#and i fear that this would accidentally lent itself to a like. kind of a deadbeat dad?? or take away too much of his carefree bum-ness

[galactaknightyaoi]

making a fankid but shaking my head the entire time so people know i'm against the societal belief that everyone's goal and only purpose in life should be to have kids and form a family

[wdwmarveldisney]

Monster

Pack x fem!reader and slight Stiles x reader

Summary: Reader loses control of her powers during a panic attack and ends up accidentally barely hurting Stiles. She ends up seeing Stiles and Scott when being chased by the company she had escaped from.

Masterlist

A/N: So the reader has a mix of powers like Eleven and Wanda. I’m a massive Marvel fan and I just finished season one of Stranger Things and was in the mood to right so here you go. I’ll probably write one for marvel too.

Shouting.

Just breathe.

Screaming.

Just breathe. Just breathe. It would be okay, you'd be okay. Your nails dug into your palms piercing the skin but you were numb. You were trapped, as if you sat in the corner of a dark damp room as you curled into a ball and held back tears. It was like someone had thrown you into this dark, terrifying place and twisted the lock shut and no matter how loud you screamed or how hard you banged at the door, nobody came. Your breathing was uneven and your vision was blurring. The small, deep gasps of your breath sounded as if you were about to pass out. Your eyes were filled with such nervousness and almost fear that anybody who made eye contact would surely be greatly concerned for you. But nobody would make eye contact with you because they were too busy arguing. Shouting.

"She's dangerous! You saw what she did to the guy back there! She killed him Stiles!"

You didn't mean to, you didn't mean it. You thought back to everything, training and discipline and the rules, the punishments. The small cupboard where you were trapped whenever you'd mess up, the killing animals, the focusing your powers to stop people's hearts, snap their bones, empty their lungs. You didn't mean to kill him but he knew. He knew everything about how you were raised, what you had done, what you were forced to do. He knew the people you hurt, you killed. He was taunting you, messing with you. It had built up, like it was now, and a switch was flipped. You eyes glowed purple and suddenly his neck had snapped. But you didn't mean to.

"It was protection Scott! He was trying to kill her!"

"Stop it," you whispered, voice shaking but they couldn't hear you. Everything seemed to close in, slowly depriving the room of oxygen. You felt as if the four white walls were dragging themselves forward and surrounding you to the point were your body ached from the pressure of having to squeeze yourself close. You was quick to bury your face between your knees to try and drown out any colour, any shadows, any movement, any shout. "Stop, stop it. Please stop," You sobbed, shaking as you rocked slightly on the couch, the blood from your palms staining the knees of your jeans. You looked up, eyes flickering purple every now and then as they continued to shout.

"She murdered someone!"

"It was self defence!"

"He said she'd killed before, that she kill again! She can't be trusted!" Scott was right. You couldn't be trusted. You were dangerous and out of control and you were a monster. And now you were tearing apart the pack unintentionally. "Stop it, please, stop," You noticed Lydia look to you along with Kira and Liam. They seemed to know just how on edge you were, worry but also hesitance etched on their faces.

"We don't know that, we don't know who that guy was!" Stiles shouted and you shot up, hands faintly glowing the same shade of purple as your eyes. Tear marks stained your cheeks and your whole body shook in fear as the power coursed through your veins. Stiles and Scott still didn't notice, too engrossed in the argument to spare a glance. The rest of the pack, however, noticed. They backed up, trying to subtly get the boys' attention. But that didn't happen, they didn't stop. "Stiles, face the facts-"

"STOP!" You voice was distorted, hair flying back in the blast. A wave of purple mist hit the group, all of them stumbling back and a couple even falling over. Windows smashed, walls cracked, shelves tumbled, belongings falling everywhere. You fell, collapsing to the floor from where you had been floating inches off the ground. You shook slightly, looking round at the scared teenagers as you eyes flickered again. You breathing became uneven once more, a knot tightening and n your chest when you saw the blood dripping from Stiles' nose. With a sharp intake of breath, you fell back against the sofa and stared at your shaking hands in fear. You'd hurt him, how could you do that.

You couldn't be trusted.

You were hurting people.

Murderer. Monster.

"I'm sorry, I didn't- I don't- hurt you, I'm sorry," you stood slowly, watching them flinch in fear as you looked at them all. Stiles seemed to be the only one who wasn't terrified, quickly getting up and carefully walking towards you. "Hey, I'm fine. See," He wiped the blood from his nose only for more to fall. He went to take another step forward but you shook your head, backing away towards the door, "Don't. I didn't- please don't. I'm- monster, I'm sorry," the door had flung open, the purple mist from your hands, and now at the door, fading away as you stumbled out. You managed to get down the steps and onto the pavement when you heard the calls of your name from all of them. Knowing they were following, you spun round with your hands held out. The mist not only surrounded your fingertips but had made a small wall between you and them. One hand stayed aimed towards them whilst you looked around for some kind of car or transport and with a wave of your hand, a bike had flown over to you. Looking back to them, your eyes met Stiles' as you spoke, "Don't,"

Your hand fell as the wall disappeared and you wiped your bleeding nose as you hopped on the bike, starting down the road shakily.

-

Run. You just had to run. Either you run or they get you and you were not going to let them get you. In hindsight, running in the forest barefoot with your ripped and ragged clothes wasn't a good idea. You could feel twigs and thorns pierce your skin but you didn't stop. You cringed every time a leave crunched or a stick snapped but you didn't stop. You could hear their shouts in the distance and with one last quick glance over your shoulder, you saw the flash of a gun and sped up.

Reaching a road, you let the panic settle in as you watched them catch up. About to continue down the road, you heard the blue jeep before you saw it. Scott had opened the passenger door and heard to the back as he called for you, "Get in!" Looking at the guns that were aimed at not only you but the jeep too, you shook your head. Stiles got out of the jeep and began to make his way over to you, Scott just behind him. "Come on, we'll get shot!" Shaking your head again, you watched the soldiers surround you before watching one man step forward ever so slightly, Dr Smith. "Test subject 095, come in and these boys won't get harmed," you glared at him, eyes glowing purple as you got into more of a fighting stance. "Liar,"

He took another step forward, hand by the gun he had at his waist, "Come back peacefully, that's all we ask. I'm going to make you better again, you're sick," You didn't dare look to the boys next to you instead focusing on the approaching van they'd no doubt take you away in. You watched two more soldiers leave it and let the power freely surge through your veins. "Liar!" You screamed, hands moving fast as the soldiers' eyes flashed purple and they aimed their guns to the doctor now. He held his hands up in surrender as you marched forward. "Don't shoot me, I'm the only one who can make you better," With a shaky breath, you leaned forward and being able to see your glowing eyes reflected back to you didn't faze you. "Mercy," you growled, waving your hand to make the soldiers snap out of it and willingly leave. You knew none of them were in control when working for the company, all being forced to work there. You'd have to help at times, keep them under control that is.

The doctor's hand dropped and you waved your hand to cuff his hands. Nose scrunching at the feeling of the fear in your veins, you pushed it down to pick up a gun and press it against the man's back to force him into the van. You watched as he reached for his pocket as pull out the syringe and with a heavy sigh, you dropped the gun and took a couple of steps back, "No," You brought your hands up and watched as you lifted the van, making it fall onto his legs after tripping him up. He screamed as you turned, feeling the blood drip from your nose and ears, coming face to face with a shocked Stiles and Scott. "That was...awesome!"

You smiled sheepishly almost at Stiles' comment, glancing to a grinning Scott. The werewolf's expression fell as he met your eyes, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise and I was wrong. Can we be friends?" You nodded quickly, a grin taking over your face as you rushed over to the jeep, jumping into the back. Both boys climbed in too, watching as you moved your hands over your scratched feet and legs, the skin sewing itself together it seemed. You then reached up to wipe the blood from your nose on your already red stained wrist but Stiles passed you back a tissue with a quick worried smile. Nodding in thanks, you wiped your nose then you wiped the blood from your ears, glancing down to your ruined clothing. The jeep started up and you remained silent as you fiddled with your fingers.

"Sorry," you mumbled slightly and saw both boys look to you. Scott sighed and shook his head, "No, it was our fault," due to a pointed look from Stiles, Scott changed his words which made you smile, "My fault. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions and I'm sorry," you nodded in understanding before leaning forward to speak to Stiles, "I hurt you, sorry," the boy shook his head, sending you a gentle smile. You worried he wasn't going to accept your apology but he chuckled slightly, glancing to you, "I'm fine," he looked to your lips and with a small shrug, lent forward to peck them making you both grin like mad. Clearing your throat, you ignored the blush in your cheeks as you watched him smile widely as he faced the road. "Promise?"

"Promise,"

[hollenka99]

New York

Summary: Jameson moves away from home, meets new people who will play important roles in his life and starts a company with his brother. Chapter 1.

September 24, 1906 Dear Mother,

Clifford and I have arrived safely in New York. Our accommodation is a small and we have taken to alternating whose turn it is to sleep on the floor. Fear not, I am sure we will earn enough soon to pay for a better apartment. However, for now, our arrangement will suffice.

Manhattan itself has made a decent first impression on me. There are a number of theatres within walking distance of our apartment. Cliff is interested in auditioning for some roles once they are advertised. Carnegie Hall is near us too. Do you remember me telling you about it before we left? It certainly has a reputation. Neither of us has the ability to perform there.

How are things in Saint John without us? I hope you are not too lonely with only Pearl at home to keep you company. We both miss all of you.

Yours, Jameson

October 9, 1906 Dear Mother,

We have become successful in securing ourselves jobs. I have become a proof reader while Clifford is being paid as an actor. With our salaries combined, we can bring home up to $45 a week. That isn't a bad amount, if I must say. Of course, that is the best case scenario. Cliff's contributions will be inconsistent. I don't wish to be the sole financial provider but I will if I must. Although, I must admit the thought of it is fairly stressful.

I have heard from Cliff that you scolded him for our sleeping arrangement. Please do not treat him as if he is forcing me into this situation. I was the one who suggested it. Furthermore, lying on my back has never caused me to asphyxiate before. I highly doubt I will begin being affected by it any time soon.

I promise you, I am healthy. You can be reassured that I trust my brother with my life. Clifford has never done anything with the intent of harming me. He will not risk my health nor my safety, especially not in an attempt to be at an advantage. There is no need to fret over this.

Yours, Jameson

December 26, 1906 Dear all,

I hope you have enjoyed Christmas together. It was odd to be away from you this year as well as a shame we could not visit. Unfortunately, money is short for us as of right now. If all goes well, we may be able to celebrate together again next December.

Despite this, we were not lonely. Of course, we had each other. However, we did invite two friends of ours to share our pitifully small spread. It was a night full of riveting conversations and laughter. I enjoyed getting to know our friends better. One of them teaches piano to the local children. If I invite her to celebrate Christmas in the future, I should ensure there is a piano for her to play. It will certainly make the long nights pass quickly if there is music for us to sing to. I myself may not sing but I'm sure there is a carol or hymn that requires a duet. I could always assist with the chords while she plays the melody.

The funniest coincidence occurred yesterday. Cliff and I have both been interested in purchasing a Brownie from Eastman Kodak. At $1 a camera and $2 for development, I'd say one of those cameras would be a decent investment. The two of us both agreed we'd save up, prioritising essentials such as food and rent, then we would discuss buying one to share. I will confess that I suffered impatience. I may have bought the camera for Christmas. So, it would seem, did Cliff. As consequence, we appear to be in a situation where we have gifted the exact same present to each other. It was a humourous beginning to the day.

I can hardly take 117 photographs in the space of 24 hours. Once I have become familiar with the device, I may choose to include some photographs in my letters. I doubt the elements will be kind to them but unfortunately, I do not have another choice but to expose them to potential damage.

Hoping this coming year treats us all favourably, Jameson

December 28, 1906 Dearest Siobhan,

I would hate for you to be lonely as we greet the new year. Clifford and I would be more than happy to have you celebrate with us. Please consider joining us on Monday night.

Yours, Jameson

March 11, 1907 Dear Jameson,

I have a query that has been on my mind for the past couple weeks. I hope I am not overstepping any boundaries by asking you for the answer. If I am, I apologize and will not bring the subject up again. I am simply curious as to how your muteness developed. You are clearly not hard of hearing as you understand everything I say to you in person. For that reason, my intrigue into you condition has grown. This is not something you are able explain to me with your hands. It seems too complex for that.

On an entirely unrelated matter, would yourself and Clifford be interested in joining me next Sunday for drinks? You told me you were half Irish on your father's side. If you would like to consider celebrating that heritage, I would be more than happy to host the two of you.

Please, do not feel obliged to answer my question if it makes you uncomfortable. That would be the last thing I would want.

Sincerely yours, Siobhan

March 14, 1907 Dearest Siobhan,

You would be correct in your belief that I am not able to explain my condition through American sign language. Do not worry about offending me. I was planning to tell you this story regardless, only at a later date.

Years ago, when I was a boy of nine, I found myself suffering from a malfunctioning thyroid. The doctors suggested surgery to treat me. Unfortunately, they must have made a mistake as I woke to part of my vocal cords being paralysed. The condition is known as vocal fold paresis or, if you really want to sound sophisticated, recurrent laryngeal nerve paralysis. While I am physically able speak aloud, it is difficult. I found it easier to speak through sign. My family learned ASL alongside me.

What I was not aware of was that vocal cords also contribute to breathing. You can imagine the physical education lessons in high school I had to endure. You should not worry yourself after receiving this letter. The extent this affects me is not great. I simply have to be vigilant when exercising and eating. If you are present when I accidentally choke on a meal, by all means help me. Otherwise, please don't act like I will meet my doom at any second. My mother still does at times and it is unbelievably frustrating to convince her I am fine.

I hope this was informative and answered any queries you may have had.

Patiently awaiting those drinks, Jameson

April 15, 1907 Dear Jameson,

While I do appreciate the poems slipped into my mail, if you send me any more, you may actually succeed in making me blush. You're lucky Lent ended two weeks ago. You should know better than to tempt those you care for with such sweet things. The next thing you know, you'll have enough to compile into an anthology.

Ever yours, Siobhan

May 23, 1907 Jameson,

You must tell me what you think of Elizabeth. Lord knows your brother won't tell me. He barely knows her, he can't after only a handful of months. How long have you lived in New York now? I think it may be seven or eight months. That is not enough time to truly get to know someone. Especially when you are planning to spend the rest of your life with them. Marriage is not to be taken lightly. Clifford clearly does not understand that.

Mark my words, he will regret his decision. I will only attend the ceremony because I can see you again after all these months. I am surprised you are not angered by this. After all, you are the one who pays for everything. How much do you actually earn a week? $20? You can just about to afford to live on that. You can't, however, afford to live on $20 and pay for a wedding. Are you not irritated by this? You should be, Jameson.

In other news, it should only be a few days before you become an uncle. I, for one, am delighted to become a grandmother. Harvey has made me promise to stay by Edith's side while he works. As if I wouldn't do so anyway. Even if a midwife cannot arrive quickly, I know how to help her. It is difficult not to have some knowledge after delivering five children myself. She is in safe hands. I suppose you will be able to meet the child at the wedding.

You have my love, Your mother.

May 31, 1907 Dear Cliff and Jem,

I have good news to bring you. Yesterday, Edith safely delivered a girl. Both she and our daughter appear to be recovering well. We have chosen to name her Dorothy. I hope you visit Saint John soon so you both may meet her. As to be expected, our mother is fawning over her first grandchild. I will not deny that her help is welcome.

Additionally, congratulations to you, Clifford, on your engagement to Elizabeth. Myself and Edith are looking forward to the wedding. We wish the two of you a long happy life spent by each other's side.

Wishing you well, Harvey

June 8, 1907 Dear Mother,

Unfortunately, I am not responsible for Cliff's actions. He appears to genuinely care for his 'Lizzy-Beth'. If things end poorly, I have no way of changing it. I understand your 'let him repent at leisure' sentiment. That said, he is an adult now. I don't feel I am in the position to tell him what he can and cannot do.

Elizabeth herself is a respectful woman. She is a teacher so I assume she is intelligent. You mustn't forget she agreed to marry a man she has only known since November. There are always at least two parties involved in an engagement. If the marriage does not last, they can regret their haste with equal responsibility for getting married in the first place.

Either way, the truth of the matter is that Cliff is getting married regardless of our opinions. We must learn to tolerate that reality. At least he will be able to point to whereabouts he made his mistake.

Yours, Jameson

July 2, 1907 Dear Mother,

With Clifford preparing to marry Elizabeth, I am sure you wonder whether I have met somebody myself. I must confess I have indeed allowed myself to become a fool for a woman.

Her name is Siobhan O'Hara. You may remember me indirectly mentioning her during my Christmas letter. I met her last December when she was playing piano at a dance. I felt the need to compliment her musical skill. After that, I encouraged her to leave the music to someone else at the next dance she attended. For some unknown reason, she accepted my offer. In the months since, I have been teaching her how to sign and spending many spare hours in her company. We have already visited Central Park multiple times together.

You really should hear her play. She is so graceful it is as if an angel possesses her. In fact, her hair makes me wonder whether she is not one is disguise. She has been tutoring me, much like the local children who pay her. Perhaps I should demonstrate my improvement the next time I return home.

I am sure you will be able to meet Siobhan at Cliff's wedding. I have not properly discussed attendance with her yet but I doubt she will decline my offer. She is a friend of Cliff's too.

Yours, Jameson

July 23, 1907 Jem,

Thank you for the birthday present; I love it. Perhaps your gift for me next year can be understanding sarcasm.

Your angel, Siobhan

(P.S. With complete honesty, I do adore the compilation. I hope I am not mistaken in thinking I saw some new additions. I will have a thorough read when I next get the chance. Afterwards, I should prepare for your birthday. You are not the only one who can perform grand gestures.)

July 27, 1907 Jameson,

I certainly must meet this young woman. From your words, I can tell you are enamoured by her. I am happy you are finding joy in her company. I remember frequently meeting your father by the dockyard when we were young. They were simpler times. My biggest worry when I was your age was understanding your grandmother's accent.

My only advice is that you treat each other well and do not rush into anything. You are not yet 20 years old. You have decades of life ahead of you. You have time to be careful in your choices. If in time nothing changes for the two of you, I will be delighted to welcome her into the family.

Wishing you well, Your mother

November 1, 1907 Siobhan,

I know you have appointments today. I know I only saw you yesterday too. However, if you are able, would you spend time with me tonight? We don't have to converse. All I am really wishing for is some company. Normally, I would be surrounded by my mother and siblings, remembering our father. Cliff and I made do last year with only the two of us. Unfortunately, he is with Elizabeth tonight.

By all means, bring a candle for your mother. I think I may have a spare from last year you can use if you don't own one. We can watch the flames as we reflect in peace. Choose whichever option you prefer but I would rather not be alone this evening. That said, only come of your own volition. I don't wish to force you into dedicating your time to something you are not interested in.

Thank you for understanding, Jameson.

November 2, 1907 Dearest Siobhan,

Thank you for last night. I wasn't expecting to learn more about you when I invited you. I am sorry to hear your mother died the way she did. I know it runs through generations but perhaps there is hope neither you nor Michael will suffer the same way. There is that possibility, correct?

Even if you do become afflicted with the disease, know that I will be there to care for you until the end. That is my sincere promise to you. It does not matter to me how it affects you, I won't leave you in when you need me the most. Besides, you are nineteen and I have barely passed the threshold of my twenties. Should you be affected, we still have twenty or so years before the first symptoms make themselves known. A great deal can happen in twenty years.

I love you dearly, Siobhan. I simply wished to have someone beside me as I acknowledged another year without my father. After what you told me, I cannot go about my day without ensuring it is explicitly clear to you that I will be there for you always. So long as you will allow me, of course.

Thinking of you, Jameson

March 21, 1908 Dear all,

Cliff and I are proud to announce that Jackson Brothers Productions has officially been founded. The financial aspects of it are still yet to become stable. However, that won't stop us from doing our best to become respectable members of the film industry. At the moment, we are not concerned with securing the position of top dog. That can be worked on in a few years when we have established ourselves as filmmakers people want to see.

I will be the head writer and manage the money while Cliff directs. We will both act in our films. The plan is to start off slowly, working our way up. The script for our first short for the company is finished. Once it is released, we hope you will enjoy it.

Here's to realising dreams, Jameson

August 10, 1908 Dear Mother,

I visited the Statue of Liberty recently with Cliff, Elizabeth and Siobhan. Lady Liberty truly does look magnificent. I hear she stands at 93 metres tall. To reach her, you must travel by boat. It was a simple case of cycling to the harbour then boarding the vessel to Bedloe's Island.

As we walked around the statue, Siobhan told us about the first time she saw it. It was back in 1904, she was still on her boat to the city and suddenly she had a clear view of the Statue of Liberty. She explained it instilled a determination of sorts within her, motivating her to make her plans work. I knew beforehand that she arrived before us and was therefore younger but I never contemplated the fact she would have been sixteen. Even at 18, I felt slightly overwhelmed with only myself and Cliff when we first came to New York. I remember Pearl being upset she couldn't join us but she was 14 in 1906, barely out of school and only just old enough to work.

Siobhan became enthralled in her own story. She began switching topics as she went off on tangents, to the point where I was the only one listening to her. I can certainly relate to the initial financial worries. I am impressed that she was able to keep a level head during those early days. It also pleases me that she sees the statue as a source of inspiration like I do, if only in a different way.

I have been reflecting on the day. Something about Siobhan made me realise something new about how I feel for her. I am not sure whether she reciprocates. I will ponder more on it and make my final decision by the end of this year. Either way, I will ask her to accompany me on a trip to Saint John this Christmas. I met her father last month during his visit to New York as a way of celebrating her birthday. It is high time she met you all too.

Yours, Jameson

December 13, 1908 Dear Sir,

I wished to discuss some important plans I want to begin preparing for. It was a pleasure meeting you in July and a joy to witness how close your relationship with Siobhan is. I appreciate being received so warmly by you, especially as you were only intending to celebrate her birthday. I can tell Siobhan is such a kind and caring woman because of your influence.

I hope it was apparent that your daughter means the world to me. I intend to spend the rest of my life proving that to her. I would like to ask your daughter for her hand and I would be honored to have your blessing. Please, in the very least, consider it.

Yours faithfully, Jameson Jackson

December 16, 1908 Dearest Siobhan,

You don't need to fret about meeting my mother and siblings. You already know Cliff. They are just as easy to get along with.

My mother is a worrisome yet kind-hearted woman. Ever since my thyroid operation, she is constantly fretting about my health. You've known me for two years now, you can tell she does not need to worry so excessively about it. There was a period of a few months when I was 14 where we were greatly at odds. She was incredibly protective of me which only lead to irritability. In hindsight, I understand she was only paranoid that her sickly son was going to develop complications. After all, she lost her husband to health issues that declined into complications. I suppose we were all trying to figure out where we all stood after his death. On an unrelated tangent, I think the only fault she will find in you is your lack of sewing skills. She works as a seamstress from home. The only reason I am vaguely competent in mending clothes is the countless nights where I mutilated bits of material as peaceful entertainment. She made my sister-in-law's wedding dress a couple of years ago. No doubt, she has already offered to do the same for Mabel.

Harvey is seven years my senior and the eldest of us. He followed our father into the shipbuilding trade so with the long hours, it is possible he may not be present often while we are visiting. He and his wife Edith have a year old daughter named Dorothy. I haven't met her yet so I am quite excited to do so. If Harvey attempts to bore you with war stories, simply nod and pretend to listen. He acts as if his participation in the Boer War makes him more of a man than those who have never served. He was barely of age as it was. We all suspect he'll join the next big war, should there be one. As you can guess, we all hope that war never comes. There is also the hope that he will be sensible, now that he has a family to stay in Canada for.

Mabel, like our mother, is a seamstress. Occasionally, she will refer to me as an early birthday present. That was more when we were younger. Oddly, having birthdays so close together caused us to become close ourselves. I cannot really explain it. We were mutually enthusiastic about each other's birthdays approaching because it also meant our own were too. There was some distance as well because little boys can't always relate to girls who are 5 years older than them. Either way, the two of us have a good relationship and I know the two of you will hit it off easily. She recently got engaged so you are likely to see her again next year when we attend the wedding.

Last but not least, there is Pearl. I may be the youngest son but she is the true baby. She is still only 16 and I worry what kind of attention she is receiving from young men. I may do my best to be respectful but some schoolboys are more like Cliff was. Cliff never practised infidelity as far as I'm aware but he certainly had a number of girlfriends in short succession when he was about 17. I have no doubt Pearl can handle herself but I can't help but be apprehensive. As you know, I have moments where I am of a mischievous nature. It is uncertain whether Pearl encouraged that side of me to develop or I was the one to trigger it in her. I must confess, the youngest three of us caused our parents such a headache in our youth. It used to be only myself and Cliff who pretended to act out these childishly outrageous tales. Then Pearl arrived, became old enough to play with us and earn her place as our third partner in crime. She wants to find success with us in the film industry but I still feel she is a little too young. One day, perhaps. She would certainly be a useful asset.

This is the closest we have come to being a complete family again after Cliff and I left home. It is a shame he won't be able to come with us. I understand his priority is Elizabeth and being there for the birth. Let's hope next year things will be different.

I promise you will be fine, Jameson

January 14, 1909 Dear Jameson,

Have you bought the ring yet? After meeting Siobhan, I am eagerly anticipating your big news in a few weeks. St Valentine's Day cannot come soon enough. Did you have to tell us during Christmas? That is six weeks of waiting.

A new girl joined us at the factory a few months ago. She finished school only last year. Like me, she does not see the point of being educated on how to be the best wife and mother when our own mothers can teach us. I am not sure about her but I am the youngest in our family. Our mother has time to teach me. The only students she ever had were myself and Mabel.

I don't know how much longer I can keep waking early, work for the majority of the day and then help Mother with sewing. I use my hands too strenuously. A good night's sleep (if such a thing existed) does nothing to help them recover. I am telling you, Jem, I will become a cripple by my 20th birthday.

Speaking of birthdays, you should buy me a ticket for New York. You know full well I want to join you in your endeavours. Isn't New York where all the filmmakers are right now? Forget about the papers, I will deal with all that. I can find myself work in a factory or bakery once I get there too. Or perhaps I could stay in your apartment and work as a seamstress from home. You left me behind but I don't wish to stand for it any longer. Allow me to make the Jackson Brothers into a trinity.

I hope to hear back from you soon, Pearl

January 27, 1909 Pearl,

You must be patient. While I would love for you to help us create our films, a lot is happening right now. I don't have the time, energy or in fact the expertise to go into details. However, to put it simply, Thomas Edison is in the process of destroying the prospects of filmmakers like us. Last month, the Motion Pictures Patent Company was formed. In short, Edison is attempting to raise his chances of success by controlling the industry before it develops further.

As I'm sure you can guess, Clifford and I are not only stressed about our professional lives but our futures as creators as well. This has all occurred in the past month or two so where this will lead is undecided. Either way, Pearl, this is one of the worst times you could join us. I promise you it would not be worth it. On top of everything, Cliff has Clara to worry about now too.

Once my finances have recovered from the inevitably large expenses that come with a wedding and Cliff settles into fatherhood, we will figure out how to proceed. Don't worry, the timing may be bad now but, if all goes well, this will change.

Please give everyone my love. Jameson

February 15, 1909 Dear all,

More good news! I am officially engaged to Siobhan. We are both eager to start preparations as soon as we can. I doubt the wedding will happen this year. Personally, I would prefer to celebrate a marriage during the warmer half of the year. Knowing Siobhan, I feel she shares a similar preference.

With Clara being born last month and my engagement, this seems to be shaping up to becoming an eventful year. Perhaps this should be the year I visit Ireland. It may be difficult with all that is happening to smaller producers here. That said, I feel I owe it to Siobhan. She has visited Saint John but I am yet to set foot in her homeland.

I do wish to see Ireland for other personal reasons. After all, I was named after the grandfather we left behind. Do you remember Granny's stories about him? I have always been bothered by Britain starving the Irish until they had no choice but to flee. It broke families like ours apart and lead to some never meeting their posthumous children. I know our father wished he had met his own.

Well, I appear to have changed the mood of this letter rather quickly, haven't I? I certainly did not intend to diverge onto such a sad tangent. By all means, have a drink on my behalf. Although, I would not encourage doing so in front of your daughter, Harvey.

Wishing you the same happiness as mine, Jameson

February 21, 1909 Jameson,

How could you? You don't know how upset you have made us. You propose marriage to such a lovely girl and refuse to tell your mother and sisters the details.

You disappoint us, Whiskey Boy. You live in secrecy and drink to your victory over us. Mother is crying, insisting that she did not raise such a terrible son. You must rectify this wrongdoing immediately. We simply won't stand for it.

Congratulations on your engagement, Pearl

February 23, 1909 Dear Jameson,

Congratulations on your engagement. I will certainly be thrilled to attend with Edward.

I struggle to believe you are already preparing to get married. It didn't seem too long ago that you were convinced I was getting married when you saw Mother making my communion dress. You also kept delivering me sand and broken shells leading up the ceremony. I don't think Father Henry was too pleased with you. It didn't help that you wandered up to near the altar in your little suit. How young you must have been back then. You can't have been older than two or three. You were always as sweet of a little brother as you were happy.

I'm glad you have someone who allows you continue your happiness in adulthood. I recall Siobhan telling me you were rather sweet as her gentleman caller too. Anyone can see how well the two of you go together. I'm warning you now, Jem, don't you dare mess this up. Women like Siobhan won't find themselves in your life often. You lose her, you will never replace the joy she gives you.

I suggest we celebrate properly in July when you visit for my own wedding.

Your loving sister, Mabel

March 7, 1909 Dear Pearl,

You can tell Mother to dry her eyes because she has a daughter so overdramatic that she will certainly succeed in an acting career, should she choose to pursue one. I did not give details because there is not much to say. However, if you must know the course of events, I will happily tell you them.

I invited Siobhan to accompany me for an evening stroll around Central Park. We walked for a while before reaching a place to rest for a moment. I asked her to marry me. She said yes. I chose not to sign during that moment. While she greatly appreciated the gesture, I can tell you my throat did not. That is purely the extent of the proposal. Forgive me for not boring you with the tale beforehand.

In all sincerity, if I have genuinely caused any of you to cry, I hope they are from joy. I have found a new source of optimism. My future is beginning to stretch out before me and I have every hope that it will be good.

Yours, Jameson

September 28, 1909 Dear all,

The harbour is beautiful now. There are lights everywhere as the city celebrates the 300th anniversary of Henry Hudson's discovery of the river and the centenary of Robert Fulton's paddle steamers. To live so close to the river, I have been enjoying the decorations. We will also witness a number of parades while we celebrate history. It began on Saturday and will carry on until October 9th.

I have been a resident here for the past three years now. It struck me that there was so much I didn't know about this city's past. Perhaps I should read up on the subject and educate myself.

But, for now, I think I will invite Siobhan to gaze at the Statue of Liberty. It made me realise I wished to love her for the rest of my days. Something about Lady Liberty inspires me. I am sure she looks even more majestic when covered in lights, especially after dark. If the answer to the Edison problem is to move elsewhere, I will certainly miss that statue.

I am also reminded of Reversing Falls. I long for that place too. Perhaps one of you should visit it on my behalf. It is odd what will stay dear to you.

I suppose I will leave you with that thought.

Yours, Jameson

November 1, 1909 Dearest Siobhan,

Thank you for the hat. I've never worn one of this style before. The men in my family were always more of the flat cap type. I have been inspecting myself in the mirror whilst wearing it. I feel a bowler hat suits me. It might give the illusion I am of a higher social standing than in reality. And with this facial hair that's growing due to negligence, I might see if a moustache suits me as well. If I can get the look right, I might have a character brewing.

Thank you again for the birthday present and the potential inspiration. If you do not appreciate the moustache, I can always be clean shaven during the wedding.

Yours always, Jameson

April 21st 1910 GROOM FULL NAME: Jameson Albert Samuel Jackson AGE: 22 RESIDENCE: West 42nd Street, Manhattan NUMBER OF MARRIAGE: First OCCUPATION: Proof-reader BIRTH PLACE: Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada NAME OF FATHER: William (Deceased) MAIDEN NAME OF MOTHER: Florence Hilliard

BRIDE FULL NAME: Siobhan Maria O'Hara AGE: 21 RESIDENCE: West 52nd Street, Manhattan NUMBER OF MARRIAGE: First OCCUPATION: Pianist BIRTH PLACE: Limerick, Ireland NAME OF FATHER: Jacob MAIDEN NAME OF MOTHER: Eileen Kelly (Deceased)

[rorykillmore]

okay and THIS one is for @larkspear  who requested any kind of au involving laurel and dolores. this fic is a funny story in and of itself. i spent a little while wondering what to do, weighing more traditional options, and then one day i was like “you know what? these two deserve a romcom au”. so i picked the most winter-y romcom i could think of - groundhog day - and the concept kind of ran away with me. it required a... lengthier execution by its very nature and actually became the longest gift fic i’ve written. so... either sorry, or you’re welcome?? i had such a blast with this, though i went back and forth on whose perspective i wanted to write it from and ultimately decided laurel lent herself better to “being super grumpy about smalltown life” in spite of dolores’ canonical history with timeloops so. all of this to say writing a long fic from someone else’s character’s perspective is daunting and i hope it turned out okay!

spear, i hope this fic is deserving of all the effort and development we’ve poured into this ship. i’m really grateful that 2018 gave us so many great opportunities to rp and plot with each other because every moment of it has been fantastic, and i’m also just really glad to have you in my life as one of my closest friends!! you’re always one of the first to salt with me if i’m grumpy, or reach out and offer something nice if i’m upset. thank you for being such a great friend, for all the rps i still hold close to my heart, and for entertaining all of us with memestream from week to week!!

Hey, Sara, funny you should call. I think I’m losing my mind -- any idea what to do about being stuck in a timeloop?’

Not that Laurel didn’t appreciate a good dose of AC/DC - who in their right mind didn’t? - but she has to admit that in practice, waking up to Highway to Hell is a lot less funny than she’d thought it was going to be last night.

Even if it is still utterly appropriate for the day ahead of her.

She grumbles almost inaudibly against the obnoxiously loud musical backdrop and reaches blindly for her phone -- still half asleep, so it takes her a little bit of fumbling to actually turn off the alarm. Sitting up in bed feels like a monumental task by itself, especially when she realizes that her hotel room is cold.

Like, ice cold.

“Place doesn’t even have a goddamn heating system that works,” she mutters to herself, smoothing her hair out of her face. She’s not sure what else she expected from this stupid, cutesy, outdated bed-and-breakfast -- the only place in Beacon Heights with vacancies, as if fucking Groundhog Day is a pull-out-all-the-stops holiday around here, or something.

The sooner she gets to work, she tells herself, the sooner this day will be over with, and the sooner she can go home. She slips out of bed and goes to get showered and dressed, delayed only slightly by the inconvenience of being held up by the nosy, overly friendly teenage desk clerk downstairs (some weirdo named Ratchet, or at least, that’s what he tells everyone to call him. Laurel’s pretty sure that’s not a real thing anyone would be named).

“Morning!” ‘Ratchet’ calls to her cheerfully on cue. “We have fresh coffee made, if you wanted any --”

“No thanks,” Laurel cuts him off without even looking at him. She’s out the door before he can get another word out.

In the car, she finally takes a second to check her phone.  Just one missed call, but when she scrolls down to see the contact info, she feels herself stiffen in the drivers seat.

Sara.

Why the hell would her sister be calling her? They haven’t spoken in almost two months.

She stares at the screen for a few more seconds, deliberating. There’s a nagging possibility that won’t leave the back of her mind, that maybe Sara just wants to talk, to work things out, but -- 

-- Then that stinging fear of rejection catches up with her. Reconciliation is probably overly optimistic, in light of everything. She’s going to be late for work anyway.

She puts her phone down and tries not to think about it.

The drive into town is, in theory, only five minutes, since Beacon Heights is so insufferably cozy. But ‘five minutes’ today is translating to ten, and then fifteen because of all the traffic, and God, what is it with people in this town and this holiday? What was it about twitchy rodents predicting the weather that got people up out of their beds at 6:30 in the morning?

Small towns were so weird.

When the line of cars in front of her finally start to move, Laurel is about at her wits’ end -- almost crazed and impatient enough not to stop when some freak on a motorcycle has the nerve to try cut in front of her. As it is, he hits a patch of ice and skids haphazardly anyway, making an outright spectacle when he’s finally thrown from the back of his vehicle by the sudden stop and flies straight into a snowbank on the side of the road.

Laurel eyes him for a moment. But the road in front of her is open.  “Serves you right,” she mutters under her breath, and hits the gas without stepping to check to see if he’s okay.

She gets to work almost ten minutes late, as it is. Her director and cameraman - Camille and Felix, respectively, the only two people she can even vaguely count as friends despite how many years she’s had this job - look vaguely exasperated when she finally walks into what passes for Beacon Heights’ news broadcast studio.

“Traffic,” she tells them defensively.

“You’d better tell hair and make-up to make it fast.” Camille eyes her up and down a bit judgmentally. “We’re supposed to be outside and live in forty minutes.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t need hair and make-up,” Laurel, who can’t see the point of even trying to look good when bundled up in twenty degree weather, grumbles.

From there on out, the morning (relatively, for the most part) goes as planned. Filming outside in this kind of weather is insufferable - and the fact that all the cheery townspeople who have gathered to watch don’t seem to have their moods dented by this at all even moreso - but Laurel has been doing her job long enough by now to know how to keep a smile plastered on her face.

It’s a sunny day, so predictably, the groundhog sees his shadow. Everyone acts surprised anyway, and coos and fawns over the damn thing. Laurel tries not to gag.

“Now that that’s over,” she tells Camille under her breath when they’re done filming. “I’m getting coffee. Or maybe something stronger.”

As it turns out, it’s difficult to find anyone willing to serve anything stronger at this hour of the morning in Beacon Heights, so. Coffee it is. Laurel orders a cup to go from the local diner, and she’s on her way out, admittedly in a little bit of a hurry,  when she knocks right into someone.

The disastrous results seem to play out in slow motion. She stumbles. Her coffee cup flies into the air, the lid jarred loose by its velocity. And warm (not steaming, which is probably good) liquid spills all over the woman Laurel just ran into.

She’s pretty, is the first weird thought Laurel has.

(Okay, not that weird, one night stands are not exactly an oddity for her when she’s traveling on a job, but maybe it’s a little weird when you’ve just accidentally covered someone in warm coffee).

Almost out-of-a-storybook pretty, with long blonde hair that she wears in soft curls and bright blue eyes and a matching, expensive looking coat that is now...

...unfortunately, pretty much ruined.

“Wow,” Laurel says unhelpfully in place of an apology.

The other woman gapes at her for a moment longer, and then suddenly seems to shake herself out of it.  “Have you ever tried watching where you’re going?”

Later, she’ll probably look back and decide instigating any further was a bad idea, but right now the hostility in the woman’s tone provokes in Laurel something close to insolence. “Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to know this town?”

The woman bristles at her. “You’re not exactly as charming face-to-face as you are on screen, are you?”

“Depends on who you ask.” She probably sounds like an asshole, mostly because she can’t keep from sounding a little amused. “Today’s probably not one of my finer moments.”

“Well. Because of you, I can either not make my job interview this morning, or show up looking like this. So thanks.”

Laurel shrugs, though she’s starting to feel she’s on the edge of... if not guilty, then at least vaguely self-conscious. Which means, of course, another bout of defensiveness.  “It’s Beacon Heights. Everyone else looks worse than you do now on their best days.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, evidently. The woman shoulders past her angrily and starts to stalk off, and to make things even worse, the man coming up the road from the opposite direction pauses to acknowledge her.  “Everything okay, Dolores?”

Laurel realizes with an unpleasant lurch that she recognizes him: the man she knocked off the motorcycle earlier this morning. She turns quickly before he can notice her and opts to hurry back to her car instead of getting another cup of coffee. Too much risk of running into one of them inside the cafe.

God, everyone knows everyone in this town. It’s insufferable.

At the very least, she’s pretty sure her day can’t get much worse. Until she makes it back to the inn to change her clothes, and finds Ratchet, still waiting for her at the front desk.

She glares at him in passing, daring him to say anything. And of course, he addresses her obliviously anyway.  “You got water? Supplies? Everything you need for tonight and tomorrow?”

That makes Laurel halt in her tracks.  “...What are you talking about?” she asks, turning to face him suspiciously.

Ratchet blinks at her.  “There’s a big storm coming. Weren’t you covering the weather this morning?”

“All we talked about was the goddamn groundhog,” Laurel grits out. “What storm?”

“Big blizzard.” Ratchet shrugs somberly.  “Worst we’ve had this year. Not supposed to clear up ‘til... uh, sometime tomorrow evening, I think?”

Laurel feels her heart sinking rapidly.  “But I’ll still be able to get out of here tomorrow, right?”

“Drive out of here?”  Ratchet sounds mildly incredulous.  “I wouldn’t. And believe me, I’ve pulled off some pretty crazy --”

She doesn’t wait for him to finish his anecdote. All she can think about now is being stuck in this miserable town for another day and a half, and how nothing so far has gone right, and that if one more person tries to make ‘small talk’ with her she’s going to snap.

She storms up to her room without another word. It’ll be hours still before it even gets dark, but right now, she doesn’t feel like doing much more than sulking and counting down the time until she can sleep some of this off.

Living easy, living free Season ticket on a one-way ride Asking nothing, leave me be Taking everything in my stride...

Purely on instinct this time, Laurel reaches for her phone and silences it quickly, then lifts her head from the pillow to glare at it. She could have sworn she’d changed that alarm to something less grating.

She tries not to dwell on it, getting up out of bed and instead moving to the window to gauge the damage of the night before. Maybe it won’t be as bad as the desk clerk said --

-- There’s only a thin layer of snow on the ground. Same as yesterday.  

Laurel can hardly believe her luck. Are the people in this town insufferable and hysterical?

Maybe it shouldn’t surprise her that they can’t even get the weather right. Not keen on wasting any time just in case, she hurries to pack her things, and God, the room is still so cold even though she told them to fix the heat yesterday --

Whatever. She showers quickly, throws herself together even more haphazardly than yesterday, and hurries downstairs once all her things are packed.

“Morning!” By now she recognizes Ratchet’s grating voice.  “We have fresh coffee made, if you wanted any -- hey, uh, where are you going with all that stuff?”

“Relax,” she mutters, begrudgingly approaching the front desk. “I’m checking out. Since the storm blew over.”

Frustratingly, Ratchet only stares at her for a moment.  “The storm’s not... due until tonight,” he answers slowly, and before Laurel can berate him for the misinformation, he adds, “Don’t you have a thing today, anyway?”

Laurel stares back blankly.  “A ‘thing’?”

“I thought you were in town with your crew to cover the Groundhog Day celebration.”

Is he screwing with her? Or just trying to hold her up? She sets her phone on the counter pointedly.  “Groundhog Day was yesterday.”

But then her screen lights up, and she sees she has a missed call. From Sara.

Panic seizes her for a moment - why would Sara call twice in two days, is there some kind of emergency, did something happen to Dad - and then she notices the date on her phone. And her blood runs cold for an entirely different reason.

Had yesterday just been some kind of fever dream? Was she losing her mind?

“Shit,” Laurel mutters under her breath.  “Shit shit shit shit shit.” Forgoing any explanation, she grabs her phone, turns, and makes a beeline for the door empty-handed.

“Miss Lance, what about your luggage --” Ratchet starts to call after her, but Laurel waves him off.

“Get someone to take it up to my room for me; I’ll tip them later!” If she doesn’t haul ass, she’s going to be late.  Like, later-than-yesterday late. How the hell could this have happened? How could she have thought today -- was tomorrow?

All her hurrying ends up being mostly for nothing -- if there’s one thing her dream (or whatever it was) predicted, it was the traffic. And... the call from Sara, now that she thinks about it. And the alarm.

Something weird feels like it’s creeping up on her, and she almost stops paying attention to the road -- long enough not to realize that someone is trying to cut in front of her. The vehicle - a motorcycle, she knows without even looking at it - swerves badly and skids to an abrupt stop at the side of the road, sending its rider flying into a snowbank.

Unwittingly, Laurel slows enough to get a good look at him -- the guy from before, the one who’d been there when she’d spilled coffee all over... Dolores?  How could she have dreamed his face if she’d never seen him before?

He starts to pick himself up, and she snaps out of it, speeding off before he can get a word out.

By the time she gets to work, she’s at least trying to laugh it all off -- content to chalk it all up to a weird case of deja vu, or something, because what else makes sense. It might have worked out, too.

If Camille and Felix hadn’t greeted her with the exact same skepticism.

If she hadn’t had her hair and make-up done in the exact same way, then sent outside to the exact same filming location.

If the groundhog hadn’t seen his goddamn shadow.

Laurel is barely holding it together by the time she gets off work. It’s really the best she can do just to seem like she’s not panicking, and when she goes to the coffee shop -- dreading what she’ll find -- it’s more to prove a completely implausible hunch than anything. Or maybe to disprove it. Like if she can avoid spilling coffee all over that woman, this... spell, or whatever it is, will break.

She inches out the door, coffee held tightly in one hand -- but she’s so intent on squeezing past Dolores that her foot hits the upturned side of the coffee shop’s cheery welcome mat, and she stumbles, and it’s enough to send coffee splattering all over Dolores.

Again.

Laurel can do nothing but sort of gape at her even as she’s met with that same angry, incredulous stare. 

“Have you ever tried watching where you’re going?” Dolores demands, and Laurel almost wants to cry.

I think I’m going crazy.

“I think I’m going crazy.”

No, wait -- she’d actually said it aloud. 

Dolores does a kind of double-take. “...Excuse me?”

“I’m --”  Laurel can’t keep her voice from wavering.  “You don’t remember?”

“Remember you?” Dolores seems caught somewhere between uncertain and disdainful.  “I’ve seen you on TV. And I knew you were in town, of course, for the holiday broadcast I’m sure you think is beneath you. People can hear you when you make fun of them, you know, and news travels fast --”

“No, no, no, remember this -- this -- all of this!”  In her panic, Laurel gestures to an increasingly baffled looking Dolores.  “The coffee, the -- the argument, the --”

Dolores only stares at her unhelpfully.  “...Are you alright?”

Laurel can only laugh, which she’s sure makes her sound at least vaguely unhinged. But it’s clear by this point that neither Dolores nor anyone else in this town has any idea what she’s talking about. Reality setting in has a strangely calming effect on her.  “No. -- Yes. I’m just having a... really weird day.”

Maybe she’s imagining that Dolores’ expression softens just slightly - not that it really matters, she wouldn’t even know how to take sympathy at this point - but before either of them can say more, Laurel hears someone come up behind them. She turns, and -- sure enough, it’s Motorcycle Guy.

“Everything okay here?” he asks, glancing between them carefully.

“We’re fine, Cloud,” Dolores assures before Laurel can even snap at him. What kind of stupid name is Cloud, anyway? “I need to go get cleaned up -- I can’t go to my interview like this --”  She stops, eyeing Laurel again.  “Do you need... help? I could drive you somewhere...”

Some part of her registers surprise at Dolores - who seems to have reason enough to detest her already - even offering, but the kind of numbness that’s set in to override her shock and panic supersedes that. Laurel’s not even sure how anyone could help her. She shakes her head distantly.

“I’m... just going to go back to my hotel room, actually. But thanks.”

Knowing she’s done nothing to reassure them about her behavior - but to exhausted to care -  Laurel turns away and starts trekking numbly back towards her car.  Maybe this time, at least, she can actually stop at the convenience store for some supplies before that storm sets in.

The best she can hope is that tomorrow she’ll wake up, and things will have somehow set themselves right.

Dread creeps up on her when she registers what has woken her up the next morning.  Laurel swears, after this - if there even is an ‘after this’ - she’s never going to listen to AC/DC again.

She remembers thinking last night that if she had to wake up to the same day one more time, she might just scream, or -- explode, or something. So the resignation she drags herself out of bed with surprises even her.

She goes through the motions of the morning almost robotically, and somehow (because of course there couldn’t be an upside to any of this) she still isn’t any more on schedule when she drags herself past Ratchet and out the front door. 

This time, though, she stares at that missed call from Sara for a few heartbeats longer, and imagines what it might be like if she returned it. ‘Hey, Sara, funny you should call. I think I’m losing my mind -- any idea what to do about being stuck in a timeloop?’

Yeah. What a way to reconcile.  

She drives off rather morosely, lost in thought, and thus somehow still - still - forgets about Cloud.  Though she does wince a little this time when she sees him hit that snowbank.

But then something occurs to Laurel. She eyes the now-empty road in front of her, acutely conscious of the angrily honking cars behind her, and thinks -- what is this changes something? Maybe all of this is... karma, or something. Maybe Cloud is some Beauty and the Beast-esque wizard who cursed her for ruining his morning. Who knows. She’ll take just about any explanation, at this point. 

She pulls over to the side of the road, and by the time she gets out of the car, Cloud is already pulling himself out of the snow.  “Hey, uh, sorry about that,” Laurel tells him stiffly.  “My head is... somewhere else today. You okay?”

He glances at her in muted surprise.  “...You actually stopped.”

“Yeah, I know. I surprise even myself sometimes.”  

Cloud seems to be having trouble pulling his foot out of the snowbank, so Laurel awkwardly grabs him by the arm to help haul him out. That accomplished, they both awkwardly turn to stare at his fallen motorbike.

“You... need a ride into town?” Laurel asks finally.

Cloud shakes his head slowly, then crosses to the bike to pick it up off the ground.  “It’s survived worse scrapes than this. Should be fine.”

“Right.” Laurel just kind of stands there for a moment.  Nothing really feels different. “Well, I should... get to work, then.”

As she’s walking back to her car, though, Cloud calls after her -- “Thanks. For stopping.”

In spite of that, however, the only thing that ends up changing is that Laurel’s a little more late to work than usual, and Camille and Felix are a little more disapproving. Laurel can practically mouth along with the town mayor’s exclamation at the groundhog seeing its shadow, at this point. Six more weeks of winter. 

Is that what it���s going to take? Six more weeks of this?

She just goes to the coffee shop out of habit, at this point -- and maybe also in part because familiar faces are all she has to cling to, at this point. This time, she at least manages not to give Dolores the full blast of her coffee spillage, but she does make sure to spill a little, if only so Dolores will stop and talk to her.

She’s not sure if that makes her pathetic or just an asshole.

“Sorry,” Laurel mutters, already pulling the napkins she snagged from the counter earlier out of her purse. Dolores’ immediate indignation seems slightly stifled as she takes them.

“...Have you ever tried watching where you’re going?” she asks with less bite than Laurel can remember in the previous two days.

“Yeah, I know.” She guesses she at least deserves that much.  “I know you have a job interview, and I promise I’ll let you make it tomorrow, I just -- I don’t know. I’m trying to find ways to make all of this feel real.”

Dolores raises her eyebrows, and Laurel supposes it must be because there are at least three different elements of that response that make absolutely no sense to her. “Is that a television star thing?” she asks after a moment, dabbing gingerly at her coat. “Finding ways to make things seem more real?”

Laurel laughs halfheartedly. “I wish.” 

She doesn’t know what else to say, so she just helps Dolores clean up until Cloud arrives on the scene.

“Everything --” His gaze shifts from Dolores to Laurel, and he pauses.  “...Okay here?”

“Our special guest spilled her coffee on me,” Dolores explains dryly.

Cloud regards her bemusedly for a moment.  “You sure are accident-prone.”  When Dolores looks up in question, he goes on to explain, “She kind of helped me wreck my bike earlier this morning. But to her credit, she also helped me fix it.”

“Not really,” Laurel puts in, feeling inexplicably awkward.  “I just kind of... stopped and watched you fix it.”

“Well. It’s the thought that counts.”

Dolores stares at her thoughtfully. “And here I thought someone with your big city schedule wouldn’t have the time.”

Laurel shifts a little.  “Well, you don’t really know me.”  Yet somehow she feels like that’s unfair when she’s spent the past few days being an asshole to Dolores, whether Dolores remembers it or not. 

Dolores frowns at her faintly without comment. Then she turns to Cloud.  “Since my interview’s off the table, we should try and hit the store before the storm rolls in.”

Cloud nods -- then, to Laurel’s surprise, he turns to her contemplatively.  “You... want to come with us?”

Already resigned to dragging herself back to the inn for the day, Laurel stops in her tracks. On one hand, she doesn’t really need the supplies, since more likely than not she won’t have anything she buys by tomorrow morning. On the other hand, the offer kind of startles her. She realizes she’s waiting for Dolores to object -- but Dolores only glances at Cloud and then turns to watch her, waiting for an answer.

“Uh,” Laurel says, literally unable to think of a reason to refuse. Besides, it’ll probably look weird if she isn’t planning to stock up. “Sure. Why not.”

The three of them set off together without further fanfare. Laurel can’t help feeling a little awkward in their company, like some kind of third wheel, especially since Cloud doesn’t seem especially inclined to talk much (to her, at least). So she’s a little surprised when Dolores falls into step beside her, voice lowered.

“What did you mean, earlier -- when you said you’d let me make my job interview tomorrow?”

Oh. Laurel had kind of forgotten that had slipped out. She spends a moment trying to think up a response that sounds sane and reasonable, but comes up blank. Then she figures, well, what’s the worst that can happen if she tells the truth? Dolores will have forgotten by tomorrow.

“It’s gonna sound pretty crazy,” she warns. When Dolores only stares at her expectantly, she continues, “Okay, so this whole... morning. For me, it’s happened before. This is the third time, actually.”

Dolores doesn’t immediately look at her like she’s grown a second head, which Laurel supposes is something, but she does look sort of confused. “What do you mean, ‘happened before’? Like some sort of loop?”

“Yes. That.” Laurel watches her from the corner of her eye. “I don’t... really have an explanation, or anything, I just know that it does. Every day I’ve spent here I’ve woken up to the same stupid song, and a missed call from my sister, and almost killing Cloud on my way to work. Which I’m late for every single time, coincidentally. And then I go to that coffee shop and spill coffee all over you, and you -- usually get really mad at me.”

“Well. It was a very nice coat.”

Laurel snorts, and then backtracks.  “ -- Wait. That’s it? You believe me?”

Dolores shrugs faintly.  “I’m not sure. But you obviously believe you.” She pauses bemusedly, then adds.  “This isn’t the kind of story people tell a stranger when they’re not completely convinced.”

Laurel thinks that over and concludes that she’s probably right.  “So. Any idea what I should do? You know, hypothetically.”

She’s still a little surprised when Dolores seems to take her question seriously.  “If it were me...”  She trails off briefly, brow furrowed.  “If I had to live the same day over and over again, I guess I’d try to make the most of it.”

“And how would you do that?”

“Well, everyone has mistakes that they wish they could go back and fix. Even from day to day. Things they wanted to say but didn’t, letters they never sent... or calls they never made.” Dolores gives her something of a pointed look. “Coffee they could’ve avoided spilling.”

Laurel tries to look at least a little bit sheepish at that, just out of common decency.  “So... what. You think this might end if I finally get... whatever I’m supposed to get right?” It hadn’t worked with Cloud, but maybe that hadn’t been The thing. Or maybe she was supposed to get some kind of perfect score. Not do a single mean, dismissive thing to anyone.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Dolores says levelly.  “...Either way, having infinite chances to get things right is something some people would kill for.”

Laurel doesn’t say much else after that, but she considers it the rest of the way to the store. And after they’re finished shopping, Cloud and Dolores surprise her by telling her about the blizzard party they’re planning - which isn’t much of a party, just stockpiling supplies and marathoning movies until the power goes out - and when they invite her along, Laurel swallows her shock long enough to accept.

It’s the stupid, cozy kind of thing she might have made fun of in some other context, but it ends up being the best afternoon she’s had in... well, actually, since even before all of this started. 

She almost forgets, by the end of it, that Dolores and Cloud won’t remember her tomorrow morning. But she wakes up with Dolores’ words still ringing in her ears anyway.

The next few days and beyond roll out at a snail’s pace, but Laurel finds that it’s the diversifying that keeps her sane. At least, that’s the excuse she’s using for following Dolores’ advice.

It’s actually not that difficult, for instance, to avoid almost killing Cloud on the road into town. She lets him cut in front of her every morning now, and if she’s ever feeling particularly impatient or frustrated, imagining him catapulting into the snowbank once or twice is usually enough to suffice.

She tries to appreciate Camille and Felix a little more when she sees them, even if it mostly just seems to kind of weird them out. She’s usually a little more on time for work, too -- the one day she isn’t is because she stopped on a whim to buy everyone donuts, and afterwards, she decides it was mostly worth the collective sugar rush.

It’s funny, but after awhile, even Beacon Heights itself starts to seem a little less obnoxious. Maybe it’s because it’s all getting so familiar, or -- maybe there’s some kind of magic in looking at people, even the most cutesy, cliche, insufferable people, and trying to find something to like about them. It all starts to make her feel lighter, somehow, than she has in a long while. Even if it’s still pretty annoying when they get all hyped up over that damn groundhog.

She even gets into the habit of saying hi to Ratchet in the mornings, which seems to thrill him. She never does take him up on that coffee, though.

Largely because visiting the local coffee shop, kind of embarrassingly, has become the highlight of the day she’s living on repeat. The one thing she never tries to change. She’s stopped spilling her coffee on poor Dolores, of course, just like she promised -- actually, she finds that if she takes a seat at the diner’s counter and just waits for a little while, Dolores will usually talk to her when she comes in to order.

And Dolores is... nice to talk to. At first Laurel just chalks it up to her being one of the few vaguely sane-seeming people in this town, and the fact that Laurel herself doesn’t generally have a lot of friends. But as the days pass, and she gets new pieces to put together, she starts to realize they have more in common than she ever would have thought.

Dolores was an outsider here once, it turns out. She moved to Beacon Heights five years ago, and says she didn’t stop feeling like she didn’t belong until after the first year. And she has problems with her family, too -- turns out it was a father she was estranged from for awhile, not her sister, but her understanding when Laurel brings Sara up even in passing is nice.

One of the days, on an impulse she doesn’t even consciously process until it’s too late, Laurel asks Dolores if she wants to get dinner after her interview. It honestly kind of stuns her when Dolores accepts. Except it’s all so much that she honestly, genuinely forgets about the blizzard, and when they end up snowed in together she’s vaguely horrified at the idea that Dolores might think she’d planned this all along.

Not that Dolores really seems like she’d mind the idea. But Laurel doesn’t try anything anyway.  Something about it feels too -- well, for Dolores, it’s only been a day, but for Laurel it’s been -- how long had it been? Had she actually lost track?

All the same. It doesn’t feel fair, somehow.

But when she wakes up the next morning alone, she becomes fully conscious of how much the thought that Dolores won’t remember her today - or any day - aches. And that’s when she knows she’s in trouble.

Romantic feelings are typically something Laurel tries not to tangle with, as a rule. She hasn’t really seriously dated since Ollie in college, a wound that - if she’s honest - she’s still not entirely sure she can call healed, but even the majority of her casual relationships since then have had a tendency to end badly. 

Depressing as it is to wake up every morning smitten with a girl who has yet to have any idea who she is, Laurel occasionally wonders if it’s better that way. If she was given the option of a future with Dolores -- wouldn’t she just find some way to screw that up too?

This way, at least, she doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. Except sometimes she feels like if she did have the chance...

It’s just that Laurel’s never really bought into all that sappy shit about the people you really care about making you a better person, up until now. She tries to give herself some of the credit she can grudgingly admit she deserves, but it’s not just reliving the same day over and over and seeing the results of her differing choices that makes her want to be better.

It’s the way Dolores smiles at her when she does something kind. It’s the way Dolores seems to find sincere inspiration and appreciation in all the stupid, simple things about this town that Laurel once would have thought were just -- well, stupid and simple.

Maybe it’s that more than anything that has her sitting in her car on the latest of the now-uncountable mornings, staring at her phone. At the missed call from Sara. Fear and indecisiveness make her limbs feel rigid, but she knows she must look like an idiot sitting unresponsively in her unheated car, and the minutes before work are ticking away, so she hits the ‘Return call’ button before she can psych herself out of it.

Sara’s phone rings a few times. Laurel inevitably wonders if she’s changed her mind, decided Laurel’s not worth it after all, is just going to ignore the call and let it go to voicemail. Or maybe Sara had only called her by mistake in the first place. She’d never considered that. Maybe --

“Laurel?”

Laurel swallows when she hears her sister’s voice.

“Hey, Sara.”

There’s something of a disbelieving pause on the other end, but Sara’s voice sounds surprisingly warm when she finally responds.  “I’m, uh -- I’m glad you called me back.”

“Yeah.” Laurel winces a little at the automatic response, and quickly adds -- “Uh, you didn’t leave a message, so I wasn’t sure if I was in trouble, or...”

“No! No, I -- just wanted to talk, I guess. ...It’s been awhile.” Sara still sounds a little hesitant, and Laurel feels like she’s walking on glass, but at the same time there’s hope starting to bubble in her chest.

“I missed you,” she says instead of whatever careful thing she’d planned on saying. By the time it actually registers, it’s too late to take it back, and all she can do is sit there, frozen, as silence stretches on the other end of the line.

And then, just as she’s sure Sara is going to rebuke her, remind her of all the reasons she has to be angry at and disappointed in Laurel, she hears Sara exhale shakily.

“I missed you too.”

“...And then she asked me to come visit her at her new place in New York. So I think I’m gonna head up there once I’m... once I’m done here,” Laurel finishes the story quietly.

Skipping the part (of course) where doesn’t know when she’ll be ‘done here’, and that by tomorrow, Sara won’t remember that she called. But Laurel will know she did. Laurel will know she can. 

It feels like it means something, for all that most people would call this much repetition pointless.

“That’s sweet,” Dolores smiles at her warmly.  “Family’s usually more willing to reconcile than we build them up to be in our heads. I remember my father was, after we went without speaking for almost a year.”

Laurel already knows this, of course, but she smiles back anyway.

They’re sitting in Dolores’ living room on the evening of the same day, warming themselves with hot cocoa as the snow piles up outside. It’s homier than Laurel can ever remember it feeling. She watches Dolores and hesitates a second.

“This isn’t going to make a lot of sense to you,” she begins carefully.  “But without you, I never would have called her. So thanks.”

Dolores pauses, clearly surprised.  “...But we hadn’t even met until this morning.”

“It’s... complicated.” Laurel tries to ignore the lump she feels forming in her throat. “I told you all about it once, and you just kind of... accepted it. Gave me some advice. It was pretty amazing, actually.” She doesn’t know why this time feels different.

Dolores doesn’t respond right away. She just watches Laurel carefully, almost as if she’s searching for something in her face. “You’re talking like we already know each other,” she says finally.  “The funny thing is, part of me feels like that’s true.”

Laurel waits. Maybe because she’s hoping, just a little, that Dolores will somehow magically, miraculously remember everything. But Dolores just continues watching her contemplatively, even if there’s something in her eyes that seems... softer now.

Whatever it is, even if it’s something that neither of them will ever be able to define, it gives Laurel the last bit of courage she needs. And this time, it isn’t because she knows Dolores won’t remember anything tomorrow and that if she screws this up there won’t be any real consequences.

It’s because even if this day keeps resetting for the rest of forever, Laurel has figured out that these are the kinds of things that matter. And they always will.

“Listen,” she begins softly. “I’ve never been very good at... reaching out to people. I’ve always used this rounded logic where I’m better off alone for a laundry list of reasons, but the truth is, I really just don’t want to lose anyone else. And I know that probably sounds like a stupid excuse to stop trying for the rest of my life, so -- I’m not going to use it anymore.”  She swallows.

“Because if we can connect like we did... today, then it doesn’t really hold up anymore. So thank you, Dolores. Really.”

She searches Dolores’ expression carefully, sincerely. By now, most of the light has gone out of the room and it’s just the firelight illuminating their features. It makes Dolores look softer, somehow.  Laurel bites back the instinct to ignore the butterflies in her stomach when Dolores smiles at her.

“Sounds like you’re the one who did most of the work,” she says finally. Laurel considers that for a moment -- before Dolores slowly leans forward to kiss her.

It catches Laurel off guard, but only for a few seconds. Then she kisses back. It’s soft and careful and not particularly intense, and Laurel supposes she’ll never be able to put into words how much it means to her. But Dolores reaches up to touch the side of her face tenderly as they break apart, and Laurel lets herself get lost in the moment anyway.

Tomorrow, everything will be different. And the same. But tonight, she lets herself fall asleep on Dolores’ couch, nestled against Dolores herself, and can’t quite bring herself to regret it.

The sound of birds obnoxiously twittering outside the window wakes her. That by itself is odd, though it takes her a little while to shake the fogginess from her head and actually process why.

Birds. No Highway to Hell.

Laurel stirs and then, with sudden realization, bolts all the way upright. The next thing she processes is that her surroundings are relatively unfamiliar. And the next is that she’s accidentally woken the person sleeping next to her.

“Ow,” Dolores mumbles, stretching the stiffness from her limbs.  “...Falling asleep on the couch is always less romantic in practice.”

“Dolores?” Laurel breathes, scarcely able to believe it. Dolores pauses mid-stretch, casting her a concerned look.

“What? Are you alright?”

It’s over. It’s -- tomorrow.

Laurel wracks her brain to try and pin down what it was that finally did it. Calling Sara? Her conversation with Dolores? The kiss?

Maybe it was less one thing and more a kind of building of a lot of them. That doesn’t make perfect sense to her right now, because it has to be eight in the morning at the very latest, and she’s still half-trying to wake herself up and acknowledge this is real.

But one thing that’s apparent to her with perfect clarity is that Dolores is still here. Next to her. Laurel gives in to a shaky smile. “Yeah,” she manages finally.  “Yeah -- everything’s fine. Sorry, I was just having a -- a really weird dream.”  She’s so relieved that she might have hugged Dolores, but she’s lucky Dolores doesn’t think she’s completely crazy as it is.

Dolores returns her smile a little uncertainly, but warmly.  “I’m glad you woke me. I was going to offer to take you to breakfast, but I wasn’t sure what time you had to leave --”

Leave?

She’d given up on breaking free of the loop long enough to forget: the storm’ll be dying down now. Felix and Camille will be expecting her back on the road before too long.

All she really wants, though, is to stay here with Dolores, and go to breakfast at that stupid, cutesy diner, and then call her sister, and have a conversation that’ll stick this time. And maybe do something sappy like going for a walk through the snow afterwards.

She wants a hundred more days exactly like that. She’s not sure when the town she couldn’t wait to get away from became something close to home.

Laurel weighs all of this against the prospect of going back to a job that never really made her happy to begin with. As completely cliche as it is to admit, there’s probably something to be learned in all of this about the things that actually matter. And not wasting them.

“If I said I wanted to stay a little while longer,” she says slowly. “What would you think?”

Dolores sort of double-takes, like she’s not sure whether or not Laurel’s being serious. “...Can you do that?”

“What’s stopping me?” Laurel shrugs pointedly.

“But you --” Dolores stops, watching Laurel even more closely, and there’s something like wonder in her expression. It’s almost enough to make Laurel feel a little self-conscious.  “ -- You really want to stay.”

Laurel can’t help but smile. “I’m pretty sure that is what I implied.”

Impulsively, Dolores leans forward and kisses her again, and this time Laurel is actually ready for it.

[lifeisjustanotherstory]

W/c 21/01/2019 - the week in anecdotes and not-shower shower thoughts 

Monday

Aytaj went to Milan for the weekend. MILAN. Beats my weekend. 

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I just found out that “Royals” by Lorde came out 6 years ago this year, and time suddenly seems to have flown past. I mean...6 years? Really?! It’s probably been a year since I heard the song, and listening to it feels very nostalgic. The Youtube playlist moved on to “Team”. I used to like a particular chorus in that song - and still do - it lent itself to story ideas, and great character adventures in my head. I need to write again soon - it has been too long. 

We live in cities you'll never see onscreen

Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things

Livin' in ruins of a palace within my dreams

And you know we're on each other's team

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Waiting for allocation of tasks from the US team. Currently have to chase Chase for our scoping file. 

(chase Chase...once you hear it, you can’t unhear it...)

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Tuesday

I wore my jumper on Tuesday, as I had planned. Getting up early, I hadn’t thought much of not seeing the brand logo on the front - it crossed my mind, only to be replaced with the thought of catching my train.

I went through the day - a good 95% of it - before one of the Managers called me as I made my way to my locker to put away my things for the day. Her name is Amy, and she lives near one of the towns that my train stops in on my way home.

“Deepa? I think your jumper is on back to front.” I lifted up the item of clothing in question, and to my deep embarrassment I was faced with the jumper’s label. I nervously laughed and headed to my locker as she made her way out to the bathroom. I was walking around with a silver pheasant on my back all day.  

Mortified doesn’t cut it.

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I accidentally put Sahil’s coffee cup in my locker yesterday and now he’s got a huge white label on it, with his name in block letters. Oops.

But at least he’s sitting next to me again. Or maybe that’s just because I always let people use my chargers. 

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Wednesday

I’m trying to make my way up the stairs without stopping, which causes me to huff and puff (no houses are blown down, however), go red in the face and get a pain in my lower abdomen. No pain, no gain eh. Anyway, my eyes met Jasper’s on the way up, and we exchanged “Morning”’s. He knows I come in early, and vice versa, but we never seem to interact any more than that.

Anyway, he held open the door for me on the 10th floor, which I felt was very considerate. He didn’t have to, but he heard me coming (granted, I wasn’t that loud) and waited. I can’t say I’ve heard all good things about this guy - but his action today spoke a lot.

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Finally relented and chose to get a breakfast from the canteen today. Still haven’t decided whether I’ll expense it though. Mushrooms were my favourite kind, wide and flat - like I’d never seen before, the egg nicely poached and the beans tasty. The sausage was all the more succulent for the guy forgetting to charge it to my total bill, which came in at a round £3.00.

Back up in the audit room and I was in mid-conversation, with my breakfast box hanging dangerously close to the edge of the table. Indeed, if not for Fahim’s hand, it could have ended up on my (suede) dress or on the floor. Credit to his reflexes for saving my day.  

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Thursday

My dad remarked that the jumper I chose to wear today doesn’t have a very obvious logo on it. What cruel irony is this?

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Did 11 year old me ever think of her 21 year old self deciding to take a 6:11 train, instead of the 6:20, just so she could catch some z’s onboard? #10yearchallenge

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Aytaj offered me some of her chocolate. It’s milk chocolate with a hint of toffee, but it looks like dark chocolate. Azerbaijani chocolate has exceeded my expectations. 

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Had to reach out to a guy from our Swiss team in order to get some accounts that the UK team needs. No need to fear - Emanuel is here (!!!)

He is also up for the weekend because let’s be real, as if that isn’t what everyone is thinking.

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Oh my gosh, just filled up my bottle and that is some.fresh.water.

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I enjoy sitting next to Aytaj. No one else would have such fun trying to solve an IT issue. Or have cool client names (Sandwich, Hong Hong...and my personal fave; Jing Jing). Or laugh about their half-eaten chicken leg on the floor. (Thankfully, it was in a box). 

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Managed to return the favour to Aytaj and gave her a chocolate biscuit. Matt H had one too. 

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Friday

Does Nick even know my name? Of course, there is no reason for him to address me by it when it’s just the two of us in the audit room. 

He promised not to rub his fancy breakast in his face as he left the room to go the restaurant. We’re approaching banter stage. 

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Fahim looked shattered, and I told him as much.

Me, over Skype; You look so tired

Fahim: my face speaks 1000 words about my tiredness lol

Me: Where’s a painting emoji when you need it?

Earlier we’d gone to get drinks from another floor today. I remarked that I don’t drink coffee, and he was really surprised. Shocked indeed. I must be one of the few people who don’t in this job. Coffee is like water for the majority of finance professionals. (I jest, but I have honestly seen people drink as much coffee as water, if not more.)

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Sahil knows I get in early, so when someone said that I’d need to go and do something at 11:30am, he joked and said “That’s like evening for her.”

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“Deepa, who you Skpying?” I could feel my stomach fall as I heard Jits ask. “You always put on your privacy screen when you’re not doing work?” I wasn’t Skyping, I was updating this blog. My thoughts will live on, as I hope them to, in this manner. Even if my currently healthy sleeping pattern doesn’t make it. 

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Nick (Dorn as opposed to Daws) asked Jits which song the line “It’s electrifying” I was. I responded “Greased Lightning” without a second thought. Jits remarked that it must have been a favourite of my parents’ in their teen years. He wasn’t right about them liking it - but they were both 19 at the time of its release. Wow.

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Watching a comedy programme and I just sat through the comedian mentioning the word ‘cunnilingus’ without any change in my facial expression whatsoever. I deserve a pat on the back for making it. Thank god my parents didn’t ask me to explain what it was...

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Saturday

Four months till my exams, with busy season yet to really start for me. Cripes.

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Attempted to read. Attempted being the key word here. Made my revision timetable though.

A bit sad about my lack of weekend social life over the next few months, as if I even had one to miss?

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Steak was worth forgoing my nap for. Only just. It’s been too long since I’ve had pure meat like this. I don’t think I could ever be a vegetarian.

Asked for a different kind of salad and got served the wrong one, only for them to bring a new one instead! Free salad, yay! (Green leaves are gr8, what)

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This new car is too clever for us. One tyre goes under the set pressure and it sets off a warning sign in the car. Ignorance really is bliss.

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To write or not to write, that is the question.

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Sunday

Lifted my stuff off the floor and found Ayana’s letter underneath.I’d completely forgotten about it. It’s nearly a month after she sent it to me, and she deserves a lengthy reply. I’l take it in my bag to work and draft a reply to write next week.

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Revision is going rather fine, if I do say so myself. Of course, I am not even one day in. Time will tell. 

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You know when you can sometimes taste what you had earlier? My cod liver oil capsule obviously broke on the way down, because my mouth has just been flooded with a fish taste. If someone kissed me right now, would they taste it?

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I wrote, and it was liberating. 

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Less than an hour to bedtime and the first edition of a week in anecdotes and not-shower shower thoughts was a success. Here’s to next week and many more.

Deeps 

[anongoingsoliloquy]

Hey babes! Today I want to give you a comprehensive review of The Blessed Trilogy by Tonya Hurley. I binge read these three books over the span of a week and I fell so in love with them, I can hardly stand it! The Blessed, separately titled Precious Blood, Passionaries, and Hallowed, follows our main characters Lucy, Cecilia and Agnes, three girls who believe themselves to be saints. The three girls are brought together by Sebastian, a boy who also believes he is a saint, at the church of Precious Blood. The novels follow the girls from their first awakening, through their struggles and ultimately to the revelation of the truth. ***Minor spoilers***

First things first, I loved these novels! And I loved that the author didn’t go for the cheap out ending of ‘my god they were all crazy the whole time!’. If you sit down and write a story about three modern girls who find out they are reincarnated saints, follow through, and Hurley definitely did, and it was awesome! I think I mentioned this in my review for James Patterson’s “Cradle and All”, but I am Catholic, and I think it is so fascinating to read stories based in the faith but stretching it to encompass today’s society and the implications of the ‘what if this actually happened’. Like “what if three girls did come forward and were declared reincarnated saints?” How would we, as a society, react? Would we condemn them as insane? Would people start to follow them? I don’t even know how I would react personally. The first reaction to any kind of speculation to divine or saintly rumors is more often than not doubt. But I think that even the possibility of miracles in our world is a cause of hope. I like to hope that if a situation like the one in the novel was ever a reality, I would have the strength and constitution to believe in it.  

Anyway, let’s talk about the trilogy, shall we? These three novels packed a punch! The story line was solid; I was never confused during the twists and turns, and the transition between the three story lines of each of the girls was always clean and clear. As I said before, I like that Tonya Hurley stuck with the fact that Lucy, Cecilia and Agnes were divinely inspired, because there is nothing I hate more than a big revelation that the characters were mentally ill or that it was all a dream! And that goes for any genre! I think the ‘it was a dream’ or the insanity plea at the end of novels is a complete cop out and show nothing but that the writer didn’t know how to properly wrap up their story. And it plays the read for a fool! That was my biggest fear going into these novels, but my faith was rewarded with a spectacular (and absolutely heartbreaking) ending!

Each book in the trilogy spoke of an important part to the story; the second book, Passionaries, was not a filler book and many second novels tend to be. This story definitely needed all three novels to tell the whole story. I didn’t finish this series and think, ‘well that could have been wrapped up in one book’. Hurley didn’t waste any space with these novels. The better part of the first book was character building, but the reader needed that in order to see how the three girls change and become better people as the story unfolds in the second and third books. Our three main characters, Lucy, Cecilia and Agnes all start out as patients in the ER of Perpetual Help Hospital. One for an overdose, one for accidental drowning, and one for suicide. It is in the hospital that they are first discovered by Sebastian, and where they first receive their chaplets and Milagros. These Milagros, pendants fashioned as the symbols of saints, lead them back to Sebastian and to Precious Blood church. It is first seeing the three girls at their lowest points that makes the ending to their story so much more powerful. We, as readers, really see these girls come into their own and embrace who they truly are and what their purposes in this world are. Each girl is quirky and lovable in their own way. My favorite of the girls is Agnes. I see a lot of myself in her. We definitely have a similar sense of fashion and love for the Victorian era design.

Speaking of character development, let’s talk about Jesse! This boy started out as “This guy’s slimy, I don’t trust him” and ended as “I will protect him with my life”! He is the most realistic character in the novel, with the most realistic reaction to the whole saint situation. He has a very hard time believing in the girls and Sebastian (especially Sebastian), but does become resigned to help them in the second and third novels. Because he is the most resistant of the main characters to have blind faith, his revelation is so inspiring and his faith becomes the strongest. Jesse is honestly the definition of character development. The comparison from the first time we see him to the last is so drastically different, it’s insane! I love reading about characters with such strong character development; it makes the experience so rewarding. On the opposite end of the spectrum, the character that doesn’t undergo any kind of development is Dr. Frey. Now usually I hate when characters don’t see any kind of development, but in the case of Dr. Frey, it works. Dr. Frey is our villain, the big bad who runs the Psych ward at Perpetual Help Hospital. He starts bad and ends bad. There are no redeeming qualities about this man, and that’s exactly the kind of character that is needed. Without Dr. Frey’s wide reach and unyielding malevolence, there would be no stakes for our saints to be up against. Dr. Frey is the one who keeps the tension thick in the novel. Without him and what he represents, the novel would lose meaning.

The last thing I want to talk about is the setting. I think placing Precious Blood and the majority of the story in the “lowest” part of Brooklyn really lent itself to the fact that Jesus was also born in a low place. It creates the idea that anyone can rise up and becoming something more than themselves. The grungy, wet (think Gotham City, puddles everywhere) environment compared to the Catholic, saintly imagery is a beautiful juxtaposition, and works so well in reflecting the average girls thrust into the saintly role.

All in all, I think these books are amazing and will recommend them to everyone forever! I gave each book a 5/5 rating. Okay, I think that’s all I wanted to say. I’ve probably forgotten something, but I think this is good for now! Let me know if you’ve read these books, and if you liked them or not. I would love to chat about them! And, as always, thanks for reading!

[fictionfromgames]

Routine Concerns (ATLA/LOK fluff)

“Gran, you’re not gonna get arrested!”

Hiyara balled her fists as her grandmother continued packing a bag. The elder didn’t stop.

“Soon enough,” she stated matter-of-factly, “Remember a few years ago when I ‘went to the North’ for a week? When the Avatar was visiting?”

“Yeah,” Hiyara looked skeptical, “Your first vacation in two years at that point. Are you saying you went to jail?”

“Yep,” gran smiled, “Well, sort of a house arrest, wherein they lent me a lush mansion on the other side of the world while Avatar Weiyong was in Harbor City.”

“What could they possibly have against you, gran? You’re a healer.”

Gran turned and looked at Hiyara with a professional smile. She was always good at dealing with belligerent people, patients or otherwise, so she was practiced well enough by the time she had a family. Still, it annoyed Hiyara.

“You know my illustrious career, of course, but do you know much about history?” gran asked. At least she’d stopped packing.

“History is a broad term, gran, what kind of history?”

Gran shrugged, “Oh, like Avatar Korra, Amon. Bloodbending?”

“Some, iittle, and none, in descending according to the legality of each subject,” Hiyara started to frown, “You’re not a bloodbender, are you?”

“Not really?” gran shrugged, though she sounded unsure, “But my thesis on Amon’s ability to take away people’s bending is the theoretical foundation of my practice today.”

“You’re a bloodbender,” Hiyara was stunned.

“No, not really, I promise!” Gran moved closer, “I just... I was fascinated with Avatar Korra since I was little, all the things she achieved and survived even by your age now. But one of the things we’d always hear about in the healing huts was Amon. born Noatak in the Northern Tribe. Bloodbender, bending stealer, everyone knows that part, But no doctor, and no waterbender had figured out exactly how he’d stolen people’s powers. The standing, unimpeachable answer was always “vascular and/or neurological damage caused by bloodbending,” and was not subject to question due to the ethics and, yeah, legality involved. It was generally supported by head wounds that rendered much more than bending unusable, and wasn’t to be investigated otherwise.”

“Can you take bending away??” Hiyara was starting to feel a little horrified.

“Only theoretically!” Gran pointed enthusiastically, “There are a lot of things I wanted to avoid-- being stuck in the healing huts with all the old women back home, being called a ‘guru’, or a ‘mad scientist,’ and most definitely charges of bloodblending. I wanted nothing except to be Doctor Kayada. But... for as much as I wanted to get away from home, I remembered two things. The way Amon would access bending through the forehead, and the old healing dummies I was started on. He was using the meridians we used for water healing, just as conduits to the appropriate chakras through the Light chakra itself!”

“Gran you still haven’t said how this isn’t bloodbending!”

“Oh, that’s easy, I used a saline solution and sort of push that around,” Gran continued, almost ignoring the conflict in the conversation, “It somehow satisfies their strictures. But chakras, Hiyara, they’re opened and closed through emotion, and what emotions govern the Light chakra?”

Gran pointed again, waiting for the answer, but Hiyara just shook her head. She wasn’t in school for religious studies or medicine.

“Insight and illusion!” Gran cried, “Amon created illusory wounds to those areas through the chakra most susceptible to them, which is why no one but the Avatar figured out how to fix them! Lies they and their bodies believed! And he used water healing principles to accomplish it!”

At this point gran’s arms were in the air, as if reliving the revelatory moment. Hiyara just looked at her normally reserved grandmother with confusion and a little fear.

“But why would they arrest you?” she asked quietly.

“Oh, the White Lotus just thinks your genius gran could be a threat to the current Avatar because of the one time I stopped him.”

Kayada returned to packing. It was maybe a bit too hopeful to assume she could have gone to see the rocket launch if Weiyong was going to be there.

“Stopped him from what, gran?!”

******************

Kayada M.D.

Kayada’s theory is not mine, I stole it in whatever form I internalized it from Hello Future Me’s video in this link, but I wanted to have someone in the setting to realize that, as a potential conflict from either Kayada herself or an a new external threat. I imagine Kayada as generally genial, well-meaning, and not as invested in mysticism UNTIL it intersects with medical science. She has a practice in Shaomen, a newer United Republic City in the Hu Xin provinces. Shaomen is not canon except to this setting, and because I am running out of United Republic place names.  Kayada’s clinic is like, 1/3 general practice (water healing is generally very useful), 1/3 sports medicine (pro-benders seek her out in particular because what if their loss was bending related rather than injury or skill related????? Big money there), and 1/3 “psychiatry” (because manipulating positive emotions through waterbending is at least palliative therapy, and at best, an actual ATLA-unique version of psychiatric medicine).

Kayada vs. Weiyong

Why would someone who’s only ever trying to help cross the Avatar and be subsequently banned from any and all contact within a number of miles?

Political Differences

In one scenario, I think of Kayada as having been a witness to some massive infrastructural damage to Shaomen, and going out personally to close off some bending to make it stop, getting mixed up about who’s who and accidentally closing off some of Weiyong’s bending until things are cleared up. This one incident meshes with her standard do-gooding persona, and explains why her family doesn’t always know why she keeps avoiding the Avatar (willingly or by state order). The realization of her abilities by the White Lotus with regards to Weiyong have placed her on a watchlist.

Trade Secrets

A colleague or academic rival has learned Kayada’s methods and has used it to profitable and definitely unethical ends. I am leaving a lot of details ambiguous in this scenario, just because a new bending-stealer could easily be used in “present day.” You could still have Kayada and Weiyong’s now-genial relationship as a background distance between them, and calling off the minimum distance order she has to keep in order to help hunt down your new antagonist. However. I envision this as being Kayada’s “real” backstory. Tesroq, a water bender and Kayada’s number one at her practice, was taught how to heal her way and fill in for her while she was on Team Avatar during the Deep Spirit crises. And rather than open abuse, he’d covertly mess with pro-benders in order to help fix matches, which drew the considerable attention of Boss Shai and the Agni Kai Triad. The technical prowess of Kayada being passed on to someone less incorruptible also drew notice from the Dai Li, who had hoped to recruit Tesroq for some super shady shit regarding the situation of the Earth States, but Tesroq himself was enamored with the metropolitan lifestyle in the United Republic, and refused. Of course, the Deep Spirits crises weren’t constant or all at once, and Team Avatar started heading home, first visiting Shaomen, since Kayada was less combat oriented than the rest. The timing for Tesroq couldn’t have gone better-- with the Dai Li sending alternating offers and threats, the Agni Kais thoroughly pissed regarding an undefeated pro bending team, and Kayada starting to wonder what was amiss, his escape was provided by the threeway battle over his capture. Even with help from the White Lotus, Tesroq was never caught. Weiyong did get some of his bending blocked, but the White Lotus arranged a cover story and confiscated all scholastic papers regarding Kayada’s methods. She was still allowed to practice on the condition that she would be portrayed as the danger to the Avatar, avoiding all mention of Tesroq. She and Weiyong still correspond though, since they were close as comrades and confidants, and Weiyong always sends photos of an event related to his latest obligations. She’s Definitely a Mad Scientist

In this scenario, I kind of see her as morally ambivalent and always chasing the goal of learning more, kinda like Entrapta in She Ra, where the sides don’t matter as long as she keeps Doing the Thing, that maybe she’ll finally unlock something amazing. Her practice is more or less a front for capital, and while she may only take willing subjects, it’s still fucking sketchy, and requires a stronger synthesis between bloodbending and water healing. Perhaps here she’s looking for a way to actually produce bending in subjects that never had it, or add new elements to existing benders, since they already possess energy bending of any kind and it’s just easier or something. I like Kayada as a friend and ally but there are seeds for so much mischief.

Mechanically Speaking

No player character should have the ability to block bending beyond Ty Lee levels, which exists in the game already. But, should your characters have their bending blocked, it should be a several Chi-cost adventure to regain it. It’s also hard to manage since you don’t need bending to access every move in a playbook, so it’s more of a GM fiat move than systematic usage.

You can check out Legend of the Elements on DriveThru RPG and their page full of extra resources, Actual Play links, and essays at the Logbook Project!

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot - “The Cobra and the Curse” (Rated PG13)

Kurt travels the desert alone, entertaining the masses from bazaar to bazaar, accompanied by his loyal golden cobra, which he carries wrapped around his arm as opposed to in a basket the way most snake charmers do. People say he is searching for a rare jewel that can break a powerful curse he suffers.

But that’s only a portion of the truth.

The rest is far more heartbreaking than that. (2280 words)

A/N: This is a rewrite, and namely because I have always wanted @sunshineoptimismandangels and @riverance to read it. If I continue it as a longer story, it will probably be for K*urtbastian or as an original work. Warning for angst, curses, and snakes.

Read on AO3.

The sun made its appearance earlier than usual and refused to be ignored. By noon, the tiny marketplace baked beneath its relentless glow so that the ground cracked, and any drop of moisture sizzled immediately and evaporated away. Undeterred, the bazaar teemed with the unwashed masses, haggling their way through their daily shopping. Vendors tried to outwit the heat by constructing makeshift tents, basic wood frames covered in light fabric to protect them from the fiery sky, but all it succeeded in doing was trapping the heat, turning what was once uncomfortable to truly unbearable.

Kurt sat alone on his intricately woven carpet, a gold veil covering his face, shielding all but his blue eyes. He sat removed from the bustling mob, tucked strategically in a shady corner. He set up his rug at a distance to avoid the persistent scorching white light and mind numbing stench, but close enough that airy strains of music from his flute lured passing treasure hunters to stop and watch and listen … and hopefully pay.

Most passersby only absently regarded the snake charmers. Snake charmers weren’t unusual in the marketplace, but Kurt and his cobra drew a bigger audience than most, even on brutally hot days, which greatly outnumbered the cool, overcast days now that the full force of summer had set in.

His alluring music trapped the unsuspecting, but it was the gorgeous, venomous creature under his complete control that hypnotized them, and they paid Kurt handsomely for the honor of its company. New to this bazaar in particular, Kurt showed up to the same spot day after day, and as his popularity grew, so did suspicion from local authorities, who couldn’t understand the appeal of one vagrant flute player and his pet snake compared to the rest that their town had to offer.

It wasn’t too long before they decided to find out.

“And what do we have here?”

The crowd in front of Kurt’s carpet parted to let the chief of the guard and two of his men approach. The sour looking man in the lead, haggard from the intense heat, stopped right in front of Kurt. He was a rotund man, with piercing brown eyes peeking out from narrow slits, and a full beard covered in the ash that drifted through the air from the many food tents. The remaining onlookers dispersed quickly, leaving Kurt to face the three law men alone.

Most foreign visitors to the marketplace were wary of law enforcement; even innocent people kept their distance.

Kurt, however, was far from impressed.

“May I help you gentlemen?” he asked with the pretense of civility. “Or did you come to hear me play?”

“I came to ask you a few questions,” the chief guard said, gruff in tone. He wiped an ocean of sweat from his brow with one meaty hand, then dried that hand on the leg of his pants, depositing a swath of murky brown onto the camel-colored fabric. Kurt cringed beneath his veil in disgust.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I was just packing it in for the day.”

Kurt clicked his tongue and the snake turned to him. The men stepped back, watching in horror and in wonder as the dangerous reptile launched itself at the man’s outstretched arm. The chief almost yelled a warning, but Kurt flashed stormy eyes at him, and he froze. The snake slithered up Kurt’s arm, winding itself tightly as it went, until its entire body was but an ornament on Kurt’s sleeve. Only a bit of its scaly form and its spread hood stood erect. Eerily following their movements, the snake kept its black eyes fixed on the three shocked men.

“Do you not have a hook to control that creature?” one of the lesser guards said, eyes wide. “Or a basket to transport it in?”

“Why?” Kurt asked innocently. “I’m not in any danger.”

“I’ve heard of you,” the third man put in.

“Have you?” Kurt returned nonplussed, but listening intently.

“Yes.” The man eyed Kurt cautiously. “People say you travel from bazaar to bazaar, looking for a rare jewel that will help you break some terrible curse.”

Kurt smirked and rolled his eyes.

“Really?” Kurt rolled his rug and tied it. “I would think an intelligent official like yourself would be more selective about what he believes.”

“They say you and this … this creature … have an unnatural relationship.”

“Do they now?” Kurt chuckled, standing with the cobra wrapped possessively around his arm. “Would you like to take that up with him?”

Kurt moved swiftly forward. The men scuttled back, the two behind their chief almost crowding behind him to get away, and Kurt laughed softly at the look of fear on their faces.

The guards watched Kurt gather up the remainder of his things. Kurt cooed at his snake as if they weren’t even there, kissing it gently on the hood like an old friend. The chief didn’t like it. He didn’t like any of it. This man was no ordinary snake charmer, no matter what he wanted them to think, and the chief would feel much more at ease once he packed up his rug for good and moved on. He tried to think of a way to make that happen sooner than later, but apart from having the man dealt with in the dead of night, the chief could come up with no other solution. Kurt tucked his rug under his arm, tossed his flute over his shoulder by its leather strap, and paying the three guards no heed, walked away.

“You’d better watch yourself, snake charmer,” the surly man spat at Kurt’s back. “I’m not sure I like your kind hanging around my marketplace.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kurt returned as he continued on without a glance back.

Kurt walked the vacant stretch of desert outside the boundaries of town, out beyond the first dune to the nomad camp where he had been lent a tent to occupy. On his journey north, a clan of travelers had come across him. They were drawn to him first by his unburnt pale skin, strange for people living in those parts, and his sea blue eyes. After taking audience with him, watching him charm his impressive reptile, and seeing the imposing beast eating patiently from his hand, the elders of the clan took finding him as an omen, and offered him their protection.

Kurt bowed in salaam to the men standing guard, and they returned the greeting to him, as well as to his snake. Kurt walked through the encampment toward his lonely tent, bowing to those he passed who spoke blessings to him, smiling demurely to those who showered praise upon him. At the entrance to his tent, he turned his attention to the sky, and saw the sun sinking low. He hurried in and shut tight the heavy flaps, rushing to prepare. He left the cobra on its carpet with its dinner. Kurt lit oil candles and burnt incense. He quickly bathed, scenting his hair and skin with perfumes. He put on his finest clothes, ones that rarely saw the light of day as of late. His stomach swooped with such excitement that he didn’t eat a bite of his dinner, instead drinking from a flask of wine to calm his butterflies.

A voice, soft and rich like fine velvet, stirred them up again.

“I appreciate all the trouble you go through dressing for me, darling. It’s such a shame I’m just going to tear your clothing off of you.”

After ten long years without hearing it, that voice of pure seduction sounded like the answer to a prayer, the fulfillment of a dream. Kurt couldn’t speak in its presence, so he didn’t. He turned and launched himself at the incredible creature, only partially human for the moment since the sun hadn’t fully set.

Blaine.

Kurt’s one and only true love, the two of them victims of an evil, sadistic curse that kept them apart for all but one night every ten years. And tonight was the night they had been waiting for – their one night together.

Kurt ran his hands down Blaine’s body of smooth, golden scales, feeling them shift and reform beneath his fingers as they became human skin. Blaine backed away sorrowfully from Kurt’s kiss, not wanting to touch him with a serpent’s tongue or accidentally bite him with his fangs, but Kurt insisted, claiming Blaine’s lips with a famished moan.

“I think we are getting closer, my love,” Kurt said, kissing the hood that still surrounded Blaine’s head. “At least they’ve heard of us here. Someone might know something. But you have to be careful. But the officials are suspicious. Please … be careful.”

“I will,” Blaine hissed, shutting his inhuman black eyes to absorb the feeling of Kurt’s tongue licking around the shell of now human ears. When he opened his eyes again, they were golden hazel eyes. Human eyes.

Blaine gazed upon Kurt’s face with these eyes for the first time in a decade, and smiled.

“Ten years,” he whispered, his forked tongue rounding out and his reptilian hiss gone, “and you don’t look as if you’ve aged a day.”

“But, I have,” Kurt said sadly, taking Blaine’s scaled hand and holding it to his heart. “In here. In my heart and in my soul, I grow older, weaker.” When he looked into Blaine’s eyes, they were shimmering with tears. “I’ve lost ten years so far. You’ve lost twenty! I … I can’t take this much longer! Please … please tell me you’ll find it? Please promise me you’ll succeed where I’ve failed?”

“You haven’t failed,” Blaine said softly. “You got us here. You’ve kept us alive. We’ll find the gem that breaks our curse together. I can feel it.”

Kurt nodded, but he didn’t look all that hopeful.

Blaine sighed and pulled Kurt close, his transformation still far from complete.

“What can I give you, my love?” Blaine asked. “What can I do to ease your burden?”

“I only need you, my love. I need the soothing cool of your body to keep me sane, your mouth on mine to help me forget … for just this one night.”

“Don’t you want to wait until I’ve completely changed?” Blaine asked, but he was already burning with want, with need, his hands on his lover’s body, helping him disrobe.

“No,” Kurt said with a stern note of finality. “I don’t want to wait to have you a minute longer.”

Blaine leaned in for another kiss. “Then let’s not wait.”

Nights in the desert during the summer aren’t long enough for those lingering under a curse. Kurt knew that. He cursed it every day. But it’s all they had, all they were going to get, a blessing that, after all this time, was almost too cruel to be thankful for.

The nomads were lulled to sleep by a symphony of moans and felt contented, knowing that the gods they harbored were pleased with the hospitality given them. But those moans turned to sobs when the first light of the sun touched the horizon. All too soon, a slightly shorter man, dressed in plain clothes but wearing a blue veil, emerged from the snake charmer’s tent. The nomads bowed to him without alarm as gods are known to change shape from time to time in order to hide from the dangers of the mortal. The man headed back to town with a carpet tucked beneath his arm, a flute dangling from his shoulder by a leather thong, and a magnificent blue cobra, glittering like a sapphire beneath the merciless light of morning, wrapped around his bicep.

The man set up in the shady spot. He took his time laying out his carpet and tuning his flute. The bazaar was far from bustling yet, so he had a few moments to spare. Besides, earning coin wasn’t his goal for the day. He had a feeling that something was forthcoming.

And he was right.

This time, the guards arrived early.

The smug chief stepped up, prepared to harass the mysterious vagrant, but stopped short when his eyes fell upon the man’s covered face. Even shrouded by his blue veil with barely an inch of skin to be seen, the chief knew the man had changed.

“What happened to you?” the confounded chief asked.

“I have no idea what you mean,” the snake charmer said, nonchalantly disregarding the chief and his guards.

“Where is the man who was here yesterday?”

The veiled man looked up, then looked around, finally meeting the chief’s gaze.

“Who?”

“The snake charmer …”

At this, the veiled man looked down at his cobra, then at his flute, and back up at the flustered guard with sarcastic humor in his eyes.

“The other snake charmer,” the chief groaned with frustration. “The one with the pale face and blue eyes. He had a cobra just like yours.”

“There is no cobra like mine,” Blaine remarked sourly.

“He carried it the same ludicrous way, too,” the chief said, ignoring that comment, “only his was a brilliant gold. A gold like … like … like priceless jewelry.” The chief stuttered to explain himself, looking around to find something he could compare the color to. Then he stopped, squinting inquisitively into the veiled man’s face. “A gold exactly like … the color of your eyes …”

Blaine smirked. He looked to the blue cobra wrapped around his arm. The animal slithered closer to his face and nuzzled its head against Blaine’s chin. Blaine sighed wistfully, his eyes beset with a tremendous pain.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

[zodiackillerrevealed]

I will start this blog with a quote I came across while I was working on this post. It was found under the cap of my Honest Tea drink and I found it quite fitting.

“If at first the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it.

~ Albert Einstein

Edgar Allan Poe’s stories were ones obsessed with madness and the condition of absurdities and unbelieving truths. I feel the Zodiac Killer was attempting just this with his cipher codes. Poe’s character in “The Gold Bug” story who uncovers the answers to a  coded message he found was believed to be mad for a time until he actually found the treasure along with two dead bodies.

But now you may be asking yourself why Edgar Allan Poe would have anything to do with the Zodiac Killer…let’s find out why.

While researching about the Zodiac Killer recently, I found something interesting I had not known before. There was an article written to the Zodiac Killer to try and persuade him to place his real name within a cipher coded message of his own creation. The article quoted Edgar Allan Poe to try and manipulate the Zodiac Killer into using Poe’s cipher code methods. The author of this article did this so that when Zodiac created a new code he might end up using one of Poe’s cipher methods to create it. That way it might be more easy to decode his hidden message within when and if he were to take the bait and send  a new cipher letter. Here is the article mentioned.

Will Stevens. “Cipher Expert Dares Zodiac To ‘Tell’ Name.”

San Francisco Examiner (Oct. 22, 1969)

Learn more by reading this article. “My Name Is” Cipher Motivation by Michael Cole

I was previously unaware that Edgar Allan Poe had any association with cipher codes until I had researched about this written article. But I was semi familiar with stories such as “The Tell-Tale Heart”. So I started researching more of his stories to see if I could find any connections with my previous work I had done on Zodiac’s correspondences.

On my journey to find out more I fell down another rabbit hole. The story I found ended up leading me to some very interesting things. I now believe my theory for the Halloween card and the way I have decoded it goes hand in hand with Edgar Allan Poe’s Story “The Gold Bug”. I also have a theory that once this link between the two has been discovered it can then open a new door to the Z340 code as I have started to see similarities between all three subjects when linked together.

The San Francisco Examiner article was published Oct. 22, 1969

The Z340 was sent on November 8th 1969

A couple of weeks after the article was published.

Learn more about the Z340 here.

This would not have given Zodiac much time to create a thoughtful code. Perhaps this was just a quick response to the article.

Zodiac’s Halloween Card was mailed on October 27th 1970  

Sent almost exactly a year apart from the article.

Learn more about the Halloween card origins here .

Learn about the Halloween card and what Zodiac altered in it here.

If the Halloween card is a response to the article, he would have had time to really plan a coded message out.  (Perhaps he mixed his previous codes with this one.)

Now let’s look into Edgar Allan Poe’s story…

“The Gold Bug”  Plot Summary – Quoted from Wikepedia

“William Legrand has relocated from New Orleans to Sullivan’s Island in South Carolina after losing his family fortune, and has brought his African-American servant Jupiter with him. The story’s narrator, a friend of Legrand, visits him one evening to see an unusual scarab-like bug he has found. The bug’s weight and lustrous appearance convince Jupiter that it is made of pure gold. Legrand has lent it to an officer stationed at a nearby fort, but he draws a sketch of it for the narrator, with markings on the carapace that resemble a skull. As they discuss the bug, Legrand becomes particularly focused on the sketch and carefully locks it in his desk for safekeeping. Confused, the narrator takes his leave for the night.

One month later, Jupiter visits the narrator on behalf of his master and asks him to come immediately, fearing that Legrand has been bitten by the bug and gone insane. Once they arrive on the island, Legrand insists that the bug will be the key to restoring his lost fortune. He leads them on an expedition to a particular tree and has Jupiter climb it until he finds a skull nailed at the end of one branch. At Legrand’s direction, Jupiter drops the bug through one eye socket and Legrand paces out to a spot where the group begins to dig. Finding nothing there, Legrand has Jupiter climb the tree again and drop the bug through the skull’s other eye; they choose a different spot to dig, this time finding two skeletons and a chest filled with gold coins and jewelry. They estimate the total value at $1.5 million, but even that figure proves to be below the actual worth when they eventually sell the items.

Legrand explains that on the day he found the bug on the mainland coastline, Jupiter had picked up a scrap piece of parchment to wrap it up. Legrand kept the scrap and used it to sketch the bug for the narrator; in so doing, though, he noticed traces of invisible ink, revealed by the heat of the fire burning on the hearth. The parchment proved to contain a cryptogram, which Legrand deciphered as a set of directions for finding a treasure buried by the infamous pirate Captain Kidd. The final step involved dropping a slug or weight through the left eye of the skull in the tree; their first dig failed because Jupiter mistakenly dropped it through the right eye instead. Legrand muses that the skeletons may be the remains of two members of Kidd’s crew, who buried the chest and were then killed to silence them.”

Read the full story here.

“The Gold Bug” –  Readable PDF – Full Story ( read pages 1 – 47)

Here is the information about the books origins.

Book Source Link

Here are a few pages from the book just for quick reference.

This is a small excerpt from an article about the origins of “The Gold Bug” story.

THE GOLD-BUG: The Most Mysterious Edgar Allan Poe Story You’ve Never Heard Of. By Tasha Brandstatter

The Gold-Bug was the first work of fiction to incorporate cryptography into the plot. In fact, the very word cryptograph was invented by Poe and used for the first time in this story. It inspired future cryptologists for generations to come (including William F. Friedman, an American famous in cryptographic circles for breaking Japan’s PURPLE code in WWII), and dozens of writers all over the world. Think Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, Jun’ichirō Tanizaki’s Devils in Daylight, or The Gold Bug Variations by Richard Powers. It’s entirely plausible that the science of cryptanalysis as we know it today wouldn’t exist without The Gold-Bug. Before Poe, cryptography was a complete mystery to most people. Simple substitution ciphers like the one in The Gold-Bug were considered unbreakable unless you possessed the key to decode them. But Poe’s knowledge of language and obsession with logic, or “ratiocination,” made him realize that any code could be broken. And he showed people exactly how to do it.

In 1839, four years before the publication of The Gold-Bug, Poe published an article in Alexander’s Weekly Messenger where he challenged the readers to send him coded messages, stating,

It would be by no means a labor lost to show how great a degree of rigid method enters into enigma-guessing. This may sound oddly; but it is not more strange than the well know fact that rules really exist, by means of which it is easy to decipher any species of hieroglyphical writing—that is to say writing where, in place of alphabetical letters, any kind of marks are made use of at random. For example, in place of A put % or any other arbitrary character—in place of B, a *, etc., etc. Let an entire alphabet be made in this manner, and then let this alphabet be used in any piece of writing.

You can read the full article here.

Now that you have either read the story or the plot summary, how does Poe’s story connect to the Zodiac Killer’s “Halloween Card”?

Let’s look at what I did with some of this information.

One of the things I had done when I was first working on the Halloween Card last year was to take a computer printed version of the card to a light box so I could see through it. This helped me figure out a few things within the card itself to solve it. You can find some of that previous work here.

After finding out about “The Gold Bug” story I decided to look for new connections again. The story stood out to me to begin with simply because it had mentioned two skeletons as well as a cipher code which seemed to be a similarity to the “Halloween Card”. When reading the “Gold Bug”story, the main character mentions the way he first started to figure the coded message out was by accidentally placing it up to the light of the burning fire; only than did things start to appear to him within the parchment.

In the story it was heat that uncovered the code. But what if Zodiac also read it as light and used that instead to create his own code? Or perhaps he used both methods. Though I do not know if a heated process would work on parts of the “Halloween Card”.

These two excerpts are quoted from “The Gold Bug” story. It is the beginning of the explanation of how the character figured out the coded message through the use of the lighted fireplace.

“When, at length, we had concluded our examination, and the intense excitement of the time had, in some measure, subsided, Legrand, who saw that I was dying with impatience for a solution of this most extraordinary riddle, entered into a full detail of all the circumstances connected with it.

“You remember,” said he, “the night when I handed you the rough sketch I had made of the scarabaeus. You recollect also, that I became quite vexed at you for insisting that my drawing resembled a death’s-head. When you first made this assertion I thought you were jesting; but afterwards I called to mind the peculiar spots on the back of the insect, and admitted to myself that your remark had some little foundation in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic powers irritated me –for I am considered a good artist –and, therefore, when you handed me the scrap of parchment, I was about to crumple it up and throw it angrily into the fire.”

“The scrap of paper, you mean,” said I.

“No; it had much of the appearance of paper, and at first I supposed it to be such, but when I came to draw upon it, I discovered it, at once, to be a piece of very thin parchment. It was quite dirty, you remember. Well, as I was in the very act of crumpling it up, my glance fell upon the sketch at which you had been looking, and you may imagine my astonishment when I perceived, in fact, the figure of a death’s-head just where, it seemed to me, I had made the drawing of the beetle. For a moment I was too much amazed to think with accuracy. I knew that my design was very different in detail from this –although there was a certain similarity in general outline. Presently I took a candle, and seating myself at the other end of the room, proceeded to scrutinize the parchment more closely. Upon turning it over, I saw my own sketch upon the reverse, just as I had made it. My first idea, now, was mere surprise at the really remarkable similarity of outline –at the singular coincidence involved in the fact, that unknown to me, there should have been a skull upon the other side of the parchment, immediately beneath my figure of the scarabaeus and that this skull, not only in outline, but in size, should so closely resemble my drawing. I say the singularity of this coincidence absolutely stupefied me for a time. This is the usual effect of such coincidences. The mind struggles to establish a connection –a sequence of cause and effect –and, being unable to do so, suffers a species of temporary paralysis. But, when I recovered from this stupor, there dawned upon me gradually a conviction which startled me even far more than the coincidence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember that there had been no drawing on the parchment when I made my sketch of the scarabaeus. I became perfectly certain of this; for I recollected turning up first one side and then the other, in search of the cleanest spot. Had the skull been then there, of course I could not have failed to notice it. Here was indeed a mystery which I felt it impossible to explain; but, even at that early moment, there it seemed to glimmer, faintly, within the most remote and secret chambers of my intellect, a glow-worm-like conception of that truth which last night’s adventure brought to so magnificent a demonstration. I arose at once, and putting the parchment securely away, dismissed all farther reflection until I should be alone.

“At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remember, and did remember, with entire distinctness, every incident which occurred about the period in question. The weather was chilly (oh rare and happy accident!), and a fire was blazing on the hearth. I was heated with exercise and sat near the table. You, however, had drawn a chair close to the chimney. Just as I placed the parchment in your hand, and as you were in the act of inspecting it, Wolf, the Newfoundland, entered, and leaped upon your shoulders. With your left hand you caressed him and kept him off, while your right, holding the parchment, was permitted to fall listlessly between your knees, and in close proximity to the fire. At one moment I thought the blaze had caught it, and was about to caution you, but, before I could speak, you had withdrawn it, and were engaged in its examination. When I considered all these particulars, I doubted not for a moment that heat had been the agent in bringing to light, on the parchment, the skull which I saw designed on it. You are well aware that chemical preparations exist, and have existed time out of mind, by means of which it is possible to write on either paper or vellum, so that the characters shall become visible only when subjected to the action of fire. Zaffre, digested in aqua regia, and diluted with four times its weight of water, is sometimes employed; a green tint results. The regulus of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of nitre, gives a red. These colors disappear at longer or shorter intervals after the material written on cools, but again become apparent upon the re-application of heat.

“I now scrutinized the death’s-head with care. Its outer edges –the edges of the drawing nearest the edge of the vellum –were far more distinct than the others. It was clear that the action of the caloric had been imperfect or unequal. I immediately kindled a fire, and subjected every portion of the parchment to a glowing heat. At first, the only effect was the strengthening of the faint lines in the skull; but, on persevering in the experiment, there became visible, at the corner of the slip, diagonally opposite to the spot in which the death’s-head was delineated, the figure of what I at first supposed to be a goat. A closer scrutiny, however, satisfied me that it was intended for a kid.”

Knowing that Zodiac liked his codes placed within the newspapers as he sent them to reporters to publish, it would be a good assumption that light is to be used instead of heat. He wanted random people to try and figure out his coded messages.

Placing Zodiac’s “Halloween Card” up to a glowing light source.

When I  started noticing similarities between Poe’s “Gold Bug” story and Zodiac’s “Halloween Card” I decided to put the images into Photoshop instead of using a light box so I could create a version of it the way it would be seen through a light source. This way I could more easily look for visual connections to see if the two had any more similarities between the story and the images shown. Would the Halloween Card mimic anything within Poe’s story?

This was the result.

The Original

Now let’s see what happens when you put the card up to a light source. Does anything interesting happen?

If you look at this picture closely, it now looks like the skeleton on the card is climbing a tree similar to the character within the story of “The Gold Bug”. In fact this is one of the more memorable parts of the story where the character “Jupiter” climbs a tree while holding onto a string with a gold bug or a (goole bug; the name Jupiter gives the beetle) tied to the end of it to reach out and place the bug within the skeletons eye that is hanging from the long main branch of the tree.

Quoted from “The Gold Bug”

“De bug –I’m berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere bout de head by dat goole-bug.”

This video from 1980 of the ABC’s Saturday Special adaptation of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Gold Bug” will give you a small visual in similarity before I show how the “Halloween Card” relates to the story even more.

There is a spot in the video where a boy climbs a tree and places the gold bug hanging from a string within the skeletons left eye till it reaches the ground and then they draw a Bee line from the tree.

Please note they changed the character to a little boy instead of the adult servant (slave) “Jupiter”in Poe’s story. This movie is not an exact replica of Poe’s story but shows a good visual representation of what has taken place in the actual book.

Start at the time 34:13 and stop at 36:30 to see the spot I am mentioning.

Could this represent the depiction in Zodiac’s Halloween Card?

Poe’s Cipher code solved within his story.

On page 42 of “The Gold Bug” (from the pdf mentioned earlier in this post) the first paragraph describes part of the stories solved coded message. This leads into climbing the tree in the story after they followed the codes directions.

Here is Poe’s solved coded message.

‘A good glass in the Bishop’s hostel in the Devil’s seat — forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes — northeast and by north — main branch seventh limb east side — shoot from the left eye of the death’s-head — a bee-line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out.'”

Now back to the Zodiac’s “Halloween Card” and how the code might relate.

Now that we see the Halloween card through a light source similar to in Poe’s story let’s see if the solved code also has any coincidences or parts that match up.

If the Zodiac killer was trying to incorporate visuals into his coded message similar to dual coding theory methods then maybe this is what he did.

“main branch seventh limb east side”

I believe the eyes resemble the branches on the tree. His foot is nestled on (branch 1). His head is next to (branch 7) His arm is holding onto the main branch (branch 6 ). The Zodiac Killer circled the main branch with text. (Peek-A-Boo You are doomed) The skeletons arm is reaching outward from the main branch towards the other skeletons skull which is resting on the long main branch. (branch 6). I believe the sentence ( “But, then, why spoil the game!”) resembles the rest of the long main branch with the skeletons head resting on it.

In Poe’s story there is a bit of a confusion between the main branch and branch 7.

“One, two, tree, four, fibe –I done pass fibe big limb, massa, ‘pon dis side.”

“Then go one limb higher.”

In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing that the seventh limb was attained.

The skeletons hand is extended almost as if it is holding something like a string in it’s hand. (The string is not visible though.)

If the skeleton was holding a string like the servant (slave) Jupiter in the “Gold Bug” story, then what is directly below where a string would be hanging?

A capital B rests directly below. (Could the letter “B” be a reference for Bug or Beetle?)

Is this Zodiac’s attempt to show the story of “The Gold Bug” through a coded message? Did he pick this card because he saw the ironic similarity with the story? I believe him to be a visual thinker as well as an artist. Minds that can see images together easily simply by looking at them. But unless we knew what we were looking for and what importance they had, the images together would remain a mystery as they would not connect in a solvable way.

If the letter “B” does resemble the gold bug in Poe’s story then the character in the story had climbed the tree not once but twice with the same bug. They had made a mistake the first time and placed the bug through the wrong skeletons eye dropping it on the ground and digging in the wrong location. Does this rendering  of the “Halloween Card” show this?

The B is found twice under the pinched fingers of the hand.

What other clues can we find that might follow this story?

“shoot from the left eye of the death’s-head — a bee-line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out.'”

If we follow Poe’s story he drops the string with the bug  attached to the end through both of the skeletons eyes. Let’s see what would happen if we dropped a string from both eyes.

Strangely two B’s rest right below the skeletons eyes as well. But only when this card is seen through a light source just like in Poe’s story. The coded message can only be fully seen when brought to the light.

After each string was dropped in Poe’s story they had drawn a Bee Line ( straight line) from the tree. This is what I found within the legs of the skeleton right between the “two B’s” that are only seen next to the skeleton in the card when placed up to a light source. Could Zodiac have used similarities, visuals along with wordplay to jest this as a letter B for creating a Bee line?

  After they drew a B line they had dug holes within that spot. If the center of the B legs is the digging spot what will we find inside?

On the left the letters D and I are found but are halfway cut off and not fully within the leg digging spot. On the right the reverse K is directly found within this leg digging spot. This was from the left eye of the skeleton where there was something supposed to be found there. I have a theory about this letter. You can find it further down in this post.

Let’s look at another portion of Poe’s solved coded message from earlier.

“forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes — northeast and by north — main branch seventh limb east side

The numbers 41 and 13 seemed familiar within the “Halloween Card” to me. In fact those numbers stood out to me when I first read Poe’s story and noticed them directly in his solved code. I thought to myself what were the chances that they just fit?

Here are two images I put together for one of my previous posts about these numbers.

  Now if we go by Poe’s code from the story and use it in reference to the “Halloween Card”  what do we find?

“main branch seventh limb east side.” 

Here I have sectioned off the spot where the 7th limb would be above the main branch. It mentions the east side of the branch, (northeast by north) so lets look right from the tree. Lets take notice that this is exactly where the skeletons starting hand is at first.

“forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes — northeast and by north”

When you view this card like this the 14 in the hand looks like a 41 and the word TEEN can resemble the number 13 for teen years. The 4-TEEN could even resemble a relevance to time. 4:13.

What were the coincidences that this is what would be found in that spot?

The skeletons hand has it’s fingers circled directly in the right spot to make this look like the symbol you use for degrees when placed above a number.

The 3 fingers in the hand could symbolize an E for East.

If you add the arms of the skeleton that are located where the main branch is and put them into the equation, they look like the symbol for N.

If we used a map this also might relate to a different kind of directions.

Looking for more clues within the 7th limb location.

I decided to look and see what letters stood out when looking at this spot in the “Halloween Card” by following Poe’s story directions.

This is what I found. (The letters on the left are excluded as we were meant to look eastward from the tree.)

The letters G and F shine through the card when placed to the light source.

The other letters present in this specific spot without the light present is the letter T both within the eye of the skeleton as well as in the word TEEN. If you want you can also include the letter b within the hand of the skeleton as I have shown it previously within another blog. The letter B shows through when placed up to a light source right below the b hand symbol.

Also notice when placed up to the light source that within the wrist of the skeleton the letter t shines through as well.

“T.B” or  all of the letters “T. G. F. B. ”

Following Poe’s story to find two letters which are possibly a clue to directions.

If we look North East on the card like in the directions for Poe’s story, the one letter that shines through with light is the letter P. And then if we follow the other directions with digging a hole within a specific spot I believe we get the letter K which shines through only with light.

I personally believe these two letters have to do with road names for directions to a specific location that I have decoded previously within the Halloween card as it says “By P. as well as By K”

The directions I have uncovered and followed lead me to an unsolved murder to a boy who was stabbed by a knife 4 times with the initials of T.B. He was killed on the church grounds of Saint Basil the Great in the center of two streets one by the name Pike Springs Rd. or (113) and the other by the name Kimberton Rd.

Part of a postcard Zodiac sent within the same month of the Halloween Card

The Saint Basil church where the boy was murdered has some very interesting artwork within it’s church that seems very similar to some of the constructs of this card as well.

I have placed a partial amount of information about the directions I came by and a few other things that go along with them on a previous blog.

If you would like to learn more you can read about it here towards the middle of the blog.

Connecting Zodiacs “Halloween Card” and Poe’s story “The Gold Bug” to Zodiac’s “Z340” code.

Once I started noticing things through a light source I also began seeing possible similarities between Zodiac’s “Z340 “cipher code and his “Halloween Card.”

Here is just one out of many I have found.

After this I got an idea from reading a post by Shaqmeister.

Take the skeleton from the inside of Zodiac’s “Halloween Card” and place it onto Zodiac’s “Z340” coded message. This skeleton was placed onto the “Halloween Card” by the Zodiac Killer and was not part of the original card.

You can read the original post here.

I used Photoshop once again and tried to size the skeleton to be the proper dimensions to fit the Z340 in the way it could be meant to be used. While this is just an example for now, there are many different things that I have seen shine through when the skeleton is placed within specific spots.

I also started looking for clues within Poe’s “Gold Bug” story to see if there were any similarities between the story to piece together with Zodiac’s “Halloween Card” and the “Z340” all in one. I believe I have found quite a few connections when messing with wordplay and a few other similarities in descriptions. But these connections will all be for another blog at another time.

Taking a closer look at the characters in Poe’s story.

Character Analysis

William Legrand – The text’s protagonist, Legrand is a reclusive man who lives on desolate Sullivan’s Island in South Carolina. A man of the wealthy Huguenot bloodline, we are told Legrand lost his riches (although we are not told how) while living in New Orleans and moved to South Carolina to removed himself from the embarrassment of his misfortune.

Legrand is an intelligent and focused man; showing a resilience to distractions once he realizes that his bug can help him hit the jackpot. That said, his mission devours his entire being, resulting in what appears as manic behavior to the narrator and Jupitar. After they have recovered the treasure however, Legrand is composed, confident and ultimately proud of his accomplishment. His erratic behavior has ceased, and he calmly explains to the narrator how he figured out the location of the riches. Legrand has a passion for cryptology, mystery and nature.

Unnamed Narrator – Although he carries the entire story, the only things we are told about the narrator is that he lives in Charleston, practices as a physician, and is a friend of Legrand’s. He accompanies the man on his treasure hunt out of worry of his health.

Jupitar – Legrand’s black servant. A dim-witted and southern-tongued freed slave, Jupitar provides comic relief with his thick accent and tendency to disappoint his master. Although Legrand gets frustrated and angry with Jupitar on the hunt for treasure, it is understood that they maintain a peaceful, quasi-friendship.

Captian Kidd – An allusion to the 17th century Scotish sailor who was executed by English Parlimanet in 1701 for charges of piracy. At the time of the text, Kidd is long dead, only living on through the enormous treasure of that Legrand finds buried on Sullivan’s Island. Legends of Kidd treasures exist not only in The Gold-Bug, but in other literature as well as in folklore. It’s possible, though, that these tales are based in fact – for a treasure buried by the sailor was found on Gardiner’s Island off of Long Island, NY, shipped back to England and used as evidence against him in his trial. Kidd’s physical character does not appear in the text, but his contribution to the story is so great that he warrants a description on this page.

Take a look at the Biography of Captain Kidd history channel video here.

Old Negro Woman – Woman that Legrand finds in the brush; helps him locate the site of the buried treasure.

The Gold-Bug – classified by Legrand as a member of the Old World genus Scarabaeus, the beetle is dominantly gold in color – save for multiple black spots on the bug’s back – and about the size of a hickory nut. There is confusion as to whether or not the insect displays antennae; Legrand insists they are present and visible, while Jupitar and the narrator insist they cannot see them. No identical species exists in nature, though it is hypothesized that Poe used a combination of traits from Callichroma splendidum and Phanceus carnifex to create his composite gold-bug (see Poe’s Motive and Inspiration).

My thoughts on possible relations and observations to the characters within Poe’s story “The Gold Bug” combined with the “Halloween Card”.

The man climbing the tree in Poe’s story is called “Jupiter”. When you relate this character to the skeleton climbing the tree in the Halloween card what do we find?

When I was previously working on the Halloween Card I had associated this skeleton with the name Jack / John. They all have the same first initial. You can read more about Jack/john here.

In Poe’s story he mentions a Lieutenant G– but never gives the name. He just uses the initial G.

I had found the letter G on the main branch seventh limb spot using Poe’s code.

Here is a previous blog I wrote about the name George.

William Legrand is probably representative to the person trying to figuring out Zodiac’s riddle. If this were true it would be a kind of sick humor on Zodiac’s part. Him wanting people to think the person solving his riddles to be insane.

Captain Kidd could relate to another card zodiac wrote, “The Dragon Card” which has pirate references in it. Learn more here.

In conclusion…

I think the Zodiac killer wanted to make the person who uncovers the answers to his codes to appear to be mad in a way. Because what code would appear in this form and how will they find a way to explain it?

Language can be a tricky thing. Spoken language can have one meaning while written can have another separate meaning; add an image into the mix and you might have multiple meanings. How do we find the right way for the pieces to fit together? And are there multiple ways that they are saying the same thing over and over in the different formats to prove them to be the answer?

Though I am not an expert on all coded formats nor the names by which they go by, I believe the Zodiac Killer may have used something similar to a dual coding theory method meant to confuse the mind and leave people questioning if the answers found are actually true. This way all we can do is speculate. The methods used were controversial for the times back then and they still are to this very day. That is why I believe they are so hard to prove.

I will share a couple of small excerpts from this book…

The Visual Experience of Image Metaphor: Cognitive Insights into Imagist Figures By Daniel W. Gleason

“In the 1960s, however, the cognitive turn in psychology and the rise of reader-response theory in literary studies helped thaw the mental imagery freeze. Slowly, and then with increasing speed, psychology studies brought the visual image back into circulation., As Roeckelein (2004: xii) notes, scientific interest in the topic of imagery made “a dramatic recovery with enormous increases from 1961 to the present.”- Stephen Kosslyn, William Thompson, and Giorgio Ganis (2006: 5) note that this shift was sparked by changes in methodology: “Cognitive psychology offered a way to begin to assess properties of internal representations, which opened the door to studying mental imagery objectively.” Alan Richardson (1969), Paivio (1971), and P. W. Sheehan (1972) were among the first psychologists to closely investigate mental imagery after behaviorism. During this time, the modern imagery debate (the successor to the imageless thought debate of the late nineteenth century) began, and cognitive psychologists con-ducted experiments to discover the format of mental representations; some argued that the brain represents information through a propositional code (i.e., an abstract verbal code) alone, and others countered that the brain makes use of both propositional and depictive (i.e., visual image–based) formats..

Paivio’s “dual coding theory,” which posits a nonverbal, mental image–based mode of mental representation alongside a verbal one as an explana-tion for the mnemonic superiority of concrete words over abstract words,/has attracted serious attention to mental imagery and visual imagery in particular. Though the “nonverbal” code accommodates mental imagery in general, Paivio’s early methods and discussion privileged the visual mode within mental imagery. Indeed, in Paivio’s (1971: 233) 1971 formulation the dual coding theory proposed the image and verbal codes after studying responses to “abstract words, concrete words, and pictures,” a framework that helps reveal the theory’s particular investment in visual imagery. Much of Paivio’s (ibid.: 207) discussion reveals a slippage between broad term image and the more specific visual image: “Thus concrete words not only are read or heard but some of them also evoke referent images; familiar pictures are perceived (images are aroused).” Perhaps because a few thinkers challenged the preeminence of visual imagery within his nonverbal system (Kintsch 1977; Flanagan 1984), Paivio (1986, 1991, 2007) moderates this visual investment in later versions of the theory, carefully noting the many modalities within the image system. Nonetheless, visual imagery remains a key feature within Paivio’s system”

Ironically, such an association of Imagist poem and picture prompted the editors of Some Imagist Poets (1916: v) to attempt to push beyond this simple equation: “In the first place ‘Imagism’ does not mean merely the presen-tation of pictures. ‘Imagism’ refers to the manner of presentation, not the subject.” Finally, there is Hulme. In his dogmatic, declarative way, Hulme is perhaps most emphatic about the importance of visual imagery in poetry, both for the reader and for the writer. Hulme’s literary philosophy centers on a sharp, visual language that communicates through images. He declares: “Each word must be an image seen . . . a man cannot write without seeing at the same time a visual signification before his eyes. It is this image which precedes the writing and makes it firm” (Hulme 1955c [1925]: 79). To Hulme, authors can only write through visual imagery, and readers must be able to see (presumably through visual imagery) each word that the author has written—a daunting requirement. Hulme (1955a [1908]: 73) even argues that the best poetry will make readers visualize so much that they become exhausted: “The new visual art . . . depends for its effect . . . on arresting the attention, so much so that the succession of images should exhaust one.” Certainly, other sensory modes, most notably touch, appear within Imagist theories of poetry, but overall their visual poetics is foundational. Despite these strong claims of visuality for both the writer and the reader in Imagist theories of poetry, many scholarly accounts of Imagist poetics seem uninterested in or even hostile to the visual aspect of those poetics. Scholarship on Imagism disagrees widely on a few contentious issues (e.g., who really created Imagism?), but the central accounts of Imagism seem to agree that the visual imagination is not a very important subject for schol-arly attention. These accounts particularly devalue the reader’s visual imagery, minimizing its role within Imagist poetics and its contribution to poetic understanding.

Anyways this is just a little food for thought to ponder over. There is much more that may be gleaned from Poe’s story “The Gold Bug” as there is a whole code he mentions within the pages that may relate in another way to the Zodiac’s messages. These are just a few of my thoughts and ramblings, please take them with a grain of salt.

My Honest Tea Cap

    The Zodiac Killer may have used Edgar Allan Poe’s story “The Gold Bug” to create some of his cipher codes. I will start this blog with a quote I came across while I was working on this post.

[vitalmindandbody]

Calm down, Game of Thrones followers, spoilers aren’t the end of the world | Gareth McLean

Fans were livid when Ian McShane let slip some forthcoming plan details but surely spoilers simply sharpen the appetite

Loose lips allows one to subside carries. Of course, this was back when most events mattered, in the 20 th century when we had world wars and menaces of nuclear armageddon. But even living with the ever-present danger of being subjected to dissolving up like the characters off Threads, it at least felt as if parties were worrying about the right things. Scarier, but somehow simpler times.

Today, it seems that our collective psychological barometer is so out of hit that while most people seem to be entirely sanguine about the arriving tragedy of climate change, they fuss, fear, rampage and are concerned about “the worlds largest” banal, insignificant happens. With no carries to scupper, it seems that careless whisperings still injure, but they do more damage to people gratification of their favourite Tv programs than anything. Sometimes youd were of the view that spoilers were a short bounce from hate speech.

Actor Ian McShane is the latest to feel his audiences wrath specific, love of Game of Thrones. For, in the course of doing interviews to publicise the brand-new serial( position done there, Ian, well done !) McShane let slip some major details of the upcoming floors that infuriated some. This advance knowledge would have been hard enough for most Game of Thrones followers can be a po-faced bunch. That McShane then lent revile to injury by rejecting the serial as nonsense about tits and dragons did nothing to alleviate followers furrowed brows.

At this stage, Im not entirely sure what their displeasure is comprised of. Itll either be the vengeful carnage of his entire family on what should have been a glad daylight for them, or itll be some croak on Twitter and some very detailed line drawing of him in reputation. Either space, its a lesson that he wont forget in a hurry.

You may, quite rightly, be allowed to attribute the incommensurate sorenes about spoilers to the irate souls wonky internal barometer because in my own experience, it is always incommensurate exasperation that responds the unwieldy resound of a dropped spoiler. Attributing this( over) reaction to the other persons dodgy mental wire would be a great way to avoid accepting any blame: this person who I thought was my friend and is now very upset because I disclosed who Kylo Ren really is in Star Wars is clearly an excitable and knotty nightmare and I must henceforth avoid them.

But such theory doesnt assistant where reference is not just their disproportionate response you have to deal with. There are your own more. The regret “youre feeling” if, just for example, you accidentally made a acquaintance whos a big fan of The Good Wife far too much notes the fact that Will Gardner was going to be killed off? Its icky and sticky and, every so often, it pops back into your premier to remind you that you devastated a friends pleasure of something they liked. Then, perhaps because you have a tendency to catastrophise, it isnt long before you decide that youre a socially clumsy nitwit that no one really likes regardless. Every avalanche starts with one snowflake.

But I cant help but think that this singular prickliness about spoilers is insane and old-fashioned. True , no one wants every twist and turn of a brand-new drama or novel telegraphed to them but most people want to be intrigued, to be tantalised, to be tantalized. Theres a pleasure to be had in a certain kind of advised prospect, of knowing the floor already a spectacular irony.

The last-place performance of the last Shakespeare play would have been hundreds of years ago if people were wired not to want to hear the same storeys, or versions of them, over and over again. We take more consolation in familiar floors than their familiarity reproductions disregard in us. Theres something about being accustomed to a narrative that can be reassure, even if the narrative itself is dark, distressing or difficult.

And thats as true of real life as it is of myth. Its one of the reason why so many secreted captives reoffend to get sent back to jail its the only narrative they are aware, and theres convenience in it. And its why the cold war was bewildering there was a perverse convenience to be had living in the shade of mutually assured termination, a consolation that numerous Americans evidently still miss if the notoriety of Donald Trumps sabre-rattling is anything to go by.

And Id argue that spoilers have a part to play in sharpening cravings, creating anticipation, placing panoramas. After all, most of us are grown-ups now and, as sure as we know that happy-ever-afters dont subsist, we should also know that having advance knowledge of scheme twistings does not annul further viewing of the programme in question. Because story what happens isnt the same as that used legend why what happens happens. The real grist of a storey its heart and soul and bones isnt the events that undid or the incidents that occur: its how the specific characteristics deal with whats happening to them.

Stories arent enormous or compelling or timeless because dramatic stuffs happen in them. Theyre great and dramatic and compelling because of how the characters cope with their lives. And in personas lives and fights, we attend our own. If a few spoilers peril a storys vitality, it genuinely wasnt often of a legend in the beginning. Likewise, stuns are overrated. A surprise is just a disturbance that you have to look pleased about.

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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