and over again it’s so well-written and so satisfyingly horrid.

S5E6- The Stakeout

This one is what it says on the tin- opening in media res on a crime scene and taking the form of a police procedural through the lens of a nightly stakeout. It’s quieter, measured, and chock full of hints as to what’s in store.

I fully recommend watching all 30+ episodes as even the worst of them bring something to the table; if these plots don’t sound appealing but you’re hooked by the concept or by Reece and Steve’s other work there is at least one that’ll get to you (the s2 domestic drama episode! the s5 football episode! the s4 rhyming theater kid episode not to be confused with the s4 non-rhyming theater kid episode!)

Happy Halloween <:-) 

[invisibleicewands]

Michael Sheen: ‘There is a moment of possibility to build back better’

The actor now uses his Hollywood cash to fund his passion for activism. Sheen reveals why he revels in spending money on the things that matter and why he has hope for the post-Covid future

Michael Sheen, activist and actor. It is in that order these days. And he’s doing rather well in both spheres. He has spent the last few years trying to find a way to balance his twin passions. And, he says, he is slowly getting there.  

“A big part of it was shifting things in my head and knowing what the priorities were,” says the 51-year-old.

“I made the shift psychologically to go, right, the acting work and everything that comes with that is going to support the other stuff I’m doing.  

“So even though to the outside world, maybe it wouldn’t seem like it – because I’ve been doing lots of acting work and things that have kept the profile up and all that –  from my point of view, the priority has been different. Now the acting work fits in around the other stuff.”

That ‘other stuff’ involves supporting the Homeless World Cup and the fight to expand access to affordable credit, campaigning to get the right to a good home enshrined in law in Wales and combating loneliness with the Great Winter Get Together (an idea inspired by the late MP Jo Cox). Then there’s working with Social Enterprise UK, for whom he is a patron alongside The Big Issue’s Lord Bird, helping local journalism and communities get access to trustworthy information, publicising and supporting both foodbanks and theatres and fighting period poverty.  

It’s a heady and righteous cocktail of vital causes. And it takes up a lot of Sheen’s time. With the Covid pandemic of 2020, and Brexit around the corner, he feels his activism is going to be more important than ever in 2021.

“Everything that was happening before Covid came along which has been exacerbated,” says Sheen. “So it’s not like issues I was focused on beforehand – around homelessness and high-cost credit – are going away.

“We’re bracing ourselves for it getting a lot harder and more people being involved. The work that was going on pre–pandemic is going to get even more pressured. Because when you look into anything around poverty and inequality before the pandemic, the fallout from the way Universal Credit was being rolled out was having a massive effect. Well, there’s going to be a lot more people on Universal Credit now.”  

But Sheen also sees this as a moment to seize, a chance to rebuild society anew, a period that is packed with potential.  

“We saw what was possible around homelessness during the pandemic, where people were able to get off the streets and were put into accommodation and given support that wasn’t there before,” he says.  

“That has made a lot of people think. If that’s possible during a pandemic when people are really motivated, then why can’t it happen afterwards as well? Why does it take a pandemic to do it? We have seen that the fact there are still people living on the street is a political choice.

“So while we are bracing ourselves for really challenging times, that’s balanced out by a sense that there’s the chance to build up from the ground again. How do we reimagine who we are and how we live and how we work together? The status quo wasn’t working. So we have to innovate, we have to reimagine, we have to reinvent – there is a moment of possibility to build back better.”

He is on a roll. He sounds like a politician. A good politician. With that rich, sonorous voice rising as he advocates a new way of living, a new vision for society. He compares the imminent, we hope, post-Covid moment to the situation facing the post-war Attlee government. 

“When you go through a big, nation–changing event, which this has been, there’s the opportunity to reimagine a different relationship between the state and society and between us as a community,” he continues. “To see how communities have pulled together gives you a new awareness of who we are and what we can be. We can rebuild our nation in the light of that.  

“There won’t always be that window of opportunity. We’ll go in a new direction and a new status quo will emerge. Let’s hope it can be a fairer one.”

But Sheen is not just about ideas for a brighter future for Wales, the UK, and beyond. He’s also at the top of the acting profession. And we’ve seen a lot of him in 2020.  

There was his brilliant, uncanny, portrayal of Chris Tarrant in Quiz back in March – the memorable pop-cultural drama-doc which drew a massive lockdown audience to its exploration of the infamous, scandalous, did-they-didn’t-they ‘cheat’ storm on ITV’s Who Wants To Be A Millionaire – shedding light on the inventive, pre-internet ways WWTBAM fans across the country hooked up to game their way onto the show.

Sheen was – not for the first time in a career that has seen him portray with such skill a diverse crowd of famous names, including Brian Clough (The Damned United), Kenneth Williams (Fantabulosa), Tony Blair (The Deal, The Queen and The Special Relationship), and David Frost (in Frost/Nixon) – utterly, bewilderingly believable as Tarrant and the three-part series, aired over consecutive nights, was genuine event television.

Then, when it became clear this pandemic and these lockdowns weren’t going anywhere fast, Sheen joined forces with his Good Omens co-star David Tennant to make Staged – the first, and perhaps only show to capture the tedium, the disconnectedness, the discombobulation of lockdown life.  

With the big–name actors playing heightened versions of themselves – Sheen pompous, cultured, guzzling wine, Tennant eager to please, upbeat, hapless – it was a roaring success on iPlayer.

“David is very different to what you see in the series in real life,” says Sheen. “But although I’d like to say I’m different to the version of me in Staged, that’s pretty much what I’m like.”

The surprise second series of Staged catches up with Sheen and Tennant (or should that be Tennant and Sheen?) a few months down the line.  

“We knew the series was very easy to do, filming it at home on a laptop – or that even if we went back to a more normal life again and were working elsewhere, we could film it anywhere,” says Sheen.  

“And by the time we came to the second series, it was different. Even though we were still spending a lot of time at home, the second series was during a period where everybody, including David and I, were trying to go back to do things. Then the rules kept changing.  

“So you never quite knew whether what was going to happen from day to day. The second series reflects that. But obviously, going back to work and trying to go back to normal is very different from me and David than they are for a lot of people – so we were aware that had to be dealt with as well, because never wanted it to be about two poncey actors and their lives. We wanted to find a way to do it so that people could still identify with it.”

This year, Sheen, like most of us, has spent more time at home. He has, he says, enjoyed catching fewer planes, appreciated his friends and extended family more than ever, raced through five series of Line of Duty and been wowed by Normal People, starting his way down Schitt’s Creek but still found little time to read novels (“I’ve asked for a few from Father Christmas”).  

Because if he does find time to read, it is usually research on housing, on fighting poverty, on rebuilding the broken or the out-of-control housing market, alongside the occasional script.

But if 2020 has been about anything for Sheen, is has been about spending time with his baby daughter Lyra.

“When we went into that first lockdown in March, she was only five months old,” he says.  

“So our focus has been her this whole time. Really our experiences wouldn’t have been massively different. The main overwhelming part of our experience of the last year has been having a baby, as opposed to Covid. And I know I’m very fortunate to be able to say that. But anyone who’s had a baby knows that that just takes up all your bandwidth.

“They give you structure, don’t they? A reason to get up in the morning. A lot of people have said it is difficult getting motivated to do stuff – but that’s not an issue when you’ve got a little one, is it? So I have got very used to being in the house. I even got to do two seasons of a TV show from my kitchen, which is pretty nice…”

Michael Sheen on the legacy of the Homeless World Cup in Wales

In the summer of 2019, Cardiff hosted the Homeless World Cup. As the football tournament, featuring players from around the world, all of whom were experiencing homelessness, kicked off, we knew Michael Sheen had played a huge role in bringing the event to Wales.

What didn’t emerge until later was that, when some promised funding failed to emerge, Sheen was faced with a choice between sinking more than £1m of his own money into making it happen or cancelling the event.

He paid. They played.

It was a triumph and will last long in the memory. So how does Sheen feel now about it?

“It is an extraordinary event that happens every year,” he says. “It was going to be in Finland this year, which I was really looking forward to – because Finland has been quite pioneering in the Housing First strategy and I was looking forward to being able to find out more about that. But I still feel the way I did before – and what motivated me to try and make it happen here in Wales is that it is life-changing for people and can be a transformative experience in all kinds of ways.

“For some people who take part in it, it has an immediate effect. And for others, it may be years later that the effects of it manifest in their life. But that was why I was so committed to being a part of making that happen.

“A lot of the motivation for us in Wales was about what it could act as a platform for afterwards. And that has been affected by the Covid crisis, because a lot of the legacy work we were doing was unable to move forward in the way we’d hoped because of all the restrictions. But what I learned and discovered during that period has made a massive difference to me and the work I’m doing around homelessness.

“The relationships we developed through that time with support service organisations, the people I met and the insights I got into what people are struggling with and what would help were invaluable. It’s been a huge thing for me. I’m still paying for it. So that still affects my life as well, obviously, and things that I’m doing.

“But my acting work is there to support the other stuff. I’m putting money into things constantly, even though I still owe money to do with the Homeless World Cup. So until the time comes when I’m not able to earn money in the same way, then I’ll keep on spending it on the things that matter to me.”

[reddie-fangirl24]

This was difficult cause WOW amazing film choices, I’d love any of the losers in the beginning scene of Cabin in the Woods? Like when they’re getting ready to leave, probably Richie as Marty the stoner and Eddie as Dana who doesn’t realize he’s having a full conversation without pants on, Beverly as Jules who just dyed her hair blonde, Ben as Curt who has to point out the pants, & Mike as Holden the hot new guy in the group?

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR COMMISSION!

I hope you enjoy the story!

This was going to be a great weekend! Eddie couldn’t remember the last time the Losers club hung out. Funny, it was strange how he didn’t remember who Ben was for a moment. Why weren’t they spending much time together ever since high school started? 

Putting that worry aside, Eddie was busy getting dressed, packing all the suitcases that he needed. He was so happy to meet at Ben’s house. If his mother found out where he was really going and who he’d be with then he’d spend the rest of the weekend locked in his room. Nothing new.

Something fell out from between the pages of one of his school textbooks. Shocked, grabbing it, Eddie looked at the drawing he made of his history teacher.  

“What a piece of shit,” a familiar girl’s voice gawked over his shoulder.

“I was in a hurry!” Eddie yelled, slamming the drawing back between the pages. He scrambled for his inhaler on the table and took a puff. His heart was already racing enough. Thank God, it was not Richie. Oh, if anybody found out about his affection for his teacher then they were going to believe he was some kind of psycho.

Beverly giggled. She missed this. It had been a while since she last met up with her best friends. Just like Eddie, she couldn’t make out Bill’s voice over the phone when he called to invite her. And she almost forgot about living in Derry before moving. 

“You know what I mean. Do you hate that teacher? I always draw out the teachers that I don’t like and stick them on the dartboard.”

Eddie groaned, his cheeks growing hot. “Um, no, you see, I drew it-” He paused when he took a look at his friend’s hair. She was no longer his ginger-haired friend. Beverly was his blonde friend! “Holy shit, your hair!”

“Very fabulous, no?” Beverly asked, showing off her short locks like a model.

“I can't believe you did it!” Eddie exclaimed.  

“But it’s nice, right?” Beverly asked, growing nervous. Even she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go through with the change. The other girls at school all had blonde hair. She was always an outsider among them. “Could you please say something because I’m starting to get insecure about it and - “

“Oh God, no, it's awesome,” Eddie relaxed her, touching Beverly’s shoulder. “It looks good, really. I never thought you’d change your hair.”

“It was an impulse,” Beverly shrugged, trying to get off the subject. “I woke up one morning and thought it would be a good idea. Besides, we all need a change now and then, right?”

“Bill will like it,” Eddie remarked. He knew that he had feelings for Beverly in the time when they hung out together. Bill could never stop staring at her when they were together.

Beverly snickered, “That is if he’ll notice. Ben will probably notice it before Bill,” she remarked. And then she pointed to the picture that Eddie was holding. “You should get rid of that.”

Eddie looked at the textbook in his hand. Wait, which did she mean? The drawing inside or the textbook itself. “Huh?” he tried to act dumb.

Shaking her head, and smiling again, Beverly walked over to him and pointed at his chest. “Right, Eddie Kaspbrak, Homewrecker. Please. Do you know who you are going to hook up with this weekend? A boy your age with thick glasses.

Again, Eddie’s cheeks flushed. How did she know these things? “God, that's the last thing... if you treat this like a set-up I'm gonna have no fun at all!”

Beverly set up one of Eddie’s suitcases on the bed. He had two which took up most of the floor in the room. Funnily enough, she only packed one. “I'm not pushing you to do anything. But we're not packing this!” she indicated to the textbook. 

“This means we definitely won't have room for this,” she said as she took out the drawing from Eddie and dropping it to the floor. As Eddie went after it, he heard a ‘tsk’ noise. When he looked back up, Beverly was holding two of his school textbooks. 

“Oh come on, what if I'm bored?” Eddie argued. “And my mom wants me to study!”

“‘Soviet Economic Structures’? ‘The Aftermath of the Cultural.’” She made a gagging face. “No! We have a lake! Kegl We are the Losers on the verge of wild -- Look at my hair, man!”

She did make a fair point. “It’s great...”

Just then Ben burst into the room with a football. Bill was right behind, crashing into the door as he slid into it. He was a clutz, that was for sure. Accompanying them was Stanley who was not happy about their antics. 

“Think fast! And a going Mike Hanlon who is in the outfield, or in this case, the streets!” Ben dramatized as if he were one of those football announcers. 

 “That's a letterman jacket he's wearing and yes, that's a football he's throwing right at the girls.” Bill included in the dramatization as he swiveled around Eddie’s luggage. 

He and Bill practically tore about the room, running around and knocking objects over. Beverly had no idea that they became interested in football. Especially Ben. Was he losing weight?

“Would you guys stop?” Eddie asked of them, almost jumping on his desk when Bill ran by him.

“Please, you are going to break something if you are not careful!” Stanley shouted, keeping a safe distance at the door. 

“Well, faster than that...” Bill commented, Stanley’s words going in one ear and out the other. 

“Ben!” Somebody called from out the window. Eddie glanced out the window to see Mike. It had been a long time since he saw him. Bill threw the football out the window. Jumping into the air, Mike caught it. Lucky for him, a car stopped just in time when he hopped into the street. The driver was not happy with him.

“Sorry. Sorry,” he excused himself, letting the car drive on. That was an unsafe choice for him to make in the first place. He was just so ecstatic to spend the weekend with his friends. So, he went over the curbside and waited for his friends. 

“Are you guys insane?” Stanley asked them, clashing at his hair. He looked like he was going to burst an artery. 

Understanding the circumstances, Ben nodded. “Sorry, Stan.”

Finally, Bill noticed Beverly for the first time. He froze, staring at her. What a terrible time for his mouth to dry up. “Beverly.”

She smiled. “Hi, Bill.”

“Wow, look at your hair!” Ben remarked. He never thought that Beverly would do something like this. Her ginger hair was lovely. But it was so nice to see her again.

“See, I told you that Ben would be the first to notice,” Beverly elbowed Eddie.

“N-No, I d-did notice! I uh...” Oh great, the stutter was back, too. “It’s really great to see you.”

Beverly smiled at her friends, but her heart fell. At that moment she felt how unnecessary the blonde hair was. They always accepted her for who she was. “It’s great to be back. Now let’s get this weekend started!” she ecstatically threw her arms into the air. 

“I never knew you were the type to actually take textbooks home,” Ben innocently joked. He hoped that it wouldn’t insult Beverly. When they did go to school together she was hardly ever in class. She never had the homework and quipped to the teacher that she didn’t take the textbook home with her for assignments. 

Eddie took the textbook back from Beverly. “There’s nothing wrong about taking a textbook on the trip,” Stanley commented. And then he was the one to get a look from everybody. 

“Seriously? Professor Bennett covers this whole book in his lectures. Read the Gurovsky; it's way more interesting and Bennett doesn't know it by heart so he'll think you're insightful.” Bill explained. Beverly glanced his way. Did Bill actually learn some poetic terms while she was away?

“We’d better get going,” Stanley told them, leaving the room. “Where is Richie anyway? He said that he’d be here by now!”

Eddie got all his belongings together. Richie. He was spending the weekend with Richie. They hadn’t done that in a long time. 

Before he left the room, Ben nudged him. “You have no pants.” Gasping, Eddie scrambled to get pants. He was really standing here in his underwear the whole time? Taking a puff from his inhaler, he had to relax. This was going to be a fun weekend.

“Mike! Crazy mad skills of catching!” Bill told Mike once they were outside. They gave each other a high five.

“You laid it in my hands, I did but hold them out,” Mike commented. 

“Hey, Mike! How is it going?” Beverly greeted her friend with a hug. 

“I’m great. It’s nice to see you, Bev. Wow, look at your hair,” he remarked, taking a look at her gorgeous locks. 

“Hey, Mike, how have you been?’ Eddie was next to greet him once he came out of the house. He struggled down the steps with all his luggage. 

“Great. Thank you guys for letting me join. It’s been a while since we all met up,” Mike noted. He was not going to bring up the reason for their avoidance. This weekend was not about revisiting the shadows of the past. It had been a long time since he actually had fun. Being home school had its perks, but he did not enjoy the loneliness. 

“Do you need help with your bags, Eddie?” Stanley asked his friend. He was struggling to lift his heavy bags into the trunk of the RV that Mike was able to talk his grandfather into borrowing. This thing sat in his farmland for years. Luckily, it was working fine.  

“We’re going away for a weekend, right?” Beverly joked. “It’s a weekend, not an evacuation!”

“I have packed everything that I needed in case of any dangerous predicament!” Eddie commented. “Trust me when I say there is nothing in those cases you won't be glad I brought.”

“What could happen?” Ben asked, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Tons of things,” Stanley remarked. “We could run into poison ivy, there could be jellyfish in the water, or - “

“Okay, Stan, we didn’t need an answer. Remember, we’re supposed to be having fun,” Bill reminded him. 

All that was missing was... “Oh my, God,” Eddie commented when he looked across the street to see a car parking. It was half parked up on the sidewalk, annoying to women who were walking by. 

And there was Richie Tozier, his mouth on a huge bong. He looked like he had trouble maneuvering it in the small car that he owned, hitting the horn by accident. Who’s to say that Eddie was surprised. Getting high and joking around was all Richie cared about. 

“Richie!” Beverly called out to her friend. Oh, how she missed him. She ran up and gave him a hug. But that hug only lasted a second. “Shit, you stink!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Richie?” Stanley nagged him when he ran up to his car. He looked around as to make sure the police were not around. 

“People in this town drive in a very counterintuitive manner, and that's what I have to say,” Richie giggled, obviously high out of his mind. His glasses were skewered on his head.

“Do you want to spend the weekend in jail?” Ben asked him. “'Cause we'd all like to check out my cousin's country home and not go to jail!” 

“Richie you should know for a fact that this is not okay!” Beverly was next to lecture him.

Richie took out his duffel bag.“Statistical fact: cops will never pull over a man with a huge bong in his car. Why? They fear this, man. They know he sees farther than they and he will bind them with ancient logics.” He paused, taking a longer look at Beverly’s hair. “Have you gone grey?”

His comment resulted in Beverly giving him the finger. Things hadn’t changed at all. 

“You're not bringing that thing in the rambler!” Eddie told him. 

“A giant bong, in Mike’s van?” Richie went and poured the water out. Removing the bowl, Richie sticks it in a little holder inside the tube and telescopes the entire thing down, pulls a lid off the bottom, and pops it on the top, making it look exactly like a can of Fresca. 

“What are you, stoned?” Stanley asked him, shaking his head in disbelief. Arguably, he was happy to be going on this trip. He missed their adventures.

 “As Bolde,” Richie remarked with little care.  They all rolled their eyes. Well, that was Richie Tozier for you. 

“Come on, we’d best hit the road,” Mike told them, waving them inside. “I can take the first lag. Ben, you have the directions, right?”

As they were all getting into the van, Richie elbowed Eddie. “Eds! You fetching minx? Do you have any food?”

“Don’t call me Eds!” Eddie warned sticking a finger in his face.

“Come on, you like it! You know it!”

“No, I don’t! Call me Eds one more time on this trip and I will bury you in your grave!”

This was going to be an exciting weekend alright. 

“Everybody ready?” Mike asked in the front seat. The Losers shouted in glee, throwing their hands up like they were on a roller coaster. “Then let's get this show on the road!”

[official-archivist-keith]

Keith sat down with the paper and the statement before turning on the tape recorder. He took a breath, he was starving... hopefully this would help.

"Statement of Sunil Maraj regarding their work as a security guard and the disappearance of their co-worker, Samson Stiller. Original statement given 3rd April, 2011. Audio recording by Keith Kogane, the Archivist.

Statement begins."

"So I lost my job last week. I mean, I quit, they didn’t fire me or nothing. But you know how like sometimes you quit because you want to, and sometimes you quit because you’ve got to? Well, this was the second, although I’m not gonna pretend I’m not glad to see the back of the place.

It’s ‘cause I kept asking about Samson, you know? And what I saw. And they really, really don’t want me to make a stink about that. Because if he just disappeared one day, didn’t come into work, that’s fine - I mean, not fine for his family, obviously, or the police who have to find him, but fine for the company. If he disappeared at work, though - if what I think happened is even close to what actually happened - then that’s real bad news for them, and opens them up to all sorts of lawsuits and liability.

I mean, it’s fine, I can get other jobs, and it’s not like I really want to be working there after what happened, but I just wish someone would take it seriously. It’s messed up, and I’m having a real hard time getting out of my head.

So, I work security right? Used to be, a company or shop would have its own little security force they put together, did all the in-store and CCTV vigilance stuff. These days, it’s all centralized, though. You tend to have a building or a shopping central contract all the security work out to a single company, who’ll then cover all the businesses or shops. It’s easier, from a centralizing point of view, and cheaper, if that’s what the owners like.

But it does mean that there tends to be a lot less stability and how it’s all structured, personnel-wise, at least. If you’re lucky, you’ll be assigned to a post and stay there for years, getting to know the place, the systems, your co-workers. If you’re unlucky, or there’s contract difficulties, you could easily end up moving through two or three different places in as many months.

That was kind of the case for me and Samson. We were the odd men out in a lot of ways. We’d originally been brought in for a big corporate office block near Liverpool Street, but there’d been some problem and the whole place had to be closed up for months. Samson said they found asbestos, I heard it was a lease issue, but it doesn’t really matter. Point is, they hired us for a job that no longer existed.

I expected they’d just get rid of us, but I mean to their credit, they did try to do right. They did their best to fit us in with other security teams: I mean, over the last two years we did a couple of data centers, a digital marketing hub - whatever that is - three different office buildings near Kings Cross… trouble was, every time, almost as soon as we got there, there’d be some personnel changes, or expiring contracts, or some other trouble, and generally, as the last in the door, we were the first to get reassigned. Started to feel a bit like we were cursed, you know?

Samson took it harder than I did. I mean, I’m young, my mum’s got a flat in Hackney, and to be honest, most of my evenings are out with friends or in with black ops, so the moving around was pretty much fine with me. Sam had a three-year-old, though, and lived way down in Morden, so being thrown from one post to another all the time was really kind of getting to him. He tried to talk to me about it a few times, but honestly, we weren’t that close. Or rather, we were close because we’d always worked together, but we didn’t have a huge amount in common. I mean, I tried to talk to him about football for a while, but I think he could tell I was talking out of my ass. Anyway, point is, when we were reassigned to a shopping centre in Stratford, he wasn’t in a great place.

Now, I’m not sure I can legally name the shopping center I was working in to you guys, but let’s just say it wasn’t the Westfield. It was old, clearly been around decades, and the security systems really showed it. I mean, one of the shops still had the original alarms from the late 70s, and plenty of them still had cameras that recorded to VHS, for God’s sake.

The security office was a mess. The company I worked for - again, dunno if I can legally say them, but you can look it up, you know - they have a package where they replace all your equipment and systems with the stuff we use. It’s not cheap, but it’s worth it, if only because we all know exactly how to use that stuff.

Whoever was running this shopping center had very much not opted for that particular contract. I mean, the teams before us had made a valiant effort to centralize and integrate all the feeds and setups into just the one control room, but… damn, that place was a mess. Flat screens, next to banks of old CRT monitors that some of the cameras had to feed into, next to racks of channel banks, and a few actual, honest-to-god computers, that tried their best to wrestle everything into something that was almost usable.

I found it properly overwhelming, didn’t like the place at all. But Sam actually seemed to get on with it pretty well almost from the get-go. He’d apparently been an engineer back in the day, and something about all those old surveillance systems, all tied together, all wrapping into and around each other like some weird nest of cameras… it seemed to really appeal to him. The first week he was there he spent almost the entire time playing with the system and the wiring… left me to do most of the other work on my own. Well, I mean… there were the other guys working there, of course, but even the ones who’d been there awhile started to get the picture and gave Samson a bit of a wide berth after a few days.

He really did seem to get the place in a bit better order. I mean, some of it, only he really understood, but soon enough it actually made sense - what we were watching and when - and he managed to get rid of some of the delay, so that we even managed to catch a couple of shoplifters.

There was only one piece of equipment that seemed to give him any trouble. It was this old Tecton multicamera recorder from the late 80s, managed the feeds for one of the various budget shoe shops that lined the promenade.

It didn’t seem all that complicated when you just looked at it, but trying to use it was an absolute nightmare. None the buttons seemed to do exactly what you wanted them to do, and there were all sorts of sequences where pressing a button, holding a button, pressing it three times, all that - they’d all do really different things.

Sam spent almost a whole month wrestling with it, before he finally cracked and he asked Dave - the bearded old guy who we all sort of assumed had been there the longest? - whether they still had any of the old operating manuals.

I remember the smell of dust when Dave went and cracked open the filing cabinet in the back room, before waving his arms in the direction of the drawer and shrugging. I mean, I’d have just left it, obviously, but I think Samson was taking the whole knowing how the system works thing as like - a point of pride? Something he could salvage from the whole situation. Just a way of getting some control over his life, you know?

So he found the manual. More of a pamphlet, really. Can’t have been more than ten pages of A5 in the whole thing, yellowed and water-damaged. Well-used, though. Someone had even put their name in the front, like they were afraid people were gonna steal a manky instruction book.

Still, Sam just couldn’t put it down. I mean, it was like 10 in the morning when we finally found it, and when I went in at 2:00 to see if he’d taken his lunch break yet, he was still sat there, just staring at it. I mean, I’m not a fast reader, or anything but that’s a lot, right?

And like - okay, so this is the part that you’re definitely gonna think I’m having a joke with you, but I’m honestly not, I’m dead serious. Because I saw some of the pages over his shoulder, and on one of them there was, there was a picture of me.

Like, a black-and-white photo of my face. I didn’t get a good look, but it certainly wasn’t one that I remember having taken. Not that would make it any less weird for it to be printed in an old CCTV manual from back when I was doing nappies. And I’m not making it up, I swear.

Then Samson turned, and he looked at me, and I don’t know, I got real spooked. His eyes were all - messed up. Like, weird. And glassy. It was really, really freaky, and I just turned and I got out of there. That wasn’t the end of it, though. If it had been then sure, maybe I write it off as a weird dream, where I was tired or whatever, but no. Because from that point, on Samson just gets creepier.

For a start, he’s always at work. I mean, we’re not always on the same shift, so it takes me a while to notice, but when I ask him about it, he just says that our schedules must have synced up weird. But whenever I arrived, there he was, staring at the monitors, watching all the people come and go, his eyes wide like he was drinking it all in. And whenever I was there late, and it was my turn to close up, he’d always say that he was happy to do it, say I could head off a few minutes early.

So, I never actually saw him leave. I tried to stay once, said I needed to do it myself, but he just got real quiet, like… real quiet, and stared at me.

The bank of monitors was behind him, and I’m just trying to come up with something to say, get him to talk to me… and one by one, they began to just wink off, turning dark.

And I got this feeling, deep in my gut, that if that last monitor turned off, then something really bad was gonna happen to me. It was one of the old CRT sets, big, and bulky, and the picture on it was never that clear, but for a moment it looked like it was me on there. Staring right back at myself as the screens slowly went black, getting closer and closer. The face on the monitor looked absolutely terrified, and I was starting to feel it myself.

So I just tried to smile, told him not to worry about it, and I headed out as quick as I could. My legs were shaking so hard I almost fell on the way out.

Then there were the actual cameras. I mean, you work in a shopping center, obviously you do a bunch of shopping there. I used to get my lunch, for one, and usually pick up any of the essentials I needed. Sometimes, if I was feeling hard done by and it was payday, I might buy myself a new shirt, or a game, or something.

And obviously, because I work security, I know where all the cameras are. where they cover, even how they move. A lot of them are completely static, just pointing at one place. But gradually, I start to notice something when I’m shopping. It’s like a tickling, creeping sensation all over the back of my neck. Like I’m being watched.

So I start to keep an eye on the cameras when I’m in the shops, and you know what, I’m right. They’re following me. Whenever I look at them - doesn’t matter where it was they were meant to be aimed - they’re always focused right on me.

I keep staring at them, moving around, and they just shift to keep the lens pointed at me. But they’re not articulated, they don’t have any motor or swivel mount they just… move. Pointed right at me.

One time, when no one in the store was looking, I threw a can of deodorant at one of them. Hit it square on. Samson wore sunglasses for the next two days, and when I caught a glimpse of him without them, there was a crack right down the center of his eye.

I tried to talk to the others. I’m pretty sure that they were getting similar weirdness from them. they were all jumpy and nervous those last few months. But I was known as Sam’s friend. We’d come in together and everyone just assumed we were close. When I started to ask about it, about what was going on, they just clammed up like I was trying to get them in trouble. My nerves were all shot to hell.

I wasn’t in work the week he disappeared. I’d called in with a bullshit stomach thing. I just needed a break, some time to get my head right. It was almost working, you know? A little distance, a little space to relax. I was starting to feel good.

Then I got the call from Dave. He was frantic.

I couldn’t make out half of what he was saying over the bad line, but he kept saying Samson’s name. Asking me if I “knew,” if he’d “told me.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but he kept screaming at me. He kept saying, I must know, he must have told me what was going on. He kept saying, “what do we do with his eyes?”

I mean, I didn’t know what the hell to say, I just went quiet listening to Dave as he started sobbing down the phone

“He won’t stop,” he said. “We can’t get rid of his face.”

I hung up. And Dave was gone when I went back in. A bunch of them were, all quit suddenly. I wanted to check in with them, find out what happened, but we’d never really been friends, and I didn’t know any of their details.

I never saw Samson again, either. Though, I did find his old work shirt in the back. It was torn to shreds, wrapped around that old instruction manual. I put it back in the filing cabinet, and I threw the shirt away.

I tried to stick around, to do my job, but I was asking too many questions for the folks upstairs, I think. I wanted to know why Samson hadn’t signed out of the building before he disappeared. Why, no matter who tried to reset the system, it always logged back in as him.

Why, whenever I was watching the monitors alone, I’d see him on that old CRT screen. Staring right back at me. Quietly calling for me to join him."

"Statement ends." Keith let out an exhale, "Much better..."

@zombieapocalypsekeith

[galadrieljones]

As You Were (Chapter 8)

Fandom: The Last of Us | Pairing: Joel x OC | Content: Fix-it | Rating: Mature

Masterpost

When Joel and Ellie take a wrong turn on their journey from Pittsburgh to Wyoming, they find themselves lost in what feels like a time warp: a beautiful place with a dark and dangerous secret, filled with painful reminders of the past. But they aren’t alone. When they meet Cici and Noah, a mother and son fighting tirelessly for survival, things change. For those with little hope to spare, family is what you make it.

This is an AU, starting after the events of the Summer chapter in the first game, and extending into the timeline of the second.

*cw: canon-typical violence, blood

Chapter 8: La Crosse (Pt. 2) / The Lapp Farm (Pt. 2)

"Jury's still out. But, man. You can't deny that view."

As Joel and Noah worked their way through the city, nothing much changed, at first. The buildings were empty. Many were boarded up, but not all of them. Little streams and creeks seemed to have broken through the bluffs, coming in off the La Crosse River and now flowed in skinny little ribbons in the empty lots and fields. Looking upon them was paradoxical, for the water was enticing in its visual clarity, but both Joel and Noah knew the truth. There was not much wildlife, and this brought into the world a worrisome quiet beyond the sound of the wind in the trees. The sun came down even still and brought color to the parking lots, all of them overgrown with tall grasses and ponds. The cordyceps in the water did not seem to affect the flora. It was a pretty place, Joel thought, despite its indifference toward human life.

As they crossed the city, Joel could tell they were getting closer to pure, raw nature, as the greenery thickened, and the buildings and houses became increasingly sunken by floods and overtaken by trees and their massive root systems. He knew from the map that the campus was more or less nestled within a great many bluffs, which rose up like grassy table tops, and the Mississippi was less than two miles to the west. Little purple flowers grew everywhere, and they started seeing mushrooms, too, growing on some of the blackened moldy walls of fallen structures, and so Joel and Noah did not get too close.

They just kept following the signs for the Circle of the Holy Signal, and headed straight toward Centennial Hall at the central campus. At times, Joel thought that perhaps he was being watched, through the windows in the residential neighborhoods, but this was hard to put his finger on. Even in the natural wreckage, there were so many houses, small and intact, lined up in rows across many blocks, that he consistently found himself wondering what could be inside. They found a German Shepherd recently dead by what appeared to be a gunshot wound, lying by the side of the road near a middle school. While they had been crouched low, trying to determine exactly how long ago it had been killed, another dog came up with its tail wagging. This one was some sort of lab mix, and it looked lost and starving as it sniffed at their hands excitedly. Joel scrubbed it behind the ears once and then reluctantly bid it to flee. They had nothing for it. This was a sad and desolate place.

After they had walked more than two miles, they started to see actual signs of the campus, which was promising as well as foreboding. School flags that had survived, still flapping off the street lights, and crimson banners for the football team. There were take-out restaurants and bars with their windows bashed in, some of them still advertising discounts for students as well as a UW Credit Union. They walked down Main Street for a while, passing many Lutheran churches, sometimes more than one on a single block. Some of the churches had been co-opted and hung with banners that read Worship Circle, another tell of their mystery cult. Those churches in particular were so overgrown with the mushroom, they looked like beautiful death flowers, and Joel bid them to put on their gas masks just for the time being, as he was worried about spore levels, even in the open air.

At some point, they came upon a school store. It still had mannequins in the window and the doors were locked up with a heavy chain. Joel stopped to look around and Noah leaned against a stop sign to drink some water.

“What’s your take on this place?” he said eventually. "Do you have any like, feelings about it?"

Joel was examining the chain around the door handles. “My take is, this might be a fool’s errand.” He had a small screwdriver and lock pick, given to him by Bill back in Lincoln. “But I have been known to make my fair share of foolish decisions over the years. Anyway, this town seems fairly dead.”

“We can go back,” said Noah. He was holding the water bottle, soaked in sweat from his dark hair to his red Converse. “We saw the church. Maybe there’s nothing else to see. Maybe it’s too dangerous.” He had a kicked look about him, like a puppy. Joel saw him for his age then—old enough to know a lot, but still too young to know much better. He had a lot of confidence and sometimes this could make him seem older, but he was still only seventeen.

“What do you wanna do?” said Joel. He popped the lock on the chain with considerable ingenuity. He was a little proud of himself. "I'm here to help you."

“I wanna keep going,” said Noah. “I wanna know what’s going on.”

“All right then,” said Joel. “Let’s get to Centennial Hall and see what we can find.”

“Okay,” said Noah, like he had been reenergized. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going inside,” said Joel, loosening the chain and letting it drop. It made a loud noise and he then used a piece of rebar to pry open the doors.

“Why?” said Noah.

“Because,” said Joel, letting the rebar clank to the concrete sidewalk. He wiped the sweat from his face and his beard. “There might be something in here I want.”

They went inside. It was surprisingly maintained. It even looked defended, as if somebody had taken up shop in there many years before. There were makeshift blockades in the front of the store and what looked to be a sizable nest in the employee’s lounge. From the looks of the posters on the wall, he guessed it had been college kids.

“It’s just paraphernalia, for the college,” said Noah. He was going through the aisles, looking at the clothes on the racks, the mugs and water bottles. “What would you want in here.”

“A souvenir,” said Joel. He went over to the women’s section. A huge piece of particle board had fallen from the ceiling. He hauled it away.

“For yourself?”

“No,” said Joel.

“For Ellie?”

Joel was scouring a rack of hooded sweatshirts. “She asked me to bring her something, as a trade-in for not letting her come along. Hey, does this look like her size?” He held one of them up, a faded crimson with the words UW - LA CROSSE stamped on front, in a sort of vintage font. He thought it seemed like something she'd wear.

“What size is it?” said Noah.

“Uh, a woman’s extra small.”

“Well, she’s pretty extra small. So, I’d say that’s a good bet.”

Joel gave him a look. “Come here,” he said. “Put this in your backpack.”

“What?” said Noah. “No. You put it in yours.”

“I don’t have room in mine. Your mom packed it with one too many bomb parts and radio frequency enhancement mumbo jumbo, and it’s already digging in my spine.”

“Fine,” said Noah, swiping the sweatshirt. He rolled it up tightly and shoved it in the front pocket. “For Ellie.” Then he zipped it shut and they looked around. He saw something funny, one gray tee-shirt folded neatly in a disorderly stack. He held it up and showed it to Joel. “What about this one, for you?”

It said: UW - La Crosse Dad.

Joel said, “Yeah, that’s real funny.”

“I thought so.”

They were alarmed then, by a loud and inhuman screech, some banging on the walls coming from a locked back room.

“Jesus,” said Joel, picking up his shotgun. Whatever it was, it was angry, but it was trapped. He thought it might have been one of the college kids who'd made a nest here, which saddened him.

“That’s the first one,” said Noah. “In the whole town. What does that mean?”

“It means we’re getting closer to the epicenter of whatever the hell is going on here,” said Joel. “We should keep moving.”

They left the store, left the infected to rot. It was blistering now in the high noon sun as they continued their journey. “What was that thing in the store, do you know?" said Noah, earnest. He had his shotgun in his hands, a heavy pistol stuffed in the back of his jeans. He had killed plenty of Infected in his life, but it was mostly runners.

“Sounded like a clicker,” said Joel. "Based on the looks of things around here, that is most likely what we'll be running into. Whatever happened, it’s been years.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” said Noah. It was a common sentiment for him, but now, something had changed in his demeanor. He seemed desperate.

“What now."

“We lived for so long, on our farm,” said Noah. “It felt safe, growing up there, barely encountering any of this insane bullshit, until just this past year or so. But these people here, in the city, it looks like they went through something horrible, for such a long time. How can that be? How can they all be dead?”

“If I remember properly,” said Joel, “it took the cordyceps some months to take root in the midwest. Once they isolated the big cities, it was a slow trickle to the end, and smaller cities like this, once they got it, there wasn’t much support. They got it bad. Local militias rose up in their various…forms. I ain’t surprised you all managed to survive on your land for as long as you did, given how isolated you are, but I suppose that it was only a matter of time before it got to you, too, one way or another.”

“This is so sad,” said Noah as they looked around at their desolate surroundings. He was shaking his head over and over again like he could not believe it. “My mom was born in La Crosse. Her ancestors came here from Norway in like the 1890s. Look at it now.”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad was born in Madison,” he said. “His grandparents were Spanish immigrants.”

“Was his family farmers, too?”

"Yeah,” said Noah. They were walking along, kicking around in the middle of the road, all cracked up with weeds, listening to the wind. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re from Texas,” he said. “What about your parents?”

“My parents were also from Texas,” said Joel. “My grandparents, too.”

“Where in Texas?”

“A town called Odessa.”

“Have you ever been married?” said Noah.

Joel was looking up at the sky now. There were some carrion birds up there, circling. A bad omen. “What?” he said.

“I asked if you’ve ever been married.”

“Why would you wanna know that?”

“I’m just curious,” said Noah.

Joel sighed and gave in. “Yes, I have been married.”

“When?”

“A long time ago.”

“What happened?” said Noah.

“It didn’t work out.”

“I see,” said Noah, sensing his unease. “What’s your last name?”

“My last name?” said Joel.

“Yeah,” said Noah, innocent. But then he also noticed the birds. Their conversation dropped off a cliff. “Holy shit,” he said. “You see that?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Those are turkey vultures.” He was chewing on a stick, something he’d picked up off the ground. “They nest all over these bluffs.”

“Yeah, well,” said Joel. “Looks like they found something. Come on.”

Meanwhile, at the Lapp farmhouse, Ellie had wandered over to the bottom of the stairs. They were heavy and a dark wood. Everything about the house seemed really sturdy, but it also seemed really old. Things creaked and there were occasional dips in the flooring. “I think she’s upstairs,” she said. She thought she’d heard movement now from the floor above. But she wouldn’t call out Becky’s name, because it seemed like it might not be her place. She was a stranger here.

“Becky?” said Danielle.

"Hang on,” said Cici from the living room. She had redone her pony tail. It was high on her head now and twisted into a bun. “Looks like somebody’s coming to the backdoor.”

“What?” said Danielle. "Who?"

Concerned, Ellie came back into the kitchen space and placed her hand on the loom. Maybe she hadn’t heard anything after all. She glanced toward the stairs and then back to the door. There was a little window in the door, the shape of a semi-circle, and now a girl rushing up the steps, wearing a white dress and a little white kapp. She tried to get in, but it the door locked. She knocked several times, with urgency.

“Danielle?” said the girl. “Danielle, are you here?”

“Hey, is that Becky?” said Ellie.

“Becky,” said Danielle.

She went to the door, opened it quickly. Becky came inside, her small, pink hands on the slope of her pregnant belly. Her hair was very orange, almost striking. When she looked around and Saw Cici, then Ellie, she became alarmed. “Cici?” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Everything’s okay,” said Danielle. “Where’d you go?”

“I woke up, and you were gone. I went outside. I looked everywhere.”

“I found one of the sick in the barn,” said Danielle. She helped Becky to the kitchen table, where the two of them sat down. Becky seemed out of breath. “I went to find Cici and Noah to help.”

“Oh,” she said, relieved. “Goodness. I was so worried.”

“I’m gonna take care of the runner in the barn,” said Cici.

“Runner?” said Becky.

“She means the sick,” said Danielle.

“Oh,” said Becky. “Right. Cici, how is Noah? It has been a long time since I last saw you.”

“Noah’s doing just fine,” said Cici. “Congratulations, by the way. On your blessing.”

“Oh,” said Becky, re-situating in the chair. “Thank you. We are so grateful.”

“This is Ellie,” said Danielle. She came over from the table and held Ellie’s hand. It was unexpected, but Ellie just went with it. Her hand was warm and clammy. The floor creaked where she stood. “What was your last name again, Ellie?”

“My last name?” said Ellie. She hadn’t spoke it in such a long time. She looked down at her hand, inside Danielle's hand. “It’s Williams, I guess. Ellie Williams.”

“Ellie is new to the farm.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Becky, fanning herself with her hand. “But you’re so young. Are you one of the ones from town?”

“No,” said Ellie, growing increasingly unsure of what she should say. “No. I’m here with—well, it’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You needn’t worry,” said Becky, so sweet, but strange. Her hair was like a pyre. Her cheeks, nose, and forehead were violently freckled and her eyes were very blue and misty. Like planets.

“What was that?” said Danielle. She had dropped Ellie’s hand and was now staring up at the ceiling. They all heard it then, the sounds upstairs. It was a loud thud, then some skittering like a giant rodent, and then a door slammed shut. Ellie felt a chill in her bones.

“Holy shit,” she said. She rushed back to the stairs, held onto the railing like a baseball bat, got up on her tip-toes to to see. “I knew I heard something.”

“I got it,” said Cici. “Ellie, stay here.”

“You can’t go by yourself. It’s one of them.”

Cici had drawn her pistol. Danielle was backing away, toward Becky, who sat very straight. They both looked pale, almost shocked, as birds. “It’s inside?” said Danielle. “How’d it get inside? I locked it in the barn. I used the chains.”

“I’m guessing it’s not the same one,” Cici said. “Just stay here, be very quiet. And Ellie, if you insist on coming, you keep behind me. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Lead the way,” said Ellie.

Ellie didn’t have a gun. She’d left it in the truck. Still, she wasn’t scared. She had been through this now, so many times, with Joel. She knew what to do, and each of those fucking things she killed, since Tess, since Henry and Sam—since fucking Riley—she had recently decided: It was going to be vengeance. She wasn’t gonna take it anymore. On their way in from Pittsburg, she and Joel had stopped at a rest stop oasis in Ohio, foraged some food from a huge gas station there on the side of the freeway. She fell asleep, leaning against one of the shelves while Joel gassed up the truck, and she had a nightmare in which she saw Joel just standing in the hotel back in Pittsburg, water up to his knees, a bite mark in his hand. He told her he was going to take his own life and then instructed her calmly upon how to get to Wyoming. Take the I-80, he had said. He said it over and over again. She woke up unnerved. She had been clenching her jaw so that her teeth felt jagged. She never told him about the dream, but it, along with so much else, had changed her.

When she and Cici got upstairs, it was just a simple hallway with three bedrooms. One at the end, and two on each side. Only the door at the end of the hallway was closed. Based on the sounds they were hearing, it was a runner in there, hiding, probably terrified. They went slowly. Ellie could tell that Cici was gonna try to keep things quiet. The walls were painted white and very clean. Ellie gazed upon the quilts which hung there, just like the ones she had seen downstairs. There was something special about them. The colors were plain. Red, white, and blue, and the purity of such reminded her of the American flag. As she stared at the quilt, she got lost as she so often did and failed to realize that, as they were focused on the room at the end of the hall and approaching it in silence, there was another runner, vibrating real quiet in the bedroom to their right.

“Oh my god,” said Ellie.

The thing rushed them. It happened so fast, like a straight line wind, and when it went for Cici, Ellie didn’t think. It was a girl runner and not so big so she whipped it back by the hair and stuck her knife in its throat, five or six times till it died. The blood was everywhere. It was on Ellie’s face, her shirt, her hands. The sound of its death was loud, and as she dropped it to the floor, the other one came through the door, gnashing and alive. Its screams were horrifying. Even as she no longer feared them outright, the Infected were fucking demons. Ellie tripped over the dead one trying to get away, and just as she did, Cici raised her gun and shot the thing in the head, twice, point blank. It went down like a fucking sack of bricks. Ellie was on her ass and out of breath.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she said, shaking her head out like a dog. “Is that all of them?”

“Are you okay?” said Cici. She saw the blood. She hauled Ellie up and started searching her for marks.

“I’m fine,” said Ellie. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” said Cici, though she seemed unsettled. “We need to get the hell out of here.”    

“What about Becky and Danielle?”

“They’re coming with us.”

“Cici?” said Danielle from the bottom of the stairs. “Ellie? Are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” Cici shouted down the stairs. “Just—just don’t come up here yet. It’s nothing you wanna see.”

Danielle said a prayer. She said, “Praise god that you came.”

Ellie tried wiping some of the blood off her face. It had gotten on her clothes, and she felt momentarily embarrassed. “What the fuck are we gonna do with these things?” she said. “We can’t just leave them here.” She looked at the quilt on the wall. It was a bloodied. Ellie was pissed off about this. She hoped they could just make another.

“Go downstairs,” said Cici. “I’ll wrap them in sheets and drag them outside.”

“I’m covered in fucking blood,” said Ellie. “I don’t want to freak them out.”

"They’ll understand,” said Cici. “We’ve been through this sort of thing before. Though the fuckers have never gotten in the house like this.”

“What do we do with the bodies?” said Ellie. “Burn them?”

“Yes,” said Cici. “There’s plenty of fuel. It won’t be too much work.”

She dragged the bodies out one by one. She then went over to the barn by herself while Ellie, Danielle, and Becky stood outside, by the truck, and waited. Cici lured the thing out and blew it to shreds with a pipe bomb. They doused the bodies with gasoline from a canister in the shed by the garden and set them on fire in the pit at the back of the property. Then, they all drove back to the scrapyard, and though they didn’t go inside, Ellie did see rows and rows of school busses, exactly like Noah had said. Cici got out, used a rubber hose to syphon several gas cans full of fuel for the generator, and then together they all drove back to the farm on the other side of the hill where they would be safe behind the electric fence.

Back in La Crosse, Noah and Joel had found the detritus that had been drawing the turkey vultures from the bluffs. It was a clicker, facedown with parts of its neck ripped out. Could've been dogs, or maybe its own kind.

"Centennial Hall," said Noah, once they got there.

"There it is," said Joel.

The building was straight ahead of them. It was tall, red brick, stately in its prime with massive pillars and a clocktower. Of late, it had been devoured whole by vines robust as ankle tendons. The clocktower was plagued by black scorch marks, too, and the grass surrounding was probably waist-high. There were no more signs, no banners or flags. The building seemed deeply haunted, with the wind whistling through its veins. The clouds were big on the horizon. Joel feared a storm.

He was getting that feeling again, too, like they were being watched. "Noah," he said.

But Noah was already headed to the clicker, the dead one, splayed out in the middle of the road. He threw a rock at one of the vultures, which had been picking at its clothes unscrupulously, and the thing hissed back to the skies. Noah crouched down to get a better look. He hadn't seen an actual clicker since the last time he was here, since his dad.

"Noah," said Joel, surveying the quaint and rural atmosphere. Something was not right.

"It's okay," said Noah.

But it wasn't okay. Joel had seen it first, the thing that was set to change them. The clicker wasn't dead. It flopped over onto its back, surprising Noah and sending him off-balance. He stumbled as it screeched its terrible song, and its face, up close, was like a demon. Joel was there before he had the space to react. He pulled the trigger on his shotgun, close enough so that its head seemed to explode off its shoulders. It went down. Joel grabbed Noah by the collar and looked him over good. He said, "Noah. Noah. You okay?"

Noah thought about losing his guts, keeling over in the street. It had been some kind of event, and he had never been that close before. "I'm fine," he said, exhilarated. "I'm okay."

"Thank Jesus."

They decided to ascend the clocktower after that. It was the highest point they could see, and it seemed a safe place for to find their respite, for now. They climbed a bunch of narrow, spiral stairs and then a ladder, and a lot of it was rotted or rusted, but they made it okay. When they got to the top, it was a small space with a window and a circuit breaker, an old empty bottle of booze but that was all. They looked out over the burnt-out college campus, how it had gone to seed and lost its innocence. They saw the clouds, too, gathering in the north, looking like a definite storm now, moving south with some speed, straight for them and for Viroqua thereafter. Leaning heavily with their backs against the wall, they caught their breath, and then Joel took the two-way radio out of his back-pack. He hooked up the repeater, something Noah's dad had rigged up a long time ago to help them extend the range of the frequency.

"We should radio your mom," he said, "before we head inside the hall. I don't know if it'll work. But on the off chance it does, we should let her and Ellie know we're okay."

Noah was in agreement, even as he spoke little. Joel found the channel and commenced his talking in the radio. Sylvia Plath, he said, loud and clear. Sylvia Plath, do you copy? This is Ryan Adams. We are okay. Sylvia Plath. Do you copy?  Do you copy?

[boleyn-falcon]

‘wouldn’t it be nice?’

okay so ever since i made my Joan and Jane fic (here) I've decided i wanted to make a oneshot for all the ladies and their queens! this one is a lot more happy because my heart can’t handle a sad Maggie rn like i’ll die.

this is also me just being a wannabe soccer jock because i finished my first season this school year :> of yea and if i accidentally refer to it as soccer and not football i’m sorry i’m a dumbass american

synopsis - Anne thinks today would be the perfect day to kidnap her closest friend and sports-related hijinks ensue! with maybe a slight side of bruises and concussions..

Words - 2593

Trigger warnings - none that i know of but tell me if you think i should add one!

     Maggie loved the early summer. It was the perfect time of the year, not too hot nor cold. She could leave her window open to let in natural sunlight during the day, she’s always hated artificial lights, they give her headaches. It was the best time to just hone her skills and relax, she could let all of her stress just melt away. The brunette started learning a new song she heard so she could play it to the ladies and queens. “Wouldn't it be nice”, by some old american group called ‘The Beach Boys’, it was a nice feel good song the guitarist just felt amazing hearing. The old song’s lyrics remind her how good her second chance at life really was, “And wouldn't it be nice to live together,In the kind of world where we belong?”, it was perfect.

  Her hands gracefully floated over the strings, eyes locked on the chords displayed on her computer screen. It felt like the world had stopped moving for a moment, like everything was calm. Well that feeling didn’t last that long. Maggie’s hands suddenly gripped the neck of the instamet as a large crash came from down stairs, ‘oh no what is it this time’. The musician laid her guitar down on her bed right as a slew of very creative and colorful curses came from what she could only presume was Bessie. With a quick trot down the stairs she was soon to find a very peeved bassist, a started pianist, a confused drummer. She made haste to the living room where they were standing to also find one very apologetic tudor queen and one rambunctious gremlin on the floor, oh and a slightly broken window.

    “Gosh Bess I’m so sorry about her, we just got back from pret and i let her buy a large chocolate frappe, i'll pay for the new window..”, the blue clad queen said with a sorry smile. Maria spoke up with a curious tone, “Wait why are you guys here anyway? Atleast give a reason Miss Kermit the Hulk over here came crashing through our window?”, the green eyed woman finally stood up from her place on the floor and shuffled shyly. “Well Cathy wanted to come over and get some piano lessons from Joan and I tagged along to hopefully get some time with my favorite ferret!”, Maggie gave an amused chuckle and stepped forward. “Well okay you sugared up raccoon, what did you wanna do?”, Anne made her way to the couch and plopped down, “Well before we do anything, you need to go change into some shorts and a tank top oh and put your hair up. Cathy then grabbed one of the two drawstring bags she had been holding and handed it to Anne, who was already in some black running shorts and a neon green muscle tank. “Well me and Joan are gonna go hit the keys, you two have fun with whatever trouble Anne will get you both in”, and with that the two shorter girls made their way across the room and began to talk quietly.

  The band member made her way back up to her room and began to pick out an outfit. ‘ Huh, I wonder why Anne is having me wear sports gear..the only kind of sport she watches is hockey and that's because she thinks it's funny to see them beat the shit out of each other’. She opened her closet and picked out some white athletic shorts(with pockets because all pants need them in her opinion), and a pastel cyan dri fit shirt with a black double note on the front. Lastly, she ties her hair back in her normal high ponytail she wears for shows.

      Finally they were ready and made their way out of the house and onto the London streets. Anne still had her green bag, without giving a single hint to what could be inside. They made their way down into the nearest tube station on the Piccadilly Line. Maggie could now slightly narrow down the places they could be heading,but just a little. They stayed on the hot tube for a good few minutes before the hyper woman pulled her off and gave her a little time to look at where they had gotten off, Hyde Park Corner. This had just gotten even more puzzling as they made their way up to the surface. They were so close to leaving the station, till they had to scan their oyster cards. Anne had gotten through the gate easily with a quick swipe of her card. Maggie walked forward and scanned her card, but as she was walking through she felt a pressure on her waist. The Confused woman looked down to find out.. The gate had closed on her and she was stuck in between the two sides of the machine. “...Well shit… that's a problem”, the two rudor women laughed and Anne waved down a worker to let her friend out of her plastic-mechanical prison.

       They finally made it out of the station, at least they already had a funny story to tell the others. They ambled their way down the stone sidewalk, smiling and laughing like school kids. “So I tell Joey about the whole pasta-wall test and she actually does it! Wait it gets better, she grabs a handful of angel hair spaghetti and chucks it at the kitchen wall! In front of Maria and Bessie! Let’s just say she wasn't allowed to be near any kind of noodle for a while”, Anne bursts out in laughter even stronger than back at the station, wiping tears from her eyes.  Suddenly the green queen stopped and grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her over to the other side of the road. “Tadah! We are gonna hang out here and try something new!”,the enthusiastic woman points to the stone arch like structure above them. “Hyde Park? What could we possibly learn here?”, Anne gives no answer as she continues to drag the poor musician into the park and off to a flat clearing.

    The Boleyn girl stops right in the middle of the small grassy area and finally pulls out what has been hiding in her bag, a basic football and a small bluetooth speaker. “I thought it would be fun if we learned how to play Football! It seems easy enough and it would be fun bonding for us!”, she put the speaker down next to her bag and put the ball at her feet. Maggie was beyond confused, neither woman had ever tried sports, she knows Cleves runs and does boxing with Kathrine but that's about it. The guitarist gave a nod to the woman in front of her, she was about three meters away. Anne pulls her foot back like a bow and slams the front of her foot into the ball and sends it flying towards the other burnette. The ball hits Maggie’s right shin, she stumbles back and trips over the object at her feet and falls on her backside. “Ow shit!”, both women say loudly, Anne holding her foot and Maggie on the ground clutching her shin.

     “Okay so bad idea, maybe we should..I dunno, learn how to play the damn game before we start kicking shit?”, the tudor queen gave a shy nod as she walked over and helped the injured girl to her feet. Maggie pulls out her phone from the pocket of her shorts and goes to her trusty friend, Google. “Okay Mags we should start with how to kick the damned thing without breaking all of your toes”, the guitarist gave a small chuckle and searched what Anne had suggested. After about thirty seconds of looking she finds a short Youtube video titled, ‘How to properly kick a soccer ball’, huh made by an American i guess. She clicked the video and turned her phone so both inept reincarnates could watch. The woman in the video showed her foot parallel to the ball, lightly kicking it with the inner side of her foot, unlike Anne who ‘toed’ the ball from what the woman said. The demonstrator showed how to open your hips wide to pass forward and how to angle your foot to make sure the ball goes in the right direction. After the tutorial ended Maggie turned her phone off and returned it to her pocket. “Okay Anne go back to your spot with the demon-sphere so we can try this again”.

      So it was take two and they widened their stances slightly like the player in the video did, “Okay Mags remember to stop it with the side like she said so i don't break your foot! God the other Ladies would kill me..”. Anne got ready and tilted her foot outwards slightly and pulled back, she hit the ball correctly, well sort of. She used the right part  of her foot but hit the very bottom of the ball and it flew upwards and towards the poor ferret-like woman in front of her, hitting her square in the face. Maggie stepped back and made a low grunt noise and held her face. “Christ Annie what did you do wrong this time? You did exactly what she said and it was still fucked up!”,Anne gave a confused look with a tilt of her head, “I dunno ‘M, maybe it was wind?”.  Both gave a frustrated sigh as they sat down on a nearby bench and started to think. Before they could conjure up a coherent thought, Maggie spotted 3 teenage looking girls with matching gold and red sports uniforms with low and behold, a football. The younger girl shot up from the bench and gave her queen a confident smirk, “Anne i think i have a good but also maybe terrible idea”, she sped up to the girls and stopped them in their tracks.

           “Hey sorry to bother you girls but erm… you play Football right..?”, the three girls looked at each other confusingly, “Um”, the tall brunette girl starts, “Yea we are on our school’s team..why?”. Anne catches up to Maggie right as the conversation continues, “Well I’m Maggie and my friend Anne and I want to learn how to play but we are kinda…”, Maggie trails off for Anne to finish, “Bad at it, like really bad”. The tanner girl with gloves on stepped forward with an amused look, “Well okay then, we were just about to go for a short practice so we could totally help you out!”, she put her gloved hand out for Maggie to shake, “I’m Samina, I’m the team’s goalie and these are two out of three of my defenders, Piper”, she points to the girl from brefor who gave a small wave, “And brooke”, a shorter brunette looked up and gave a small nod. “So I see you're already kinda set up here so let's get to it!”, the goalie led her girls over and gave the older pair an encouraging smile, “Show us whatcha got ladies!”.        All five of the girls got in a wide spread circle with Anne’s ball at her feet. “Okay so first things first, do you know how to kick it without hurting yourself or sending it to the moon?”, Anne looked over and answered for Maggie, “Kinda, we can do it without harming our precious feet buuut it went flying and ‘bout gave Mags a broken sniffer..”. The shortest girl gave a small nod and gazed over at the pair, “Well then you hit the bottom of the ball, next time hit the middle or top, but i say middle because you might trip if you hit the top”, she said in a monotone voice. Anne decides to give it a go and turns to face Maggie, giving her a look that says, ‘be prepared because this might end horribly’. Giving her queen a quick nod she gets ready to receive the weapon of death, aka the ball. Anne pulls back and hits the ball just like she was told and it zooms towards Maggie on the ground and the brown eyed woman manages to catch it with somewhat ease. “Nice job Bo!”, she says as she rushes to give her green clad friend a high-five who gladly returns. “Now”, Piper starts, “time to learn how to dribble with the ball!”. Both girls groan in response.

       After about an hour and a half of learning the simple methods of the sport the girls had to leave so it just left Maggie and Anne to figure it all out from there. Maggie spots an opportunity to turn up the fun and jogs over to Anne’s speaker and connects her phone. An upbeat guitar melody begins to play and just a few seconds later words start to emit from the speaker, “Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn't have to wait so long?”. The musician gives a bright smile as the cheerful song plays, she now could really understand how grateful she really was for this new life. She sauntered over to the smiling Boleyn girl and they began to pass the ball around and laugh. They practiced thier passess and dribbleing, even tripping a good few times which made their smiles even brighter as they became covered in dirt,grass, and small bruises.

     “Annie! Heads up!”, the ball flew past the queen’s head and into a tree behind her, getting stuck up in some branches. “Shit sorry, i'll go up and get it dont worry!”, Anne gave a worried glance, “Are you sure Maggie? We could just throw stuff at it to knock it down..”, Maggie had already started scaling the tree. It was anything but graceful, she looked like a blind cat with a missing tail,left leg, and whiskers, she couldn't balance at all. After making her way up about 5 or so branches she finally got to their beloved horri-ball. She grabbed it with her left hand, leaving her right, non-dominant hand, to be the one holding onto the flimsy branch above her, it was a recipe for disaster. “Hey Anne, I got the bAL-”, where her last words before the branch gave way and she went tumbling to the ground. Luckily or not so luckily, her dearest queen was there to break her fall. “I told you so”, is all Anne could croak out from under Maggie before she pushed her off. After that fiasco they moved a tad bit farther from the trees so they didn’t have to go home in full body casts.

After a few more hours it was starting to get dark and they thought it best for them to head back to their respective homes. They parted ways and started the trek back to their humble abodes. “See you later Mag! I'll text you later!”, and with that Anne was gone, Maggie has always wondered how she just vanishes right when you take her eyes off her. After a very cautious tube station trip and ride, she was finally home. The guitarist, happy to be home and rest, opens the door, ready to have some quiet time. Her dreams are slightly crushed as she sees a small brown blur scurry across the hall with a very distressed Maria rushing after it. The drummer stops in her tracks to make eye contact with her bandmate, “Bessie,Cathy, and Joey went out for dinner, don't say a word about this Margret”, today just got even more exhausting.

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

Okay well that was an absolute acid trip-

i hope yall enjoy some cute bonding shit becuase the last one was so edgy n shit, and before any of you ask, yes the three girls on my team who are all really amazing players and friends and i love them so so much-

the next one will probably be with Maria and Lina and them dealing with Maria’s.... new little predicament haha

[archieism]

I personally think the reason Archie's character is so appealing to analyze is that, despite being under-developed, hes such a genuinely charming character with a lot of potential. Like he has the makings to be the stereotypical "jock boyfriend" character but instead the show has built up enough evidence that he's a funny, talented, sweet guy, with depth that gives him the potential to be relatable to a lot of different people and make him a great chara. At least thats my opinion

big agree big agree like archie doesn’t really present as a super in depth character, but depth IS there if you honestly wanna dissect it past face value. i’m a firm believer some of his storyarcs are the most compelling of the entire show if you look for it. they usually strike the perfect balance of inner conflict reflected in a constant outer one as well, and it parallels the entire town at times, but they’re usually always cohesive with one another. 

in season one, his struggle between football and construction and music can clearly physically represent his struggle between the archie we honestly never got to see but know was there based on how in literally episode one, fred mentions that a mere three months previous, archie was gung ho for inheriting the company, as well as taking into account jughead’s remarks of the kind of person archie used to be, and the archie that apparently isn’t anymore. and it all stemmed from what happened that summer, whether it be mrs grundy butting into his life or jason blossom’s disappearance, it’s the summer the corruption seemed to first trickle in. same with his struggle with relationships, romantic and platonic (starting off with mrs grundy unfortunately, but jughead too, and betty, veronica, reggie, valerie, even cheryl) littered throughout all of the first season. both his struggle between hobbies and his struggles with people can easily parallel the state of the town as well!! the whole point of season one and the beginning of season two at least was that the town was turning a new leaf, though obviously in a negative way. things were changing and the perfect small town appeal was losing purchase to the town where fathers killed their own sons, but it was an ongoing struggle to be better, one that leads to betty’s speech at the jubilee in the finale. yet structurally, archie’s pretty early on established as a support character. he wants to help his friends, but feels like he can’t. he wants to do the right thing, but feels like he can’t. yet despite all his shortcomings, he’s the kind of person that represents the good parts of riverdale, whether it be in the quaint desire to simply write songs and sing them, or to give jughead a place to live, or help veronica as she struggles with her father’s looming shadow, or cheryl, throughout but especially in the finale too, when he breaks his own hand to save her life.

and season two !!! fucks me up !! after betty’s speech at the jubilee, declaring the town needed to step up before the corruption won, a masked man shoots archie’s dad right in front of him in the diner that’s pretty consistently a beacon of the perfect small town appeal. and just like that, the small town boy who so easily represented the little things that make up a good person, a good town, the little gestures of just trying to look out for each other, has his entire world shattered right in front of him by the town’s corruption finally spilling over. and he becomes this shell of himself, one that’s trigger happy and violent and gung ho for a private prison and mob boss family, subverting his representation of all the good parts of riverdale to all the bad ones, BUT !!! it’s ironically because of the corruption of riverdale that archie becomes this way; because he believes the town is too corrupted for simply housing a homeless kid, helping a friend, breaking his hand to save someone’s life, to undo it all. because the person who believed that couldn’t stop his own dad from being shot right beside him when he was right there to step in, so it’s clearly not enough, not anymore. he’s not enough, so he needs red circles and dark circles and mob bosses and handguns because those are the only things that are stopping people from shooting dads in diners. except they’re not !!! because then his dad gets shot right in front of him again anyway in the finale, despite thinking all his actions since the first time around, all his preparing, all this changing from the kid who let it happen in the first place, could prevent it, but it happens again just the same, and he’s just as powerless to stop it. but even before that punchline, you have his dad, the person he’s corrupting himself for !! parading for the exact opposite of the corruption and external conflict’s side archie’s taken, subverting the entire inner conflict BEAUTIFULLY !!!! HELLLOOO$?@@> archie’s dad becomes the pinnacle of everything good in riverdale while archie ironically sides AGAINST him with hiram (the physical representation of riverdale’s corruption along with the black hood, despite presenting itself as the solution to it) BECAUSE the corruption was enough to almost steal that from them all with a simple bullet to the chest. he lost faith goodness alone could mean anything when it couldn’t save his dad, the epitome of good in his mind and honestly most of riverdale's too, even those who didn’t agree with him politically. he started to believe power is the only thing that could stop the corruption, because that’s what he felt like he was lacking when it almost killed his dad. and, you guessed it, the thing that finally has archie backing away from all his moral bungee jumping is hiram coming between him and his dad !!!!!!!!HEELEOO

ANYWAYS i could go on because season three fucks me up too but this got REALLY long really fast i’m so sorry omg i rly just

listen riverdale’s writing is shit and i do not have any faith that they even did all of this intentionally but there is SOME legitimately good writing hidden in all the bullshit and it CONSISTENTLY follows archie, and everything above is just from a story crafting perspective!! not including the less structurally important but still thematically consistent struggles throughout!!! no i will not be taking criticism 

[wisdomrays]

TAFAKKUR: Part 262

ATOMS AND THE FOUNDATION OF MATTER

IF EVERYTHING AROUND US CONSISTS OF ATOMS, MOST OF WHICH ARE MADE UP OF EMPTINESS, AND IF THE ACTUAL PHYSICAL STRUCTURES THAT COMPOSE OUR BODIES ARE SO FEW, THEN WHAT MAKES MATTER SO SOLID AND DURABLE?

When speaking of a huge emptiness in between the elementary particles, the French philosopher Jean Guitton (1901–1999) gives the following example:

Think of the proton of the oxygen nucleus as the size of a pinhead; then the rotating electron would draw a circle that traverses the Netherlands, Germany and Spain (assuming that the center of this orbit was France, as Guitton lived there). Therefore, if all the atoms that make up my body were close enough to touch one another, you wouldn’t be able to see me at all. [I] would be a particle of dust, just one thousandth of a millimeter.

If we could enlarge an apple to the size of the world, each atom, proportionally, would be the size of a football. We would then be able to learn everything about the atoms by taking one of those atoms and examining it in our hands, wouldn’t we?

No, we wouldn’t!

It isn’t this easy. Even if an apple were to be the size of the world, it would still be too small to attain enough information about its atoms. If we want to see the nucleus of the atom, we must enlarge it to the size of a town, not a football. Then the nucleus, which is the size of a football, is in the middle, and one of the electrons, orbiting 1 kilometer away, would be no larger than a walnut.

Now let’s apply this example to the hydrogen atom, which is the smallest atom. If the nucleus of a hydrogen atom were enlarged to the size of a football then the atom itself would be a sphere with a diameter of 2 kilometers.

QUANTUM FIELD

The discovery of the atom is in fact the discovery of empty space. It might sound strange to hear the words “huge” and “emptiness” in the same sentence when talking about the atom.

One night, a pessimist, an optimist, and a physicist were looking at the cloudless sky. The pessimist said, “What a great emptiness,” while the optimist said, “There are countless stars.” The physicist, on the other hand, couldn’t say anything, because he wasn’t sure whether what they had seen was a vast amount of objects or a vast field of emptiness.

The developments in modern physics in recent years have changed concepts such as, “substance,” “particle,” and “vacuum.” Vacuum is usually defined as “the living environment, life breath, or energy” of the universe.

THE VAST VACUUM THAT PHYSICIST SEES IN THE SKY IS WHAT WE CALL THE QUANTUM FIELD

The quantum field is formless and shapeless. It is the field of all forms and the basic essence of the universe. The durable and solid substance that we call a particle is the condensation of this field into small units. The quantum field is the environment of activity, transportation, and communication, all at the same time. It is noteworthy that this approach is very close to the ancient approach that claims that space is full of ether.

Albert Einstein defined matter as the space region in which this field was extremely condensed. According to the understanding of the new physics, both the matter and the field of the matter are the same thing.

According to quantum physics, all matters in space are like islets in an ocean, and are connected to each other through subjacent earths. In the concept of a quantum field, space is a stable integrated whole and unity of waves and these interactions happen in “waves.”

VACUUM IS NOT EMPTINESS

The vacuum was once believed to be a place with nothing inside it. However, the universe has a beginning, and everywhere in this universe was once a single place that later came into existence. Therefore, it is impossible for a place in which “there is nothing” to exist in the universe. In brief, subsequently, there must have been something everywhere that has been created. Just as there is no dry place in the sea, there cannot be any emptiness in this sea of existence that was created out of nothing. Underlining this truth, quantum physics defines the universe as a whole and says there is no emptiness in the absolute sense. In other words, the universe in which there is no “empty” space is a world that has been “called into being.”

If everything around us, even human beings, consists of atoms, most of which are made up of emptiness, and if in fact the actual physical structures that compose our bodies are so few, then why can’t we go through walls or closed doors, like cartoon characters? What makes matter so solid and durable?

In fact it is not easy to answer this question. Electrons are created in small places, like atoms, and have been given phenomenal speed. An electron moves at 1,000 kilometers per second (that means it rotates one million times around the nucleus). As a result of this phenomenal speed, the atom becomes a tough and solid mass. We can compare this to airplane propellers that appear to be a solid and flat surface when spinning.

THE AMAZING ELECTRON

The features of electrons, such as being able to pass through two holes in an obstacle at the same time (no other particle can do this) have astonished scientists and brought out a metaphysical dimension that are beyond the wave nature of light. The granular structures of subatomic particles contradict the understanding of matter. According to the findings of quantum mechanics, the particle is in fact nothing but a dynamic effect and movement. The particles can be composed of energy or they can be entirely converted to energy. The classical concept of elementary particle is becoming obsolete in today’s world.

Nevertheless, the changes in our perception of matter do not necessarily mean matter is unreal. The truth is that particles of matter do not have a constant reality or an independent essence, in contrast to what has been assumed. Whatever seems to be or is reflected as matter, energy, or value, or whatever we call it, is nothing but the manifestation of the Divine Names of the Creator Who created “nothingness.”

Think of a shadow play. The image that the audiences see on the curtain, which is far from the source of light, is not “real.” The real thing is another object that is in front of the source of light or behind the curtain. What we see is the reflection of the object itself or its movements. If we don’t know how this play has been staged, we may think that the image on the curtain is real. Even though there is an image on the curtain, it does not have its own existence and is not real. In the same way matter exists but its existence and its being in this condition is not something under its control.

Before the realm of the quantum was discovered, Newtonian physics had accepted matter as being solid, durable, and constant. Everything we touch, such as walls, trees, and all the objects we see have the solid and durable condition of matter. But if one looks at an object through an electron microscope, they will see that 99% is vacuum and 1% is light. We can form circle of light if we swing a light source in a dark room. If we add a second, third, and fourth source, and move them so that they can form illuminated spheres, someone who is observing from a distance will perceive a three-dimensional sphere instead of a two-dimensional illuminated circle. Thus, we can understand that by increasing the number of spheres we form a three-dimensional model of matter. According to quantum physics, matter found in the universe is pretty much like this example. In short, matter does not consist of a combination of solid particles. There is almost no difference between the “building stone” of human beings and the image of human on television. And we can say that just as the television broadcast disappears when there is a power cut, it is also possible for this universe, which seems so permanent, to disappear with one command.

A television broadcast is constantly being renewed through the transmission of pictures and sound by means of electronic signals. As in the example above, if our existence is like the image on television, then can we say that the universe is also being renewed every second like a TV broadcast?

None of the objects we see (trees, birds, humans, etc.) take their existence from the concrete reality of the matter that we perceive. Thus, they must receive their existence from the power and the names of the Creator Who creates everything out of nothing and keeps it in perpetual motion. In brief, although created out of nothing, existence is being created all the time.

[planetary-bound-star]

Isolation Journal: Day 1

So I found these prompts today for an Isolation Journal / ways to stay creative despite stress and anxiety.  And while I wouldn't say that I've felt isolated in a 'feeling lonely' or 'wanting to be around people' sort of way, I have been feeling the effects of my partner's isolation and of the fact that there aren't many ways to have true alone time to recharge my social batteries.  Having constantly half-empty social batteries happens to really hamper my creativity, especially when I'm in the same room with someone else, knowing that at any moment they're likely to intrude on whatever thought I'm trying to communicate through my stories.  I've tried going into different rooms -- and sometimes that even works -- but given the fact that the other humans in the house are awake and exist, I can't get completely comfortable in my creative space unless they're asleep.  

So I've been struggling to motivate myself to create, to finish homework assignments, to do more than the most basic chores and / or acts of self-care, etc, which only adds to my anxiety and depressive tendencies.  I've tried setting a strict routine, which worked for a few days max.  I've tried setting a very loose routine, which worked for a bit longer, but ultimately didn't long-term.  I've tried no routine, and that DEFINITELY doesn't work, and while writing a to-do list first thing in the morning can help, I have to remember to do that every day BEFORE I get distracted by other things and / or my partner and our other housemates, which is rare at best.  

Really, I'm ready to try anything, right now.  And this seems like a good idea at the best of times.  So I'm going to attempt this challenge.  Luckily, it seems pretty relaxed, so if I miss a day, it's not like I miss the prompt or have to start over or anything, which should help especially in a 'not adding to my anxiety pile' sort of way, and it is likely to also add significantly to my overall daily mental health!  So... that'd be a definite plus.  

So!  Here goes:  Day 1 [Prompt: Write a Letter to a Stranger]

Dear Seth and Stephen,

I've been watching you both for comfort since before the Florida Orange Man took office, and likely will long after he leaves (I hope).  I can't remember when I first took note of you.  I know that with you, Seth, it happened not long after the 2016 Elections, when YouTube offered me the lifeline of suggesting one of your A Closer Look or The Check-In segments, and I subscribed the same night.  With you, Stephen, I first noticed you during your The Werd segments from the Daily Show with Jon Stewart.  I noticed you initially when I was a young Republican teen still living at home with my Papa, and I found you again as a newly emerging, bleeding-heart Democrat.  

Now, you're both a huge part of the intricate net of lifelines that keep me afloat day-to-day in this completely bonkers world.  

When I first imagined spending my days working from my home as a writer, I imagined waking up each day to a warm cup of tea, some hot cereal or oatmeal or fried eggs, and some toast.  I never considered who would make those things or how I might teach myself the focus and rigorous morning routine needed to do all of that without wasting hours of my day due to distractions, derailments, and depletions of energy.  

In my mind, this morning routine would take place on a patio or deck or balcony, outside on a warm and sunny, but not too overwhelmingly bright day, a light breeze keeping the worst of the sun's heat from burying itself in your skin and clothing.  The outdoor space would be surrounded by greenery and flowers and walls, any human-made sounds (aside from maybe a fountain or, possibly, wind-chimes) would be silenced somehow.  

Then, after breakfast (again, clean-up energy and time never entered into my imagination before now), I would retreat to a comfortable, cushioned window-seat, warmed by the sunlight streaming through the windows, reclining, and spending several hours a day reading through entire novels and, thus, getting through them in a few days to, at most, a week.  

Finally, after my reading time ends (at a decent, if not perfect, stopping point in the novel, if at all possible so that the story isn't nagging at the back of your mind the rest of the day), I would move to my writing space to... you guessed it... write for many more hours.  

Granted, the writing bit should probably take place after a lunch of some description and / or many (ideally healthy) snacks at hand, but I never imagined these details either in my initial plans.  Nor did I factor in dinner.  I do love food when I have the time to enjoy it, but given my schedule and levels of focus on the regular, I'd genuinely be happy to go to an all liquid diet with only quick and nommy solid foods to snack on here and there.  I loathe the necessity of eating, so I keep it as nommy as possible to force myself to fuel my body in a mostly appropriate manner.  It's only natural that I'd forget about this irritating necessity in my daydreams, really.  They are, after all dayDREAMS, not dayREAL-LIFES.  

I feel like that's how I'd like to end every day, come to think on it:  Writing.  Typing frantically into a word-processor to transport the pictures in my mind on the ship of words until the images dry out and evaporate in the sun, or the words dry up on the tips of my fingers.  I want to write for hours, take a break for necessities (like dinner and dog-walking and spending time with loved ones), then write for hours more... until I can write no more and my pillows start tempting my brain.  I want to write until I pass out every night, then get up the next day and do all of it all over again.  

Lately, I've imagined a small, one-room Hobbit-hole constructed in the hill behind Sam's house.  A soundproof structure partially underground with a window-seat for reading, a space for writing, and another space for singing and playing and making a lot of noise without worry of being a nuisance to any neighboors or family members, but also without them interrupting my thought or creative processes while I'm working.  Maybe that space is just a creative space large enough to transition for sewing, painting, drawing, writing, singing, playing, and, even, rehearsing, but small enough to feel safely enclosed, like a shed or... a fucking Hobbithole.  ;P  

I think it can be done, and maybe with the money I make from my first sold artistic project, I can attempt to make it a reality.  And I feel you're both nerdy enough to understand how awesome a reality that would be!  

I just want a space that doesn't give me any excuses not to create and the space to just spend time creating.  And yet... here I am, home all day with nowhere to be, and I'm not creating.  I have a myriad excuses for it all, and I will also say (to be kind and fair with myself) that my mental health has been tricky to navigate throughout all of this.  

But these excuses are allowing me to escape creating and doing... pretty much anything that brings me joy.  Essentially, the whole reason I quit full-time work and decided to go through the stress and uncertainty of putting myself through college is the one thing I'm not using my suddenly AMPLE HOME TIME doing.  

And I'd very much like to change that.  

So here I am... writing this letter.  Telling you random things that are on my mind.  Knowing... (hoping?)... that neither of you will EVER read this.  Right?  Maybe, after all of the other prompts are finished or whatever, I'll continue writing to you both about my day and my struggles and my projects.  Because why the hell not?  You're both already like the nerdy, understanding, choice-affirming fathers I never had?  

My papa wasn't bad, he was just a stereotypical dad, who expected his kids to be tough all the time, couldn't deal with emotions, and watched football with a beer in his hand yelling at the tv on Sundays.  He didn't understand the proclivity to read all day or write well or watch shows on sociology and scientific experimentation.  He didn't understand much of anything that wasn't 'working on a career' or 'sport-related current events.'  He definitely didn't understand how to deal with a child who moved away from home, started learning about the world intellectually and largely unbiasedly for the first time, and developed views and opinions of their own, for themself, after seeing how the world really worked with their own eyes.  

So I see you, my two tv dads, as the parent he's unlikely to ever be... and it helps me to know there are dads like you out there, even if parts of it are shows put on for your audiences.  And I do hope to meet you both one day, as one of your guests, and (if we can ever hug again) give you both hugs to thank you for helping to raise me, keep me informed, and prepare me to survive the batshit, bonkers world that currently exists around us all.  

My best to you both and to your families,

Me