#Little house on the prairie is so fucking dramatic

[puppiesandnightlock]

My grandparents do not let me watch tmbt or sonic or any shit so I’ve turned to the old little house on the prairie tv show and Batman.

I have a problem now.

[cleolinda]

Story time: yard chaos

[I told this story on Twitter today, 11/29/22, because I like to be as dramatic and ominous as possible.]

Friends, you may be aware that I often tell Neighborhood Gothic tales about the happenings on my street. I have another one.

So yesterday I look out the kitchen window and see about 15-20 fluorescent-vested workers (who do they work for? We just don’t know) hanging out about 1-2 houses down. Just chilling on both sides of the street, sitting on the storm drain, in the yards, what have you.

And they are more than welcome to; I just don’t know why. Tons of trucks around. Including multiple USIC trucks: People What Identify Your Underground Utilities. You may remember that I ran into one while I was tripping on yard nightshade. Good people, necessary, ideal.

I go about my business (cleaning out my tea kettle). Sometime later, loud machine noises. Bear in mind that I live in an area where there is always someone working loudly on something. Cutting down dangerous trees (RIP🌲), building new houses, eternally landscaping. I shrug.

I look out the window again. The corner of my neighbor’s yard is thoroughly dug up. Now, this summer, I watched a man cut down a whole-ass tree and every single bush (including two beautiful gardenias) of hers branch by branch. There are naught but stubs now.

Am I now that old lady who peers out the window at the doings of the street? Yes. Do I know Debra’s life? No. Do I have any idea why twenty workers are needed to dig up one corner of her yard? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Some hours later, my mom comes home for lunch. She is INCANDESCENT with rage. I assume it’s because our street is clogged with trucks. Why u mad tho? “WHY AREN’T YOU MAD?” After some confusion, my mom gets it through my placid head that the workers

are digging up

OUR YARD

I hadn’t looked out the FRONT window; our dog had been asleep and hadn’t needed to go out. There are three GIANT HOLES, like 3x3 and half a grave deep, at the street end of our yard, like prairie dog holes from hell. Nobody said FUCK ALL to me about this.

My mom’s higher self is a capable, savvy woman who knows her worth. My mom’s shadow self is a Karen. She marches out there to ask what the FUCK is going on. A foreman steps forward. “Oh, they didn’t put a letter on your door?” NO!!!!

I can’t tell if this [a tweet that did not in fact go through] went through or not, because they keep cutting off the wifi. There is a crane over my street now

What is GOING ON, asks my mom. “Something about fiber optic cables,” the foreman says. SOMETHING?? “Something about phones.” IN 2022??? We Just Don’t Know.

Holes begin to spread up the street.

By sundown, every single yard upstreet of mine has a minimum of three deep pits exposing Unknown Cables. Turf has been skinned off and thrown aside. I’m just like, this might as well happen. My mom now has a contractor’s business card. Neighbors are mad. Nobody was warned.

I’m out with Cooper on the deck (where he likes to chase falling leaves) in the dimming sunlight, and I happen to look around at the street.

Water is cascading down the road.

I live on a hill. You know how it looks during a hard rain, just little wavelets washing down the road? That. Water pouring down the entire width of the street, gutter to gutter. The deluge has already reached the intersection and shows no sign of stopping.

My phone has no wifi.

The Workers from Somewhere have hit a water main up the street. In front of a lawyer’s house, I’m told, so have fun with that. What I learn later is, despite there being 3-4 USIC trucks on the street, no one ever marked any utilities. Somebody told the workers not to wait.

Birmingham Water Works trucks, flashing their lights in the darkness, show up at 9 pm to fix the busted water main. Neighbors are wandering around fretting that the Great Flood of ‘22 is going to show up on their utility bills. The lawyer is very popular.

I get up this morning. By 6 am, they are back out there, doubling down. This is not the workers’ fault, btw. Honest day’s work, dishonest employer.

Every single house on my side of the street has a minimum of four (4) fiber optic prairie dog pits now.

I don’t know WHAT and I don’t know WHY. And now, there is a crane over my street for something happening underground. Orange cones and a giant wheel of orange and blue cable have appeared. Someone is brandishing a rake. End transmission for now.

UPDATE: The crane is ripping out a small tree (RIP 🌳) near the top of the street. I do not know if this is related or not. Either shit just got real with the cable digging, or we have dueling contractors.

[Situation in progress, more later]

[twocubes]

What is your opinion on anti-civ politics? Do you forsee any way for us to avoid extracting the world to death, whether that's wood, coal or lithium, without abolishing civilization itself and focusing inward on sustainable and self-sufficient micro-communities?

Anti-civ politics is uhm... I mean, my contact with them is minimal. So none of the following is going to be a terribly direct answer to anyone in particular. And I'm not going to go research them just for you, Anon. But.

The advantage of forming large groups is that you get to take advantage of economies of scale, and the advantage of economies of scale is, you have to do less work on average to get the same output. You get the sense that some people have forgotten that the first freedom that we were aiming for was freedom from toil. The failure of many extant bits of civilization to produce this despite ostensible increases in efficiency is more the trouble. All giving up on economies of scale means is no longer having the possibility.

Fundamentally I don't see why we can't extract the world to death as a large collection of small "self-sufficient" micro-communities.

I put "self-sufficient" in quotes because that's usually been a lie. We always depend on each-other.

Rather frequently (for Ted, as an example) anti-civ-types do recognize this thing about the possibility of scale etc, and so their solutions involve dramatically reducing the human population first. Of course, if you did that first, all solutions to climate change would work. In fact this solution isn't really distinguishable from "extracting the world to death" if you look at the levels of human death involved. Congratulations.

In fact, you might recognize this strategy from somewhere. You might recognize "clearing out the extant population in order to exploit the land better than the people who were there before who did it in a bad way" as a strategy, from a different point, in history.

I wrote a post a while ago about post-apoc stories as colonialist fantasies where the colonial frontier is just the future. I mean, the genre explicitly was trying to go for "westerns set in the future" when it started. Anyways, that's the sense I get, rather frequently, from anti-civ types; it's just that their little house on the prairie is a commune.

I'm getting away from the topic. Perhaps you don't accept that an end to civilization would necessarily mean a dramatic reduction in the population. Perhaps you think that we weren't all (effectively) overworked in the past, before fucking, agriculture.

You asked if I saw other ways out. I mean, I can certainly, for example, imagine giving up on (eg) growth. I can imagine some sort of revolution happening and all production being made subject to a total rationalizing system. I can imagine all sorts of vague ideas like that, that ultimately mean taking the needs of the world seriously and organizing the world so those needs are met without putting too much pressure on the world-system.

What I can't imagine is "focusing inwards" ever doing anything useful. You need to focus outwards. Come together, at the largest possible scales. Talk to people in other parts of the world. Understand how things are made. Organize. Risk wasting your time. Risk frustration. Risk getting tricked, conned, fucked over. Learn and try again.

Alone you are weak. You won't solve anything.

[conduitandconjurer]

It’s only five thirty in the evening, but it’s been dark for over an hour and the sun never fully came out today. 

Klaus loves places where the sun is predominant. Desert or tropic isle, doesn’t matter.  He runs warm, and he finds most clothing textures unbearably itchy, so he’s always galavanting half-naked in search of spots where it’s too brilliantly illumined for any ghost to comfortably loiter. 

Today has been so far from that sort of graceful place, and there have been many violent ghostly intrusions into his mental and physical space, and Klaus is craving a hit, maybe just a drink, just one sip, please Christ please just one, and his skin hurts while he stares at Reginald’s untouched bar and thinks to himself, seven months sober, Klaus.  Seven months, and Ben’s not even here anymore to help.  Look what you’ve accomplished.  Bitter and thankless but you’re you, and you’re not useless.  

You have a kid now, Klaus, and one sibling, maybe three if Vanny and Ally can be counted, maybe even Diego sometimes, who finally believe you’re worth taking seriously. 

     “N’aw, fuck me . . . .”

It’s not like a dramatic scene of reality TV, or that awful melodramatic episode of Little House on the Prairie that scarred the child Klaus more than any rehab horror story.  That’s not what the urge to relapse is like. It’s like, you have an itch on the bottom of your foot. You have a terrible itch. And your shoe is stuck under cement, and you can’t scratch it. And that itch never goes away. And you have to live with not getting out a hammer and busting the cement, taking off the shoe and scratching. You have to live without relief. Forever.  

Just one drink.

You’re accountable for others now. 

Please.

You can’t. And you won’t. 

    “Fuck, fuuuu-ck,” he moans, gutturally, as long limbs curl into a ball, as he rolls onto his side, on the old couch, facing away from the bar: burning. 

[rogerbikes]

I’m writing this down before I forget it because it was beautiful!!

I just woke up and I had a dream that me and my husband were walking through this city like town but it wasn’t New York City. Idk what it was. But we took a random turn and ended up at this colonial museum where you get to walk through a maze like colonial style mansion. It was insanely big and a little scary but very very very Victorian. It had beautifully decorated rooms and really long twisty stairwells.

I was wearing a really dramatic rose pink dress, my hair was done all colonial style, whispy and romantic. My husband was wearing some handsome as FUCK Mr Darcy Takes a Wife shit. I SWOONED. And we were holding hands and going through this mansion, we were scared and confused because we didn’t expect for it to be like this but eventually we started to just enjoy the journey and got to a mock up of a kitchen that was weirdly somewhat outdoorsy.

It had screen windows that had a view of the prairie that the house was built on and it was supposed to be dinner time on a rainy summer evening. It was very quiet, warm and you could hear the rain tapping against the screen windows and the crickets everywhere. It was lush and dreamy and we kissed and it was so perfect and romantic 😭

Then at the end of the maze you’re led to a waterfall with some movie playing. We stripped down and sat at the edge on some rocks and there were other couples watching the movie as well and there were pretty blue lights everywhere.

The movie started playing some kind of coupley water dance sequence and it inspired all the other couples to start playing around in the water and stuff. So we did too but in a corner and I was just hugging him and I whispered “this is the best time with you” and I was so happy and it was so nice 😭

And as we were getting out of the waterfall one of the other guys called out “you’re lucky that’s your girlfriend!” And my husband said “it’s my wife but thank you”

NOW TELL ME THIS AINT SOME OBSCURE FAN FICTION SHIT! I’m saving it forever.

[insideabunker]

The Games: Chapter 8

The shrill squeal of the referee's steel whistle ran in her ears as Lexa dropped the puck to the ice.  She watched as the man in the striped shirt called no goal, pointing towards the face-off circle.  Less than three minutes to go in the third period, and with Echo and Co. continuing their silent refusal to help Lexa in front of the net, the goalie couldn't wait for the game to be over.  The whistle blew again, the puck dropped, and the gameplay exploded to life once more.

The Czech team fought desperately for control of the puck, scrapping for every break they got as they strived to replicate the American team's feat of scoring on the indomitable Canadian goaltender.  Early on in the game, they had kept their play respectably enough, but with the score up 5-0 and beyond any hope of winning, their sportsmanship had disintegrated to the level of a street fight, and the biased referee showed no intention of reigning them in before the final buzzer.

A minute and a half left on the clock as the puck sailed out to a waiting Czech defenseman at the point.  She began to drop low, taking a mighty slap shot that caught the shin pad of a Canadian center as it ricocheted towards the front of the net.  Momentarily abandoning her refusal to help Lexa, Echo made a break for the puck, colliding with the Czech forward who had scrambling to pick it up.  The two women battled ferociously for control of the disk, with the Czech winger growing more and more desperate to elude the large and imposing defenseman.  Finally, she'd had enough, and the Czech’s elbow shot up forcefully catching Echo in the chin just below her cage, knocking her helmet halfway off as the pointed end of it collided with her bottom lip.  Echo stumbled backward long enough for the Czech women to take a wild shot on net.

Lexa caught the poorly aimed shot easily, holding the puck until she heard the whistle.  To the goalie's great surprise, the referee pointed at the face-off circle, making no mention of the elbow.  She stared over at Echo, her face cage hanging open as she pressed a hand to her bleeding lower lip.  The Canadian captain skated angrily over to the referee, exchanging heated words with him.  Over on their bench, Indra waved her arms furiously.  Close enough that she could make out their conversation, Lexa listened as the referee dismissed Echo's demands of a penalty call.

The referee shook his head. "The contact was accidental.  No penalty," the man spoke with a strong accent, his voice forceful as he pointed towards the face-off circle.

Echo's eyes went wide, wild, unbridled anger clouding her expression.  "But that's ridiculous!  Even if the contact was accidental, which it clearly wasn't, that's still a minor penalty!  Are you blind?"

He scowled.  "I said no penalty. Go line up before I penalize you for delaying the game."

"This is crazy!  How can you not call a penalty on something this obvious." Echo's eyes were red and furious as she clutched her bleeding lip.

The referee rolled his eyes.  “Damn it, this why I hate working the women’s games.  The men never complain about rough plays but you girls… You’re are always crying about nothing."

Something in Lexa finally snapped, and she flew out of the goal, making a beeline for the offensive official.

"What the hell is your problem! How dare you talk to her like that!"

He looked at her curiously, pointing to the net.  “You get back in that net!”

Unable to contain her righteous indignation, Lexa inched forward intimidatingly, towering just above the short, homely man.

"Not until you apologize to my captain.  What you just said is fucking disgraceful!  Your whole performance in this game has been fucking disgraceful!"

The referee sneered at her.  "Get back in the net, or I'll throw you out of this game."

"Apologize, and call the damn penalty! That was an illegal elbow!" Lexa roared in his face, poking him in the chest with her glove for emphasis as she leaned down condescendingly. "Maybe you would be calling the men's games if you weren't such a shit referee."

With that, the referee clenched his jaw furiously, his face turning a bright shade of crimson as she blasted his whistle "Game misconduct!"  He pointed off the ice.  "Number eight is ejected!"

"WHAT!"  Lexa threw her hands up in the air, listening to the crowd loudly protest the dramatic call.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Coach Indra looking ready to climb over the boards and throttle the man.  Echo merely hung there, suspended in her disbelief at Lexa defending her.

"GET OFF THE ICE!"

The referee blew his whistle continuously, as he pointed towards the rink exit.  With no recourse available, Lexa turned, knocking the obnoxious steel contraption from the ref's hands as she headed off the ice.

"LEXA WOODS!"

"Can you please keep your voice down!"  Clarke shot Raven a death glare as she shoved an extra pair of socks into her small sports duffle.

"As in superstar goalie for our one true rival, Lexa Woods?"  Raven was quieter this time, her attempts at a whisper barely less than standard volume.

"Yes, that Lexa Woods. Now, would you please get ready?  We have to be on the team bus in ten minutes." Clarke looked pleadingly at her giddy roommate, desperate to take back the information she'd just imparted.

Raven jumped over to Clarke's bed gleefully, grinning like the Cheshire cat.  "Griff, I was ready a half an hour ago.  Don't think you're getting out of giving me details."

The blonde rolled her eyes.  "I told you, there is nothing to tell.  I  was in a weird place.  I had a ton of pent up stress and energy. Lexa was just..."

Clarke paused, groaning defeatedly.  "She was there."

"She was there, so you fucked her brains out?"

Clarke turned her face up in objection.  "Ugh!  Don't be disgusting, Raven.  I didn't fuck her brains out."

"So she fucked your brains out?"

"No, Raven! "

"So you didn't fuck?"

"No! I mean, yes! I mean..." Clarke screwed her eyes shut in frustration. "It wasn't like that."

"It sure doesn't sound like it was an episode of Little House on the Prairie. Did you sleep with her or not, Clarke?"

"Yes," Clarke moaned, her head hanging as she admitted to the one night stand.

Raven shot up, clapping her hands with joy.  "Well, was it good?” she asked, trying not to let her eager delight spill over into hysterics.

Clarke sighed as she stared at her determined friend.  A Raven in want of information was a force with which to be reckoned. Ultimately, there would be no denying her.  "Might as well get it over with," Clarke thought to herself.

"Raven, if I tell you this you have to swear on all that is holy," she paused. "You have to swear on our friendship, that this information stays between you and me."

The taller girl held up a tan, perfectly manicured hand as though pledging allegiance.  Her face became stern, her expression one of utter solemnity.  "Clarke, on my honor as a deeply lapsed Roman Catholic, I swear on our friendship that anything you tell me, I will take to the grave."

Clarke breathed out slowly, already lamenting what she was about to admit to her friend.  "It was good."

Raven's face immediately broke into an ecstatic smile.

"Like, really, exceptionally good."  Clarke could barely look at her friend, her face turning red as Raven hugged her enthusiastically.

"Oh, honey. You had awesome anger sex with our team's arch nemesis.  I'm so happy for you!"

Clarke groaned, profoundly regretting her decision to give Raven an honest answer when her friend had asked her where she'd gone after their game.

"Raven we have a game in an hour.  This revelation aside, can you please try and focus?"

"Griff, we have a courtesy scrimmage against the Korean national team in an hour.  I will think of nothing other than your hookup until you avail me with more details after the game."

"You're the worst,"  Clarke mumbled into her friend shoulder.

"I love you too, babe."

"Hey."

Lexa looked up as Echo kicked her skate.

"That was dumb you know, getting yourself thrown out of the game like that."

"We were up by five, and Emori was more than capable of handling the net for the last minute."

"Still..."

"You could just say thank you."  Lexa stared up at her defenseman momentarily, trying not to look annoyed.

Echo shoved her hands in her pockets nervously, avoiding the brunette's gaze.  "Thank you,"  she kicked at the floor sheepishly, struggling to get her words out, "for sticking up for me back there. With the way I've been treating you, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't."

"Don't worry about it."  Lexa smiled hesitantly at her captain. Unsure of how to proceed beyond the small gesture, the goalie turned her attention back to unbuckling the straps of her leg pads.  She watched as Echo glanced awkwardly over her shoulder, staring at the doorway to the locker room where Gaia's stood, gesturing her silent encouragement. 

"Look," Echo cleared her throat, staring at the ceiling as she fought her desire to leave the interaction at thank you and be done with it.  "Some of us are going down to the Holland Heineken House for food and beers later.  You probably have other plans but..."

"I don't," Lexa spoke a little too quickly, embarrassed at having betrayed her excitement as she looked up from her shins.

"Oh," Echo nodded. "Well, you're welcome to come, if you want to."

Lexa paused, trying to act cool.  "You sure? I wouldn't want to impose."

The imposing defenseman rolled her eyes. "Wood, just accept the damn invitation before I change my mind."

Lexa nodded, grinned as she watched Gaia give a thumbs up from the doorway.  She threw her leg pads into her gear bag, unlacing her skates hurriedly as Echo headed for the door.  "So we're best friends now, right?"  Lexa chuckled as she pulled on her sweatpants.

Echo chuckled under her breath, shaking her head.  “Nope. I still can't stand you."

"Over here, Griff," Clarke heard Raven's voice calling to her from somewhere in the back of the crowded hospitality house.  She squeezed through the crowd, making her way over to the long table where Raven, Octavia, and Harper sat, clutching extremely tall glasses, brimming with amber colored beer.  She took a seat next to Octavia, fighting the urge to caution the 19-year-old not to drink too much.

"Sorry that I'm so late. I had to go over some game points with Coach."

Raven waved a hand dismissively.  "Yes, yes, we all know you're very responsible.  Now, drink up."

The goalie pushed a tall glass of pilsner towards Clarke, who stared at the beverage apprehensively.

"Loosen up, Clarkie.  We've got three days off.  Live a little."

Sighing, she reached for the beer and took a small sip.  "Fine, but just one."

"Of course." Raven winked at her mischievously.  "Just one."

Three beers later, Clarke was all warmth and easy laughter as Raven entertained the group with stories of their first season together.

"She had such a chip on her shoulder!"

"I did not!" Clarke giggled through another sip of beer.  "I was trying to prove myself, like everybody else."

"Like hell!"  Raven tipped back the remains of her glass and ordered another.  "You were trying to prove you were Wayne Gretzky."

"Well, you try being this size on that roster.  I was the smallest team member by four inches and 40 pounds."

"You were pretty tiny."

Octavia smiled awkwardly, trying to hold her own amongst the veteran skaters.

"Weren't you the youngest too?"

Clarke nodded.  "Yes, by a little bit."

Raven gave her a playful nudge in the ribs and wiggled her eyebrows.  "She's being modest. She was the youngest player ever selected to a U.S. Olympic hockey team.”  She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and scrolling through her photo app until she found the right picture.  "Here, look."

Octavia and Harper leaned over the table as Clarke groaned her eyes in protest.

"Raven, please don't tell me you're showing them the photo I think you are."

"I'm showing them the photo you think I am," she laughed wickedly.

Clarke peered over the table at Raven's screen.  Sure enough, there was a picture of her squinting, smiling sheepishly and holding up a hand in protest, her braces-clad teeth on full display.  "Oh g-d, that photo is horrible!”

"It's adorable!"  Raven smiled, flipping through a few more embarrassing snapshots.  "That was our first week of training.  She was such a baby!”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  "I got those braces off a few weeks later, but this one..." She pointed at Raven. "Compassionate saint that she is, she made sure to take plenty of beforehand photos so I could never live it down."

Octavia was in hysterics as she flipped through the candids, gleefully flipping from one unflattering image to the next.   Harper's attention, meanwhile, was drawn to some new fascination at the entrance to the hospitality house.  Raven nudged the defenseman with her foot, regaining her consideration.

"Hey, what got you staring so hard?"

Harper blushed at having been caught red-handed.  She cleared her throat, pointing discreetly towards the front of the room.

"Looks who's here."

Three sets of eyes followed her slender index finger to where a Canadian player had just ducked inside.  The woman was angular and piercing, with a long nose that ended, somewhat surprisingly, in a slightly bulbous tip.  It would have looked homely on anyone else, but offset against the chiseled jawline and high, sharp cheekbones it only made the woman look more contemptuously alluring. Her dirty blonde hair and exactingly curved brows framed large, light-brown eyes that scanned the room cautiously.

Clarke narrowed her gaze, her pulse speeding as she stared at the women who was partially responsible for the year she'd spent limping around on a bum knee.  She felt heated; indignant and incensed as she stared at the player whose cavalier disregard for safety and restraint had single-handedly cut her career short.  Of all the indignations she had suffered as a result of that fateful moment, the worst was knowing that Echo was walking around on two good legs, miraculously uninjured though both of their legs had impacted during the on-ice collision. This imbalance of repercussion was almost certainly due to the considerable size differential of the two women, with Clarke the unlucky smaller party.  A moment later the blonde jumped, shaken out of her fixation by the sound of a hand smacking the table-top.

“Fucking Côté! I can’t stand that girl!”  Raven seethed.  “I should go over there and knock that smile right off her smug, self-righteous face.”

The goalie glared daggers at the intimidating defenseman, as though she might jump over the table at any minute and charge the unsuspecting woman.

Immediately shifting back into captain mode, Clarke placed a restraining hand on her friend's shoulder.

“Raven, don’t. What happened was an accident.”  The words tasted like poison in Clarke’s mouth, but she forced them out anyway.

“Griff, how can you say that?”  Harper stared across the table at her friends, genuinely shocked.  “She nearly ended your…”

The thought trailed off into nothing as Harpers' eyes caught a glimpse of a second player who’d slunk in just being the Canadian Captain.

“Whoa.”  Harper’s eyes widened, her mouth hanging open a little as she drank in the intoxicating sight.  Everyone’s gaze shifted to the front of the room, where Lexa Woods hung hesitantly in the doorway.  Finally, she slipped inside, reluctantly following on the heels of the girl in front of her, unaware of the four American women whose stares were fixed on her as she made their way toward a table full of her teammates.

“Ugh!  She’s even sexier off the ice.”  Harper bit her lip and sighed, taking a sip of her drink as she continued to study the imposing figure cut but the Canadian goalie.

Clarke, Raven, and Octavia all spun their heads towards Harper, thoroughly shocked by the offhand revelation.

“I thought you had a boyfriend!”  Octavia’s eye popped wide open in shock.

Harper grinned sheepishly and shrugged.  “I mean, I do, but it’s not like I don’t have eyes.” Besides, I’ve always been open to the possibility.” 

Raven leaned across the table now, studying her friend curiously.  “Harper McIntyre, are you saying that you’ve dipped your toes in the waters of sapphic pleasure?”

Harper smiled coyly. “I dated a lot of people before I met Monty.”

Raven’s smile grew by a mile.  “Dude! You’re bi! How did we not know this?”

The soft-spoken defenseman shook her head, polishing off the last of her drink.  “I don’t ascribe to labels.  I see people, not gender.  However, if I had to call it something, I’d say I’m pansexual or polysexual, not bi.”

Raven rolled her eyes.  “Whatever you call it, you’re lusting after Lexa Woods!”

Harped chuckled and held up her hands. “I mean why wouldn’t I?  She’s a show stopper, and honestly…”

Harper leaned over the table secretively, bowing her head so only her friend could hear her.

“I saw her in the gym the other day doing pull-ups in nothing but tiny shorts and a sports bra.  She was covered in sweat, and I mean…”  Harper pulled at the front of her shirt, pretending to cool herself.  “That body… Those tattoos... All that toned muscle… I swear, I almost had to take a cold shower afterward.”

Raven smirked mischievously “I can only imagine.”  She chanced a quick glance at Clarke as she spoke, earning a swift kick under the table.

Clarke cleared her throat, trying not to blush furiously.  “Guys, we shouldn’t be talking about other players like this. It’s unprofessional.”

The stern statement seemed to strike a bit of solemnity into Octavia and Harped, their faces sobering a bit. Raven, however, would not be deterred.  “Clarke!  Are you not looking around this hospitality house right now.  Every athlete in here is hitting on someone, or about to be hit on by someone.  “Loosen up, girl! We didn’t just bring you down here for the cheap pilsners and the sightseeing.”

Realization suddenly hit Clarke like a freight train, and she screwed her eyes shut in frustration.

“You’re all trying to get me laid aren’t you.”

Guilt written all over her features, Octavia bit her lip nervously.  “Don’t look at me. It was their idea.”  The youngest current member of their team, the black-haired forward shrunk a bit, loath to be in trouble with someone she considered a mentor.

Harper reached across the table, gingerly placing her hand atop Clarke’s.  “Griff, we love you girl, but it’s been at least two years since you saw anyone. Be honest, aren’t you kind of going crazy without a little…”  She dipped her chin, her eyebrows wiggling. “You know?”

“I’m not answering that!” Clarke’s face burned with embarrassment, and not only because her friend had just insinuation that she had become a stiff in the past few years.  As soon as Harper had asked the question, a play by play of Clarke’s night with Lexa had begun to flash through her mind.  The captain found it hard to keep a straight face while remembering the unspeakable pleasure of having the brunette's face buried between her legs, her wild curly mane tickling the inside of Clarke's thighs.  For a moment she could almost smell the sweat pooling between their bodies, and taste herself on Lexa’s lips.

And then the moment was gone, and Clarke snapped out of it a second too late to realize that she’d been staring at Lexa the whole time.  She instantly turned bright red.  “I’m focused on my job.  I don’t have time for anything else right now.”

Her friends were all grinning at her, not the least bit fooled.  Octavia snickered into her beer, and Clarke reminded herself to scold Raven and Harper later for inviting a 19-year-old to drink with them in the first place.  Harper looked back and forth between the Canadian table and her captain a few times, her face a perfect picture of validation.

“Ok, so… I’m not the only one here who finds Lexa Woods attractive.”

“I’d say that’s fair.”  Raven felt another kick to her shin.  She tried not to wince as she smirked at her best friend.  Clarke, it’s alright to have fun sometimes.  You’re not going to lose your edge just because you talked to a pretty girl.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Raven, it’s fraternizing.  If we end up playing them in the final…”

“Okay! Okay!  Don’t talk to Woods then.  Find someone else, but go find someone!”

Raven gestured around the room.  “You’re in Olympic Village, Clarke.  This place is teeming with eligible, visually appealing single people that have the bodies of Greek gods.  Girl, this is literally the last time you’re ever going to be swimming in a pool of potential one-night-stands this top shelf.

As soon as she had made the statement, Raven’s face fell, realizing the unintended insinuation behind her words.  There was a moment of silence as the truth of Raven’s words sunk in for everyone.  No one on the team mentioned it, even in the privacy of privileged conversations, but it was a truth universally acknowledged that this would be Clarke’s last Olympics.  The uneasy feeling passed as quickly as it had come, and a second later Clarke was rising from her seat.

“Fine, but if you three are determined to set me up, then I’m going to need another beer.”

Raven swatted her friend ample backside playfully.  “That’s right Griffin!  Go get you some, girl!”

Clarke groaned, rolling her eyes as she made her way towards the bar.  Safely hidden inside the gaggle of people clambering for drinks, she snuck another look at the Canadian goalie, turning just in time to catch Lexa look away from her and apologize to a teammate for being distracted.  Clarke couldn’t help but smirk, wondering if Lexa’s mind was currently being invaded by the same salacious thoughts that had disarmed her earlier.  Perhaps it was the beer, or the suggestive insistence of her far too eager friends, or the intrusive memories of the night before, but at that moment Clarke decided that Raven was right. A little fun wouldn’t kill her.  She pulled her phone from her pocket and typed a quick message.

[Hey, this is Clarke.]

[Hey. What’s up?]

The response was tenser than she’d hoped, but Clarke remained undeterred.

[You still up for making this a two-night stand?]

She waited with bated breath, wondering if her dismissiveness in the aftermath of their encounter had put the Canadian phenom off of her.  A second later her phone vibrated in her hand, a single word appearing on the screen.

[Absolutely.]

Next Chapter ->

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[leolair]

[Possessing Me Softly] Chapter 2: His name is Leo

"Whoa-whoa" The demon was holding your body when it went limp in his arms and you almost took him with you; so he had to shift his own weight to support yours. He was rummaging his brain for an explanation of what had just happened, why did you just passed out like that? Even more importantly, what in Hell's prairies was he supposed to do with you now. He should be explaining the details and commands of the contract to you, but... he can't, so... should he... leave and come back later? Well, for the moment he guessed he had to put you down.

The carmine orb fluttering by his side gurgled and he heard an excited voice inside his head. "Leo? How did it go?" Red drops from the bubble stumbled upon the dirt with every word.

Leo picked the honey tar and gave it a sniff. It wasn't completely ruined, he guessed. One could still salvage around half of it. Such a shame, it smelled really good.  "I closed it."

The bubble almost exploded when the voice spoke. "Congratulations! Oh, we have to celebrate. What do you want to eat?"

"Nothing that you cooked"

"It was one time I burnt the food, you have to let it go someday"

Leo didn't answer. There weren't numbers high enough to express how many times it had really been, and even when he didn't burnt it, N seemed to have a talent for striping ingredients out of their flavor. Leo had tried to teach him once or twice, but to no avail. Maybe N had a curse of sorts.

"Talk to me, Leo, how does your caster looks? Is she a girl, she sounded like a girl. Is she pretty? Have you two talked about the contract? Did you give her the bandage like I told you to?" Oh... that. Crap, N was going to nag him if he found out he had let you bleed all this time. He knelled right beside you; retrieving the small bandage from his coat, he started wrapping it around your arm. The cut didn't seem very deep and most of the bleeding had stopped now.

"No, she fainted," and the notion was swarming around Leo's head; he had seen deals being closed before and, although he admits he have been a tad more rough than he had seen N being in the past, he never witnessed a caster even losing his balance when the contract was sealed.

Leo noticed the voice in his head was awfully quiet, although he didn't ponder long if it was any sing of abnormality in your deal. "Maybe she cut too deep," the redhead suggested absent-mindedly. "Bleed too much". As far as he could see and as far as he could smell, there was blood everywhere. It coated the tars, it mixed with the honey, it stained the dirt and it even putted out one of the candles that had previously been knocked off.

He only heard a non-committal sound from his friend.

Time passed in which Leo picked your offerings, inspecting the ones he would take home and the ones he would simply toss out. So far he only had grabbed interest in the honey that had gone untouched by your blood and a small wooden music box. This weren't very common in the underground. He wondered how it would sound.  There was also some wine there that N would appreciate.

He was picking stuff around when he spotted a glimpse of metal in the dirt. He leaned down to pick it up, but...

Fuck. He let it down with a grunt.

"Leo? Everything alright?"

"Silver," the demon looked around for something to grab the blade with, but a caw stopped him. Hugnin, his familiar, was pecking at a black backpack. Maybe it was yours?

"Uh, bad choice. Do you think she knows it hurts us? Does she seem the evil type of woman? Maybe a witch?"

Leo opened the bag refusing to answer. Inside was an old looking book. He flipped through the pages, catching drawings of summoning runes along the paper. It was yours, then. He rummaged a little more until he felt soft cloth touch his fingers. He was looking for something he could wrap around the knife to grab it and not have his hand scorched. A sweater. Good enough.

He was about to reach for the blade when N's voice came back. "Hey, Leo? Try not using your hands to pick it up."

Sigh. Leo shoved the sweater back in the bag, maybe with a little more force than necessary. He squatted by the knife and placed his hands on top of it.

"Come on, you can do it, you just need to-"

Leo tuned him out. He could feel the air crisp around him and the hair in his arms stood up, but the knife remained on the ground. He pushed harder. He could feel something vibrating within his chest, the place where his soul might have been stored in the past. He felt energy in his fingertip and the knife lifted in the air. The sight always reminded Leo of a puppet having its strings pulled.

"I did it."

"Congratulations! Everything is coming together today isn't it? You had your first deal and you finally managed to lift sacred metals." His voice took a dramatically sad tone. "They grow so fast. I can still remember the day we met, you were so-"

"Shut up." Leo shoved the silver blade into your backpack; a little more force and the back of the bag might have been cut through. He felt better now that the thing was out of sight, but he was back on his initial conundrum. What was he supposed to do with you?

As if reading his mind N intervened. "You aren't just gonna leave her there, right?" But couldn't he? Couldn't he just... take off? Sure, the night was chilly but it wasn't all that cold, and he even cleaned around. Maybe if he threw your sweater over you…

"No," N was never going to let him live it down. Leo went to you and cupped your face in his hands. "Hey," he waited for a second, but the demon had to repeat his command a couple of times before getting any sing of awareness in you. "Open your eyes for me, please," your eyes rolled in your sockets and Leo had to fight a sigh. When they finally open, he rushed before you could pass out again. "I just need you to think of home, okay? Just think of your house for a second," It took a while, but he felt the image form in his head. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled at the strings, feeling them take him into his destination.

Chirp.

 Chirp.

 Chirp? Oh for fuck's sake... Those goddamn birds. You swore upon your nana's grave that that if you could go back in time just for a second it would be to stop you mother from planting that damned tree by your window.

Now, there’s a lie.

Ben.

You quickly sat in your bed and peeled the covers away from your body. Your head was killing you and the space over your sternum felt sore and heavy. You massaged the place, trying to sooth the feeling while searching for an injury. You found nothing. No blood, no scratches, not even a bruise. Still... you could clearly remember the star entering your body and the pain… oh the pain. It was like something impossible heavy pushed your insides around and took place in the middle of your chest.

Then, you noticed the bandage wrapped around your forearm. The wound throbbed and you could see some blood splattered in the cloth. You didn't remember bandaging it yourself. Did the demon...?

You got up, shaking the though off. Whatever happened was over and you needed a shower with urgency. Sweat, dirt and dried blood stuck to you like a second skin, your cheeks had crusts of dry tears that you don’t even remember crying. Well... some of them you did.

The ritual in theory was not that complicated, you thought as you striped in the shower, careful to not get the bandage over your arm wet. The blood sacrifice had taken more of your sanity, both mental and physical, that you could’ve predicted, but the rest was quite simple. A chalk drawn circle with an over spiked star, weird runes, candles, an incantation and offerings.

Now that's where it got interesting. Apparently there wasn't any "how-to" when it came to flattering demons, but there were basic offerings that, if the internet was right, pleased a great variety of them. Oh!, because the little fuckers turned out to be picky. Some liked rice grains; some wouldn't present themselves if you offered it; some would drool over raw meat; some would open you in canal if you dared to have it near them during the ritual.

In the end you went with wine, honey, incense, a couple of herbs and a small music box, because apparently, the one thing they all agreed on was that 'tech is neat'.

You wrapped your body in a towel and stepped out of the shower, even when it felt like only you lived in this house now, with your parents always in the hospital. Passing by the sink, you stole a side eyed glace in the mirror, what you saw stole a gasp from your lips. There it was, just like the books had described it; a single black symbol on the skin between your breasts. It was a small cross with two horizontal lines, a hollow circle sat atop the upper one and another more filled one dangled from the one at the bottom.

You ran your fingers over it and reality came crashing down on you, making your head spin. You were marked. You were marked like cattle.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"I sold my soul to a demon."

It was almost ironic that after all that time of researching satanic rituals and their whatabouts, it was now that the gravity of the situation fell upon you.

You were screwed.

You were beyond screwed; you had sold your soul and now it was someone else’s property. Well... not quite yet. Not until Ben was healed. You were going to be around until he could carry on with his own life. The rush of adrenaline made your head spin a little. It brought back memories from last night; the candles, the smoke, the blood, the demon-.

You saw movement out of the corner of your eye. You twisted your head as fast as humanly possible and backed against the wall when you saw... him, in your shower stand. He looked so out of place with his red eyes and ominous clothes. Just now in the bathroom light did you realize that his hair, despite how the candlelight made it seem last night, was actually of an auburn shade. Like old blood. Fuck, he was intimidating. The big black coat he wore didn't helped either.

Thinking about clothes...

The lack of them in your own body fell on you and you gripped the towel around your chest. "What the hell are you doing here?" He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He seemed at a loss for words.

"I... We need to talk. About the contract," he shifted in his feet "I need to teach you-"

"How long have you been in there?" Getting into hysterics was a bad, bad idea, yes, but you were dressed in only a towel, your arm was bleeding and your head was about to explode, so, if your voice had a particularly panicked tone, well... you had motive.

"I just got here, I wasn't... watching" The demon seemed to stumble upon his words.

You cradled your head in between your hands. Jesus Christ, the day had barely started and you already wanted to crawl back in bed. "Can it wait?"

"Yes, but-"

"Please, just... Go downstairs, give me a second"

The demon nodded and disappeared in a bright light and a loud snap that brought a buzz to your ears.

What the-…

When you walked down the stairs a part of you wished the red-haired demon would be gone, but to your despair, he was planted in the middle of your kitchen, his eyes stuck to a brightly coloured cookie jar. Despite his dramatic look what made your heart jump was not him, bu the big bird perched in one of the wooden chairs from the breakfast table. When she heard you enter the room, she twisted her head around and stared at you with... one, two... seven? Seven eyes. Lord. Her companion heard you as well, and in a likewise manner twisted around looking guilty. You wanted to ask him if he would like a treat for the bird, instead you asked him what did he needed you for.

"Leo" Eh? "My name" Oh. You introduced yourself.

Leo took a notebook from a hidden pocket in his black coat. "We need to go over some things" You eyed the clock hanging over the wall. The black tail of the cat ticked in a steady rhythm; it's eyes traveled from side to side, but you had the feeling it was somehow judging your  life decisions. Nevertheless, you still had some time until school started, so you sat down at the kitchen table, motioning Leo to do the same.

"Before we begin, do you have any question?"

"Yeah, why were you in my shower stand?"

"I-... You passed out, so I-"

"Yeah I get that, but how did you got in there?"

"It's..." He was trying to place it with the right words, but seemed unable to.  The silence extended, you thought he was just going to left that hanging, but he proceeded talking "It's easier to show you."  

You wondered what he meant, but a bright light shined and much like the way he did a couple of minutes ago, he vanished into thin air.

"What?" You looked around, but were completely alone in the kitchen. The baby blue walls that your father used to always keep on patrol for any oil or sauce spills, would have given a dramatic contrast with the almost gothic appearance of the demon. You stood up, looking through the windows that gave to the back garden. Your mother's forgotten cops, dried and dead sat unbothered under the early sun, but no trace of a black coat or a red head. Where had he...?

The black bird made a deep noise that sounded an awful lot like human speech. You passed saliva. It's okay. You knew some birds could mimic sounds. It wasn't all that rare. Although, added to the eyes and the way she looked at you, It was creepy as fuck. "What was that?" you spoke with a trembling voice.

"Leo."

"Leo?"

The air in front of you changed and there he was, he was... too close. You breathed in deep, and received a whiff of coffee and something deeper,  far more sinister that complimented the situation perfectly. He was so tall he towered over you; he was close enough for you to feel the heat emanating from his body and his face was… his eyes were...

You took a step back.

"So you appear" Nod. "Whenever I call?"

Leo hesitated. "It works on intent" He passed his hands through the front of his clothes, as if straightening imaginary wrinkles. "You don't need to call me, just..."

"Yeah, I didn't call you upstairs."

"You didn't need to, I was sort of, 'keeping an eye... Ear. Keeping an ear out'"

"And what, you heard me saying the word 'demon' but not the shower running?"

"I didn't hear you I... well I did hear your voice, but I wasn't outside the door or anything"

"Then where-? Oh." It finally fell on you what he was trying to say. "How does that actually work?" You motioned between the two of you. "The books weren't all that clear."

"The contract is inside of you." Leo pointed at the middle of your chest. The star. "That..." He struggled with his words "keeps a door of sorts, open."

You placed a hand over your sternum. Then, a feeling of heaviness around your heart made itself present. As downing as this whole affair seemed... You had a cause. You had a purpose. Last night when you opened your wrist you thought that was going to be it, and the fact that it didn't... well, that changed nothing. "Is there anything else?"

You saw him shift in his chair. He was uneasy and you could almost swear he didn't want to keep going. Regardless, he started reading from his notebook. "The caster, as solicitor, holds complete liberties over the course of action they might prefer to accomplish the given task through, although it is advised to follow the generic methodology presented by the casteé. In addition, the contract enforces the fulfillment of these commands to accelerate the process and to assert the caster wishes are seen trough."

"Wait, what does that mean? I can just boss you around?" Nod. "And you 'have' to do it?" Shrug. "Yikes."

Leo let out a big exhale of air. You had the feeling he was trying to calm himself down. "I need to see your brother soon, but for now, please tell me what exactly is his situation.”

You squirmed in the chair, already familiar with the drowning sensation that swallowed you whenever someone asked about Ben's many afflictions. "My parents were... rather old when they got Ben and the pregnancy was risky," There was a knot forming in the back of your throat, but you pushed it down. "My mom... she went through a lot and Ben was born sooner that we thought."

"How soon?" You noticed the demon was scribbling in the notebook from before.

"Near 28 weeks. He... started to get really sick; had problems breathing and the doctors hooked him to a respirator, but... because of how long he needed the machine, his lungs took some damage. Over the years it escalated, he was diagnosed around a year ago with chronic lung disease. It was supposed to get better over time, but... it hasn't."

"How old is your brother right now?"

"He will turn three in a couple of weeks," which brought to mind that you still had to plan something for his birthday. Last year he had been crazy for butterflies, so you managed to sneak a couple and let them flutter in his hospital room. The smile on his face was worth every second the nurses scolded you. This year, you wondered where on earth you were going to get a dinosaur.

"I see. Is that all?"

"No. He gets infections all the time, even in the hospital's 'sterile' chambers. He also had a very bad anemia that slowed down his growth." Leo was nodding you along, pen dancing over the paper.

>>He has... trouble learning. At the beginning the doctors guessed his brain hadn't developed correctly, but it seems fine in all of the scans," you leaned against the wall, talking about Ben always drained you emotionally. You wondered if anyone will notice if you skipped class today. You considered for a moment, but desisted upon realizing that staying home would just prolong your current conversation. You focused again on your train of thought. "We are just... stumbling in the dark at this point. All the other preemies in his wing stayed in the hospital only a couple of weeks, Ben lives there."

"Is there any chance I could look into his medical records, as well as your family's?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll have to look for them, though."

"I'll need some blood too."

A chill ran down your spine. Last night you had to pay a price in blood, maybe... "You want me to..." your hand gestured towards the kitchen knives.

Leo's eyes bored on you. He seemed strangely amused by your suggestion.  “I mean a sample. From your brother?”

Embarrassment brought the color back to your face. Right.

[forbidden-sorcery]

The Bridge To Body Island

(re: @skograt regarding the terrible film adaptation) Background: in 2006, author Robert D. Schneck released a collection of strange American tales titled The President's Vampire: Strange-but-True Tales of the United States of America.

One included story claims to be a true event related to the author, entitled The Bridge To Body Island. (outside of the paranormal ouija spirit shit, I have a lot of family in middle Wisconsin, the “body island” thing is related to reality, there are a bunch of little islands in the Wisconsin river that have occasionally been the resting place of corpses floating down the river over the years.) In 2014, the rights to the story were acquired in order to adapt it into what became this fucking awful movie The Bye Bye Man. I heard this story in the middle of the night when the author was discussing the book on Coast To Coast AM. This is how us small town hicks got our urban legend kicks before creepypasta. Without further apology for the shitty movie, follows the original incarnation:

“At the end of the summer of 1990, three friends living in a small town in Wisconsin carried out an experiment with an ouija board that brought them into contact with a monster. “Eli” wrote this account in third person form. Sun Prairie is in the southern part of the state and is best known as the home of artist Georgia O’Keefe. [She was a painter of big blowers and cow skulls; O’Keefe hated Sun Prairie.] It is surrounded by dying family farms and scattered hamlets like Pumpkin Hollow and Killdeer Creek. It has some of the last one-room schoolhouses in this part of the country, and more importantly for this story, is just three miles from the railroad hub between Chicago and Minneapolis. I had just received a BA in Cultural Anthropology from the University Of Stevens Point-Wisconsin and decided to pursue a graduate degree in Madison, Wisconsin. Katherine, my long-time girlfriend, was born and raised in Madison and was working there for the summer. I got a job at a group home in Sun Prairie, working the night shift. It came with a small salary and a smaller apartment in the basement of the house. It was on the outskirts of Sun Prairie, a stone’s throw from Pumpkin Hollow on a dead end street near the county line. I was responsible for watching over three adults who had Prader-Willi Syndrome (PWS), a genetic disorder named after two German doctors. People with PWS manifest a number of disturbing symptoms, including stunted growth, limited brain development, and high-pitched voices like cartoon characters, but the most dramatic symptom is their insatiable appetite. PWS patients do not produce the hormones that inform the brain that the body has had enough to eat, so they always feel famished. Since the brain thinks it’s starving, it sends message to the endocrine system that stunt growth and preserve every calorie taken in. A vicious cycle develops, with the body squeezing every last bit of fat out of food while cannibalizing the muscles for more protein. As a result, those with PWS get obese with fewer calories than normal adults, and never feel full no matter how much they eat. In order to satisfy their ravenous appetite, patients will periodically try to escape, break into stores, order huge meals at restaurants, etc. They would eat anything, whole jars of mustard, toothpaste by the tube full, even medications if given a chance. My job was to keep them in the house and out of trouble in the evenings. Katherine’s parents and most of her friends had moved away and she was working part time for a political organization. Her job did not pay enough for her to live in the city, so she moved into the basement with me. I drove to school every day and dropped Katherine off at work; then we rode back to the group home at night so I could work. Between school and the group home’s evening schedule, we didn’t have time to meet new people in the area, so we were very happy when a mutual friend moved there from Stevens Point. John got a job as a dishwasher and took a room in a nearby boarding house run by an old woman. The three of us hung out all the time in Sun Prairie. We took walks in the fields, checked out the local graveyards (some of the oldest in the state), and collected local folk tales and urban legends. (I was studying both anthropology and folklore and previous had done parapsychology work with OBE’s at Stevens Point.) [An O.B.E. or “out-of-body-experience” is the sensation of having left the body. Spiritualists call it “astral projection” and it may or may not be paranormal in nature.] That fall, a childhood friend gave me an ouija board that he’d found in the attic. It was an old wooden board and John and I spent hours trying to get messages, but all we ended up with was gibberish. I convinced Katherine to join me at the board but our results were no better. Then she tried it with John and they immediately started to get results. For the next few days, the three of us spent hours on the board. The messages came from the “Spirit of the Board,” an entity that had never lived and that acted as an interlocutor between other entities and us. These entities had different personalities and individual ways of moving the planchette: some used abbreviations, some were terrible spellers, and others used Latinate words with some skill. Some preferred using the pointed end of the planchette to choose letters while others like the porthole. The Spirit of the Board would control and introduce each of these intelligences, and for weeks we communicated with them. Like the Spirit of the Board, they claimed to not be spirits of the dead but some kinds of archetypes or free-ranging consciousnesses. Each entity had its own personality, but for the most part they concentrated on imparting New-Age wisdom and philosophy. Since the board would only work when Katherine and John used it, I got the job of transcribing the proceedings and carefully filled notebooks with correspondences. I am interested in scientific parapsychology and wanted to find out if some sort of paranormal phenomena was indeed happening, so I started to conduct a number of experiments with John and Katherine. They got messages from the board by touching the planchette with their palms or a single finger, with the ouija board turned around, and wearing blindfolds in a darkened room while I followed the planchette with a flashlight. No matter what innovation I introduced, the results were the same; the entities kept communicating. I suggested automatic writing and even attached a small golf-pencil to the planchette but this did not work. Then we tried for EVP phenomena with similarly disappointing results. [EVP or Electronic Voice Phenomenon are the “spirit voices” caught on recording equipment, especially audiotape.] We also tried pendulums, but again the board was the only method that got results. I decided to add a new twist to the procedure by writing down the questions without saying them out loud. I selected questions that would need to be answered by numbers, words, or letters. Though the answers were vague, as usual, they remained consistent and could be said to correspond with the questions. After weeks of this, John and I were getting bored with the eight or so entities that the Spirit of the Board would let us communicate with and their repetitious philosophy. I was determined to talk to a spirit that had lived, whose existence could be verified, and who would give us information we could check. At one point the board told us that there were indeed other entities we could communicate with, but they might be dangerous, and it encouraged us to continue talking to the other entities. After some digging, we heard about a sinister entity that wanted to communicate with them. They also found out that this entity was not only a human but was still alive. John and I were eager to communicate with whoever it was, but Katherine was adamantly against it. She had a history of paranormal experiences and had been sufficiently spooked by them to not even watch scary movies; she certainly had no interest in deliberately contacting something sinister. Katherine refused for a few days, but the two of us were able to wear her down and she agreed with try again. She was not happy about it but was very close to both of us and we were determined to see it through. At first, to Katherine’s relief, the board simply refused to communicate with the desired entity and instead brought us the same old tiresome folks. The questions that I wrote or asked were now all about the living mind that wanted to reach us. At one point we learned that all of the other entities knew about this person and gave us a name; he was called the Bye-Bye Man. Upon seeing that name spelled out on the ouija board, Katherine panicked and quit the board again. We tried to press on without her, but nothing happened. Katherine was now very clear; she refused to try to communicate with the Bye-Bye Man, but we cobbled together a compromise. We would not communicate with the Bye-Bye Man directly but would try to get some piece of information about him from the other entities, something that could be tracked down an verified. Now we began interrogating the spirits but they refused to cooperate until John got an idea: we would stage a strike. The Spirit of the Board was given notice that we were tired of the entities and their refusal to tell us anything about the Bye-Bye Man, so from now on we were going to be using the Parker Brother’s board that we’d bought for the planchette. We tried the new board for a few days but got nothing. Even Katherine and John got nothing useful. Still, we waited a few more days before picking up the old board and discovered that the strike had worked; when we communicated with the Spirit of the Board again it agreed to tell us about the Bye-Bye Man. The story came out in bits and pieces over several sessions. It began in Louisiana sometime in the 1920s, when an odd little boy was put in an orphanage in Algiers. Nothing is known about his parents but the boy had albinism, a genetic condition that causes a lack of pigments in the eyes, skin, and hair; but it was his behavior that was strange. Maybe part of it was the physical and social isolation that can happen to children with albinism; their unusual appearance, the way they must avoid the sun, and, in this case, ever worsening eyesight. He could not play games and may have been teased or bullied by the other children. As the boy grew older, his behavior grew worse, and there were run-ins with the people who ran the orphanage. Then one day he was arguing with the head nurse in her office when he attacked her with a pair of desk scissors, leaving her an invalid. After this savage assault, he fled. He ran away to the train-yards, and began traveling around the country by jumping freights. The viciousness he’d already shown was now unleashed, and he began carrying out random killings. His eyesight finally failed, but that did not stop the Bye-Bye Man; he created a companion for himself, sewing together pieces of his victims into something named Gloomsinger. Gloomsinger was made from tongues and eyes and endowed with some kind of life. It acted like a hunting dog, sighting the next victim and letting out a whistle that the Bye-Bye Man could hear, which brought him to the scene. In order to keep Gloomsinger in good repair though, it was necessary to sew on new eyes and tongues regularly. The Bye-Bye Man became something of an expert at removing them, and their removal identified his handiwork. The organs of his victims were kept (along with his other belongings) in a seaman’s bag he called his Sack of Gore. At some point, he also developed a kind of telepathy and was able to sense when people were talking, or even thinking about him. As long as they thought about the name “the Bye-Bye Man,” they were psychic beacons and he was able to get a bead on them and slowly track them down. He would travel hundreds of miles by rail to attack unsuspecting gossips, and talk of the murders quickly spread through the rail-yards and hobo camps. The board also gave us some other details. The Bye-Bye Man had long hair and a tattoo on his wrist; he wore glasses that were painted black and wore a wide brimmed hat that covered his white face and something that looked like a pea-coat. And he carried the Sack of Gore. We also got a magic recipe that would help the Bye-Bye Man find us. I don’t remember the details, but we had to take a big green glass bottle, cork the mouth, and go out into the moonlight, Then if we quickly uncorked it and held it to our ears, we would be able to hear Gloomsinger whistling. We also asked where the Bye-Bye Man was now. Chicago, the board said, and coming closer. Katherine became very afraid, and refused to participate in any more sessions. I was not happy because I didn’t think we’d gotten anything worth checking, and preliminary searches produced nothing. John, meanwhile, thought the whole thing had been very interesting. It looked as though the experiment was over and the ouija board was put away. Soon after that, Katherine began waking up in a panic; she had suffered panic attacks as a teenager, but they were back and they always seemed to hit at 3 AM, the “soul’s midnight.” [This refers to the idea that most deaths and suicides take place at 3 AM or between 3 and 4 AM. It would require a statistician to prove whether or not this is true, but the idea is certainly widespread. “My grandfather was in the Merchant Navy in WWII, and he said the worst watch to be on was 3-4 AM because that’s when your soul was supposed to be ‘at its lowest’... “I remember my grandparents (both nurses) referring to 4 AM as “death hour” or something like that, as it was the most common time for patients to die. They put this down to probably being in deepest sleep by that time, and that it’s the coldest part of the night...” “I can also state from personal experience of signing search warrants, that the police still like to raid drug dealers at 3-4 AM as they figure they will be at a low ebb then and less likely to put up resistance.] John’s work schedule had changed so we saw less and less of him. Without the ouija board experiments, the focus returned to normal pursuits like work and school. One day I ran into John at the Student Union at the college, so we had a beer and talked. I was worn out because Katherine kept waking up with panic attacks at 3 AM and when I told this to John he turned grey. He said he had been waking up at the same time with a feeling of great uneasiness (not panic attacks per se) since they stopped using the board. He chalked it up to a change in his work shift. He was taking some kind of vitamin supplement to regulate his sleep, so I got the name of it and bought some for Katherine in hopes that it would help her and me sleep. A week or so after the meeting, I returned to Wausau to see a concert and brought Katherine with me. By this time it was winter, and we had time to kill before the show started, so I took Katherine for a walk downtown. It was Sunday and most of the businesses were closed, so after hanging out at the bookshop and record shop we had run out of distractions. I suggested a walk across the railroad bridge to a little island in the middle of the Wisconsin River, locally known as “Body Island.” The island is down-river from Big Bull Falls, and one explanation for the name comes from this being the place where bodies in the Wisconsin wash up. In the 19th century, many lumberjacks drowned while dislodging logjams, and their remains ended up here. Some say the name comes from a woman that worked at Prange Way in the 1970s. [Prange Way was a department store; today the building is the Eastway Corporate Offices.] She used to cross the trestle bridge as a short cut on her way home until one night when she vanished. After an all-night search, she was found on the tip of the island, staring into the water. She had been stabbed and was in shock and died at the hospital; what made this murder so memorable, though, was that her sister was killed a few years later in the cemetery where this woman was buried. Despite the morbid associations, Body Island is a pretty little preserve of wild grassland and offers a nice view of the city. [Its real name is Barker Stewart Island and it is named after the lumber company that once had a mill there. A few years ago a woman was beaten to death on the shoreline opposite the island.] Katherine and I were walking along the track when something got my attention. I don’t remember what it was, but I climbed down from the bridge to the riverbank to look, while Katherine waited on the wind swept trestle. While she was standing there, she heard a faint noise. At first she feared it was a train whistle - it is an active train bridge - but soon she realized that the whistle sounded more human than locomotive. She felt the familiar sense of fear rising up inside, and when I returned she was having a full-blown panic attack. She said she heard something, but as much as I tried I couldn’t. Then she heard it again, “as if it were right over my shoulder.” Still, I heard nothing, and after we left the bridge Katherine suffered from panic attacks for the rest of the day. Back in Sun Prairie, we found a message from John on the answering machine. He sounded upset, and when I met with him, he told me a strange story. He had come home from work, and when he arrived at his room in the boarding house, had tried to do some drawings (John’s hobby is art.) He couldn’t concentrate, though, and had an “uncanny feeling,” so he decided to call us, not knowing that Katherine and I were out of town. Not finding any of his friends at home, he tried reading, but couldn’t. By this time it was late enough for him to get some sleep, but for some reason he couldn’t stand lying in the bed and decided to sleep on the floor. He fell fast asleep and at some point a knock on the door woke him up. “John,” he heard Katherine say, “let’s go out to breakfast!” We often stopped by to pick up John for breakfast on our way into Madison. It was a common enough thing. He got up and was looking for his clothes when he noticed that it was still pitch black outside. He heard the voice again saying, “John, let’s go out for breakfast.” It couldn’t be us, not that early in the morning, and he was overcome by a fear so intense that he felt limp and laid back down on the floor. The time the voice, still sounding like Katherine, said, “John... open the door!” But he just laid on the floor where he could see hall light through the crack under the door and the shadow of someone standing outside. It went away, but he did not sleep the rest of the night. I told him that it couldn’t have been us because we were in Wausau. He checked with the old woman and the man who lived across the hall to see if they had knocked on his door, but they all said no. The woman kept the front door locked at night, and she was the one who opened it for visitors. No one stopped by that night. John still wonders what would’ve happened if he had opened that door.”

[cryptidluvr69]

not to be a n*rd but old literature fucking slaps. but not like dark dramatic stuff like edgar allen poe or voltaire. 

i mean like feel-good old books. Little Women? Little House on the Prairie? Tom Sawyer? The Wizard of Oz? the Nancy Drew’s? The original Sherlock Holmes books? Alice in Wonderland? Anne of Green Gables? The Adventures of Huck Finn? shit the list goes on but they’re all so pure and fun and sweet to read! They just make me nostalgic and happy. 

[themusicenthusiast]

Single Review: “Ghost” by Badflower

Badflower is probably a new band to many, though the Los Angeles-based quartet has spent several years cutting their teeth, preparing for the noteworthy tours they have since been a part of, where they made certain that they were a supporting band that patrons would want to check out. The heavy touring schedule they’ve kept (which has included some appearances at major festivals) has been instrumental in them getting to where they’re at now, where they’re poised to be one of the next biggest things in the modern rock era. That’s sure what their latest single, “Ghost” (out via Big Machine Records / John Varvatos Records), leads one to believe as Badflower continues to build anticipation for their forthcoming debut LP. “Ghost” has become a smashing success on some of the rock charts, probably becoming one of the most played songs currently on radio, and for good reason. However, where a lot of songs in this modern era achieve that because they’re catchy and have a good vibe, Badflower went a different route in scoring this hit: they made something with substance.

“Ghost” is a testament to the fact that bands can still write something meaningful, something with passion and heart and find an audience for it. There are multiple ways to interpret “Ghost”, all depending on the listeners’ perspective. Some may consider it outright morbid and depressing, while it may offer some sort of hope to others thanks to the artfully way it deals with the sensitive topic of depression and self-harm that can result from some cases. Whichever way you choose to view it, there’s no arguing that it’s an incredibly visceral song that delves into the complex emotions people in those circumstances are experiencing, neither condemning nor glorifying their choices, all while trying to offer some sort of insight for those struggling as well as those close to them. The story depicted by the lyrics begins innocently enough, introducing the listener to a person making a cry for help, cutting themselves, but being measured with their actions. The final lines from the first verse then set the tone, “…And all I really wanted was someone to give a little fuck. But I waited there forever and nobody even looked up,” Josh Katz mournfully croons, depicting a person who feels ignored an unimportant, and therefore doesn’t believe there’s much reason to keep going. Katz and fellow band mates Joey Morrow (lead guitar), Alex Espiritu (bass) and Anthony Sonetti (drums) cover a lot of ground in the slightly less than four and a half minutes that “Ghost” runs, the severity of the situation becoming more apparent, the character in the song acknowledging their thoughts aren’t normal and expressing their fears, though it’s countered by steadily feeling as if existing is too much of a burden to bear, as the line, “…this life is overwhelming and I'm ready for the next one,” makes so painfully clear. It’s a story that’s real and raw, and bound to strike a chord with quite a few, but as bleak as it often sounds, there are little things peppered in meant to make anyone who may need to hear it second guess their potential actions. The vivid bridge is the best example of that, especially how it ends, “…The cutting part was easy but regretting it is so fucked.” Whether it’s the idea of suicide or actually following through with it, that’s a tricky subject matter for any band to try to tackle, yet Badflower has done it masterfully. With “Ghost” they’ve created a song that does it’s best to capture how some people may feel, like as if they don’t matter and have no direct impact on anyone’s lives, especially when an attempt at getting a helping hand goes unnoticed. It also tries to offer a different perspective, though, such as the thoughts that occur once there’s no going back and how it may not actually be as freeing as how some might imagine it will be. As well as it’s written in regards to the story it tells, the emotive layers of “Ghost” are only bolstered by the music bed. It’s a prime example of how music and lyrics are meant to interact with one another, striking up a sort of harmony in order to convey the full depth of emotions that any quality song should have. In this case it’s the more tranquil, at times even barren first verse that is reflective of the isolation and depression, the gentle riffs and atmospheric percussion enhancing that mood. The first chorus sees a dramatic rise in emotions, the guitars, bass and drums unleashing a sudden onslaught that sounds blistering before slipping back into some feeling of being disconnected. There’s something marvelous about the way it’s so restrained, roars to life and then tapers back off. It so accurately captures the internal struggle that is transpiring, growing more painful and even chaotic during the interlude as everything comes to a head. The near a cappella delivery of the first segment of the bridge is absolutely phenomenal, Katz sounding desperate, broken and at the end of his rope, the track ultimately unleashing the full potential it has been hinting at by becoming a beast of a song in its final moments. “Ghost” is everything a truly amazing song should be, the members of Badflower having essentially caught lightning in a bottle with this one. It carries a powerful message and is executed so meticulously in order for said message to fully resonate with people. Katz, Morrow, Espiritu, and Sonetti didn’t hold anything back when it came to penning this one and it shows, the heart and soul being evident throughout this palpable piece that is alt rock at its finest. It’s of such a high caliber that it’s one of those songs a band could spend a whole career trying to write and still not succeed at it. The kind of song that, in a way, is timeless and will be crucial to the legacy that Badflower is sure to have. It also sets a high standard for their upcoming full-length record. “Ghost” will be central to it, no doubt, but will the other songs they’ve written be on par with this one? Hopefully so; and if they are, it will ensure Badflower ranks as one of the most elite of the next group of future rock stars. Purchase “Ghost” on: iTunes | Google Play | Amazon MP3 Visit Badflower’s websites: Official Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Youtube Current Shows: 2018 September 13--Saint Paul, MN--Amsterdmam Bar 15--Chicago, IL--Riot Fest @ Douglas Park Mini Golf 16--Spartanburg, SC--Ground Zero 17--Huntsville, AL--SideTracks Music Hall 19--Tampa, FL--The Orpheum 20--Destin, FL--Club LA 22--Las Vegas, NV--iheart Radio Festival Day Time Stage @ Las Vegas Festival Grounds 25--Columbia, MO--The Blue Note 27--Ringle, WI--Q and Z Expo Center 28--Louisville, KY--Louder Than Life 30--Fort Wayne, IN--Pierre's Entertainment Center October 2--Joliet, IL--The Forge 3--Belvidere, IL--The Apollo Theatre Ac 4--Detroit, MI--Saint Andrew's Hall 5--Cleveland, OH--House of Blues Cleveland 6--Camden, NJ--Rock Allegiance @ BB&T Pavilion 9--Watertown, NY--Exhibition Hall 10--Rochester, NY--Montage Music Hall 11--Sturgis, MI--Nikki's 12--Madison, WI--High Noon Saloon 25--Grand Prairie, TX--Freaker's Ball @ Grand Prairie Theatre 26--Amarillo, TX--XR Downtown 27--The Woodlands, TX--The Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion 29--Little Rock, AR--iHeartMedia Metroplex 30--Oklahoma City, OK--Diamond Ballroom 31--Lubbock, TX--Jake’s Backroom November 6--Tucson, AZ--The Rock 7--San Diego, CA--Voodoo Room 10--Portland, OR--Paris Theatre 11--Seattle, WA—Corazon 13--Salt Lake City, UT--In The Venue 14--Denver, CO--Marquis Theater 15--Omaha, NE--The Waiting Room Lounge 16--Lawrence, KS—BOTTLENECK 17--St. Louis, MO--Delmar Hall 21--Grand Rapids, MI--The Pyramid Scheme 23--Buffalo, NY--Rec Room 24--Columbus, OH—Skullys 26--Cambridge, MA--The Sinclair 29--New York, NY--Gramercy Theatre 30--Baltimore, MD--Baltimore Soundstage December 1--Asbury Park, NJ--Asbury Lanes 3--Nashville, TN--The High Watt 4--Atlanta, GA—Purgatory 6--Tulsa, OK--The Vanguard 9--Austin, TX--Stubbs JR

[tessatechaitea]

Nightwing #9

How does Nightwing get into this kind of trouble in Gotham?