#We are wiggin’ out over here!

[ladykailitha]

Sir Steve, Knight Protectorate Part 3

Here we are at the last chapter. Thank you for everyone who liked, commented and reblogged, especially those that left lovely comments in their tags.

This isn't the last we'll see of this universe, as the next one I want to do is Christmas. Steve talking to Jonathan about the camera and not just saying it was joint present from him and Nancy.

In this we have some people who just never learn, Eddie getting heart-eyes non-stop now, and the basketball game of the century.

Part 1 Part 2

~

Larry Wiggins learned nothing from getting decked in the face by Eddie Munson, Steve decided. He had been the worst of the “accidental” bullies.

If there was a massive collusion of some poor bastards, you could make a pretty safe bet that Larry was seen leaving the area. The teachers turned a blind eye to it because and he quotes, “You have no proof he’s doing anything wrong, besides as captain of the basketball team, he’s afforded a little grace because he’s under soooo much pressure.”

Steve was pretty sure he threw up a little in his mouth when he heard that from the principal, the vice principal, the basketball coach, and at least three other teachers despite him doing it right in front of them multiple times.

So just before the winter break it all came to a head and if Steve was honest, he wasn’t surprised when he saw the victim was one of Eddie’s own sheep.

Steve had really needed to pee in history class. It was horrible, but Mrs. Click adored him and let him go to the bathroom, then immediately turned around and told a girl that is she wasn’t on the rag, she had no need to use the bathroom until after class.

He felt bad about that one, because unlike students, Steve couldn’t do jack shit about the teachers. Not without losing whatever status he actually had.

He pushed open the doors to the boys’ bathroom and instantly sagged against the doorway. There cowering in the corner was one of Eddie’s freaks. He had curly brown hair and blue eyes, though one was shut from a reddening welt that no doubt would turn into a black eye later.

Then the bell rang and students came flooding out of their classes, just in time to see Steve dragging Larry out of the bathroom and throwing him against the lockers across from the bathroom.

Before anyone could protest Steve’s over-reaction, the little freshman came limping out of the bathroom.

“Gareth!” Eddie called out and Steve was distracted for a moment by the sound, let Larry out of his grasp.

But instead of taking off like what would have been the smart thing, Larry pushed Steve off of him.

“You would take the side of the little pervert, Harrington,” he sneered. “I caught this little freak checking under the bathroom stalls. No doubt he’s a fag looking for dick to ogle.”

Gareth opened his mouth to protest, but Steve held up his hand.

“Or, he could be,” Steve scoffed, “and get this, looking to make sure no one was in the stalls so he go into the one he wanted? Like a normal person?”

Eddie and Gareth both snorted at the ‘normal’ description, but wisely kept their mouths shut.

Larry rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. “You think you’re so hot, don’t you? You’re not even a senior but everyone around here walks around here kissing your ass and why? Because Daddy’s money. If you were as poor as these chucklefucks, the only kiss you’d be getting is mouth to mouth when someone finally put you down like the dog you are!”

Gareth threw back his head and laughed. Just started laughing and laughing, doubling over from the laughter, tears streaming down his face.

Larry raised an eyebrow. “What the fuck is his problem?”

“His dad owns three of this town’s car dealerships, dude,” Steve said raising both eyebrows. “Like he lives in Loch Nora.”

Larry’s eyes go wide. “What the fuck? Then why is he dressed like trailer trash?”

“Hey!” Eddie growled and moved to take a swing at the guy, but again Steve held up his hand.

“Dude is in designer jeans and high tops and you have to ask that?” he shook his head. “You really are stupid. How did you become captain of the basketball team again?”

Steve tapped his lip for a moment, his other hand on his hip. Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right, you mom blew the coach!”

Larry lunged forward to take a swing at Steve but Tommy and one of the other guys on the team managed to pull him back.

“You want to put your money where your mouth is punk?!” Larry shouted, trying to get out of his restraints.

Steve looked him up and down. “You’re on. One on one in the outdoor basketball court. First one to twenty points wins. We need an unbiased ref...” he looked around until he found a black sophomore standing off the side. “You, you tried out for JV this year, right?”

The kid pointed to himself and looked around but Steve nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I didn’t make it, but yeah I play.”

Steve turned to Larry. “That okay with you?”

Larry nodded. “If I win, you quit the team and stop this fucking crusade you’re on.”

The crowd oohed and ahhed.

“And if I win,” Steve said with a knowing smirk, “you step down as captain and make me captain instead. And if you lay a single finger on anyone again, and you know what I mean, I’ll be sure to spill every dirty secret you ever uttered in the locker room. Don’t think that I won’t.”

Larry gulped heavily. The sound loud in the now dead silent hallway.

Steve stuck out his hand and Larry eyed it for a moment. He looked up into Steve’s steely gaze, then at the gathered crowd. He shook the offered hand and pumped it once.

“Saturday 10am,” Steve said with a grin. Larry nodded and Steve walked over to the kid who was going to be their ref and slung an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, kid, what’s your name?”

“Patrick,” the kid mumbled shyly.

“Well, Patrick,” he said, leading him away from the crowd, “the team will be down one player regardless of what happens, you should try out again.”

Everyone is left staring in shock as the two boys walk away talking about basketball.

Nancy, who had been watching the whole thing turned to Tina, “So that was hot, right?”

Tina just nodded, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She fanned herself with her hand and shook her head. “Girl, you fucked up when you let that one get away.”

Nancy bit her lip, but privately agreed. It had been a month, and Jonathan still wasn’t biting. Perhaps...

Perhaps she might have another, tastier option.

~

The bullying full on stopped as the whole school held their breath. Even the teacher had noticed the whispering in the hall, but time and time again, students would refuse to say why. The nerds sided with Eddie and his club, the popular kids sided with Steve, and everyone one else but the bullies wanted to keep out of it.

When the teachers finally reached out to the kids who were doing the bullying, therefore proving to the whole school the teachers knew, but didn’t care, the bullies had been forced into silence or admit to the bullying.

The morning dawn bright and clear. The frost clung to the windows of the school and a couple of the basketball teammates arrived at nine to shovel the outdoor court as it had snowed the night before.

Steve showed up with longjohns under his shorts and a sweat shirt with the team logo on the front. He stood there, basketball propped on his hip as he waited for Larry to arrive. He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, headband over his eyes.

10:01am.

Patrick came running up the court waving a whistle. “Sorry I’m late! I couldn’t find my whistle and had to go to the store to get another one.”

Larry grumbled, but Steve just threw Patrick the ball.

Larry and Steve stepped up to the middle line and Patrick stood between them with the ball. The two players shook hands and then Patrick threw it in the air.

Larry got the ball first, but in the end didn’t even matter.

Steve was far and away the better player. Whether Larry’s mom had done favors for the coach to make him captain was irrelevant. Because it soon became clear that he had only gotten the post due to some kind of favoritism.

Steve outmatched him on defense and was the better shot, making more of his shots than he missed.

Larry started panting halfway through as Steve outmatched in a different and just as vital way. Stamina.

Kids from all the cliques were pressed against the fence. Nancy in the front, cheering loudly for Steve along side all of his friends.

Tommy H. was shouting obscenities and Carol was calling Larry names.

But there was the silent section who had come out to watch. The one whose very lives depended on the outcome of the game.

You could call it hyperbole, but Eddie didn’t. It was apt. In those few scant weeks of not having his friends bullied, his grades actually fucking went up. Because he could concentrate on homework, instead of if tomorrow was going to be the day one of the bullies went too far and he lost one of sheep.

He still called out the bullying when he saw it, but now knowing that there were other people watching his sheep too? He could actually rest.

And if that was happening to him? He couldn’t dare to image what it was like for the kids who were being actively bullied. That first breath of relief knowing it wasn’t just a one time thing. That it was going to keep happening. That they were going to be able to just function. Must have felt like a god damned miracle.

Steve moved past Larry and slamdunked his final two points making it to twenty.

Larry sank to his knees as Patrick ran out on the court. “With a score of twenty to fourteen, Steve Harrington wins!”

He raised Steve’s hand over his head like a prize fighter. The gathered crowd roared to life, even those who had been watching silently at the other end of the court. The ones who didn’t understand what a layup was or how fouling worked. They began cheering too.

Steve walked over to Larry and got down on one knee, draping his arm over the other knee. “Some people are bullies because their home life is shit, some people are bullies because they don’t know how to be anything else. And some people just like you who are just fucking assholes who like make others miserable. Get the fuck off my court.”

He stood back up and waved at the crowd.

~

Steve managed to find an unlocked door and slipped into the locker room for a well earned shower. He still would have to put his gross clothes back on but at least he wouldn’t be dripping in sweat.

He heard the door open and close but decided to ignore it. Whether it was a well wisher or one of Larry’s ilk, he didn’t give a shit. He just wanted to be clean.

“Steve?” a warm and very welcome voice echoed through the empty chamber.

“Eddie?” he called back, poking his head out the shower stall to see him.

Eddie grinned. “There you are, big boy.”

Steve was grateful for the steam already painting his cheeks red so that Eddie wouldn’t see him blush.

“Hey,” he muttered softly.

Eddie came bounding up to him with a big grin on his face. “I went home and brought my PE clothes for ya so you didn’t have to put that sweaty shit back on.” He held up his bag. “We’re about the same size in everything but thighs, so this should get you home at the very least.”

“Oh you’re a lifesaver!” he breathed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, I wanted to.”

Steve pointed down at his sudsy body. “Just let me finish washing down and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

A few minutes later he shut off the water and called out, “Hey can you grab me a towel?”

“I could...” Eddie teased, “but then I’d miss the show of you waddling naked to grab one yourself.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up. “I wasn’t sure you’d be interested, after all the ball was in your court after your impromptu marriage proposal.”

Eddie licked his lips slowly and stalked over the low wall that separated the showers from the rest of the locker room. He looked Steve up and down, noting the high blush on his cheeks that had nothing to due with the heat. Or at least not the heat of the shower. Steve pushed his hair back and looked Eddie right in the eye.

Eddie smiled and reached out with one finger to trace a water droplet that had slid off of Steve’s collar bone to run for his belly button. Steve’s breath hitched as Eddie licked the water off his finger.

“I’m more than interested,” he murmured, leaning in close. “Just wasn’t sure if the offer was made in jest or if you were serious.”

Steve closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Then he opened them slowly to see Eddie with his eyes wide and expression hopeful. Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to the other boy’s. It was soft and it was sweet.

Eddie leaned back, blinking. “So yeah, definitely serious then. So how about this, sweetheart, why don’t you get dressed in the things I brought you and you go home and get changed. Then I pick you up around, say... five for dinner at the diner?”

Steve’s face transformed with his smile. “I’d say that sounds like a date.” He kissed him again. Just as soft and just as sweet as the one before.

“I’m going to get cavities if you keep that up,” Eddie teased, walking away.

“Where are you going?” Steve asked tilting his head in confusion.

Eddie came back to locker room. “Getting you a towel, obviously. As much as I wouldn’t mind a sneaky peek, I think I’d rather wait to see you naked, spread out underneath me.”

Steve’s jaw worked up and down but no words came out.

“Catch you later, big boy!” Eddie called out over his shoulder after handing the towel to him.

As he was leaving he bumped into Nancy.

“Oh sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t see you there.”

Nancy chewed on her bottom lip. “Is Steve in there? I couldn’t find him after the game.”

“Yep!” he replied popping the P. “I brought him some clothes he could change into.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh!”

“Catch you around, Wheeler,” Eddie said giving her a salute.

As the door swung shut, she could see Steve in there happily singing a love song as he got dressed.

Nancy looked back at Eddie’s retreating form and then back at the now closed door. She sighed. She had a feeling that she was too late in getting Steve back.

He had moved on.

She blushed and ducked her head. Maybe it was a good thing. She needed to work on herself and Steve needed someone who was with him because they wanted to be and not just because he was the current available option.

By the time Steve came back out, she was gone.

~

Tag List: COMPLETED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

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10- @sadisticaltarts @yeahhhh-suga @ohimamarigold @imamixofeverthing @samsoble

[mintytealfox]

Holy CRAP GUYS!!! I JUST FINISHED WATCHING

HANGOVER SQUARE 1945 Thriller movie for Frederick!!

This one was W I L D OH MY GOSSSHHHHHHHHHHH 🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌

They POPPED OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFF with this Deduction Skin FOR REALLLLLLLLLLLLL OH MY WORD

MASTERPIECE RIGHT HERE This skin is a 100000000000000000000000000000% times more tragic and beautiful to me now like HOLY

NOW~ BELOW are SPOILERS for the movie If you want to watch the movie before reading~ I just summarize:

So in the movie this guy has these blackout periods, that he has no recollection of, that are triggered by LOUD SOUND or LOUD RINGING

Normally he has a mostly calm demeanor with a burning passion for music as a composer, an extremely talented one~ He is soft spoken and horrified with the thought that he might have committed the murder, at the beginning of the movie, so he goes to the mental doctor to ask for help and to look into it, cause he had blacked-out for 24 hours this time, the longest period of time he has no memory of and thinks he could have done it during that time.

Anyway the doctor tells him to avoid music and to get his frustrations out and dealing with the stress in a different way, since music obviously isn't working, if he is reacting in such a dramatic way of blacking-out.

He obviously doesn't stop working on his music

But for a good portion of the movie he is being taken advantage of by this singer woman, that he thinks is in love with him cause of her purposeful honeyed words, etc. but she just wants him to be her composer monkey on a leash so she can climb the ladder to success.

ANYWAYS he finds out she has been using him cause he finds she is with another man behind the scenes after trying to propose to her.

SideNOTE: By this point he has already tried to strangle his friend, (a beautiful woman who likes him for him and cares for him deeply, who has been encouraging him to finish his great piece) cause she saw how poorly the singer woman treated him and she got mad that he is letting that happen. He was just gonna be angry and keep to himself until a load of pipes fall from a carriage and ring LOUDLY and that is the first we see him go into blackout mode!!

ANYWAY

He does lash out at the guy the singer lady was with but does leave without ending anyone, only to return after the loud crashing of his instruments after throwing stuff around his home. So in a blackout state he goes back and uuhhhhhh gets rid of the singer lady 🙃

ANYWAY he starts finishing his masterpiece and the doctor and police are on to him, despite him having zero memory of the events

then we get to the end, he has finished his music and is prepared to perform it but the doctor has found him out and wants to put him in a place where the composer won't harm himself or anyone else. But composer ends up showing up to his performance without the doctor PFF and its getting more obvious that he will do anything to finish this performance, and as he is playing he is remembering everything he did 🙃 and it gets to the point where he can't play anymore and the people are arriving and prepared to take him into custody (two dudes found the doctor locked in the closet so they let him out. So the doctor is there with the police)

Anyway he is at the point he can't play anymore and his lady friend takes over for him so the music is still going while he is in another room and he admits that he remembers now and they are all like "we know none of this was on purpose etc etc so you won't hang, we will just put you into a place where you won't hurt anyone else" but he realizes that they won't let him listen to the rest of the piece he created so he starts wiggin out and starts with chucking a lamp and stuff starts catching on fire as he runs out and locks the door behind him.

So now he is crying as he listens to the music until people start freaking out about a fire and the doctor and police that he locked in the room have gotten out and are trying to help evacuate everyone, so the music has stopped, this triggering the composer again and he goes running to lock doors so people can't get out (he doesn't get to all of them) and he is trying to get everyone to sit in the fire and listen to the rest of the music. Everyone is getting out anyway they can and he just runs to the piano to finish playing and won't leave despite his lady friend's pleading and the doctor.

So he dies in the fire playing his song til its very end orz

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

-does a checkmark- yup this has Frederick written all over it orz

-Issues with the mind -Music is everything -Good at heart but there is a side to him that is beyond his control -Taken advantage of -Is desperate -Loud Ringing plays a part with his mind state

Now with the skin I LOVE that red-ish fabric wrapped around his wrist and forearm cause he uses a curtain fasten thing for the strangling he does Then the hat he wears so he can hide his face and then the knife at the very beginning of the movie and he doesn't know where he got it

they even have the blood on the coat and the gash on his forehead aaahhhh

This is SUCH A FANTASTIC SKIN OH MY GOSH THEY POPPED OFF ON THIS ONE GOSH DANNNGGGGGGGG

I am still reeling from the movie so I am sure there is stuff my brain is still trying work out but DANG This skin is a 100000000000000000000000000000% times more tragic and beautiful to me now like FOR REAL FOR REAL

[caashmoneynae]

MY MASTERLIST. -> click here for more.

❦

HALFTIME.

JORDAN POOLE x BLACK!FEM!OC

SUMMARY: in which Teja goes to one of Jordan's games and ends up engaging in sexual activity in the locker room. ✨

❦

"𝗜 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧'𝗦 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧, 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬!" Teja exclaimed, a smile on her face, as her dark brown eyes sparkled at seeing Jordan make a three-pointer and she clapped her hands loudly, the area she was sitting in erupting in loud cheers while she watched her man and his team travel down the basketball court.

(A/N: pronounced 'TEA•JUH')

"let's go, Poole!" Monaé, Teja's best friend, exclaimed, hyping the man up and boosting his ego, as she and Teja smiled in sync and they watched their team play defense.

the teams were in the second quarter and there were only 5 minutes left on the clock. the Golden State Warriors had 56 points — leveling up from 53 due to Jordan's shot — and their opponent had 53 points, diminishing their tied score and causing both crowds of fans to get antsy since halftime was coming up and they wanted their team to be in the lead.

Teja and Monaé both dressed in Golden State Warriors apparel, but Teja's was more customized because Monaé did it for her. her shirt was long-sleeved and royal blue and on the left side of her chest, it said "Basketball Girlfriend" as "Warriors" sat on her left sleeve. on the back of the shirt, it read "Poole Belongs to Me" and under it read his jersey number as all of the words were spelled in gold letters since royal blue and gold were two of the team's colors.

her brown legs adorned black jeans and her feet held white Air Force 1's as a gold anklet dangled around her left ankle and gold hoops sat in both of her ears, a gold 'T' necklace sitting comfortably around her neck while a gold necklace that read 'Jordan' in cursive sat there as well. her black silk-pressed hair was side-parted and swooped to the right side as a few bobby-pins sat in her head to make sure her swoop stayed in place, her lips glossy with Vaseline and adding a 'pop' to her appearance.

it was clear as day that Teja knew she looked good, and though she preferred silver jewelry over gold, she always made sure to wear some gold to all of Jordan's games.

hearing cheers, Teja's eyes averted to the clock, and she realized that not only was there one minute left before halftime, but the other team had tied with the Warriors for a second time. she looked back at the court and her gaze intensified as she lightly chewed on her bottom lip, the time running down quickly while the Warriors traveled down the court with the ball.

Draymond Green passed the ball to Stephen Curry, and Stephen passed the ball to Gary Payton II, and Gary passed the ball to Jordan, who passed the ball to Andrew Wiggins. it seemed as if the time was only winding down quicker and quicker, and this caused Teja's palms to grow sweaty while her eyes flickered between the clock and the court.

as if on cue with the clock hitting 10 seconds, Andrew began making his way to the basket, swiftly dodging the opponents that tried to stop him while his teammates played excellent defense, as he suddenly jumped up and dunked on the men below him, the ball going through the net with ease and the buzzer sounding out into the lively court while Teja and the other fans began cheering.

"can't wait 'til our boys take home that dub, Mo'!" Teja smiled, the two women standing up from the stands, as Monaé smiled with her and the two began to walk down the staircase behind the other fans.

"girl, who you tellin'? one more win and we goin' to the playoffs, baby! ooh, i can't wait to celebrate!" Monaé smiled, holding onto Teja's hand so they wouldn't be separated by the large crowd, as Teja looked up at the scoreboard and read '58-56', making her smile slightly widen while she looked back at Monaé and the duo made their way to the concession stands.

"oh yeah, we fa'sho' gon' celebrate this win. and then after that... i'ma give my baby his reward, ya feel me?" Teja smirked, playfully raising her brows, as Monaé laughed and shook her head, playfully shoving the woman's shoulder while Teja laughed.

"T, you a trip! but i feel you, girl, no doubt." Monaé smirked as Teja stuck out her tongue and the two did their handshake, their pinkies locking at the end while they giggled.

"ooh, hold up. Mo', hold my purse, i'ma go to the bathroom real quick," Teja announced, taking her phone out of it and putting it in her pocket, "i'll be right back before halftime ends."

"you sure you don't want me to go with you?" Monaé asked, grabbing the purse from the woman's hand and slinging it over her shoulder.

"nah, you good, 'Naé, i'on want you to lose your place in line," Teja assured, looking down and checking the time on her Apple Watch, as she looked up at Monaé and gave her a small smile in reassurance, "make sure to buy me some nachos, mama! you know how i like 'em."

"will do, Mrs. Poole!" Monaé smirked playfully, watching Teja jog away from her, as Teja laughed and shook her head, a wide smile on her face while she made her way to the restrooms.

the farther Teja was from the crowd of fans, the more the loud sounds of them began to turn into low murmurs, and she tucked her phone into the back pocket of her jeans as she made her way to the woman's bathroom. before she could walk into the restroom, however, a large hand grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into a room, making her squeal out of surprise, as she watched the door to the room shut and she saw lockers in the corner of her eye, making her realize she had been yanked into the Golden State Warriors's locker room by no one other than Jordan.

"you know i hate when you do that shit!" Teja exclaimed, punching the man in his arm, as Jordan laughed at her and pressed her up against the door, kissing her lips while he sneakily locked the door.

"you still love me tho', girl," Jordan chuckled, a small smirk on his face, as he eyed her down and ran his tongue over his plump lips at the sight of her attire, "mm, you look good. who you lookin' this good for, baby?"

"nobody but my man," Teja smiled, cupping his face in her hands, as she placed a few pecks on his lips before giggling, "now why you bring me in here? you got 8 minutes left before it's time for you to go back on the court."

Jordan didn't respond to her question. instead, his smirk only widened, and his nonverbal answer immediately clicked in Teja's mind as to why she was pulled into the room so abruptly.

"uh-uh, Jordan, i know you not tryna'..." Teja trailed off, raising a brow, as Jordan chuckled softly and his brown eyes looked into her dark brown ones while lust started to cloud his pupils.

"oh, i'm definitely tryna'..." Jordan smirked, mimicking her past statement, as he let out a low chuckle of mischievousness before kissing her lips, the kiss oozing with passion and causing Teja to procrastinate on kissing him back while his hand latched around her neck and pulled her closer to him.

falling into the temptation rather quickly, Teja kissed Jordan back and she soon melted into the kiss, making his lips curl up into a smirk, as he let go of her neck and tugged at the waistband of her jeans, pulling away from the kiss and trailing wet kisses down her jawline while Teja's breathing turned uneven due to rising arousal.

"you movin' real slow like we ain't got a lot of time in here." Teja breathily mumbled, kicking off her shoes, as Jordan chuckled softly and his hand slipped into her pants before he swiftly removed them and made sure her phone remained unharmed.

"i know what i'm doin', mama," Jordan muttered, his voice slightly deeper due to sexual desire running through his veins, as goosebumps spread across Teja's skin at the tone of his voice and Jordan noticed this, a smirk crossing his lips while he placed a few wet kisses on her neck before tapping her left thigh, "jump."

wrapping her legs around his waist, the two kissed for a final time before Jordan hoisted her up onto his shoulders, carefully lifting her smooth legs onto his muscular biceps while she lightly scooted up on the smooth wooden door so her hips would be level with his face.

it was definitely safe to say that this wasn't their first rodeo.

"pull these to the side for me, princess." Jordan spoke lowly, his eyes flickering up to her, as Teja bit down on her bottom lip and gripped the right side of her panties, pulling them to the side and revealing her soaked sex while Jordan licked his lips at the sight.

not wasting any of the short time they had left, Jordan immediately dug in, his pink lips wrapping around her swollen bud while he gently sucked at it like he was a baby and her clitoris was his pacifier. moaning softly, Teja gently laid her head against the door as she ran her fingers over Jordan's head, her brows slightly furrowing while his hands squeezed her thick brown thighs.

"sh-shit, Jordan," Teja moaned airily, her brows slightly furrowing, as she felt his tongue slither and wiggle inside her folds and her hips lightly jolted against his face, "mmh, eat this pussy, Daddy... eat your pussy just like that, baby."

"like that, mama? hm?" Jordan hummed against her, sending vibrations through her core and up her spine, as Teja shakily whimpered and her back slightly arched off of the door, her grip on her underwear tightening while she rubbed the nape of her boyfriend's neck.

"yessss— o-oh, shit!" Teja gasped, feeling his middle and ring fingers slide inside her walls, as her palm gently smacked the door she was pinned up against and her eyes rolled back, feeling soft kisses be littered around both of her inner thighs while her juices began to drip down Jordan's hand.

moans, whimpers, and whines fell from Teja's two-toned lips and sounds of her gushiness aired out into the room as her eyes fluttered closed and her hand moved from the nape of his neck to his hand on her right thigh, gently squeezing it while she shakily exhaled. Jordan's fingers thrusted inside of the woman at a slow and semi-deep pace and he laid kisses around her vagina, occasionally laying some on her clit and causing her hips to jolt.

suddenly, Jordan's fingers curved, and Teja's whole body jolted as tingles almost immediately dispersed through her body, her grip on Jordan's hand tightening while she gasped loudly.

"oh, fuck, t-that's my spot!" Teja cried, feeling Jordan's hand slither underneath her shirt, as he pulled one of her breasts out of her bra and kneaded it in his palm, his index and middle fingers fiddling with and tugging at her sensitive nipple and earning feeble whimpers from her parted lips.

"right there? huh, pretty?" Jordan cooed, his eyes staring up at her with a combination of lust and mischief, as Teja vigorously nodded her head and her eyes rolled back, "ooh, you 'bout to cum, ain't you, baby? i feel that pretty pussy clenching, mama, you 'bout to wet my face up?"

Teja felt the pace of his fingers start to pick up and each thrust had him poking at her g-spot as her stomach muscles tightened and she let go of Jordan's hand, her hand sliding underneath her shirt and gripping her second breast out of intense pleasure while she practically gripped the life out of her underwear. her thighs began to tremble and her lips rested agape as Teja suddenly gasped and her stomach caved in, her body jolting and her brows furrowing while her legs locked on the man's shoulders.

"y-yes! oh, yes, yes, yes— fuck, baby, i-i'm cummin'!" Teja whined loudly, her hips grinding against his fingers, as Jordan laid his tongue out flatly and caught her nectar atop his pink muscle, causing a shiver to go down Teja's spine while she rode out her orgasm.

"there you go, beautiful. ride that nut out." Jordan cooed, a small smirk on his face, as he licked his lips and gently pulled his fingers out of her erogenous walls, slipping them in his mouth while he sucked her juices off of them and looked up at her.

sighing softly, Teja raised her head from the door and looked down at Jordan, noticing the smirk on his face instantly, as she let out a soft laugh and shook her head, removing both of their hands from underneath her shirt while she put her breast back into its cup.

"we ain't never doin' this again." Teja chuckled softly, letting go of her underwear, as Jordan chuckled and lowered her legs back down to his waist, her legs loosely locking around his hips while he kissed her lips.

"You know damn well this shit gon' happen again, T."

[dinner--starving]

TLD - Real John's voice bleeds through the nightmare

Listen to the audio in this scene again, carefully. I think this must've been brought up by someone in the fandom before, I am just not able to find that post.

DRIVER: Hey, you! What’s the matter with you? SMITH’s VOICE (echoing): Anyone! (As Smith’s voice continues to echoingly repeat the word, Sherlock’s vision homes in on the driver, who has got out of his car and is leaning an arm on the open door while looking at him in half-irritation, half-concern.) DRIVER: Do you know where you are? Are you drunk? (Sherlock blinks.) WIGGINS: Shezza. (The driver has been replaced by Bill, who is looking at him sternly.) SHERLOCK: What are you doing here? WIGGINS (now standing in front of the fireplace in 221B’s living room): What were you doing in the middle of a bloody street? SHERLOCK (still in the middle of the bloody street): You should be at Baker Street. (His head twitches and he stumbles slightly.) WIGGINS (in the living room): I am. So are you. (In the street, the scenery around Sherlock goes very out of focus as he lowers his head a little and blinks rapidly. Behind him, a large backdrop ripples down to cover the view. The backdrop is the far wallpaper of the living room with a two-dimensional image of the sofa at the bottom. The backdrop thumps down into place and straightens out while Sherlock raises his head and stares around in front of him.) WIGGINS (in the real living room): They found your address; they brought you here. (Confused, Sherlock turns and looks around the room.) WIGGINS: You’ve ’ad too much … (Sherlock turns back to him, wide-eyed and bewildered.) WIGGINS: … an’ that’s me sayin’ this. (Flailing in panic, Sherlock stumbles backwards and up onto the now solid sofa. His back ought to crash into the wall but instead he lands flat on his back on the rug some distance in front of the sofa. In a brief cut-away, Smith is on TV looking bored as the audience applauds behind him. He gestures towards the camera.) SMITH: Kill. (He smacks his hand down onto the big red button on the table in front of him. In 221 Sherlock struggles to turn over onto his side. Then, without transition he’s back on his feet, possibly standing on the sofa, and he turns and stares around the room wide-eyed. Brief cut-away of Smith in his tracksuit during a fun run, holding up his index fingers and thumbs to the crowd as he forms the letter ‘W’ with them. [Presumably in this context he intends it to mean ‘winner’ rather than certain other options.] WIGGINS’ VOICE (distantly, offscreen): Sherlock. Sherlock rolls onto his back again on the rug.

(X)

The last part (towards -0:03) a voice that says "Sherlock", the official subtitles also say that it's Wiggins'. But it's not. He's always called him Shezza. We also don't actually see Wiggins call him Sherlock in that scene.

That's clearly John's voice.

Wherever Sherlock is right now in real life (fighting for his life most likely), John's besides him and calling out to him.

It is one of the few moments in S4 where we have tangible proof it's not real. And I am so happy for it.

[elvisqueso]

Pochontas (1995)

wiggins meta under the cut

here's the thing: ratcliffe is constantly being explained as a representation of the forces of greed and racism and colonialism/imperialism (arguably this can translate to capitalism as well), but what about wiggins? what is his role? he most obviously plays the role of the Fool, and provides a character for ratcliffe to have consistent dialogue with. but what does he represent?

i have a theory that wiggins is meant to represent the ethnic english, the culture of the english, and the willing servitude of the english to the evils of imperialism/greed/racism in exchange for a sense of superiority and security. wiggins is, paradoxically, both above and below the settlers in terms of status. he's a servant, but he serves the highest ranking man there. he's a yes-man, but he's also brutally truthful (spelling out for the audience ratcliffe's motivations and the immorality of the settler's presence and actions).

wiggins is also a caricature of the english to a T: he resembles many a self-styled stereotype of the typical englishman in english comedies. he's prim, a bit fussy, obsessed with gardening, a bit oblivious and silly and somewhat incessantly cheery. he's drawn, also, like an english caricature. his teeth and upturned nose in particular stand out to me.

the line "and he came so highly recommended" from each of these characters is so fascinating because of this because it highlights the mutual consent of these two allegorical characters to be involved with each other and subscribe to a master-servant dynamic, wherein ratcliffe has invested in wiggins to be useful and efficient, and wiggins has invested in ratcliffe to provide security both financially and socially. ratcliffe find's wiggins's personality (the cultural quirks of the english) trite and unnecessary. wiggins found ratcliffe's extremity to ultimately be outside of his own best interests once it could no longer protect him (ratcliffe being no longer able to provide the status and security once he was put in chains).

we can't be sure if wiggins has truly learned a lesson, however. he remains in America with some of the other settlers instead of returning to his homeland. we don't know what he intends to do there, or why he's made this choice. perhaps he's going to try turning over a new leaf and assimilate to a new society. perhaps he's going to try and influence his way into a similar position as before. in any case, we know wiggins's core motive is always going to be self-preservation. what that looks like without ratcliffe and the protections of aggressive imperialism, we simply don't know.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 7: Aubrey Hall

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 3k

Masterpost Previous chapter Next chapter

The carriage ride to Aubrey Hall passed quietly. Sophie admired the beautiful landscapes of Kent as they trundled along. Every few minutes she glanced over to Benedict to indeed make sure he was still breathing, but he slept soundly for the whole ride, his face pale but peaceful. It was over two hours, just when Sophie was beginning to wonder how much farther they would travel, when the carriage rounded a copse of trees and the grounds of Aubrey Hall spread before her.

Her breath caught in her throat. The house was massive, built of warm brown stone with pillars and rounded turrets. The lawns were dotted with color - pinks, blues, purples - well-tended flower gardens that leant the home a cheery air despite its imposing size. It was grander than any of the houses Sophie had worked in, and settled on an estate that she suspected was as large or larger than the Penwood’s.

When the carriage crunched onto the stones of the drive, Benedict stirred awake. They reached the house and Sophie hopped out, letting the footmen support Benedict as he staggered toward the door. A well dressed man with a grey beard appeared and Sophie watched them have a hushed conversation before Benedict clapped him on the shoulder and allowed himself to be led out of sight.

The bearded man turned to Sophie with the same undeniable look of confusion as the footmen, but he gave her a warm smile nonetheless. “Miss Beckett, I am Mr. Dewitt, the Viscount’s steward.”

Sophie returned a small curtsy, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dewitt.”

“I understand you have been of assistance to Mr. Bridgerton and he is employing you as his nurse.”

Sophie nodded, “Only until he is well. We were caught in the rain last night and he needs to recover. I expect I shall only be here a few days.” She knew she was reminding herself of that, as much as she was explaining it to him. “I am experienced as a housemaid as well so please, I am here to help however is needed.”

Mr. Dewitt remained quizzical. “Very well. I shall introduce you to Mrs. Wiggin who is our cook, but also serves as housekeeper during the season. We are not fully staffed when the family is not in residence, you understand. She shall show you to your quarters.”

“Thank you,” Sophie bowed her head and followed him inside.

Mrs. Wiggin met them at the top of the servants’ stairs. A rosy cheeked, curly haired woman, she greeted Sophie politely if somewhat curtly and showed her to a room downstairs. It was a cozy space with plenty of room to move about and a soft mattress. It was a far cry from the cramped eaves she had lived in with Araminta, Cavender, and her other various employers where the hard beds were little more than shelves. Even though she was still a maid and not a princess, everything about Aubrey Hall made her feel like she had stepped into a fairytale.

Then Mrs. Wiggin took her on a tour of the house. She was led through the dizzying downstairs maze of kitchens, butler’s pantry, store rooms and servants’ quarters, then the ground level of the house with one gorgeously appointed room after another. The marbled entry way, the long halls hung with gilded portraits and elaborate tapestries, room after room of pale blue, cream, yellow, and gold walls and furnishings. The silk upholstered drawing rooms, the expansive ballroom, the well lit dining room, the warm wooden library, all breathtakingly elegant. But still the feeling persisted that this was not just an impressive stately home, but one that was well loved and well lived in. It was evident in the worn spines of the books, the chips in the corners of tables, and the trinkets that decorated the shelves - pinecones, a bowl of small stones, a crudely carved four legged animal of indecipherable species. This home sheltered a family and had seen laughter and memories.

Mrs. Wiggin led her into the grounds as well, pointing out the kitchen garden, rose garden, stables and orangery building. She also pointed into the distance, explaining that the estate held acres of forest, several ponds and a lake. Lastly, she led Sophie back inside and up to the wings of the second floor. She didn’t open any doors but pointed out the many bedrooms for family and guests, ending on Benedict’s bedroom door which was positioned in a corner of the hall.

“You can check in on Mr. Bridgerton after you’ve washed and had some luncheon,” she stated as an order rather than a suggestion. Everything about her demeanor was flustered as Sophie followed her back downstairs. No wonder, Sophie acknowledged, with this enormous house to run plus meals to cook, even with a handful of staff in residence it seemed an overwhelming job. She was sure the last thing Mrs. Wiggin had time for was to tend to a strange visiting maid.

Sophie bathed in the servant womens’ washroom, grateful for the warm water and the ability to slough away the memory of Cavender’s hands, the freezing rain, and her long journey. She had one change of clothes in her bag but Mrs. Wiggin found her a maid’s dress in the house colors, a lavender purple. It was slightly too large but she cinched it at the waist with an apron until it looked made for her.

Over lunch in the servants’ dining room she was introduced to the staff: the groundskeeper, the stableboy, two housemaids Lizzie and Anne, and the two footmen who had traveled with her, Joseph and Finian. Mrs. Wiggin bustled around them, doling out portions of roast vegetables and cold meats. She sent Finian to bring trays to Benedict and Mr. Dewitt before finally settling at the table herself. Everyone greeted her politely but Sophie noted how they also regarded her with some degree of curiosity or suspicion. Lizzie was the only one who spoke to her and seemed to want to make friends. They talked about the homes they had worked in before, though Sophie left out the details of her time with Cavender. Lizzie asked about Benedict and Sophie generalized that he had offered her a ride to the village for errands before they were caught in the rain and he had fallen ill.

The housemaid Anne stared moodily at her as she spoke, scowling with evident jealousy. Sophie shouldn’t have been surprised. Benedict was a devastatingly handsome and charming man, as were all of the Bridgerton men. It was well reported by Lady Whistledown and she had seen them herself at the masque years ago. It must have been torturous working for such a family, seeing them move through their life of privilege and beauty, shining like ideal humans, feeling the chasm of the class divide between you, even when you lived in the same home.

Conversely, Lizzie was enthralled by her story of the rainy night on horseback and carriage ride from the inn. Sophie stated facts only, not mentioning her night spent caring for Benedict through his fever, or the maelstrom of emotions she had been enduring. She liked Lizzie but it was pointless to get too close when she would be leaving in just a few days. She ended the conversation by insisting that she needed to check on Benedict.

She stole into the adjacent kitchen and perused the cabinets and shelves for herbs. Finding them amply stocked, she brewed a pot of medicinal tea, fixed a tray and then headed upstairs through the servants’ passages. She had worked as a maid long enough to become quite adept at memorizing floor plans quickly. One had to if they were to succeed as a servant. She found her way to Benedict’s room and rapped at his door softly.

A muffled “Come in,” replied and she let herself inside. Sophie had seen entire family rooms smaller than Benedict’s bedroom. Adorned as always in cream and pale blue, it was furnished with polished dark wood furniture and every inch of the walls was hung with a framed painting or pinned piece of parchment, splashed with color or a charcoal sketch. It was messy, eccentric, making it clear that its occupant was possessed more by his passions than any desire for tidiness. In the four poster bed lay Benedict, propped against a sea of pillows. He was still pale and weak looking with dark circles under his eyes, but he was resting a sketchbook on his knees and setting down a charcoal pen as Sophie entered. 

He looked up at her and grinned, “Ah, there you are,” he croaked. “I was worried you had gotten lost or forgotten about me.”

“Hello, Mr. Bridgerton,” she smirked at him, setting the tea tray down on the bedside table. “How are you feeling?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “I think I’ll live.”

She shook her head, smiled, poured a cup and handed it to him. “I made you some tea.”

He took it and she pulled a chair from the writing desk to sit near the bed. He sniffed the cup curiously. “It’s an odd recipe,” she admitted. “But one that has always helped me when I am feeling ill. Spearmint, juniper, and orange.”

He shot her another crooked grin. “And you said you weren’t a nurse.” He took a tentative sip, raised an eyebrow, then took a full gulp. “It’s very good Miss Beckett, thank you.” 

Sophie blushed. Now what was she supposed to do? He seemed perfectly well taken care of with the footmen helping him around and bringing him meals. He was no longer running a fever. So what precisely was she supposed to do to help him recover? 

Thankfully, he came up with something to say before she was forced to. “How do you like the house?” he asked.

“It’s magnificent,” she sighed, probably letting too much emotion leak into her voice. “The most beautiful home I have worked in.”

He nodded as if he had heard similar sentiments before. Sophie didn’t want him to think she was only flattering him, so she continued. “Truly,” she held his gaze. “I can tell that these walls have seen many happy memories, which is rarer than you’d think.”

Benedict stared back at her, caught off guard. This maid had a perceptiveness and frankness that was unusual and admittedly engaging. She was right of course, that Aubrey Hall had seen many years of happiness: scores of births, celebrations, holidays. It was where all of his siblings had spent their childhoods and where his mother and father had been happiest. It was where his father had lifted him onto his shoulders and read to him from his favorite books. It was where Benedict had learned to hunt and ride and fence alongside Anthony, and where he had raced down the halls after his siblings, giggling as pranks were pulled and good natured roughhousing broke out. It was where he had his first chaste kiss with a girl whose name he forgot, outside during a country ball hosted by his family, and where he had first started sketching, capturing flowers in the gardens.

What Sophie didn’t know was that it had also been the site of the worst tragedy to befall his family. That the walls had seen the screams and tears of his mother and his siblings when his father had died, yards away on the front lawn. That as a teenager, he had been solely responsible for all five of his younger siblings in the weeks that followed while Anthony struggled through a rapid education in handling business as the new viscount, and his mother had all but disappeared into her grief. That the halls had echoed with his mother’s wailing and Daphne’s haunting singing when Hyacinth was born on a thunderous night while he had rocked tiny Gregory in his arms for hours, wondering if they would still have a mother when the sun rose.

He blinked to stop the chain of his darkest memories, grateful that they were only in his mind and not evident in the house as Sophie had seen it. “I’m glad you like it here,” he said softly, and took another sip of tea.

Sophie’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in the showcase of art on the walls. Mostly landscapes, but a few portraits and figure studies as well. Had he made them? She thought she could see small squiggles in the corners that certainly looked like two Bs. Then there was the sketchbook in his lap. She’d never dreamed that he was an artist. She remembered on the night of the masquerade he had mentioned going to Europe to see the works of masters, but she had assumed it was an appreciation only, not a study he engaged in himself. It seemed appropriate that the man who had captivated her for years with the beauty of his demeanor and his words would be someone that captured the beauty of the world in art.

She asked the obvious. “Do you draw, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He leaned forward, closing the sketchbook and tossing it aside on the bed. “Eh, it’s just a hobby.”

Sophie could sense there was more he wasn’t saying. She looked around the room again. “These are quite good. I imagine you could be a great artist.”

Benedict chewed the corner of his lip, furrowing his brow. “I thought so too once.” he sighed. “I even went to the Royal Academy. But…” he shook his head, staring into the distance. “I was fooling myself. Reaching beyond my capacity.” 

No one had spoken to him about his art in years since he had stopped pursuing it as a formal career. Not any of his friends, not even Eloise or Anthony, his two closest siblings and greatest supporters. Once he had told them he was leaving the Academy, they hadn’t asked him about his artistic ambitions again. Maybe they were just trying to avoid upsetting him, or maybe they had enough going on in their own lives to pay much attention to him. Either way, he was touched that someone was showing an interest, even if Sophie was just being polite. 

“Now my art is just for me. Just doodles really.” His lips pulled into a thin line, putting an end to her questioning. He asked about her instead, trying to lift his mood, “Do you enjoy art?”

“Oh, yes,” Sophie’s face lit up, then she seemed to pull back into herself. “Of course, I know nothing of the process or even who the artists are, but I admire it very much.” 

Benedict’s shimmering blue eyes stared into hers, encouraging her to continue. “Landscapes especially,” she smiled. “Some of them just open up and invite me to stand within them. Though I might be scrubbing the floor or dusting a table nearby, my mind can be somewhere else entirely. In my position there is so much work to do that there isn’t much time for reading. But the paintings are always there, ready to take me to other places.” She realized she was staring off dreamily, imagining her favorite painting in her father’s country home - an expansive landscape of an autumnal field, warm with auburn and golden tones. 

After a beat of silence, she snapped back to herself, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I’ve talked too much.” She had been rambling, daydreaming out loud. She had to remember her place. But that was hard to do with this man, the one member of the ton who had treated her, if only for their brief interactions, as an equal. 

Benedict shook his head. In truth, he had been holding his breath as she spoke, realizing that she saw landscapes in the same manner as he did. Not as mere ornamentation on a wall, but as doorways to other worlds. Again, he didn’t know how this maid had become so insightful and eloquent. “Do not stifle yourself on my account. I find you rather…” He paused, obviously searching for the correct word. “Refreshing.”

“Oh,” Sophie blinked. “Thank you.” Her heart started to beat faster. She hoped that she was only an interesting curiosity to him, not anything more. They couldn’t be drawn any closer to each other or she wouldn’t be able to bear it. She would care for him for a few short days and once he was well, she would take her earnings and leave, sparing herself a heart broken by the impossible barriers between them. 

Benedict suddenly perked up. “Would you like to read?” His eyes were so gentle they made her quiver inside. “To me?”

“Sir?” she asked.

“While I’m confined to this bed I feel I may go mad with boredom.” She could sense that he was intentionally rasping his voice again. He laid back on the pillows, jutting out his lip in an exaggerated frown.

Sophie smirked, realizing Benedict had probably gotten everything he had ever asked for by pulling a face like the cheeky devil and charmer that he was. “Very well,” she said, standing up.  “What would you like me to read?”

“Oh, anything,” he said with a blithe wave of his hand.

Sophie moved to the bookcase and surveyed the titles. “Poetry?”

“Splendid.”

She pulled out two volumes and held them up for him to see. “Byron?” she asked. “Blake?”

“Blake.” he said quite firmly. An hour’s worth of Byron’s romantic drivel would probably send him quite over the edge. She placed the slim volume of Byron back on the shelf and returned to her chair. 

For over an hour she read to him, verbalizing Blake’s verse with what she hoped was an appropriate cadence. Benedict leaned back against the pillows and finished the pot of tea, his gaze far off as he listened. By the time she had read through half of the book, she looked up to find him nodding off, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“You should sleep,” she said softly, setting the book on her chair and collecting the tea service from the bedside.

He attempted to say, ‘Thank you, Sophie,’ but was already half-asleep so she heard “Mmmm, Sophie.” She caught her breath, savoring the sound of her name on his lips. As he slipped back into unconsciousness she snuck out of his room as quietly as she could, a wide smile on her face.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989

[noxinkwell]

Chapter 5 of Constellations and Miscommunications

IT'S OUT EARLY!!!! AHHHHH! Here's the link to chapter 5 of C&M!

Oh we're so close I can taste it! I'm so excited! Chapter 6 is actually already edited... we sort of edited out of order because my reading comprehension for the rules of the fest was nil. So, I'm hoping I can actually get you guys chapter 6 by this Sunday or midweek next week for funsies!

Chapter 7... it's get a rewrite unfortunately haha. So, it may not be up next Sunday! This one was a really fun and emotional one to write just because of its focus on Draco and mental health and such. I'm really excited about it! Lil snippet:

Hermione found her seat next between Harry and Ron, while Kingsley, Wiggins, and a few other Healers from work settled around the table. Food promptly appeared on their plates—pistachio crusted rack of lamb with charred radicchio and mash. 

“If this is how the Malfoys eat then I sure wish you’d invited us round when you were dating, ‘Mione,” Ron said, digging in. 

Hermione frowned as Harry snorted, shaking his head as he cut into his own rack of lamb. 

“Ronald,” Hermione said. She smiled despite the tasteless joke. “We never ate here. Actually, he cooked for me at my flat more often than not.”  

“You think he cooked all of this?” Ron said through a mouthful of lamb, gesturing at the plates with his knife. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. Of course he didn’t. But as she stared at her plate, her heart lurched, a memory washing over her. 

This was the exact meal he cooked for her when she first invited him to her flat.

He had spent all day prepping it–trying to find the perfect recipe, roasting the nuts himself, hand crusting the lamb. Draco had even gone to a local Muggle market to pick out the radicchio himself. 

She blinked. 

It couldn’t mean anything though. 

“Doubtful,” Hermione said, swiping her fork over the mash. 

[rey-jake-therapist]

@maryholmes94 and @aveline-amelia if you don't mind I prefer to keep our discussion here, because I feel like we took over the other thread with unrelated discussions way too much already ;)

@maryholmes94 please tag me when you post about the antagonistic figures in Sherlock! I'm looking forward to reading it :)

You said you disagreed about what I said about Mary. I also think myself it wasn't pulled under the rug the same way John's violence towards Sherlock was (if that's what you meant), but I still think something was missing in the way her situation was treated by the writers. I'm of course interested in your thoughts!

@aveline-amelia I agree Sally was never a villain, but she was still an antagonist in the strict sense of the word. She isn't a bad person, but she's definitely not Sherlock's ally. I agree about her use of the term 'freak'. I reckon that if the show was written in 2023 she would call him something else, but back in 2021 it was very commun to use "freak" as an insult against anyone who thought out of the box and didn't have good social skills. Not saying this to excuse the writers, but for having been called 'freak' a shit ton of times in the early 00s only because I was different, I think it's more a reflection of the time in which the show was written, than of the character's opinion that Sherlock had a mental illness.

I TOTALLY agree about Greg Lestrade! Pointing Sherlock as a mastermind criminal was a team effort: Moriarty implanted the idea, Sally and Philip thought they finally had a proof of what they always suspected about Sherlock, but Greg listened to them and along with his superior, decided he could be guilty. We see a couple of newspapers pointing at the cops for being wrong about Sherlock's guilt, but... That's it? Sherlock and Greg act as if nothing happened, while idk..... Maybe a "sorry I thought you kidnapped two children and fed them with poison while you were my friend" would have been nice :/

Yep, Wiggins had potential. In a board game I have, Sherlock trained him to be a detective and gives him and his team of street kids some of his cases to solve. It's said John didn't have much faith in him but Sherlock saw his potential. They could have given him a similar arc in Sherlock, instead they hinted at his deduction skills but finally turned him into.... I don't even know what Wiggins was for Sherlock in TLD. His sitter?

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Christopher Wiggins at The Advocate:

It’s Pride Month, so of course conservatives are upset. Enter Fox News host Laura Ingraham. In a segment that aired recently on The Ingraham Angle, Ingraham and contributor Raymond Arroyo criticized various Pride Month celebrations, questioning the role of federal institutions and children’s programming in promoting LGBTQ+ visibility. The segment started with Ingraham drawing attention to a post from theDefense Department. The post, which acknowledged June as both Pride Month and PTSD Awareness Month, was met with harsh reactions from conservatives. “Does Pride bring on PTSD?” Arroyo pondered, raising the question of the military’s involvement in Pride celebrations. The Defense Department eventually took down the post in the face of a strong backlash from right-wing users online. “Pride Month is a time to come together to honor the contributions of LGBTQ+ service members. We are committed to ensuring and promoting an atmosphere of dignity and respect for all civilian and military personnel,” the DOD wrote on X, formerly Twitter, on June 1.

Arroyo furthered his critique by zeroing in on a celebratory Pride graphic posted by the Naval Special Warfare Command, the governing body of the Navy SEALs, on its official Facebook page. The post, which was met with a wave of negative reactions online, was particularly spotlighted by the right-wing, anti-LGBTQ+ social media account Libs of TikTok, managed by far-right extremist influencer Chaya Raichik. “The Navy Seals have gone woke. Our elite special forces. This is terrifying,” Libs of TikTok wrote.

[...] The critique extended to children’s programming, with Ingraham and Arroyo singling out a Pride Month message from “Sesame Street.” “We’re not talking about adults celebrating their sexuality. This is a message to preschoolers, little babies. It’s very bizarre and sadly, it’s not the first time Sesame Street and the gang have ventured into this territory,” Arroyo said. He argued that while representation is important, it is inappropriate to introduce such topics to very young children. “When we talk about Big Bird and you need a content warning, that’s a problem and we’re borderline that here,” he added.

The perpetual crybabies are at it again, as anti-LGBTQ+ extremists such as Chaya Raichik, Laura Ingraham, and Raymond Arroyo had a meltdown over Sesame Street and the Department of Defense acknowledging Pride Month.

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Jad Fair

Photo: Brian Birzer

Jad Fair’s music has been described as “art punk,” “primitive rock,” “naive pop,” and “experimental,” though none of those labels quite capture what it is. Never encumbered by the conventions of songwriting or technical virtuosity, or the idea that an instrument should be tuned, the guitarist/singer/visual artist always made the music that felt most natural. It’s not an experiment, he has said. It just is.

In the mid 1970s Fair started Half Japanese with his brother, David. In 1980 they released their famously audacious debut, a triple album called Half Gentlemen/Not Beasts. It was a raw explosion of teenage boy id. The brothers, both on vocals, indulged obsessions (girls, mostly) over discordant guitars and drums that bubbled and burst like boiling water.

Half Japanese has released many records since, in addition to the mountains of music that Fair has put out over the years, solo and in collaboration with Daniel Johnson, Yo La Tengo, Teenage Fanclub and many others. Over the course of 2021 he released two albums a week on Bandcamp, and then started making music with singer/songwriter/multiinstrumentalist Samuel Locke Ward. They just released their second record, Destroy All Monsters about which Dusted’s Margaret Welsh wrote that “In its warmth and sincerity, Destroy All Monsters straddles a strange line: It impersonates flimsy holiday novelty but resonates on a deeper level. Here are some of Fair’s favorite records.

It’s difficult to just choose 10 albums. There are so many albums that I love.

The Shaggs — Philosophy Of The World

I first heard Philosophy Of The World in 1979. I was given a cassette of it and immediately took to it. It was like no other album I’d heard. The music and lyrics are so sweet and sincere. I was very pleased that I was asked to do cover art for the release of The Dot Wiggin Band’s album Ready! Get! Go!. When I saw Dot’s band perform I was surprised to see that the musicians were reading music. I asked Dot about it and was told that the music for the Shaggs was written out.

The Modern Lovers — The Modern Lovers

In 1974 I read an interview of Jonathan Richman in Andy Warhol’s Interview magazine. I was impressed with what Jonathan had to say. When the Modern Lovers album was released I sent away for it and was floored by it. It’s a super fine album.

Spider John Koerner — Some American Folk Songs Like They Used To

Spider John Koerner is one of my favorite folk musicians. It’s a shame that very few people have heard the album. I think it’s his best.

Lord Invader — Calypso Travels

I’m a huge fan of calypso music. Lord Invader is a great calypsonian. I love the way he sings and his band is top of the top.

The Stooges — Fun House

I grew up in Michigan and when I was a teen, most of my favorite bands were from Michigan. Michigan had The MC5, The Stooges, Question Mark and the Mysterians, Destroy All Monsters and Motown. I felt I was living in the best state for music.

Daniel Johnston — Hi How Are You?

In 1984 my band Half Japanese had a tour with a stop in Austin. Daniel’s manager (Jeff Tartakov) gave me a cassette of Daniel’s album. During the tour we played it over and over in the van. I know many amazing musicians. What’s rare is a musician that is also a fine lyricist. Daniel was one of the best. He was a genius, and I was so lucky to have worked with him.

Bob Dylan — Basement Tapes

I like the relaxed feel of the songs. Bob Dylan and the Band were such a great match. Super fine songs and super playing.

Howlin Wolf — The Complete RPM and Chess Singles

In the early 1970s, I bought a lot of albums of Howling Wolf. It’s hard to beat Howling Wolf as a performer. He had power and charisma.

NRBQ — All Hopped Up

NRBQ is my favorite band. When I lived on the East Coast I would go to see them anytime they had a show in Maryland or DC. Definitely the finest live band I’ve seen.

James Brown — Live At The Apollo

It’s hard to pick just one James Brown album. He released so many great albums. Live At The Apollo has James in top form. It’s a brilliant performance. It’s star time!

[briarberrythornedhart]

Same, brochaco

Cw: recreational drug use, bi/pan! argyle, discussions of respectful polyamory

“I believe in love at first sight.” Is the first thing Argyle says as he gets situated on Eddie’s couch. And it isn’t just sitting down that he does - Argyle reclines - one leg tucked under one thigh. Hands behind his head. He looks completely at ease. “First time I saw Eden Bingham, man, KABLAMMO, I felt it. Like a rocket to the head and heart. Bet it was the same for you Ron-Jon Surf Shop...”

Eddie watches Jonathan grimace (but fondly) at his friend over the blown glass bong. “Stop calling me that.” he begs.

“It was though, wasn’t it man- with Nance? At first glance - yeah?” Argyle presses.

“Not exactly, no, I got the hots for her right away but love develops over time...”

“ooooh ... Develops... like your photography shit - by stewing in chemicals, man. That’s what hormones are.” Argyle laughs his very particular laugh and starts to argue the opposite of Jon’s supposition. “But listen - you loved “Wheels” right away. You wanted to take care of her and treat her right and be someone she could rely on. I know there’s all kindsa love, but you felt that immediately, you know you did. You wanted to get in her stylish pants - but you didn’t just want to get in her stylish pants. So if she loves you back no matter what’s going on with that Steve guy or that Robin gal—you should still work it out. That’s my point. Like, Eden and I can’t be together right now, and I get that. She’s in Paris and I’m ... here and we have an arrangement so it’s cool.”

“You’re seeing other people?” Jon is obviously surprised.

Eddie is too busy looking at Argyle’s hair to be surprised by anything that gently rolls out of Argyle’s mouth with that dulcet Pedro accent. Argyle’s hair is long and as beautiful as the Miami river. Eddie wishes like anything to touch it. Run his hands through it. Braid it. But that would be ... weird right? Disrespectful.

He’s not gonna ask. He’s not THAT high yet.

“We can see other people for now. And I would if’n I could find someone special.” Argyle sits up and grabs a piece of pizza from the open box.

“But you need to fall in love at first glance with... the girl?” Eddie probed, hoping he didn’t look too interested in the answer.

“Wouldn’t have to be a girl.” Argyle says around a bite of pineapple and jalapeño pizza. “But - not a blue-eyed blonde - no thank you - gives me the wiggins - I like me some Brunettes with nice lips.”

Eddie felt a bit more hopeful and scooted closer.

[waste-lit]

The Crone

Amafray stared down the steam rising from her stack of pancakes, blinking sleep from her eyes. She and Wiggins sat at their usual table at the back of Old Glass Eye’s Tavern. The sun was fresh in the sky and it was too early for most people to stop by for breakfast. The early birds and the seniors would show up around seven or eight. That would be for another two hours. Her stomach felt slightly nauseous from the lack of sleep. She had stayed up the night before reading cover to cover a textbook on aphrodisiac potions, giddy with the idea of testing one out on Wiggins. She was not expecting him to come knocking on her door just after five in the morning. She had to open the door and let him in just so that he wouldn’t wake the other residents. Now she was here, eating breakfast with him when she really wished she could stay in bed. She could feel his eyes on her from across the table. She sighed. “Okay, fine. Why did you just drag me out of bed?”

“A date!”

Amafray perked up, leaning towards him. They almost never went on a real date. She hoped it would be something romantic such as a canoe ride or roller skating. “A date doing what?”

“There’s an abandoned cottage on the edge of town and it’s got tons of stuff in it. It’s got metal and magic.” Wiggins was basically wobbling in his chair with excitement.

Amafray deflated. That didn’t sound romantic or fun. She frowned and crossed her arms across her chest. “You want me to help you loot someone?” 

“No looting, it’s scavenging.” 

“So you want to spend our first date in who knows how long ‘scavenging’ at an old cottage?” Her voice came out acidic and cold.

“There’s lots of things you could use! There’s tools and ingredients you could use for potion making. What do you think?” The look of hope in his eyes was more than Amafray could bear. Her heart throbbed a little. The things we do for love.

“All right, yeah. We can go.” She took a bite of one of her pancakes, suppressing a smile. They lacked flavor except for the sweetness of the maple syrup. Old Glass Eye was not known for the quality of his food.

Wiggins’ face broke into a toothy grin and he rummaged through his knapsack, grabbing a map and flattening it onto the table. Amafray studied the many penciled in paths, locations, and warnings that Wiggins had added to the map over the years. Running her finger over it, she finally landed on The House of Inspired Hands, the temple where she was raised and lived. Scrawled in the alley next to the temple was the word tourist. She noticed that the word was scrawled several other places throughout the city. Standard positions and routes for the city’s guardsmen were marked with little “G”s. Amafray realized that Wiggins must use this map for his thievery and mischief.  Wiggins took his finger and pointed to a small clearing marked in the woods on the edge of town. 

“You promise we’re not stealing?”

“Of course we aren’t. Now, this is where the cottage sits, right in this clearing. See we’ll take this path here,” he traced a dotted line with his finger, “and the cottage is easy to find once you hit the clearing.”

Old Glass Eye stood sentry behind the bar, as he looked out over the tavern. Two young adventurers were planning their next expedition, pouring over a map. It appeared as though they had everything figured out. But Glass Eye knew otherwise. The  man folded up the map and tucked it into his tunic, and the girl counted out several nibs to leave on the table. They reached the door when Glass Eye spoke.

“Be warned,” he said, “there are dangers in the woods.” Amafray could swear that his glass eye was glowing a misty blue. Unsure what to say, they nodded and thanked him, and stepped outside.

The morning air was cool, the air not yet heated by the oppressive mid day sun. The road leading out of town and towards the woods was alive with people going about their days, heading to work and doing their morning chores. A man stood at the corner selling fruit from a cart, and nearby a woman was attempting to soothe a crying baby without much success. Sights, sounds, and smells all battled for attention. Wiggins’ sticky fingers snagged a few coins from passerby’s pockets, and Amafray tried not to notice. She knew it was no good trying to tell him not to steal. She’d already tried. The way she tried to see things was that Wiggins was a good person, who just didn’t always do good things. Amafray worried that he would eventually have to face the law, but so far his small stature and natural stealth had always stopped him from getting caught.

At the edge of the woods, Wiggins pulled out the map and began to maneuver the twisting dirt paths that ran through the undergrowth. The further they went, the narrower and less defined the paths became. They became more overgrown, pricker bushes and brambles lining the sides. Dead leaves piled up beneath their feet, crunching as they walked. In the shade of the trees, shadows danced about, bringing life to the quiet woods. A chipmunk or rabbit scurried into the bushes as they approached, and somewhere in the trees birds were calling out to one another.

They had been in the woods for the better part of an hour when they came upon a small clearing ringed by thorn buses. It was smaller than Amafray expected. In the middle of the clearing stood a ramshackle cottage with a sagging rood and rotting siding. Wiggins was right, the cottage was pretty easy to find. A garden of bright purple flowers growing on long vines grew in the front yard. Their bright colors seemed out of place in comparison to the gloominess of the cottage. As they approached, Amafray realized that the flowers were each so large that she could wear them as hats.

The air was still and all was quiet, and it made the hairs on the back of Amafray’s neck rise. Trouble was brewing. Wiggins moved forward without sound, seemingly unbothered, and she struggled to match his pace. Her own footsteps sounded heavy to her own ears, like a one person stampede. Potion bottles in her knapsack clinked together and she cringed at the noise.

As they passed the vine garden on the way to the front door, Amafray could swear that the flowers tilted their heads, watching them pass through. An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. Invisible eyes glared at the back of her neck.

“I don’t think we’re alone,” she said, scanning the tree line. “I think we’re being watched.”

“I’m telling you, this place is abandoned. I mean, just look at it.”

Amafray had to admit that Wiggins had a point. The cottage was beyond run down. The windows in the front broken, spiderwebs growing from the remaining shards. The vines had spread from the garden in the front and were slowly climbing up the outer walls. Wiggins gave the front door a slight push and it swung open without resistance. He grinned at her as if to say told you so, and went inside. Amafray looked over her shoulder one final time to make sure no one was watching, and followed him in.

It was dim inside the cottage, but enough sunlight shone in through the broken windows  to light their way and illuminate the dust that hung in the air. Amafray coughed. Even her apartment was cleaner than this. She felt a shiver pass through her and goosebumps rose on her arms, despite it being no cooler in the cottage than it was outside. The floor of the cottage was made of packed dirt and lent it an  earthy aroma. Amafray looked over and saw that Wiggins had his knapsack open and was scouring for any valuables. There were several tables cluttered with miscellaneous items, but most of it appeared to be junk.

“I wonder who used to live here,” said Amafray.

“Whoever it was,” Wiggins said, holding up a dirty green gem to the light, “they were into crafting magic potions. Look, over there.” He pointed towards a corner of the room were a black cauldron sat under some dilapidated rows of shelving. 

Amafray went to the cauldron and began to inspect the shelves. They were full of dried herbs and spices, ground rocks and sands, and pickled animal parts, all an assortment of both rare and easy to find. Who ever had lived here had been a serious potion maker. She ran her fingers over the lids of the jars while she tried to decipher the labels. Handwriting had not been this stranger’s strong suit. When she pulled her hand back, she realize there was no dust on her fingertips. Her guts turned icy. 

“Wiggins, I think someone still lives here.” She looked around her, checking for a hidden silhouette in the shadows.

Wiggins scoffed. “Come on, who would live in a dump like this? Ease up.”

Amafray’s heart began ramping up, despite her best attempts to stay calm. “I want to leave. Now.”

“Oh, relax. It’s fine You’ve just got the nerves.”

Amafray sighed in frustration, a stress headache beginning to form behind her eyes. “Fine, I’m leaving. I’ll wait for you outside.” 

Amafray turned to the doorway and was about to leave when she froze. Standing in the door was a bent old woman, stringy gray hair hanging loose about her waist. Pink scalp showed in patches. Her clothes were made of tattered rags and her teeth were yellow when she smiled at them.

“Listen to you, bickering like lovers.” The crone’s voice was high and raspy, unpleasant to the ear. Around her feet vines slithered into the cottage, new flowers budding and blooming at rapid speeds as it went. They swiveled about on the vine, as though they were looking for something or someone.

Amafray heard Wiggins yelp and turned to see that the vines had wrapped around his legs and were quickly enveloping his small frame. As more flowers sprouted she swore that it appeared that they were drooling. She unsheathed a dagger and went to take a step towards Wiggins. The vines were beginning to crush him and even without a face, Amafray had the feeling that the plant was hungry.

“I don’t believe it’s a good idea to help him, dear,” said the crone. She snapped her fingers and a large dog with gleaming fangs and smoldering eyes materialized between Amafray and Wiggins, blocking her way. It stank of sulfur. Gods, thought Amafray, a real hell hound. She’d only ever read about them in books, and never imagined that she would meet one in person. Now she was wishing that she hadn’t. She let her dagger drop to the floor. There was no use in provoking a hell hound.

“That’s better,” said the crone, her voice an airy rasp. “Now I do believe I am dealing with thieves. How do you plead?”

Amafray shook her head no. The vines had wrapped all the way around Wiggins, gagging him so that he could not respond.

“Speak!” the crone demanded.

“No, we just, we thought-” Amafray stumbled over her words.

“Enough! You lie to me?”

“No, I-”

“Silence!” The room became deathly quiet, the only sound that of the panting of the hell hound. “I have heard all that I must. You are a thief and you must pay.” The old woman pointed a skeletal finger at Amafray and focused her gaze. In a voice much stronger than Amafray could have imagined coming from such an old and feeble looking woman, she bellowed, “LUPIS!”

Amafray’s stomach dropped and a searing heat spread from her heart and into her hands and feet. She doubled over, falling to her knees, and proceeded to throw up on the earthen ground. She coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then, feeling something strange, she touched her teeth with her fingers. Her canines were elongated and formed sharp points. Lowering her hands, she saw that dark fur was beginning to grow on her arms and backs of her hands. Above everything, she felt an extreme hunger spread through her. Panic rose in her throat and she gasped for air. Amafray had heard of magic like this before, a lycanthrope curse. Soon she would be nothing but a beast in the shell of herself. She fell to her knees and hung her head. Her shoulders shook. “Undo it, please! I’ll do anything! Please!”

The crone smiled, exposing a gap in her teeth. “I will undo the curse on one occasion.”

“I’ll do anything, anything at all!”

“I shall send you on an errand then, a trip to the dry well on the other side of the river. At the bottom of the well is a healing moss named Blue Whisper. Gather some and bring it to me. But be wary of the spirit’s voices, they may try to fool you. Not many people leave the well, at least not the same as they entered.” The crone stepped towards Amafray and held out a round, smooth stone. “This is a guiding stone. Follow the glow and you shall arrive where you need to be. You do not need to tell it where you are going, it already knows. Now be off. If the curse is not broken before the moon rises it will be permanent.

With this the crone turned and disappeared into the daylight, the hell hound at her heels. The vines receded with her, uncoiling from around Wiggins and leaving him in a heap on the floor. Amafray rushed to him and cradled his head in her hands. He smiled at her through panting breaths. With more effort than he would like to admit, he slowly got to his feet, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Well, it seems that we have ourselves an adventure now.”

The guiding stone led them to the river, a steadily moving brook about a half hour’s walk from the clearing. The sound of rushing water disrupted the otherwise still air. There was no bridge that either Amafray or Wiggins knew of, but after hiking alongside the river for a while they came to a spot where several flat stones were raised above the water. The guiding stone glowed brightly. While crossing on the stepping stones, Amafray caught a glimpse of her reflection in the water. Her stomach dropped and her heart raced. She had to take several deep breaths to stop herself from full out panicking. Looking back at her was a girl, but this girl had dark fur growing up her neck and encroaching onto her face. She prayed that they could stop the curse.

On the far side of the river, the land was rockier and they had to maneuver around and over shrubs and fallen logs. They did not have to travel far before coming upon a squat stone well that was crumbling due to neglect and years of exposure to the weather. A rope was tied to a wooden bar that lay across the well’s opening, and it disappeared into the gloomy dark below. Wiggins looked over the edge and squinted, but it was far too dark to make out the bottom of the well. There was no telling how deep it was. In Amafray’s hand, the guiding stone flashed madly. This was the place. Wiggins grabbed the rope and yanked on it hard. It seemed to be weight bearing. Rope held in both hands, Wiggins hoisted himself onto the the side of the well and prepared for the downward climb.

“Are you sure about this?” Amafray nervously twisted her hair between her fingers.

“Well, it’s either this or you could be stuck as a wolf for the rest of your life.” Wiggins smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. Amafray shook her head no. “Then stay put, I’ll be right back. If anything goes wrong I’ll holler.” Wiggins gave her a wink and blew her a kiss before kicking his legs over the side of the well and beginning his descent on the long rope.

Inside the well the air was cooler, and grew chilly the further down he went. The smell of rock and dirt was comforting and reminded him of his home. Wiggins had come from a mining town, and his father was a miner as well as his father before him. When he had come to the city in search of adventure- and riches, he had solidified himself as the black sheep of the family. Looking up, he could see the circle of light above him grow smaller.

The bottom of the well was far from spacious, not even wide enough for Wiggins to stretch his sore arms without bumping his knuckles into the walls. It wasn’t completely dark, however. Patches of faint blue light glowed on the walls of the well. He had found the Blue Whisper. In the quiet, with the outer world muffled by stone and dirt, Wiggins swore that he could hear the moss talking. He leaned in closer.

Wiggins.

He jumped back, startled. Could he be hallucinating? 

Stay with me, here. Stay Wiggins.

The soft glow of the moss beckoned him closer. He reached out a finger to touch it. It was surprisingly soft against his rough fingertips. He lifted his finger and a blue afterglow stained it. 

Join me here, Wiggins. Join us in the well.

Wiggins’ suddenly felt woozy, as though his legs might give out from under him. He fell back a step to regain his balance and heard a crunch beneath the heel of his boot. He looked down. The bottom of the well was littered with bones- humanoid looking ones. Wiggins fought against a panic rising in his chest, stumbling in the dark, and losing his footage. He fell, tripping on a hollow skull, and hit the ground hard. The smell of death surrounded him. On the wall the blue moss’s sickly blue glow grew brighter. It almost sounded as though the moss was laughing at him. The laugh was shrill and jarring, nothing human about it.

 Shaking his head to clear it, he used one of his daggers to scrape a clump of moss from the wall and into a vial that Amafray had given him. As he cut the moss from the stone he could hear it’s screams inside his head. He was careful to make sure that the cork stopper was properly sealed. Holding the vial to his ear, he was able to hear indistinct murmurings. Placing the vial into his knapsack and wiping his hands on his pants, Wiggins looked up to the opening of the well. A circle of blue sky with a branch cutting across in a jagged line. He grabbed ahold of the the rope and began the upward climb. 

At the surface, Amafray sat on th edge of the well and listened to the chirping of song birds as they flew about the trees, building nests and calling for mates. She had always loved to lay in bed in the morning, listening to the birdsong. Now though, she felt something different. Now, she felt hunger. A dull yellow goldfinch sat on a nearby branch, partially hidden by leaves. Amafray crept forward and raised her bow. She moved without thought. She aimed, pulled back the bowstring, and and released. The arrow struck the bird, and it fell to the ground. She set down her bow and walked over. She nudged the lifeless body with the toe of her shoe. It didn’t move. She picked it up and cradled it in her hands. Its feathers were soft and its body warm. The smell of the blood caused her stomach to ache with hunger. Without thought, she raised the bird to her mouth and sunk her teeth in. The metal taste of blood filled her mouth, her hunger inhuman and unstoppable. 

“Amafray?”

Amafray spun around, blood smeared at the corners of her mouth and dead bird in hand. A trickle of blood ran down her chin. “I didn’t want to hurt it.” She let the dead bird fall to the ground and covered her face with her hands as her shoulders shook, smearing blood across her cheeks and nose. “I was just so hungry, I didn’t want to hurt it.” Her voice broke. “I didn’t mean to.” A sob rose in her throat. How could she had been so brutal? How could she have claimed such an innocent life?

Wiggins went to her and began to rub her back in slow circles. She clung to him, smearing blood on his leather armor, but he didn’t mind. “Love, hey, it’s okay. You didn’t mean to do it. I know you didn’t mean to. It’s not your fault, it’s the curse.”

“Promise you’re not mad?” Wiggins could barely make out what she was saying through her sobs. 

“I’m not mad, love.”

“Do you still love me?”

“Of course I do.” Wiggins pushed back her hair and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead, one of the few places that wasn’t soiled with blood. For a moment they stood there, taking deep breaths and holding one another. After a few minutes, Wiggins stepped back and led Amafray to the river’s edge so that she could wash her face and hands. While Amafray washed, Wiggins discretely took care of disposing the dead bird’s body, throwing it into a nearby bush. 

Amafray sat at the river’s edge, studying her reflection as ripples passed through it. She was definitely a bit furrier, her body hair fuller and darker than normal. Baring her teeth, she could see that her canines had become long and pointed. Her stomach growled. She was still hungry.

“Ready?” Wiggins asked as he came to join her by the water’s edge. “I’ve got the moss.” He held up the vial, its blue glow faint in the bright sunlight. 

Amafray nodded and reached out her hand to Wiggins. Hand in hand, they bagan the trek back to the crone’s cottage, using the guiding stone to lead the way.

The crone was outside when they returned. The vines had vanished, and she was now tending a garden in their place. The plants were full of tomatoes and zucchini, herbs and medicinal flowers. The garden appeared as though it had been there forever, its plants large and leafy. They approached the crone.

“I see you’ve brought me the moss,” said the crone, not looking up from the tomatoes she was tying to stakes, the heavy fruits weighing down the vines. “I can hear the spirits calling to me. Now, bring it here.” The crone held out a bony, pale hand and Wiggins hesitated before reaching into his knapsack and producing the moss. Whispers filled the air. It sounded angry. He handed the vial to the crone.

“The curse, will you lift it now? We’ve completed the task,” Amafray ringed her hands nervously. 

“Not yet dear,” replied the crone, “I have one more task for you before I break the curse.”

“That wasn’t the deal!” Wiggins’ fists were balled at his sides and he glared at the crone.

“True,” said the crone. “Would you prefer to be dinner for my hell hound? You’d be a perfect snack for him.

Wiggins looked away, face red, cautiously scanning the grounds for the massive beast. “Fine,” he said, “Tell us what we need to do. 

The crone straightened and looked at them with a sickening smile of yellowed teeth. “There is a poacher on my lands, I wish for you to bring him to my sister. She will-“ the crone licked her lips, “dispose of him. The stone will guide you.” With that, the crone turned away and went back to her gardening.

Amafray and Wiggins walked in silence, following the guidance of the magic stone, both lost in their own thoughts. Wiggins couldn’t believe the gall of the crone. Who was to stop her from adding yet another task after this? How could he know that she was even able or willing to break the curse? Amafray studied the backs of her hands and frowned at the dark fur that was beginning to cover them She wished she could go back to the river and watch her reflection, try to remember what she looked like before the curse took effect and only a wolf looked back at her in return.

Dropping into a crouch, Wiggins stopped suddenly and held the guiding stone out to Amafray. Its glow was pulsating. They had reached their target. Dappled sunlight shone through the trees, but low lying branches stopped most of it from reaching the forest floor. Ferns grew in abundance in the comfortable shade. 

“Shit, we’re never going to find somebody here, at least not before they find us,” Wiggins whispered, scanning the surrounding underbrush. 

“Wait,” Amafray said, pointing. “In that tree.”

Wiggins looked to where Amafray was pointing and there was a flash of silver amongst the green. Someone was wearing chain mail armor in a  tree stand, and it appeared that they were unaware that they were being watched, back to Wiggins and Amafray. The tree stand was a good ten feet in the air, but it was an easy climb with plenty of sturdy branches to use as footholds. The thick foliage almost kept it out of view, but not completely. Wiggins grinned. Plenty of coverage for a sneak attack.

Wiggins held a finger to his lips and then pointed towards the figure in the tree. Amafray nodded her understanding. Wiggins moved through the ferns and crept to the base of the tree. Reaching up, he grabbed onto one of the lowest branches and hoisted himself onto it. He moved without sound. Amafray crouched in the shadows of the undergrowth and watched as Wiggins made his way up to the tree stand, taking care to conceal himself in the lush foliage. The poacher sat, bow in hand, scanning the woods ahead of him for game, his full attention consumed. He never expected Wiggins’ dagger at his throat.

Wiggins gently pressed the blade of his dagger against the soft blade of the poacher’s throat. “Don’t move,” he whispered into the poacher’s ear.

Startled, the poacher thrust his elbow backwards, sending Wiggins off balance, and he teetered for a moment, enough time for the poacher to wheel on him with a small hunting knife. On the ground, Amafray could see trouble in the tree stand. She hastily grabbed a vial from her knapsack and shook it gently. Red flecks swirled in the orange liquid. She popped the cork from the vial and downed the contents in one gulp. It tasted strongly of cinnamon. A warmth blossomed in her belly and spread outwards into her arms and legs, down to her hands and feet. She lifted an open hand towards the poacher and closed her eyes in concentration. 

On the tree loft, the poacher stumbled backwards as his chain mail began to glow red with heat. He let out a scream as he tried to tear off his armor, burning his hands on the metal. As he struggled, Wiggins took the hilt of his dagger and hit him over the head with one powerful blow. The poacher crumpled into a pile at Wiggins’ feet. Amafray lowered her hand and the glowing red ebbed.

While ambushing the poacher had been relatively easy, lowering him to the ground below seemed to require a bit more thinking. Wiggins lowered the poacher off the side of the tree stand, holding him by the arms. Once the poacher was only a few feet off the ground, he let go and the poacher landed in a pile at the base of the tree. It wouldn’t do if he broke a leg, they still had to walk to find the crone’s sister’s house. 

Amafray moved forward and tied the poacher up with a length of rope from her knapsack so that his arms were bound to his sides and his legs were kept free so that they could lead him on foot. She tore a strip of cloth from her own tunic and stuffed it into the poacher’s mouth to act as a gag. Wiggins approached her and pointed at her newly exposed midriff. 

I’m digging the style,” he said. “It’s cute.” 

Amafray couldn’t help but grin as a red blush spread across her face.

He jestered at their captive. “I suppose we should wake him up, I sure don’t want to carry him.”

Amafray grabbed a canteen from her bag and poured a small portion of water onto the poacher’s face. His eyes fluttered open. Amafray could recognize the look on his face. It was pure fear. She had captured a glimpse of it on her own face when she had washed the bird’s blood away in the river. Fear of what she was becoming. As she looked at the poacher, she knew that she was leading him to his death. Nothing good could come from the crone’s sister. Now she had to kill a man in order to save her own humanity. How was that fair?

Wiggins yanked the poacher to his feet and Amafray took hold of the guiding stone. It glowed softly, ready to lead the way.

The stone led them through the woods, and slowly the trees became more rotted and thinned out as they reached a marshy plane. Water rose up to their knees and their feet sank into the mud beneath. All of the vegetation that had once lived there was now spindly and dead. Whatever evils the crone’s sister contained had spread out into the environment around her. The stone began to pulsate, warm with energy, however Amafray couldn’t see anything resembling a home through the thick fog. She worried that the stone had led them awry, but they carried on. As they continued, a dilapidated shack rose from out of the mists.

They shack had no windows and there was no door in the empty door frame. The roof sunk in the middle and appeared to be on the verge of caving in. As they grew closer, they could see there was a large figure slumped in a battered rocking chair outside the front of the shack. It was a large woman, grotesque and swollen. Of course, thought Amafray, a flesh crone. They weren’t just delivering the poacher, they were providing lunch. 

As the trio approached, the flesh crone rose from her chair and strode forward them, her steps lumbering and heavy. As she approached Amafray could feel the air around them grow colder, yet she was covered in a nervous sweat. The flesh crone was surrounded by a shall of evil. Silently she pointed a fleshy finger at the poacher. Wiggins pushed him forward, towards the crone and she clamped a hand onto his shoulder. She took in a deep breath, smelling him. The flesh crone stared at Wiggins and Amafray for a moment with her beady black eyes before turing and bringing the poacher into her shack. They disappeared into the gloom of the shack. From inside they could hear a scream, muffled by Amafray’s makeshift gag, the sound of a heavy cleaver chopping, and then nothing.

Amafray and Wiggins stood motionless for a moment after the silence had settled before they allowed themselves to relax. Both of them had goosebumps despite the muggy air.

“Let’s get out of here,” Wiggins whispered. “Who knows if she’ll want desert.”

Amafray took out the guiding stone with shaking hands, and they began to follow the glowing light back to the crone’s cottage.

They walked in silence on the way to the cottage, both lost in their own thoughts. The sky was beginning to turn pink, and golden light filled the forest. The moon would be rising soon, and then the spell would be impossible to remove. Amafray quickened her pace and reached out for Wiggins’ hand. It’s weight and worth brought her some comfort.

“Will you still love me if we can’t break the curse, if I’m a werewolf forever?”

Wiggins squeezed her hand. “Of course. I’ll love you forever, no matter what. I’ll even get you a bone to chew on.” He grinned and Amafray playfully punched his arm.

As they reached the cottage, twilight was beginning to fall over the clearing. The vegetable garden had been replaced by a frog pond filled with white water lillies that glowed softly in the dark. Chirping frogs filled the air. Lightening bugs were beginning to light up like stars just out of reach. Wiggins strode confidently past the garden and rapped his knuckles against the front door, Amafray close behind him. Her stomach felt twisty and sick, and she was unsure if it was part of the curse or her own nerves. Would the crone even hold her end of the bargain?

Wiggins was about to knock again when the door swung inward to reveal the crone. She gave a wide smile and Amafray noted that she was missing several teeth that she could have sworn had been there earlier.

“Ah, yes,” the crone said. “You have been successful in your endeavors.”

“The antidote,” Wiggins demanded. “We did your errands, now give it to us.”

“Yes, yes. Come in.” The crone waved Wiggins and Amafray into the cottage. They went in hesitantly.

The crone ushered them over to a cluttered work bench covered in vials filled with liquids of varying colours and jars containing a variety of ingredients, some of which Amafray could not recognize. The crone picked up a vial containing a silvery liquid that had shimmering specks in it. She gave it a swirl.

“Is this the antidote?” asked Amafray. A quesy warmth was spreading in her belly.

“Yes, my dear. But there is one more ingredient that is required.”

Wiggins bristled and balled his fists tight. He was about to protest when the crone raised her hand. “Don’t fret my dear, the final ingredient is here with us now.”

“Well, where is it?” Wiggins asked?

“I require a drop of her true love’s blood.” Amafray and Wiggins both stared blankly at the crone. She sighed and pointed to Wiggins. “You. I need a drop of her blood.”

Wiggins nodded in understanding and took a swiss army knife from the inside of his tunic. He selected a small but sharp pearing knife and held it to the tip of his fingertip. He made a small cut, barely deep enough to break the skin. A few drops of blood beaded on his finger. The crone uncorked the vial and held it towards him and he let the blood drip down into the vial. The specks within the antidote began to glow.

The crone held out the vial to Amafray. She took it, then looked to the crone and to Wiggins. They nodded back to her and she put the vial to her lips. As she drank the liquid she could feel a soothing coolness spread throughout her body. Her body tingled and she closed her eyes until the feeling passed. When she opened her eyes she looked at her arms. No longer furry. She smiled big and looked up to Wiggins and the crone, beaming.

Wiggins came forward and took Amafray in his arms, burying his face in her hair and kissing her head. “I’m so happy you’re okay. I was so worried about you.”

“It’s all thanks to you,” said Amafray. “You’re my true love.”

[mintytealfox]

Goodness GRACIOUS orz

Alice's Deduction version of Alice in Wonderland, in 1949,...felt like my brain was actively melting awaaayy orz

This claymation style is anything BUT fun to look at for my eyeballs. Like even the caterpillar on the cover here fills me with an uncanny amount of dread and visceral ANGER PPFFFFF

But I watched it, and made it to the end -falls down the stairs- uhg orz

Dunno if there is a point to do a read more cause I am keeping it SHORT but just in case~

So in this version, instead of a book being read to Alice as she falls asleep, it is actually her friend who is an author that uses the alias Lewis Carroll LOL YOOOO that is telling this story he is making up for her and her sisters.

To note: Her friend says something interesting in the beginning, when referring to this place that Alice and her family live 'Oxford', saying "nothing in this place ever changes" This made me think of Orpheus and his purposeful plans to make the mansion look exactly like it did before, and the other obvious part, that he is also an author.

ANYWAYS

Alice falls asleep as he starts telling this story and we get to experience these horrible AWFUL TERRIFYING CLAYMATIONS AAAAAAAAAAAAHHH for WAY too long -WHEEZE- I don't even wanna TALK ABOUT IT

LOOK AT IT

THIS IS WHEN THEY START SPRINTING and RUSHING TOWARDS HER TO GET HER!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME WHAT IS THIS HORROR FEST

There was this part where all the animals are YELLING at ONCE about the 'FLOOD' from Alice's tears and I WAS ABOUT TO RIP MY HAIR OUT

and don't get me STARTED on that BELL RINGINNNGGGGG RAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I AM GETTING OFF TOPIC LOL

ANYWAYSSSSSSSSS

The long and short of it, we all know the story, but this is definitely the right Alice movie PFF

-Its an absolute MIND MELT and is a story completely curated by her friend who is an author 👀 -She drinks every bottle of 'poison' she sees and eats every sweet she finds PFF -She is significantly curious and wonders about all the things. I particularly liked how she wondered about things and her thought process as she fell at the beginning~

Alice: "either this well is very deep or I am falling very slowly. Well, after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of falling downstairs. How brave they will all think me at home. Why I wouldn't say anything about it even if I fell off the top of the house. I wonder how many miles I have fallen by this time. I wonder what latitude or longitude I've got to. I must be getting somewhere near the center of the earth. Curiouser and Curiouser"

-She is being chased friggin ALWAYS -And I did appreciate how she kept stopping and looking back when she heard the doorknob turning sounds when she is in the first room. ("don't look back" heh)

-This is a tripped out and confusing experience like idv Alice's life when she was being experimented on, All that chaos and memories all over the place ;; -Her wit staying intact regardless and still having a smile on her face and kept on trying. (boi she kept on keepin on with the drink me bottles and eat me snacks my gosh LOL)

This is the most off putting Alice in wonderland movie I have seen, to date, which is on brand for our IDV Alice cause it really puts to paper how chaotic, off putting, and confusing her life has been.

----

I will add this random side note, that there was a part I did appreciate, I appreciated the king character, his delivery with his lines were hysterical PFFF

like, "before we are entirely depopulated my dear, might we find out who actually did it" cause the queen was wiggin for heads to roll again PFF

Alice: "I'm not a mile high!" The King: "you are" -matter of fact dry response I CAN'T HAHHA-

and then the BEST delivery was the:

White Rabbit: "where shall I begin?" -with reading- The King: "Begin at the beginning, then go on til you are at the end, then stop"

-WHEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZEEEEEEEE- just the most DRY of deliveries got me HOLLERIN, (the court scene ended up being so funny to me PFFF) but it also could have been because I was literally LOOSING MY MIND by the time the end was rolling around AH

----

This got a checkmark from me PFF even just the way I felt after watching this dang thing was enough for me to be like "yea......" but the fact that there is more is "YUP this is our idv Alice for sure"

[lunarsilkscreen]

Orson Scott Card

I'm gonna get so much hate for this...

So when Ender's Game (The Movie) came out, a lot of critics (and the queer community) hit it extremely hard for being homophobic. Well, they attacked OSC relentlessly for it.

He has family ties to a very strict religiously devout family. Like many queer people, and like many queer people have learned; you tailor your words around those lot. Because they don't understand the same way.

But if you read OSCs other books... Well..you'd have gotten A VERY DIFFERENT picture of him.

And then there's a whole different beast; His book titled "Children of the Mind". Which marks the end of the Ender Wiggin saga, and ends with the *technical* birth of his two children in out-space. Through... Very... Dumb... Science-Fiction.

Ender essentially impregnates his own brain with pictures of his siblings, and his own insecurities, and then those bodies are taken over by his personal AI assistant (created by a mad scientist, and the only one of her kind) and a paraplegic boy that became Wiggin's assistant of sorts.; And then moved from his paralyzed body to the brain baby of Wiggin's elder brother Peter. I told you it was dumb science. (Fortunately, it was what the series ended on, and not the whole series)

But here's the thing about "Children of the Mind" this is a play on the biblical Jesus Christ and being "The son of God".

What he's saying is that the meaning of "God" in *that* context was "Knowledge" or how "SCIENCE!" is used in some contexts today. Asserting that knowing God and Having Knowledge are one and the same.

Which, if you know some religious people, spits right in their understanding of God and religion as a whole.

But, as the book states with it's very... Very bad Science-Fiction, and other allegories; Knowledge, Understanding, and SCIENCE! Doesn't mean that there isn't a greater force at work with the ability to create brain babies. something that; no matter how much we learn, we can't quite understand.

Saying that; "Yeah, there are dumb religious nuts" AND "There's going to be a force work that we just will not be able to understand no matter how much knowledge we attain."

And that both can be an aspect of God.

[marmiteprinter]

Round 7 - Summer 2 (Part 2) - The Phillips Family

ROS has given us something exciting this round! I've been waiting for this one to roll up. Conrad is getting an exchange student!

As the round began, Conrad was woken by the sound of the phone ringing. It was Jennifer Hansen-Wiggins, the town founder. She had been informed that a foreign exchange student from Norway was on his way to Wildflats Peninsula and needed housing while he was in town.

"And so of course I immediately thought of you. Your brother has just moved out so you've got the room and it would be great for you to act like a big brother to the student, show him around town, things like that. He's on his way over to yours as we speak," she said.

"Wow, thanks for giving me so much advance notice, Jennifer," said Conrad sarcastically.

"Well, there's no one else who can take him. You're not going to leave him out on the street, are you? Plus, I'll throw in a §100 tax rebate. Will you do it?"

Conrad rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course. It just would have been nice to be asked. Send him over."

When the new boy arrived, Conrad headed outside and greeted him with a high five.

"Nice to meet you! I'm Conrad. Hey, you look a lot like me!"

"My name is Ivar Volden. I am from Norway originally. My family has moved around a lot but they thought it would be a good idea for me to do an exchange programme so I could learn from new towns and cultures."

"Sounds good. Come in; let me show you around. Oh, and while you're here in Wildflats, it's probably a good idea for me to tell you about the miracle of suncream..."

Ivar's Traits Zodiac: Virgo Aspiration: Family LTW: Unknown Personality: Neat 7, Outgoing 2, Active 3, Playful 1, Nice 3 Hobby: Unknown Sexuality: Straight Current Age: 13

Ivar is courtesy of @keoni-chan - he was originally from her VDSL (I think - I can't actually find it!) and then from her Angler's Bay BACC. He was the first person that sprang to mind when thinking of potential exchange students, but I didn't realise how much he looks like Conrad. They could be father and son!

After looking around the house and dumping his suitcase in the now spare bedroom, Ivar heard the honking of the school bus outside. Jennifer had sent over a school uniform for him so he quickly changed and rushed downstairs, excited for his first day in this new town.

[phillipcole]

Post-AGT Appearance 1249: The Greg Hill Show WEEI fm 93.7 May 19

I honestly thought that an earlier chapter was on The Doug Gottlieb Show.  It might have been but I can’t prove it.  The real me has been quite poor the last 9 years.  I was writing down each new chapter in the middle of an old notebook.  The pages going forward met used pages going backwards.  It was a couple years before I bought a new notebook.  One page in the middle was not connected and is now missing, maybe destroyed.  Gottlieb is on the Fox Sports radio Network, about 400 stations including WSBM am 1340.

My agent would have decided I needed to do at least one more interview about basketball, and on a Boston station.  Boston lost game one Wednesday and he would decide it should be before game 2, Friday morning. Glenn Ordway retired and Lou Merloni left WEEI fm 93.7, so I would have ended up on The Greg Hill Show.  He is on 6 to 10 am eastern time, accompanied by Jermaine Wiggins.  I would be on in the third hour.

Hill: Welcome back to the Greg Hill Show.  I’m Greg hill, accompanied by Jermaine Wiggins, joining us now on the phone is Phil Cole of Phillip and Cole’s Variety Team.  Phil how are you?

PBC: Doing well, sir.

Wiggins: No need to be formal.

Hill: This is my sidekick Jermaine Wiggins.

PBC: Honored.

Wiggins: Whatapp.

PBC: Sigh.

Hill: Where are you this early morning?

PBC: I’m at the Oregon house, overseeing some construction.

Wiggins: Building a wall?

PBC: Yes, can’t be too careful anymore ha ha.

Hill: Well Phil, you went on record as saying you pick the Celtics to win it all this year.

PBC: Yes I did.

Hill: What prompted you to make it public?

PBC: I was doing an interview and it just slipped out.

Hill: Any regrets?

PBC: Yes.

Wiggins: Because they lost the first game to the Heat?

PBC: No, because I have to do more interviews to justify my prediction.

Hill: We know you’ve done this before with predictions about the weather and blue state-red state matchups.  Is there anything mystical about this?

PBC: No, I heard the Celtics got off to a record breaking start and figured they’d win.

Hill: That was the Bruins, and it didn’t help much.

PBC: I had a feeling that wouldn’t be enough.  Anyway those Canadiens of the 70s were just unstoppable and I don’t think there’s a team like that anymore.

Hill: No.

PBC: Shootouts don’t count anyways.  That’s not hockey.

Wiggins: Did you like it the old days with all those ties?

PBC: I didn’t like teams like the Blackhawks who played for a tie.  Still a tie is honest.  Now players can practice for one on ones.  It’s like the 3 pointer: exciting yes, but it’s ruined basketball.

Hill: Ha ha.

PBC: Do teams still use centers?

Wiggins: I hear ya.

Hill: Phil, the Celtics lost game one against the Heat Wednesday.

PBC: So I heard.

Hill: Do you change your predictions?

PBC: No, not til it’s over.  After a comeback like that you sometimes have a letdown.

Hill: You think they’ll come right back tonight?

PBC: You can’t count on 2 big comebacks in a row.  Besides, it’s not even the finals.

Wiggins: What about out west; you got any feelings about the Lakers and the Nuggets.

PBC: The nougat is the best part of a Milky Way Bar.

Hill: Ha ha ha ha ha.

Wiggins: Is there nougat in a Milky Way Bar?

PBC: You know ...Jermaine...answers like that are the reason I didn’t go into comedy until I was over 50.

Hill: Ha hahahaha.

PBC: I love it when they laugh and it’s absolutely true.

Hill: ha ha ha.

Wiggins: (Overlapping) Well, Phil, my friend’s cracking up here, so thanks for joining us.

PBC: Good, so long.

Wiggins: We’ll be right back on the Greg Hill Show.

Hill: Ha ha I’m sorry