#aw'24 collection for women

[shreeisspecial]

As the Autumn-Winter season approaches, it’s time to revamp your wardrobe with the latest trends in ethnic wear. The AW24 collection is here to redefine style with a mix of traditional elegance and modern flair. From rich fabrics and intricate patterns to bold colors and innovative designs, this season's ethnic wear offers a fresh take on classic styles. Whether you're shopping for festive occasions, casual outings, or office-ready looks, the AW24 Collection has something for everyone. Let’s dive into the fashion trends for women this season and explore how you can incorporate them into your wardrobe.

[maddy-ferguson]

#me

[babywriter]

It was hard enough to be taken seriously as a young woman in such a male-dominated field. You even had the added disadvantage of being particularly pretty. Younger men saw a potential date while older men, if not pervy, saw a girl which to them meant that you were ditzy and weak. 

This particular client was a man. Maybe five years older or so, you guessed. When he opened the door, he seemed surprised. And you thought he looked at you a little condescendingly. But were you going to show him. You walked inside with an authoritative air, your tools by your side. Cool, calm, collected. You started working on his cabinet right away.

Thing is, normally clients tend to leave the room when you work. You know, since they have things to do and it’s awkward to stand in the corner for an hour. Didn’t bother him clearly. You felt him staring at you. For such a long time too that it became a distraction. You figured he was looking at your butt. The man was attractive, you had to admit, but it felt so disrespectful. You became flustered. How to make him go away? There was another reason you didn’t enjoy people staring at your butt. You happened to wear diapers.

You’ve always like diapers and you had decided to go 24/7 a few years back. This was generally not a problem. Actually, it was great when you were working because you didn’t need to use the client’s bathroom. But when someone watches you like a hawk exactly where you don’t want them to look, it tends to stress you out. And of course, of course, your diaper was peaking out.

You heard a little laugh.

“Oh. Little lady.” the man said. Little lady, really? “What’s that you’re wearing underneath those overalls?”

Either he’s used to asking women what they wear, either he was doing it just for you. Regardless, you didn’t feel like answering him.

“None of your business, sir.” You answered. In spite of his awful behavior, you wanted to remain professional.

“If you’re wearing, what I think you’re wearing, you shouldn’t be dealing with all those tools!”

“Sir, if you don’t let me finish my work in peace, I will leave.”

“Oh. Are we throwing a tantrum?”

A tantrum? Who the hell is this guy?

“Alright, sir, that’s enough.” You tried to leave, but he was bigger and stronger and blocked the entryway. He held your wrists.

“Sir, let me go.”

“Oh no, little lady. Work’s not done.”

He forcefully removed your overalls. Your medical diaper was exposed. 

“Go on, keep working if you’re such an adult.” 

You obeyed, but did so red and humiliated. Nevertheless, he never left the room. Not once.

You figured that he would need to leave the room at some point. But what you hadn’t accounted for was that you would need to go to the bathroom much sooner than he would. Normally, using your diaper was a pleasure. But in this situation, it certainly didn’t feel like that. Your bladder suddenly ached and while you tried holding it as much as possible, your bladder was too weak from years of going into diapers. You barely held out for a few seconds before leaking into your diaper.

“Oh no.” you said in a high-pitched voice under your breath. You were bending down  to see the damage to your diaper. You had been completely and thoroughly humiliated. Brought down to nothing more than a baby who pisses her pants.

“Looks like princess went in her diaper! Good thing you were wearing them, baby!”

“I’m not a baby!” you bawled out.

“Shh-shh. It’s okay.” The man came to comfort you. You didn’t like him, but it did feel good to have strong arms around you. You felt safe. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s here. Daddy’s going to take of you from now on. No need to be a big girl.”

You liked being a big girl, but you had a feeling you didn’t have much of a choice.

Photo credit: Shantal from ByteMine

For more stories by me: https://reamstories.com/babywriter

[byersbootyshorts]

Not So Smart Now (S.R.)

Spencer’s intelligence and cocky attitude has always infuriated you. So, when given the chance, you revel in putting him in his place.

Word Count: 2,882

EXPLICIT CONTENT MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: sub!s7!Spencer, dom!reader, smut, unprotected sex, hate sex, dumbification, slapping, degradation, alcohol consumption, language

cocky Spencer is so yummy I wanna rip him apart

This case had been rough. The unsub had slipped through your fingers again and again and each time it seemed like he slipped further away. You forced your eyes to focus as you combed through a plethora of files, trying desperately to find something that could link the unsub to his victims. You sipped your coffee like your life depended on it, but not even the caffeine could help you find what you were missing. Morgan was sitting opposite you and he sighed in frustration. Emily paced back and forth going through the case in her head. You were all stumped.

You looked up at the investigation board, trying to give your eyes a rest from the tiny black letters they’d been staring at. You scanned the photos of the crime scenes. All of the women were found dead in their backyard. Drowned in the clean blue waters of their outdoor pools. You raised a brow, your eyes flicking frantically between the photos. The clean… blue… CLEAN!

“Oh my God, that’s it!” you exclaimed, springing out of your chair in excitement. Emily and Morgan looked at you with expectant expressions.

“What?” Emily asked after you stared in awe at what you’d missed for so long.

“All the pools, they were-,” you began, but just as you were about to explain your theory, Spencer burst through the door, not even aware that you were revealing a crucial part of the case, and began rambling.

“Guys, all the pools were cleaned the day each victim was killed. There wasn’t so much as a leaf or a bug sitting on the surface of the water. So, I checked, and they all hired the same pool cleaner.”

Spencer set a file down on the table that contained a picture of the guy you assumed was the unsub that had been evading you for so long. But you couldn’t even feel relief that you’d finally found him. Because you didn’t find him. Well, you would’ve if Spencer ‘boy genius’ Reid hadn’t of found him first.

The team rifled through photos and records of the unsub for a few minutes before Morgan finally asked you, “Oh, what was it you figured out?”

You glanced over at Spencer with a look that could kill before answering, “It doesn’t matter now. I think Spencer’s got it all covered.” Your voice was higher pitched than usual as you tried your best to fake a pleasant tone. You plastered a false smile on your face and Morgan shrugged, looking back down at the pages on the table.

You tried to follow suit, picking up a page printed with the guy’s phone records. You knew the only thing on your mind should be figuring out how to find this son of a bitch. But you couldn’t concentrate. You were literally seconds away from saying exactly what Spencer said before he stormed in and stole your thunder. He did it all the time. And you hated him for it.

The case was solved and the unsub was found. As always, the team congratulated Spencer on figuring it all out. And you allowed them to. One thing didn’t want to do was make a fuss and say you solved it too. But if he smiled that stupid, cocky smile one more time, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to contain your anger. And sure enough, you couldn’t.

You had just touched down at Quantico. You walked with Emily and JJ to the bullpen to collect some things before leaving. Then, as always, you ended up standing around your desk chatting about the case.

“I don’t think I’ve ever drunk as much coffee in a 24 hour period than I did on that case,” Emily laughed.

“It was rough,” JJ sighed. “I’m glad we got him. I don’t know how many pools there are in Florida but if we hadn’t of caught him I’m sure he wouldn’t have run out of victims.”

You smiled. Finally this was something that would prove your intelligence to the group.

“Actually there’s one mill-,”

“There are one million, five hundred and ninety thousand pools in Florida.”

You turned around to glare at who’d interrupted you. Your eyes narrowed when you saw Spencer sitting at his desk. He hadn’t even looked up from his computer before he’d stolen your opportunity to be smart.

“Oh my God!” you shouted, your eyes widening in disbelief. Of course he had interrupted you again.

Spencer turned to face you at the sound of your raised voice. A puzzled expression spread across his face. He was clueless. He didn’t even know he was doing it.

You knew you should just let it slide and say, “Yeah, that’s correct,” or “That’s what I was going to say,” but you couldn’t this time. You were done putting up with him constantly undermining you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you said, almost laughing at just how much of an ignorant asshole he was.

“Huh?” Spencer grunted, getting up from his desk and walking towards the three of you.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing, do you?” you asked. You stepped forward so there were only inches between the two of you. Your eyes stared daggers into his.

Spencer shook his head in confusion, his breath wavering slightly. You pretended not to notice the blood rush from his face and down his neck towards… Nope. You weren’t thinking about that.

“You know what, just forget it,” you said, stepping away from him. “You’re not worth my time.” You grabbed your bag, stormed out of the building, got in your car, and sped home.

It had been about thirty minutes since you’d slammed your apartment door, grabbed a bottle of vodka from your cabinet and sat on your couch, scrolling aimlessly through random TV channels. You drank straight from the bottle, your mind reeling with hatred for Spencer. It was like he had some sort of radar that could sense when you were going to say something impressive. And when that radar went off, he had to come in and ruin everything. He was such a know-it-all. And maybe he did know it all, but he didn’t have to rub it in everyone’s faces all the time.

You took another swig from the bottle and sighed. You had no idea how you were going to face him the next day. Being on the team with him was becoming insufferable. You had to do something to stop yourself from wanting to punch him every time you saw him.

It was just past midnight, but you were still wide awake, when you heard a knock on your door. Your brow furrowed as you considered who it could be at this late hour. You set the bottle of vodka on the coffee table and went to unlock the door. When the door swung open your eyes darkened at the figure in front of you. It was Spencer.

“What is your problem with me?” he asked, not even bothering to say hello.

You let out an uncontrollable laugh of sheer anger at his utter obliviousness. The only reason he should be showing up at your door in the middle of the night was to apologise. And yet here he was, not even aware of what he’d done wrong.

“You are unbelievable,” you sighed, turning away from the door and walking back into your apartment. Spencer took that as an invitation to come in, so he stepped forward and shut the door behind him.

“No, seriously, why don’t you like me?” he insisted. “Because I can’t think of anything I’ve done to you that should make you act like this.”

Spencer’s voice raised and his tone became sharp. You couldn’t believe this. He was angry? He had no right to be angry with you.

“Well, Doctor Reid, maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are if you can’t figure out something that’s so painfully obvious,” you snapped.

“Enlighten me, then. Tell me why you hate me so much,” Spencer retorted.

“No,” you said. “If you can’t see what you’re doing wrong then I’m not telling you.”

“Tell me why you hate me and I’ll tell you why I hate you.”

You paused for a moment. You knew your feelings towards him were of hatred, but you had no idea he returned those feelings. Now you were curious

“I hate you because you can’t shut up for one second to let someone else say something smart for once,” you began hastily, desperate to know what he hated about you, but also relieved to get everything off your chest. “Everyone knows you’re a genius, Spencer. You don’t need to prove it all the damn time.”

“What, so you hate me because I’m smart?” Spencer questioned.

“No, I hate you because you don’t let anyone else be smart. I hate you because you get that stupid little grin on your face every time you say something smart.” You began walking towards him, slowly backing him against the wall. “I hate you because every time I see you I have to force myself not to slap that cocky grin right off your face.”

Spencer stayed silent for a moment. He was almost right up against the wall. Your face was so close to his you could feel his breath. You could also feel something else starting to grow in his pants.

“Well, don’t force yourself this time,” Spencer breathed.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“Hit me,” he said bluntly, his mouth widening into that familiar, infuriating grin.

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” you said, taking a step back.

“No, do it. Hit me,” he said, genuinely.

You gave him a hesitant look but he continued to smirk like he was the smartest man alive. You made up your mind. He was giving you the opportunity and you weren’t going to turn it down. You raised your hand and slapped him hard on the cheek. Spencer whined and his hand flew to his face. He rubbed the red mark that was appearing on his cheekbone but his eyes never left yours. And that stupid grin remained on his face.

“Just out of curiosity, is there anything you do like about me?”

You seriously considered his question. You tried to think of one thing you liked about him. It was harder than you thought. Until you remembered the way his breath hitched when you got near him.

“I like that when you look at me your dick gets hard,” you said calmy, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. “I like that I have the power over you to make you do that.” You traced your fingers over the red spot where your hand hit his cheek. “You might be a genius but you’re still just a man. You have needs.” With your other hand, you lightly touched the bulge in his pants. He swallowed but still his eyes remained locked on yours. “Your mind might be one of the greatest of our time, but your body is just like every other man’s. You say you hate me but your body’s telling me something very different. It’s pathetic.” You pushed him back again so he hit the wall. “I could lower your IQ one hundred points just by fucking you,” you whispered.

“Wanna bet?” Spencer raised an eyebrow.

Without hesitation you slammed your lips onto his. He whimpered as his head hit the wall behind him, but soon he melted into the kiss. You could feel his lips curl upwards against yours. He was fucking smiling. He was enjoying this. That only enraged you more. You pushed yourself away from him and glared at him.

“Come here,” you said, turning around and walking towards your bedroom. You escorted Spencer inside the dimly lit room and turned to face him again. You looked down at the ever-growing bulge in his pants and began unbuckling his belt in silence. He sighed when you pulled down his underwear.

“You know what? I excepted more from you, Doctor Reid,” you said finally, smirking down at his below average sized cock that was now fully exposed to you.

Spencer said nothing, but, for the first time, his eyes drifted away from yours.

“Oh, don’t worry. That’s not a bad thing,” you smiled, wrapping your hand around it. “That just means I can take it for longer.”

You picked up the pace of your hand and Spencer moaned quietly. His head fell to lean on your shoulder and he sucked a spot on your neck. Eventually, you lifted your hand from his dick and began unbuttoning his shirt. When you pulled his shirt off his arms you turned your mouth to his ear and whispered, “I’m going to fuck you dumb.”

You pushed him down onto the bed. He lay there while you undressed, taking in your figure. You climbed on top of him and his hands immediately travelled to your thighs. He stared up at you with that smart ass glint in his eye. He wouldn’t look like that for long.

You didn’t flinch as you lowered yourself onto his dick. Spencer squirmed slightly beneath you, trying his best to stifle a whimper.

“I- I know a ton of other facts about Florida, you know. Not just how many pools there are” he said, his smugness slowly draining from his body as you rode him.

“You won’t know them for long,” you smiled, alternating your pace between fast and slow. Your inconstant rhythm was torturing Spencer.

“It’s state flower is the orange blossom,” he said confidently. “And it’s the flattest US state.”

“Shut up,” you whispered, anger flaring up in you again. You wished you could tear his brain right out of his head.

“It’s also 65,758 square m-miles, making it the 22nd largest s-state,” he continued, his words slowly starting to slur.

You looked down at the egotistical smile that was still plastered on his face, despite his stuttering. “Shut up!” you said, raising your voice. You lifted your hand and slapped him again. Harder this time. The whimper that Spencer had been holding in since you started finally escaped his lips.

And, at last, he shut up. The only noise he made was the occasional whine every time you quickened your pace.

“You masochistic fuck,” you laughed, grabbing his shoulders as your thighs began to burn. “All I had to do was hit you again and you’re reduced to a whimpering mess.”

“Shit,” Spencer breathed. “I- I’m go-.” But he couldn’t even warn you before you felt his cum shoot inside of you.

“Not so smart now, huh Doc?” you said shakily. Your breathing was ragged but that didn’t stop you. It didn’t matter that Spencer was finished. You weren’t.

Spencer didn’t get time to recover from his high as you immediately began to pick up your pace again, grinding harder and harder as his cum seeped out between your legs.

“Why don’t you tell me another fact?” you taunted. He looked as though he couldn’t speak, never mind tell you a fact. “What about an easy one? What’s the population of Florida?” you asked.

“It’s, uh- I don’t-. Fuck, I don’t know,” he stuttered.

“Seems like I won the bet then,” you panted. His hips jerked up and you moaned at the sudden movement. Finally seeing Spencer a pathetic heap below you sent you over the edge. You came without a uttering a word. The sensation caused Spencer to shake beneath you as he came for the second time.

You rolled off him and sighed. Spencer’s chest moved rapidly up and down as he tried to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, brushing his hands through his hair.

“What? Are you annoyed that I made you dumb?” you asked, your voice laced with patronization. He rolled his eyes at you and you turned onto your side so your face was close to his.

“You know, you never told me why you hate me,” you said, running your finger down his chest, making his stomach tense.

“It doesn’t matter,” Spencer mumbled, his face flushing slightly.

“Yes it does,” you argued. “I told you, so now you have to tell me.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment before he whispered, barely audibly, “I hate you because… Well, I-.”

“I can’t hear you,” you said, looking at him expectantly.

“I hate you because I’ve wanted you to do that to me since the day I met you,” he blurted out.

You chuckled, grabbing his chin between your finger and thumb. “Well, if you’d told me that when you met me then this could’ve happened a lot sooner.”

“You wanted this to happen?” Spencer asked, a smile forming on the corners of his mouth.

“I wanted to prove you’re not a genius all the time. The sex is just an added bonus,” you explained.

Spencer’s cocky grin appeared back on his face and in an instant you were reminded of how much you detested him.

“Oh, it’s a bonus?” Spencer smirked. “Does that mean you want to do it again?”

You scoffed at his confidence. “I hate you,” you groaned, as you climbed back on top of him, ready to leave him a dumb, pathetic mess once more.

[sapphicforsarahh]

best hands i've ever seen

ship: loubbie x fem!reader

word count: 800+

warnings: dom!loubbie x sub!reader, no smut (yet), dom and sub themes, sexting

synopsis: debbie and lou are looking for a new crew mate for the newest heist plan, that's when you catch their eye.

A/N: let me know what you think of this and whether you'd like a second part!

"Deb, I'm telling you, this girl has some of the best hands I've seen," she whispers to her wife. Both of them watch as you perform magic tricks to people who are stupid enough to fall for them. "Look, watch this," Lou leans forwards from her chair and watches you attentively. Your hands cleverly moved to show the participants correct cards. As they looked at their friends in shock and awe, you confidently slip the gold engagement ring, decorated with a diamond, off this woman's finger and secretively slip it into your pocket, without a single one of them realising.

"Not too bad," Debbie agrees and Lou smirks in return. "A pretty girl too," Lou adds, Debbie hums in agreement. After the bystanders had walked off, it was just you left with Debbie and Lou in the distance. "What do you say Deb?", Lou tries to convince Debbie to consider you, knowing their could be other benefits of having you on the team. "Sure," Debbie says a bit more easily than Lou would've thought. Without another word, Debbie stands up, Lou quick to follow her and the couple begin to approach you.

You're sitting on your bucket, counting your previously 'earned' dollars when you hear an Australian voice grab your attention. "Hey, can I hel-", you look up to see the older couple. Jesus, were they beautiful. All the thoughts in your head disappeared and you somehow managed to mumble out, "is there anything I can do for you ladies?". Debbie chuckles out, "we've got a charmer here."

One of the women stood with a dark, grey trench coat that pretty much hid her entirely black outfit, but still managed for her stiletto heels to stick out. The other, a blonde, stood taller with a sophisticated yet sexy leopard print coat. The dark, green lapels of her blazer were peeking through and you noticed her chest and hands were complimented by stacks of jewellery, most likely 24 carat gold.

"Me and my wife here noticed how skillful you are with your hands," Debbie started, taking off her shades and looking down at you with alluring deep, brown eyes. "We were wondering, if you could help us with something?" Lou added, also taking off her sunglasses, her eyes juxtaposed with her wife, as she met your gaze with light, blue ones.

You clear your throat with anxiousness, wondering what these women had proposed to you. "Uh, what is it?", you finally plucked up the courage to ask. "Come with us sweetheart, we'll explain everything," Lou said, placing her fingertips on your chin, making the power dynamic even greater.

You nod obediently, not wanting to upset these clearly powerful women. Debbie and Lou stand to the side whilst they watch you collect your things. "She's obedient isn't she," Lou chuckled, grabbing onto the lower of her wife's back. "Always a good thing, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Debbie looks at her wife with a raised brow, knowing her full intentions with this girl. As Lou was going to answer, you walked over with your bag on your back and ready to follow these women to wherever they were taking you.

"Let's get going, I bet you're eager to find out what we want, aren't you sweet girl?", Lou teases, walking forward and placing her hand on your back. "Yeah," you managed to squeak out, before the the two women pushed you into the taxi. Debbie sat in the front, whilst Lou got in the back with you. You tried to distract yourself by looking outside the window but you just couldn't concentrate on anything else apart from the insanely good-looking blonde next to you. Finally, you decide to stare at your feet and choose that as the safest option. The sound of Lou's ruffling coat caught your attention but you didn't look up. She took her phone from her pocket and looked at the notification from Debbie.

| Debbie: finish what you were going to say earlier love x.

You silently watch Lou smirk and quickly text back:

| Lou: i was going to say she’d be a good toy x.

she listened to every word we said without questioning it, we could break her in no time x.

Your eyes widened in shock at how these two women were talking about you. I mean would you really want that? Maybe you would!

| Debbie: good call baby, we'll discuss when we're back home x speaking of, i need you to take care of me once we're back i need you so badly honey x

You really try hard to hold back any reaction to the obvious sexting that's occurring in the back of this taxi, and it must've worked because all you hear is a small groan from Lou before she put her phone away.

-------

Taglist: @mllkw33ds @isle-of-earle @chillinftladygaga @cordeliaswife @angelick1sses @gmtsu @thenazwife @ladysc @midnightlove30 @blanchettlovebot

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[whump-card]

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 4

1618 words

CW: conditioning

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

Lark was returned to bed and placed under 24-hour observation by a rotation of Watchmen. Becca begrudgingly thanked Tao for finding Lark before the boy got lost in the woods – though she made sure to point out that it was dumb luck. She softened, however, when she watched how tenderly Tao tucked Lark back into bed.

Then Tao went to see Marina Dolidze.

It was late in the evening, but when he approached the house where she and a handful of other women lived the lights were still on – low crank-lanterns and candles, kept away from the curtained windows. He knocked, and one of the residents opened the door. When he said he was looking for Marina, she smiled smugly, called up the stairs for the other woman, and disappeared as soon as Marina joined them.

“Uh, hi, Tao!” Marina tucked her long black hair behind her ear as she stood in the doorway. She was a curvy eastern European woman in her late forties, with… eyes the color of late-season honey. “What can I do for you?”

Tao did his best to remain calm – he was about to ask her something pretty awful and invasive, from her point of view.

“I have a huge favor to ask you,” he said, “It’s a bit personal.”

“Oh?” her eyes widened a little bit.

“Do you have any photos of your son, that I could see?” Tao asked softly.

“Oh, of course!” her apprehension abated, and she smiled and waved him forward, “Come inside!”

A bit thrown by how easily, even eagerly, she’d accepted his request, Tao followed her in. This house was an actual home, and felt comforting to be in; the living room had an overstuffed couch and armchairs covered in afghans and throw pillows, the coffee table bore books and magazines, and when she led him into the kitchen the fridge was covered in photos held up by novelty magnets.

“Take a seat, let me just…” she bent over and started plucking photos off the fridge while Tao sat at the kitchen table. She joined him a moment later, neatening the little stack she’d collected and scooting her chair closer to his.

“Okay, here he is with his friends, that’s Karlo in the middle,” she held up the first photo in the candlelight and pointed to one of the three boys pictured, “This was from when they went bowling, on his thirteenth birthday.”

Tao could only half-listen to the photo’s backstory as he stared. The boy pictured was undoubtedly Lark – younger, chubbier, and full of joy as he posed with his two friends in front of a neon-lit bowling lane.

“Karlo,” he echoed.

“Yeah,” Marina set down the bowling alley photo in front of him and picked up the next one.

“Oh, this one’s my favorite. A real photographer took this one, at one of his soccer games.”

Tween Lark – Karlo – was frozen in a bright and crisp action shot, about to kick a soccer ball.

“Yeah, that one’s really great,” Tao said, his words feeling empty.

“This one…” she held up the next, “This one is from after the war started, but we still found time to take pictures, I guess.”

It was Karlo, maybe fifteen, and an older man, each holding up a fish. Karlo looked a bit more world-weary here, but still had a shining smile.

“Is that his father?” asked Tao, pointing to the man in the picture.

“No, no,” Marina waved a hand, “That’s our neighbor. Karlo’s father was never involved in his life.” Their eyes met for a moment before Marina looked away, flushing. “Anyway…”

They worked their way through the remaining few photos, Tao finding himself genuinely eager to see them all. They fell silent for a while when they reached the end, staring at a Polaroid of Karlo and Marina hugging and grinning behind a candle-lit birthday cake. His eighteenth.

“It was just a few months after that, when…” Marina trailed off. She didn’t need to elaborate – it was a story Tao had heard countless times before. The Commander’s Military had arrived. They’d taken Marina’s town, and the only options were to submit, flee or die. Capture was nigh unheard of. Karlo was a strange exception.

“Did you, um,” Marina cleared her throat, “Did you find a body?”

Tao looked up sharply. He'd been so preoccupied with confirming his theory that he hadn’t thought of a cover story – and here she was, handing one to him.

“Uh, yeah, but… It’s not him.” He pressed the photo back into her hands. “But you shouldn’t give up hope, he might still be…”

She shook her head slowly. “You don’t need to say that. I know that…” she stared down at photos scattered across the table, “I’ve accepted that he’s gone.”

Tao froze. I could tell her. I could tell her right now. But those thoughts were interrupted by the memory of Lark’s face, how terrified he’d been at the idea of seeing his mother. It had driven him into a panic attack and fainting spell, for crying out loud. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

“Well, I’m… I’m sorry I bothered you over nothing,” Tao said, “I hope I didn’t dredge up anything painful.”

“No, no!” she smiled at him, “I really enjoyed looking through these. I mean, I see them every day, but it’s rare that I really stop and remember, you know? So… Thank you. I really… I really enjoyed this.” Her eyes glistened as she gazed at him.

Tao nodded stiffly.

“It’s getting late, I, uh…”

“Do you want to stay for coffee?” Marina asked quickly, “I promise I have better than what’s served in the cookhouse.”

“Um…” Tao was anxious to get back to Lark – Karlo. He’d slept all day, he might be awake now. “Raincheck?”

Marina nodded. “Sure!”

She walked him to the door, but as he opened it she caught his arm.

“Y’know, Joshua,” she said softly, “If you ever want to talk about your family… I’d love to hear about them.”

“Oh,” he blinked at her, “Thanks, Marina. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

As he walked down the driveway and reached the road he heard excited women’s voices coming from the house. Weird. Anyway. He made his way by memory through the dark to Faye’s.

He found Becca sitting at the table in the intake room, hunched over a notebook and scratching away with a pencil. She didn’t look up at him.

“So did you find out?” She already knew what he’d gone to confirm.

“Yeah,” Tao replied, “His name is Karlo. Marina Dolidze is his mom.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No.”

She finally looked up at him.

“Why not?”

“Didn’t I tell you how freaked out he got? She’d want to see him ASAP, and I don’t know what that would do to him.”

“Oh, so now you’re worried about his mental state?” Becca accused.

“Yeah, I am now,” Tao admitted, “I fucked up before, and I’m sorry. I’m trying not to fuck up again.”

“Well,” Becca fiddled with the edge of her notebook page, “I’m… writing… an announcement.”

Tao narrowed his eyes.

“That sounds ominous.”

“I talked to Lark again, and he’s convinced me. That there’s at least a chance that we might be in danger from keeping him here.”

“Becca…”

“So we need to put it to a vote. The community needs to decide whether or not we take on that risk.”

“Becca, we can’t give him back!”

She stared at him evenly.

“If that’s what the community decides, then we do.”

“Are you even going to tell them that he’s Marina’s son?”

“I’ll tell them that he’s one of ours, but no more. I don’t want personal feelings to cloud the decision too much.”

“Becca!”

“You’re acting like this is a risk, Tao, but it’s not. They’ll vote to keep him, I know they will.”

“And if they don’t?”

She sighed.

“Then we start negotiating.”

Tao fumed.

“I want to talk to him.”

“Lark?”

“Karlo.”

“What for?”

“He deserves to know that his mother is safe.”

“That’s only going to make him want to leave more, he thinks he’s putting us in danger.”

“He deserves to know.”

“Fine,” she closed her notebook and stood, “But if I tell you to back off, you back off.”

They went upstairs to Karlo’s room, and dismissed the Watchman who had been sitting at his bedside. Becca reluctantly hung back by the door while Tao sat. Karlo appeared to be asleep, his brow slightly pinched.

“Karlo?” Tao reached out and lightly rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Karlo jerked awake and looked around wildly, mumbling something incoherent.

“Hey, hey,” Tao rubbed his shoulder, “You’re okay.”

Karlo’s eyes snapped to where Tao was touching him, then traveled up Tao’s arm to his face. He seemed far less feverish now, and his eyes were wide and bright. Wary. Observant.

“Hey,” Tao said again, “I…” Fuck, did I ever tell the kid my name? “I’m… Tao. And you’re Karlo, right?”

Karlo’s eyes got wider, somehow, the dark gold shimmering with fear.

“My name is Lark.”

Tao took a moment, and decided not to push it.

“Is Marina Dolidze your mom? Because, she’s here. I mean, not here-here,” he said, when Karlo started to tremble, “But she lives in this community. She’s safe. And she really misses you.”

Karlo was breathing quickly now. Tao heard the floorboards creak behind him as Becca took a warning step forward. Karlo’s eyes darted between her and Tao, before he took a deeper breath, clenched his fist and set his jaw.

“My name is Lark,” he stared Tao dead in the eye, “And the Commander is my only family.”

~~~

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @whump-em

[1whimsicalgal]

Who was the creator of the apparatus that was used in filming the famous meat hook scene? That would be Dottie Pearl and Bob Burns. Together, the night before we were to film, as I recall, they stayed up into the wee hours getting IT ready, but how did they do it? Imagine if you will, a bikini bottom made of Parachute strapping. Now imagine needing to conceal the bikini gadgetry under some red corduroy short-shorts and backless bathing suit. Now imagine you need the girl wearing the apparatus to be hanging, dangling from a meat hook, that must hold her weight of 110 pounds, and simultaneously making sure no meat hook actually touches her bare back.

The idea was that the audience sees that meat hook coming ominously close to her back, how do we accomplish this safely? You add another piece of parachute strapping about 9-10 inches, sewn with great care to the top back of the parachute strapping in the back of the bikini. The strap was hidden underneath until The Scene of the drop shot. It had to be hidden inside, out of site until the actual drop by Leatherface as he struggles to hold on to the screaming, writhing, hysterical young woman, who’s trying with all her might to escape this impending terrifying disaster.

Next challenge: You need something on the end of the attached strap, something incredibly strong. They decided a large steel parachute ring, that could be guided by someone crouched below, spotting her, as Leatherface waits for his cue to drop her, would be perfect. The steel ring Must Go over the hook and hold her weight. No room for mistakes.

Another clever part of Pam’s meat hook apparatus was Dottie sewing in the twisted legs of panty hose that had great strength and could be pinned underneath the front edges of Pam’s tiny backless bathing suit top, hidden underneath, which helped to keep the apparatus and suit together, long enough to get the shot.

Yes, they used pantyhose, which btw, only became the rage in the early seventies. Fact. It was for all women, freedom… from garter belts. Yes, we actually wore hose, individually attached to garter belts up until then! A little history: In 1974, actress Julie Newmar successfully filed a patent for “Pantyhose with shaping band for cheeky derriere relief”, a garment innovation made famous through the costume she designed in the 1960s for her role as Catwoman in the TV show Batman.

So, when Pam is hanging on the meat hook, held up only by the strapping and stainless steel loop, what happens? Right, that’s when they added lots of foam cushioning, where 100% of the weight inevitably goes. 😬 My sincere thanks for that!

I vividly remember, Tobe calling cut, and looking out to a line of cast and crew, mouths aghast at what they’d just witnessed. You could hear a pin drop. It seems there was a deep collective sigh. We did it. We got the shot that I later heard some one refer to it as “the money shot”, which at the time went right over my head. What’s a money-shot? For me, that was the moment when it crossed my mind, “Hey, maybe we have something here.”

We began filming that scene around 9 AM and finished in time to enjoy our caterer, Sally Nicholaou’s, delicious lunch. It was fast. The awful part? The blood they used was karo syrup based. There are 3 seconds of blood dripping into the bucket below Pam’s dangling feet, maybe only 2 seconds. I Hope It Was Worth It!! Think Texas heat, Karo-syrup, and flies, plenty of flies. UGH. Dottie and I ran outside together, and landed at the windmill, me ripping off everything as Dottie took the water hose and sprayed me forever, until I was finally free of all remnants of sticky-icky karo-syrup, parachute strapping, shorts, bathing suit, et-al. LUNCH!!! ♥️🪝

Thank you, Dottie Pearl. Thank you, Bob Burns. Dorothy J. Pearl - January 19, 1950 - July 22, 2018 (age 68 years) Robert Lewis Burns Jr. November 24, 1950 – April 3, 2015 (age 65 years)

[scotianostra]

Tragedy struck when the naval yacht Iolaire struck a reef on approaching Stornoway Harbour in the early hours of New Years Day 1919.

There are no shortage of tragedies I post about throughout the year, to me this is one of the saddest. The Iolaire were carrying troops home from the horrors of World War One, many on the Yacht would have been looking over to the lights of Stornoway when this cruel twist of fate took the lives over 200 Lewis men and 24 crew, the vessel was only about 20 yards from Stornoway Harbour. Some have labelled it the 'crowning sorrow of the war'

A report in the Stornoway Gazette recorded the impact of the tragedy:

No one now alive in Lewis can ever forget the 1st January 1919, and future generations will speak of it as the blackest day in the history of the island, for on it 200 of our bravest and best perished on the very threshold of their homes under the most tragic circumstances. The terrible disaster at Holm on New Year’s morning has plunged every house and every heart in Lewis into grief unutterable. Language cannot express the anguish, the desolation, the despair which this awful catastrophe has inflicted. One thinks of the wide circle of blood relations affected by the loss of even one of the gallant lads, and imagination sees those circles multiplied by the number of the dead, overlapping and overlapping each other till the whole island – every hearth and home it is shrouded in deepest gloom.

Messages of sympathy were received from far and wide, including from the King and Queen and from Lord Leverhulme, who had purchased the island of Lewis the previous year. He also led calls for a disaster fund to be set up and fund raising events were initiated. The Cinematograph Exhibitors’ Associations of Edinburgh and Glasgow arranged to take collections in all picture houses under their control for a week. A fundraising concert was arranged in the Usher Hall in Edinburgh on 14th February 1919, at which Scott Skinner, the acclaimed fiddler and composer and many others performed.

Calls for an enquiry came quickly, amidst suggestions of negligence on the part of the crew. A public inquiry was held in February 1919 and the jury found that insufficient care had been taken on the approach to Stornoway, as the vessel did not slow down or change course. In addition, it was not carrying enough life-saving equipment and there had been delays in the emergency services reaching the scene. HMY Iolaire was equipped with lifeboats for 100 men but was sailing with more than 300. There followed various recommendations, including that the Lighthouse Commissioners consider putting up a light on the Holm side of the harbour, and that the Government should improve travelling facilities for naval ratings and soldiers.

A naval inquiry held at the time was not made public until 1970. It had concluded that no blame could be attributed to anybody as the ship’s log had been lost and all of the officers had perished.

Even before the Iolaire sinking, The Outer Hebrides had a hard war even before the sinking, Lewis and Harris, the two northern islands of the Western Isles, had a population of 34,600 in 1911. Estimates report about 1,500 of those were killed during the war, and with another 201 lost on the Iolaire, that was an immense cumulative loss of young men and fathers.

There were 79 survivors in total of this disaster, it remains the UK’s worst peacetime maritime disaster since the sinking of the Titanic.

There are accounts of drenched, numb survivors immediately walking home across the moors in the storm, too traumatised to wait for help; of women who rushed to the shore to find their sons’ and brothers’ inert bodies among the rocks or surf, their baggage and presents strewn over the sand; of the stream of coffins being taken by horse and cart to be buried every day throughout the following week.

My previous post about Iain Crichton Smith featured a poem by the Lewis man about the tragedy.

[cartograffiti]

April '24 reading diary

This month, I finished 9 books in a whole bunch of genres, some of which were fab!

I read a lot more nonfiction than usual this month, starting with On Looking: Eleven Walks with Expert Eyes. Alexandra Horowitz recorded her conversations with a variety of experts as they walked through neighborhoods looking for examples of their interests, from bugs to typography to whatever attracted her toddler son. Like some reviewers I saw, I was disappointed that not all the walks were in the same neighborhood, which had appeared to be the premise. I also strongly recommend listening to the audiobook, as I did, because some of the conversational wording transcribed from her recordings is unnatural or repetitive written out. Anyway, a lot of the chapters are interesting, and the general theme of appreciating different things about your area by choosing to key in on a thought is great. A pleasant book.

Two great nonfiction books about clothes: Cally Blackman's 100 Years of Fashion, and Behind the Seams by Dolly Parton with Holly George-Warren and Rebecca Seaver. Both books are about fashion in the 20th century and a little bit beyond, and both are huge, heavy books full of the most glorious, well-chosen photographs. Blackman's is nicely organized around themes and not strictly by year, showing not only high fashion, but also the clothes of counterculture scenes and working women. This is a great resource. Parton's book, of course, is about her own stage costumes, and some other clothes people have made for her. It's also a memoir of her changing style and the professionals who contributed to it. Lots of fun.

The best nonfiction book I read this month (and possibly in the past year) was Africa Is Not a Country: Notes on a Bright Continent by Dipo Faloyin. His written voice is exceptionally strong, able to explain large amounts of historical context without it ever feeling dry or overwhelming. Faloyin makes powerful breakdowns of historical misconceptions and contemporary stereotypes, includes a hugely funny "how-to" guide on writing an awful movie set in Africa, and draws memorable comparisons between political corruption in Western and African nations. There is a description of young men striving not to allow anyone outside their friend group to hold the highest offices in their country, phrased so that the final punch line is that they were talking about the United Kingdom that I think is one of the most effective freeform arguments I've ever read. I very much hope other people will pick this up.

On the fiction side, Dial A for Aunties by Jesse Q. Sutanto has been on my radar since it was new. I understand why it was such a hit, but I was disappointed! The book was advertised to me as a murder mystery and romance, neither of which I'd say is true. It's a family screwball comedy! It does that very well, but I got tired of the number of plot beats that required someone to be very silly indeed, and I was never sold on Meddy's logic in multiple plot threads. I don't think I'll read the next.

The short story collection Filthy Animals by Brandon Taylor is a mixed bag, like every short story collection in the world. I think he's very skilled on a technical level at creating characters with complete lives and histories implied in a short space, and some of them have interesting things to say about how people reach out, lash out, struggle with guilt and illness, and the problem of kitsch (not in the sense of knickknacks, but of the denial of shit). I do find the stories pretty bleak, and I was very unimpressed with the interconnecting elements. The stories that link are about Lionel, a test proctor who recently survived a suicide attempt, and several dancers, two of whom he begins a poly relationship with. Except for the first, these stories neither stand alone well nor build on each other as a sequence. The relationship is written with a dangerous, taboo edge, largely because these people never properly have any conversations about it, which I found irritating. I'm glad to be familiar with Taylor's work now, but I think he gets in his own way trying to shock in all of the weaker stories.

I also read a single Edith Wharton short story that I didn't realize wasn't a novel until I opened the ebook. It's the wonderful "Xingu," in which a ladies' intellectual lunch club finds themselves at a loss trying to talk to their superior and unfriendly guest, until their least popular member pipes up to ask a question about Xingu. They all follow her lead, trying all the while to infer what, exactly, Xingu is. Great little satire of how people want to look current more than they want to enjoy things.

I grabbed Heartstopper vol. 1 because I needed a banned comic for a challenge, and that's almost synonymous with being a popular LGBTQ+ comic for young people. Frustrated hand gestures. Anyway, this is very sweet, would be totally appropriate for middle schoolers as well (it's sold as YA), and I somehow hadn't realized before that Alice Oseman is the same person who did a webcomic about a band I used to read from time to time when I was younger. I would have liked this a lot more when I was a teenager myself, but it's nostalgic and happy, so I may read the rest.

I'm still reading Lymond and in early April I finished the 3rd of 6 books, The Disorderly Knights. I had a very messy response to this one! I did in fact enjoy it tremendously, and it's technically excellent, full of things that grabbed me and kept me excited to read more every night. I love my problematic bestie Francis and many of the people around him. It also most sharply of the series so far shows upsetting attitudes of Dunnett's by participating in '60s rape culture and Islamophobia that I went beyond being critical of to angry about. It simply wouldn't have been published like this now. I still gave it four stars and I may even go up to five when I have a better sense of how it fits in the long arc of the series. In a thinner or less tailored to me series, these feelings couldn't coexist, but they do, and that's very much shared by everyone else I've been talking to the books about. I'm really glad I have people to talk to them about! It's a long-standing but not very Online^tm fandom. I'm already halfway through the next book.

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 6

(Ch. 5) (Ch. 4) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 2) (Ch. 1)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: Years of preparation have led up to this moment: D-Day is here.

Contemporary: June 4th, 1944. Upottery Airfield, England.

Waking up next to Joe was heaven but the day itself was far from it.

Alix's assumption had been correct: the original plan was to jump on the 4th but the powers that be (also known as General Eisenhower) deemed the heavy cloud cover, fog, and strong winds too risky so at the very last minute, a 24-hour stand-down was ordered. 

Everyone was understandably peeved: all that preparation and psyching yourself up mentally, just to have the metaphorical brakes slammed on right before takeoff. 

But although she’d never admit it out loud, Alix was honestly relieved. As much as part of her wanted to just get the damn drop over with, another part was grateful for the small delay. 

She’d take as much time as she could get without people trying to kill her and her friends.

As she settled in between Joe and Malarkey to watch Mr. Lucky for what felt like the millionth time, Alix couldn’t help but feel a twinge of grief: Gio would’ve loved this film. 

Her older brother, Giovanni, had been the world’s biggest Cary Grant fan and every time he had shore leave, he'd drag Alix to the movies with him to see the latest picture starring his favorite actor.

She'd seen Suspicion and His Girl Friday so many times when she'd visited that she swore she could recite them backwards, line by line.

But Gio would just roll his eyes at her half-hearted complaints.

“Mom made me sit through years of your God-awful piano recitals,” he'd remind her as they stood in line at the box office. “You owe me."

"That's not fair," Alix would protest as they collected their tickets and made their way into the lobby. "I quit piano like ten years ago!"

"And thank God for that," he would joke, earning him a smack on the arm from his younger sister.

"What you did to Moonlight Sonata should be considered a crime!"

Now 23, Alix's heart sank at the faint echoes of Gio's breezy laugh in her mind.

She could feel it slowly slipping from her memory, every day a little more. She was forgetting him slowly and she hated herself for it.

Gio hadn't been seen for 3 years, not since the attack on Pearl Harbor. The ship he'd been serving on, the Arizona, had been completely destroyed in the bombing and Giovanni had been one of many classified as MIA.

For the first year or so, Alix and her family held out hope that perhaps he'd survived somehow. But eventually, her mother told Penny to stop setting an extra place at the table and Alix knew. 

No one spoke about it. Her father found refuge in women and booze. Her mother found refuge at mass and in her garden.

And Alix…Alix was the same age as Gio had been when he disappeared, and she was over three thousand miles away just like him, about to throw herself into a fucking war zone.

Sensing something was wrong, Joe leaned his shoulder slightly against her own like a worried puppy, just enough to say “I’m here if you need me” without actually saying a word. 

She didn't say anything but aimed a small, grateful smile in his direction anyway so he knew she understood. 

After checking around them to be sure no one was paying attention, Alix reached over and slipped her hand into Joe's, giving it a quick squeeze.

I love you.

His lips curved into a warm smile and he squeezed her hand back, eyes still trained on the film.

I love you too.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━━━∆∆━━━━∆∆

Contemporary: June 5th, 1944. Upottery Airfield, England.

The following day seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace and having Lewis Nixon breathing down her neck wasn’t helping. 

Alix had already spent her morning poring over her forged passports and IDs for any possible mistakes. One wrong letter, one misplaced stamp, and she could be found out. She was nervous enough as it was without Lieutenant Nixon pacing behind her like a mother hen, peppering her with questions she'd already answered.

“What about your radio?”

Even with the cam cream smeared strategically on his face, Alix could still see the frown lines creasing his brow.

“You do have your radio, right?”

“Yes sir,” the young agent reminded him, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

He'd already asked that twice.

“Everything’s either in here tucked under the First Aid supplies—"

She patted the worn canvas messenger bag hanging off her shoulder, the red cross emblazoned on it falsely identifying her as a combat nurse. 

"— or here," she gestured to her shirt.

Everyone knew that the Nazis found it morally degenerate to strip-search women, a fact which Swallows and now Sparrows relied on to carry out their missions. 

Important documents and her L-Pill, also known as the lethal cyanide pill, were pinned to the underside of her bra for safe-keeping.

“Good,” Nixon affirmed gruffly and Alix was suddenly reminded why people below him called him Blackbeard behind his back. “And you know your orders, correct, Agent?” 

“Yes sir,” Alix replied, repeating them back to him in a voice much more confident than she felt:

“Get to the nearest available shelter, radio in, if possible. Rendezvous with our French assets, gather intel, sniff out the mole. Then once he or she is taken care of, we move to phase 2: Bang & Burn. I radio in and we go from there.”

More formally known as a demolition and sabotage operation, the Bang & Burn would be the easy part. Now finding the mole…that could be troublesome. 

Alix knew her instincts were good but still, she worried:

Were they good enough? What if she killed the wrong person?

As if he could hear her thoughts, Lieutenant Nixon gave her a grudging nod, the first sign of approval she’d ever gotten from him.

He hesitated and for a split second, she thought her case officer might actually say something nice for a change but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he just gave her another, more final nod before stalking off, most likely to find Colonel Strayer to compare notes.

Taking a deep breath as she tried to calm her nerves, Alix felt around her bulky uniform for the fiftieth time, double-checking every piece of equipment, no matter how small. Everything from her leg bag to her pistol would be vital in the coming hours.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━━━∆∆━━━━∆∆

Alix had always hated flying and this time was no different. The cacophonous rattling of the metal, the roaring of the engines, the howling wind just outside, she could barely hear herself think and knowing how dangerously high up they were did nothing for her nerves.

The air sickness pills were starting to make her woozy and she almost cracked a smile at the memory of what Skip– who was now snoring soundly to her left– had said hours earlier when they were first given the pills.

"Can't be airsick if we're not awake, can we?" he'd piped up with his trademark grin as he popped a pill in his mouth. 

Now, leaning forward a bit, Alix peered around the sleeping Skip to check on Don. He was just barely awake, staring blankly in front of him into the darkness with his lips pressed together in a thin line. Hands clasped in front of him, he looked about as anxious as she felt. 

Feeling her eyes on him, Don glanced over to her and Alix mustered up a shaky half-smile.

We're gonna be okay.

Her best friend tried to return the expression but only succeeded in a small grimace, his apprehensive-looking brown eyes silently voicing her own fears: 

Are we?

Alix squeezed her eyes shut so he wouldn't be able to see the rising panic she knew was there.

She couldn't afford to show her fear, not now, not even to her best friends.

But even still, she was terrified. 

Sandwiched between her two best friends and her boyfriend, she took a couple deep breaths before slouching down in her seat, her head dropping as she allowed the drowsiness from the pills to take over. 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━━━∆∆━━━━∆∆

Alix surfaced from sleep hours later to find she’d spent most of her night accidentally slumped over onto Joe’s shoulder.

Lifting her head, the young spy forced herself to sit up groggily, hoping no one had noticed.

Luckily, everyone else seemed to still be asleep, except Lieutenant Winters who was gazing out the door into the night and her boyfriend Joe, who gave her an encouraging wink that somehow made her cheeks turn pink even in the near-darkness. 

Despite the bags under his eyes, he already looked pretty awake and knowing him, he probably had been for some time. 

Joe Liebgott was a notorious insomniac and it would take more than a couple air sickness pills to cure him of that.

Still a bit drowsy, the young OSS agent was in the process of stretching out her cramped legs to wake herself up when she received an elbow to her left side. 

Her head whipped around and there was Skip, holding a pack of cigarettes and grinning at the couple like the Cheshire Cat. 

“G’morning,” he chortled, waving the pack in front of them. “Either of you lovebirds care for a smoke?”

“Sure thing,” Joe replied eagerly, never one to turn down a cigarette, especially under stress. “Thanks!” 

"Anytime, Lieb!"

Skip dutifully extended the pack across Alix’s lap so Joe could grab one before offering it to his best friend, his amber eyes twinkling knowingly. 

“What about you, Pyro? You want one?”

Removing her thick gloves, Alix gave him a wry look.

“Depends. Does it come with an I-Told-You-So?” 

“You know it does,” was the smug reply.

“Fine, fine,” she relented, plucking a cigarette from the pack with an exaggerated air of defeat “Go ahead, Skipper, let me have it.” 

Ever the gentleman, her best friend at least had the decency to give all three of their cigarettes a light before settling back into his seat triumphantly like a king returned to his throne.

“I’m just saying, Pyro,” he yelled over the clamor of the engines, an all-too-satisfied expression painted across his face. “I fucking called it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alix responded, rolling her eyes amiably as she took a drag. “Rub it in more, why don’t you?”

“Nah,” Skip remarked cheerfully. “I figure I oughta leave some jokes for Don whenever he wakes up!”

Joe cocked his head to look at her, his brows knit quizzically, but Alix shook her head, still laughing. 

Don’t ask. 

For a brief moment, it was like she was back in Aldbourne again. No stakes, no fear, just joking around with the friends who had become like family to her with the man she loved by her side.

But as quickly as her laughter came, it disappeared.

The order was given, they stood, the light was green, Joe squeezed her hand quickly and then before she knew it, Alix was leaping out into the dark abyss below.

[mintmatcha]

https://www.tumblr.com/mintmatcha/724189587409387520/im-collecting-awful-lines-from-literotica-and

This reminds me of those dudebros on Reddit or Twitter who keep trying to tell everyone that women are most fertile between the ages of 16-24 and think any woman 25+ is an ancient withered hag

Its so funny to read fiction written by men because writing always says way more about how you see the world than you think it does

[beardedmrbean]

Baseball bat-wielding gangs of children are mugging mothers and nannies on the school run in the latest crime wave to hit San Francisco.

Last week Noe Valley, also known as “stroller valley” because of the growing population of young families, endured 11 phone robberies that are believed to have been carried out by the same gang who are targeting women picking up children from school.

One woman was reportedly hit with a baseball bat, while another was punched in the face, before the offender ran to a getaway car and drove off.

On Thursday the police had arrested one minor in connection with the 11 robberies and were searching for the others.

Rafael Mandelman, who sits on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, which is responsible for legislating, said there are a growing number of children “doing these really awful things”.

“I think, what happened with kids not being in school, I think there may be something going on with that, that we’re going to be experiencing for a while”, he said.

He added: “Those couple of years where school was erratic or non-existent, where everyone was under stress, parents and caregivers were under stress. That was probably impacting vulnerable communities more anyway. Sociologically. who knows what was going on, but I would not be surprised if we are going to be experiencing the lingering impacts of that for a generation.”

Homelessness 

The California city has slumped in recent years from one of the most desirable places to live to one crippled by opioid usage, a disproportionate rate of homelessness and rising crime.

Chesa Boudin, a former district attorney, who was ousted last year, introduced policies in office including refusing to prosecute children as adults, aggressively going after police officers who commit crime, and reducing the prison population.

There has been a 11 per cent increase in robberies for the first six months of the year when compared to the same period in 2022.

Violent robberies are being carried out in broad daylight in wealthy enclaves such as Noe Valley, a tight-knit community, where free yoga classes are held every Sunday in the town square.

One victim of the string of recent attacks, who only wished to be identified as CW, said the police appeared to have “zero interest” in investigating her attack.

She was thrown to the ground by a boy who stole her phone last Monday when she was on the way to collect her daughter from the nursery.

A neighbour’s security system caught the car on video and she was able to track her phone for 18 hours after the attack. But after she reported the crime, no investigator responded to the developments.

When she emailed a police officer to ask who she could contact to help “improve how these things get tackled”, she was told to “do some research yourself”.

The next day she was driving to the police station to complain about the response, when she saw a patrol car on the street where she had been robbed.

Punched in the face

It transpired another mother had been attacked, with the same getaway car, but this time she was punched in the face.

“For 24 hours, I had been trying desperately to get the police to engage with me to stop these guys. Zero response. And then it happened again in the same location,” she said.

Mr Mandelman said the city’s soft approach on crime has been good at “dismantling the systems” without fixing the underlying problems.

“I don’t think that our interventions for people who are committing petty crimes are particularly effective. I mean, fine, you don’t put people in jail, but what are you doing? Well, if you’re doing nothing, then what’s the outcome going to be? Not great.”

The San Francisco Police Department did not respond to requests for comment.

[the-firebird69]

We do have an idea on the idea Pike. And it is for areas where Corky is.. And minority morlock when they're in the majority the place is a mess and it won't work for anybody else. It won't work for them so we had an idea and it's to help them with a sewer facilities on West already. And it's for money and stuff. Have a new idea for a bathroom and toilet system.

## It would separate with men's and ladies one on one side one on the other.

## You would enter into a little entry alkove and then into a foyer the first door is where you put your money in and the second one is a breezeway it has a light door to get in and it's for smell and that breezeway keeps the hallway and other areas on the street from smelling it and it has a door closer it's pretty hefty and it has an automatic lock in case it's kept open 24 hours a day and here's why.

## You can't sleep in it or stay in it for the most part except for the foyer but it kinda stinks because it flushes the floor there's a sensors and an intelligent system but we think we can do it by usage every hour on the hour the door locks for 15 minutes and it gives you 10 minutes to get out and you can go out but you can't come in that's at the second door is for and once you're outside it'll flush for 15 minutes you can wait in the foyer if you're not done and there could be a couple benches and people will try and sleep there but it stinks and the water will flush the entire floor and it will wash the sink clean with the spraying system and I'll go into a trough and men and women will have a trough with grates that are bolted in place that are stainless steel and you squat you let a rip and there'd be toilet paper and it's protected and the toilet paper is a big dispenser from above and it closes when it's going to wash and it's a intelligent system so it doesn't get wet and you you would naturally have a place to wash your hands with hair dryers whatever they call those air dryers. The through would. It would flush.... It would flush every few 15 mins segments and that's how you have to really do it it's a lot of flow but it really happens anyways. We thought about an individual flushes and we think it's the right thing to do instead of that because there'd be poop build up in this gross so he says each chamber will have a flush and it will flush it down and into a drain that's behind the wall it won't go down the trough and you won't be sending your friend's stuff but it's different it's it's a bigger trough so you can't miss and like stainless steel and come together like it looks like some sort of slide and people don't mind that and it has a great so you can't get stuck no if you stick your leg in there you're gonna get stuck.

## Each of these has an emergency attendant you can call with a video conferencing call on a screen or you can hit an emergency button for the police we have to break the glass and if you do it there's no emergency here in trouble. But if you get stuck can you call the police they understand this emergency. And you could have an emergency for a fire or police.

This is a fully automated system nobody is on staff it would be for quarters or you'd have a dollar and it would give you 50 cents back and it's for taking a pooper or a pee it's for emergencies and we could put out a whole bunch of these in the West and collect your **** at the wastewater treatment facility and grow flowers for you you're gonna need a lot of the flowers.

Thor Freya

You hold you in contempt for your comments no but really that's gonna happen with an awful people and we feel we have to but that's the way it is. We like this idea a lot the trough idea is terrific the washing it out every hour is great the way the system works is perfect and he said can you make it solid state you don't have to make it with a computer more or less they would have a very solid state mechanism and the computer can be solid state and I know how to do that. And we don't have time to make these or design them so I want someone to come forward with it then I want to that wants to or has the design already and they say they have it already and had some in the Midwest and we know about it and we can get the company name so I'm going to go find them.

bja

What's the matter brian your **** everywhere.

caa

hahahaah lol yes it is lol

bja

ugh

ellie

gross

mac daddy

Olympus

[johnhardinsawyer]

What We Have to Give

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

4 / 14 / 24 – Third Sunday of Easter

Psalm 19

Luke 24:36-48

Acts 3:1-10

“What We Have to Give”

(More Than Witnesses)

Did you see it?  Where were you?  

This past week – after Monday’s solar eclipse – millions of conversations across our country were dominated by the questions “Did you see it?” and “Where were you?”  Millions of people gathered in lawns and driveways and parking lots and sidewalks and public parks and the tops of buildings and the tops of mountains and donned their special eclipse-viewing glasses and looked to the heavens for a once-in-a-lifetime event.  We were in our neighbor’s backyard, looking through his telescope with a special filter on it.  It didn’t get completely dark where we were, but the light did get strange, and the temperature dropped a few degrees.  It was kind of eerie but also very cool (figuratively and literally).  Friends of mine who were able to drive into the “line of totality” posted awe-inspiring photographs of the sun, completely obscured by the moon for a few minutes.  Members of our own congregation drove north to Coos County, New Hampshire or some other place in Vermont or Maine to see it.  

My Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Richard down in Kentucky actually drove to a place called Monkey’s Eyebrow, Kentucky to watch it.  I guess if you’re in a place called Monkey’s Eyebrow, you never know what you might see – maybe even a solar eclipse.    

Did you see it?  Where were you?  

There are some events – natural or human-caused – that are a collective experience, witnessed by people who then go and talk about whether they saw it and where they were.  Depending upon how old you are, you might be able to talk about where you were when the Kennedy assassination, or the Challenger explosion, or 9/11, or a natural disaster took place.  But this past week’s eclipse was a collective experience that was not violent or disastrous. 

It was simply there – in the sky – for millions to see, unable to be construed or spun one way or another in terms of politics or race or economics or religion.  Some tried to do this, but I’d like to think of an event of celestial proportions – an ancient dance millennia in the making – to be bigger than the human-made ideas and interpretations that we try to attach to it.  It was an equal-opportunity-awe-inspiring event that reminded us all just how small we can be in the big scheme of things.  

Did you see it?  Where were you?  And, if you did see it. . . what now?

The resurrection of Jesus surely inspired a whole group of people to ask, “Did you see?” and “Where were you?”  In 1 Corinthians, we are told that the risen Jesus appears to at least five hundred people – a collective “did you see it, where were you” experience.  In the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, the resurrection causes awe and fear and joy and hope.  In the most ancient version of the Gospel of Mark, just as an example, when the disciples hear that Jesus has been raised from the dead, they “[say] nothing to anyone, for they [are] afraid.” (Mark 16:8)  

In today’s reading from Luke, we find the disciples together – holed-up in a room in Jerusalem.  By now, they have heard the news of the resurrection from Mary Magdalene and some other women who have seen the empty tomb and conversed with some heavenly messengers, there.  They have heard of the empty tomb from Peter, who ran to see it for himself.  They have also heard from Cleopas and a friend who have met, and conversed with, and eaten a meal with the risen Jesus at a village called Emmaus.  Mary, and Peter, and Cleopas and the others are telling the story of where they were and what they saw.  And while they are talking about all of this, suddenly, Jesus himself stands among them and says, “Peace be with you.” (Luke 24:36)  I imagine this sudden appearance eliciting a collective gasp.  The text tells us that “they were startled, and terrified, and thought they were seeing a ghost.” (24:37)  Thankfully, Jesus tries to calm everyone down:  “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? . . . Look at my hands and feet.  It’s me.  Touch and see me, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones . . . Have you anything to eat?” (24:38-41)[1]  

Jesus has some broiled fish – a healthy choice, to be sure.  And he begins to speak, in earnest, about everything that has taken place – his words, his actions, his death, and resurrection.  As the story goes, Jesus “[opens] their minds to understand the scriptures” (24:45)  In the original language, Jesus is “explaining things in a way that makes understanding possible in the eyes, ears, and hearts of those who are listening”[2]

For our purposes this morning, the key part of this story comes next.  Because now the disciples – gathered in that room with Jesus – have seen him and heard what he has to say.  And Jesus sums it all up for them, as Eugene Peterson translates:

You can see now how it is written that the Messiah suffers, rises from the dead on the third day, and then a total life-change through the forgiveness of sins is proclaimed in his name to all nations – starting from here, from Jerusalem!  You’re the first to hear and see it.  You’re the witnesses.  What comes next is very important:  I am sending what my Father promised to you, so stay here. . . until he arrives, until you’re equipped with power from on high.[3]

Jesus is referring to the Holy Spirit, here, which will soon arrive on the Day of Pentecost,[4] and we’ll get to this in just a moment.  But, there is a word that Jesus uses here.  He calls his disciples “witnesses.”  We often think of a witness as someone who has seen something.  For example, on Monday, I witnessed a near-total eclipse of the sun from my neighbor’s backyard.  But there is another part to being a witness.  In the original language, the word means to “testify, or declare, or confirm.”[5]  This means that a witness sees something and then responds by telling others about it. 

Did you see it?  Tell me about it!  Where were you?  And, since you saw it. . . what now?

In today’s reading from the Book of Acts, we find an event that takes place in a very public place – an event that is witnessed by many people.  Just weeks after Jesus’ resurrection – and not too long after the day of Pentecost – we find Peter and John going to pray at the Temple in Jerusalem.  And, as they are walking through one of the beautiful gates, they encounter a man who has been lame from birth.  For years, everyone passing through this gate – going in to pray – has witnessed this man and heard his cries for alms.  They have witnessed him sitting on his mat, hands extended, a desperate and forlorn look on his face.  They have witnessed this man, and maybe they have put a few coins in his cup – maybe not.  There was a tradition of giving alms at the Temple and people can be so generous when they are in a prayerful mood and in a place of worship.  

But when the man cries out to Peter and John, they stop, and turn, and see him – they witness this man. . . hearing his cries and seeing his need.  And they offer him a different kind of gift.  Peter says, “Look at us. . .  I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you.  In the name of Jesus of Nazareth, stand up and walk.”  (Acts 3:4-6). Peter takes the man by the hand and lifts him from the ground.  Immediately, the man’s feet and ankles are made strong and he jumps up, and goes into the Temple with them – “walking, and leaping, and praising God.” (3:8)

And, in a “Were you there?  Did you see it?” moment, “All the people [see] him walking, and leaping, and praising God, and they recognize him. . .” (3:9). They are filled with wonder and amazement. 

Now, you and I weren’t there when this wonderful and amazing thing happened.  We did not witness it with our own eyes, just like we were not there when the risen Jesus showed his wounded hands and feet to the disciples.  All we have are these stories – ancient stories from long ago.  

So, when it comes to our own witness, you and I might be hard pressed to say that we have witnessed much of anything.  And yet, what if we have witnessed something?  Again, it might not be some dramatic miracle of healing or resurrection.  But the Holy Spirit still has a way of revealing the Holy at the heart of life:  the presence of hope in hopeless times, light in the darkness, a feeling of peace or calm in the midst of a storm, the awe of celestial bodies dancing in the sky, the laughter of a loved-one, the taste of comfort food made with love, the comfort of another person nearby, tears that have been wept openly and then wiped away, life in the midst of death. 

These are equal-opportunity-awe-inspiring events that can reminded us all just how beloved we are in the big scheme of things.  

Very often our witness can be clouded or we might wonder if we have witnessed anything at all.  But sometimes, our vision can be so clear in the moment or with 20/20 hindsight – so much so that we can confidently say, “I witnessed it.  I was there – and so was God.”  The big question is what do we do, once we have witnessed such a thing.  

Peter and John have clearly witnessed the risen Christ, and on Pentecost, they have witnessed the Holy Spirit as it blows into their lives with the rush of a mighty wind.  They are there.  They see it all.  And then they take what they have witnessed and share it in miraculous ways.  Without their witness of seeing and sharing, we likely would not be here – together – today.  

“I do not have any silver or gold.  But I do have the Holy Spirit.  I do have some comfort and healing, some hope and peace and joy that I can share – some presence of the Holy to give to you. . . to be for you.”  

Friends, what we have to give might be just that Holy.  What we have to give might be just that needed in the present moment – gifts of speaking the truth, gifts of serving our neighbor, gifts of justice for the oppressed, gifts of lifting up the lowly, gifts of peace to troubled hearts, gifts of joy and light and hope.  From Monkey’s Eyebrow to Manchester, from Jerusalem to just down the street.  

Did you see it?  Did you share it?  May the Spirit grant you and I the vision to see clearly – the grace, and understanding, and wisdom to see and know.  May the Spirit grant you and I the overwhelming generosity of heart and mind to give away whatever grace we have received.  May the Spirit grant us the courage to lovingly and freely share all the Holy we have witnessed.  

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  

------

[1] Paraphrased, JHS.

[2] Walter Bauer, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979) 187.

[3] Eugene Peterson, The Message: Numbered Edition (Colorado Springs: NAV Press, 2002) 1453. Luke 24:45-49.

[4] See Acts 2.

[5] Bauer, 493.

[joyphuljellyphish]

Concert Review: Pink Talking Fish (2/3/24)

Allow me, if you will, to introduce you to a concept so wild, an idea so ludicrous, ingenious, and lofty, that it's never before been done (much less attempted): mastering the likes of Pink Floyd, The Talking Heads, and Phish. Three of the most abstract, conceptually intricate bands to exist. But woven together all at once. What musical nerds (or geniuses, take your pick) would attempt such a melding of music? Meet the Pink Talking Phish. Yes, you read that right. Yes, it is what you think it is.

What sort of people need to come together to form a band that not only aims for, but achieves, this complex musical mesh? Four ordinary, friendly guys - the kind that’ll stand in the cold and smoke a cigarette with you after the show and listen patiently to your review. 

First up is Eric Gould - seemingly unpresumptuous bassist who, in my humble opinion, is the glue of this helter-skelter band, as well as “the one who came up with this concept” - and it shows. Drawing inspiration from the likes of Cymande, Herbie Hancock, and Sly & The Family Stone, he touts an impressive resume as a previous member of the late and great Particle - another band known for exploring the edges and borders of genres.

Now that you’ve met the mad scientists behind this genius/insane-but-definitely-high experiment, let’s return to reality and the concert - held at Auburn’s Odd Fellows Lodge (ie, “The Foothill Fillmore”) and oh-so-generously hosted by Keep Smiling Productions. Let me set the scene: 

The first thing you’ll notice about the venue is the almost absurdly plush, deep carpeting under your feet (rare to encounter a carpeted venue, though understandable – especially as the night went on and beers were spilt). Your attention, though, will quickly be drawn to the entirety of the room; almost as if mass or a Girl Scout Badging Ceremony had recently ended, the cozy space features a single small stage (donned with proudly-displayed American flags hanging in the background) – and that’s about it. 

The simple, humble nature of the room was a perfect canvas for the signature light show frequently present at the venue – which deserves its own featured article, if you ask me. Beaming radiantly across every inch of all four walls was a psychedelic visual show straight out of the Electric Kool-Aid Acid tests. From graphics of sexy silhouetted women to new-wave-style minimalist flashes of black and white patterns, the awe-inspiring light show followed the vibrations and intensity levels of the band through every twist and turn.

I must admit, dear reader, that I found myself in line for a drink as the band started up - always a disappointment, but a commitment we make nonetheless. However, even from the next room over as I waited for my tequila and sprite, I could sense the energy of the crowd as the band kicked the night off with Phish’s “Ha Ha Ha” (these virgin ears took in this song for the first time that night; I’m still trying to wrangle the wild world of Phish).

By the time I’d returned to the lit-up and almost palpably-vibrating room, the band had sunk their teeth deep into an incredibly true-to-form version of Pink Floyd’s “Money” - the crowd had relaxed into a singular swaying mass of people sharing a journey together. 

Said journey took a quick turn as the band somehow perfectly transitioned from the dark and brooding “Money” into The Talking Heads’ “I’ve Got a Girlfriend”, a bouncy pick-me-up that prepared us for a personal highlight of the evening: a wild roller coaster ride on Phish’s “Bathtub Gin” - a song repeatedly teased at absolutely unexpected moments throughout the evening (smack dab in the middle of Floyd’s “Pigs”, for instance). “Gin” began as it typically would, with James slamming away on the keyboards and Kehoe pushing the song along with the ever-recognizable melody that carries the song. It wasn’t until we’d all thought the song was coming to a close that the real fun began; the collective tempo shifted from its laid-back walking pace to a gradual mosh-pit-worthy allegro that had us all struggling to keep up with dancing, especially atop such soft and lush carpeting.

First set ended with a funky stroll through Phish’s “Moma Dance”, a dance-y and laid-back respite after the hotfoot “Gin” we’d all expended our energy dancing our way through. And to great applause, the band exited, and the crowd smoked weed.

Set two began with a decision made by us, your humble dancers, after being posed the following quandary by the band: Would we rather hear Phish’s “The Curtain”, or the classic “Foreplay/Long Time” by Boston (allowed on the setlist, I later learned, because Phish has covered the song perhaps twice in their career)? To little surprise, the crowd opted for Boston’s energetic, dynamic hit - which was covered well, coming from someone who can admit she is not typically a Boston fan.

Whatever feelings I may have had about the “Foreplay” cover dissipated as the band tweaked a perfect transition into the complex orchestral masterpiece of Phish’s “Divided Sky”, sending the crowd rocketing into the sky onto a singular shared cloud of bliss — the emotional rollercoaster of this show, I cannot stress enough, was unlike any I’ve ever ridden. 

As quickly as the crowd had settled into the ethereal, dreamy rapture of “Divided Sky”, the band ripped the plush carpet from beneath our feet with a swift and sly maneuver into the raw ferocity of Floyd’s “Pigs.” As if previously asked, the crowd collectively floated down from our Cloud Nine of “Divided Sky” and raged with varying levels of passion to the band’s version of “Pigs”, which they did not rush nor alter much at all; I looked around to find the whole lot of us shouting the lyrics as if we were front and center at a political rally at one point – but hadn’t we just been blissed out in the Divided Sky?! As a reminder that indeed we had, the band dropped in a few appropriate-yet-inappropriately-placed teases of “Bathtub Gin.”

Upping the ante on tongue-in-cheek mood shifts, the band wrenched us from a long and angsty “Pigs” right into the bubbly, lovey-dovey “Home (Naive Melody)” by The Talking Heads. And suddenly, we were lifted back up as one and our distressed emotive faces quickly morphed into those full of love, marriage proposals, feelings of young love, yadda yadda. As light and joyfully as David Byrne’s lamp, the crowd bopped and melted to the gushy lyrics of one of the best love songs of all time (if you ask me - which you can, and I’ll tell you I’m correct). The quite literally shocking emotional exchange from “Pigs” into “Home” was perhaps my favorite moment of the night - an act of dark comedy and a commentary on all the shit in life I love to critique. A major kudos to the band for this boldly satirical choice.

[the-hem]

What is the purpose of the confession, "We have not honored our father or our mother?"

The Value in Gematria is 5627, ה‎ו‎בז‎, the Falcon. The word for falcon in Hebrew is ayya. They are also called kanaph.

The kanaph refers to the Jewish People who are found everywhere on this planet but have nowhwere to go due to the fact their history has stalled out in anticipation of Two Perfect Shabbats, one old and the new.

The culmination of both, the fulfilment of detailed prophecies with their occurrences will seal all written presumption about God and His Penultimate Reality as Ha Shem together endowing humanity at last with a Real God of Israel.

At last the Jewish People will be mobile, in the air, actually going somewhere rather than the sojourners God warned them they would become after they abandoned their slavery in Egypt, the Temple of Darkness.

אוה  אי

"There are four different verbs אוה ('wh), which all appear to express a desire or movement toward something. Noun אי ('i) means coast, which has been mankind's preferred place to settle since time immemorial. Nouns או ('aw), מאוי (ma'away), אוה ('awwa) and תאוה (ta'awa) all mean desire.

The noun אות ('ot) means mark or sign, and humanity's earliest marks were not to assert private ownership but rather a collective identity: something to draw toward and gather around."

כנף

"The noun כנף (kanap) means wing or denotes a winged creature. It's formally not clear from which verb (and thus primary idea) this word comes, but it's probably not to fly, as one would expect, but rather to protect and thus be strong (see our articles on the root אבר, abir, meaning both pinion and to be strong, and the verb עוף, 'up, meaning both to fly and to cover).

Other Biblical creatures with wings (that is: the strength to protect) are: Cherubim (1 Kings 6:24), Seraphim (Isaiah 6:2), the enigmatic women of Zechariah's vision (Zechariah 5:9), the wind (Hosea 4:19), the dawn (Psalm 139:9), the sun of righteousness (Malachi 4:2).

Sometimes our word denotes a part of a garment, probably the flapping end of a robe with which the wearer may cover himself (Deuteronomy 22:12, 1 Samuel 15:27) or some precious cargo (Haggai 2:12).

Likewise our word may describe a place on earth, but not the "ends" as is commonly suggested but rather the hidden places, the places protected from intrusion because nobody knows about them, possibly filled with secret depositories of unfamiliar worship (Isaiah 24:16, Job 37:3)."