#back to brown eyed ralph

[jackmerrideeznuts]

Lord of the flies is a comedy actually

[tellmeallaboutit]

AVERNIAN PSYCHO (BANKER!RAPHAEL / F!TAV)

never mind me, I am just goofing around with Modern AUs

TW: investment banking, crude, horrible, nasty, look away, look awaaaay, there's nothing but horror and inconvenience on the way.

"Is it time for fresh blood already?" Raphael asked, looking through the glass partition of the HR conference room. 

Valefar nodded slightly, a steaming cappuccino in his hand. 

"Oh, yes. Summer recruitment cycle. Make them bust their assess, crush their hopes and dreams, and fuck them over with job offers. Rinse and repeat next summer."

"Maybe I'll make an appearance," Raphael mused, looking every bit the devil in his tailor-made double-breasted silk suit. No brands for Raphael except for his timepieces. Those were strictly Patek Philippe or Vacheron Constantin.

"Why bother? It's an intern interview," Valefar scoffed. "Sheep for slaughter. Besides, she doesn't stand a chance. There are thousands out there who would swallow your dick whole and ask for more for a chance to enter this building".

Raphael made no reply. Valefar finally looked around the conference room. Across from Mizora, gorgeous in her white blouse and red satin D'Orsay pumps, was a twenty-something girl. 

Ha-ha, an interview with Mizora, the queen bee of the High Frequency Trading department. Someone is fu-u-u-ucked. When Raphael joins in, double fucked, no lube, won't be able to walk for the whole next week.

The girl already looked like she might faint at any moment, her knees clamped together like a vice, but kept an idiotically enthusiastic expression on her face. She must be talking about how excited she is and how much she appreciates the integrity and commitment to ethics at 'Asmodeus & Partners'.

It’s all about integrity here.

She was not an eyesore, brown wavy hair, doe-eyed, but her wardrobe was straight out of a dumpster. Brown pencil skirt and a baggy blouse that she probably thought screamed 'high society' - some outlet Ralph Lauren Basic, no doubt. But great legs, yes, great legs. What was her game? Gold digger looking for a husband? Raphael is still on the market. Watched too much Wall Street? Doesn't seem the type. 

Naive? Taken a wrong turn somewhere? 

Oh, Mizora will grill her to death and promise never to call her back. She'd likely spend the rest of the evening sobbing in some dingy apartment shared with her stoner roommates.

"Sheep, you say?" Raphael remarked, adjusting his platinum Patek Philippe Nautilus Limited Edition. "More like a mouse to me. A very lost and a very scared little mouse."

With that, he flashed his most charming smile and turned the doorknob to enter the conference room.

[1spy]

1993 | Dinosaur Jr. - "Start Choppin'"

In my senior year of high school, I wrote my first song. I don't remember the words or the melody or really anything about it, except that I felt like I'd done something very few people ever do. Or even attempt. It was exhilarating. I ran downstairs and then ran back up because I didn't know what to do with myself. I still feel that way a little bit every time I finish a song. I wanted to be in a band. I wanted to be the singer. But I had tried to get a band off the ground my junior year and it went nowhere. Because I couldn't do anything. Like, I couldn't even sing. Much less play guitar. So even though I was trying to write lyrics and singing along with the bands I liked, there was no path toward being in a band unless I could play and write music.

I found my dad's old guitar and took a few lessons, but after learning Brown Eyed Girl and a simple 12-bar blues structure, I abandoned it and started teaching myself from a book by Ralph Denyer called The Guitar Handbook. There's one page where all the basic cowboy chords are perfectly illustrated and photographed from the top down, so I could see where I was supposed to put my fingers. I figured if I learned these 15 chord shapes I could start using them to play and write songs. I'd sit in front of the TV for hours trying to move between the chords quickly and accurately without looking.

And because I tend to approach things systematically and obviously, I started buying music by all the great songwriters I had been reading about in magazines. Bob Dylan and Paul Simon to start with. A lot of Dylan. And then I got deep into the Stones' Exile on Main Street and Sticky Fingers.

I got into the Stones because, of course, I loved The Black Crowes. But I also became curious when I read a Keith Richards quote inside The Guitar Handbook that permanently changed my thinking. Not just about guitar, but about everything:

What interested me about Chuck Berry was the way he could step out of the rhythm part with such ease, throwing in a nice, simple riff and then drop straight into the feel of it again. We used to play a lot more rhythm stuff. We'd do away with the differences between lead and rhythm guitar. You can't go into a shop and ask for a "lead guitar." You're a guitar player, and you play a guitar.

I hadn't even thought about being a lead guitar player. I thought that was something separate and beyond my abilities. But Richards made me think I could be just good enough at it to be dangerous. That I could learn scales and incorporate that into my writing.

What I understood from it, even though I wouldn't have articulated it that way at the time, was that I could be a generalist. I could be just good enough at lots different things, I could solve for aspects of different problems and be useful to a band, because I did more stuff. If I wrote the song, and played the song, and could maybe write a bass line or a lead part too, they'd have to let me be in the band. Because then it would be my band. Except I still couldn't sing. I mean, I had an okay voice if I wanted to do church choir. I had a pretty good Mick Jagger impression. But I didn't sound anything like me yet.

Freshman year at Baylor, my friend Chris got me into Dinosaur Jr., and things clicked into place for me. J. Mascis is a god-tier guitar player, but that wasn't what intrigued me. It was his voice.

There are lots of singers who aren't great but have made a career anyway. Mascis and his conversational, childlike warble convinced me that if he could find the voice that was perfect for him, so could I.

I started singing into the answering machine at first. Then a tape recorder. And then finally I got 4-track and started recording my songs. I had to spend time with my voice and learn the way I really sounded before I could sound the way I wanted to sound. To hear myself the way others heard me, and make that sound as good as it could be.

I wasn't trying to sound like Mascis. But I did start there. Just speak-singing into the mic and then gradually iterated until I found the voice I still pretty much have today. Which a lot of people say is much more Smashing Pumpkins' Billy Corgan than J. Mascis. I never heard the Corgan thing, but you know what? I'll take it.

[awalkoflife]

she melts into their kiss with ease, every ounce of tension leaving her when he dips her head back. she wants to moan and she almost does, her body heating the second his tongue comes into play. it's been too long. india has already alluded to such in their earlier conversation however, so she stays quiet. neediness was the ultimate turn-off, but didn't he feel it too? the overwhelming urge to consume one another. to commit forbidden acts in public places. didn't he ever just miss.... her? she attempts to ignore the dizzying effects of their kiss when they pull apart. to pretend his mere presence didn't alter her brain chemistry or send her hormones spiralling after just one intimate interaction. perhaps the cocaine will help, or at least, take the edge off her frustration. like many times before, she succeeds in stifling her sighs, composing herself as though she hadn't been waiting for this moment all evening. felix produces the drug and she smiles up at him, starry eyed prior to the rush of adrenaline. he holds the key to her nose and she sniffs, eyes closing over to absorb the hit. it's a small amount, but it suffices, working to sober her from the light haziness of the prosecco. she waits patiently on him to take some of his own and put it away, leaning back against the stall, where she raises her thigh to his hip. "i've got money back at my dorm, if it's cash you're after?" india answers his question with a smirk, guiding her high heeled jimmy choo to rub playfully up his calf. "pretty sure my dealer's a pervert so i've been looking elsewhere." not that coke was her priority by any means. she just didn't tend to cope very well with the high levels of pressure without it. her gaze is soon brought back to his eyes, delicious pools of dark brown, both his hands gently holding her face as though she's something precious. for felix, she would be anything he asked. mould herself to fit whatever ideal he desired. under his gaze, she feels microscopic in nature, as though he's studying her. did he like what was underneath the surface? what resided beneath all of the beauty? would he ever care to delve deeper? "what if i don't like sharing?" it's a question that she's been running from, a question that passes from her lips without warning. one she doesn't intend to ask until it's already too late. his palms are comforting, fingertips grazing her temple, as she reaches for them. "do you ---" gently, she removes fee's hands from her face, repositioning one of them below her dress, to the stretch of skin where her thigh is still raised upon his hip. "do you like sharing me?" there's a part of her that's afraid to know the answer and a greater part of her that's worried she's ruining the moment. her mind is racing, her heart pounding even faster, but all she can think about is his weight against her. she's a little breathless, hands massaging his chest, smoothing over the ralph lauren shirt he's wearing. what is it you really want? her breath is hot on his lips, arousal pulsing at her core because if the roles were reversed, she'd tell him that he's all she ever fucking wants.

a boyish, gap-toothed grin appears on his face when she swats his arm, his eyes curving up into amused crescents. it hadn't been his intention to make light of something she was passionate about, but felix did like to pull pigtails and play a game of cat and mouse when he was attracted to someone. the chase was half of the fun. "no, it just comes naturally to me, i'm afraid," felix quips back, studded brow raising along with his lips. their playful flirtation brings heat to his cheeks, heart skipping a few beats. india was so fun to be around, sassy and charismatic. he found her very different from annabel, who was clingy, possessive, and snobbish. or if india was in fact possessive, she'd been careful not to let felix see that side of her yet. "yeah? i'd love for you to read to me. might actually help my attention span," he murmurs. felix typically liked to call the shots, but for some indiscernible reason he didn't mind having india boss him around. it was kind of hot, if he was being honest. so he does as asked and waits an inconspicuous amount of time before getting up to follow her to the bathroom to slip into their designated stall. if anyone happened to notice felix catton enter the ladies restroom, it's doubtful anything will be said nor done about it. his lofty name aside, they were just overwhelmed college students blowing off steam. from one of the most prestigious universities in the world, no less. felix feels they're entitled to. when he opens the unlatched stall door, his breath leaves him for a moment because she looks effortlessly stunning, as always. felix smiles into the kiss when she tells him she missed him, one large palm resting at the pinch of her waist while the other threads fingers into her dark locks of hair. he sucks at the swell of her bottom lip, tilting her head back for easier access as his tongue traces the seam of her lips, a fervid exploration. india tastes like prosecco and felix probably has lipstick on his teeth but he couldn't give a rats ass about that right now, not with india right in front of him, spontaneous and fun and accepting. he grins, pulling out a white ziploc baggie with the coke along with a key for her to snort it off of. "and how do you plan on doing that?" felix asks, tone sultry and suggestive as he opens the bag to place some of the powder on the key, raising it to her nose like a true gentleman. "but don't sweat it, you know i like to share." he was supporting his cousin's cocaine habit as well, after all. felix waits for her to take her bump before pouring a little more powder on the key and blocking one nostril to inhale it. it enters his bloodstream fairly fast, and afterwards he pockets the paraphernalia, cupping india's face in his hands to lose himself in those doe eyes of hers -- pupils more blown than ever. was it purely the cocaine, or arousal?

[burnt-avocado]

Empty Space 3

Empty Space - Chapter Three

summary: mars’ day begins like any normal high school student, then takes a world-changing turn. [4.4k]

CW: blood, violence, character death

series tags: canon divergence, slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff, memory loss, [REDACTED] 

Chapter Two | Chapter Four

Mars

“Happy Monday, class. Today we’ll be going over our projects on influential figures in English literature,” Mr. El Din announces to his third period students. The man’s a similar shade of brown to Mars amongst a population of white. He’s sitting on the edge of his desk at the front of the room, behind him ‘PRESENTATIONS NOVEMBER 7TH TODAY!!’ scrawled out across the blackboard.

Mars is curling the edge of a flashcard as she’s seated near the back of the class. Anxiety is slicking the lines of her palms and her leg bounces beneath her desk.

“Now I just want to reiterate that we’re trying to get a whole dozen groups finished today, so if you can keep your spoken portion to a max of two minutes, that’d be appreciated…” The teacher’s words fade out of Mars’ attention. She can’t be bothered to listen right now.

Not when her partner hasn’t shown up to class.

There were other underlying stressors that the girl was dealing with today, such as the ominous phone call this morning from Joyce Byers, mother of Dustin’s friend Will, or the lingering headache she sustained from yesterday evening. But when Steve Harrington, the boy she’d done a favor by completing the project all on her own, conveniently doesn’t show up to third period Lit? Mars thinks she might ralph from the intensity of her nerves.

I can’t believe I let that dumb, doe-eyed ball-bouncer swindle me, Mars thinks to herself. She’d left work early at Benny’s last night just for this project and ended up knocking herself silly on the walk home. So not only was she down a dreamy—c’mon, he’s not that cute!—piece of her Michel de Montaigne presentation puzzle, Mars would be missing out on a few dollars in her next paycheck. The teen was kissing the passing grade she planned for goodbye every moment the presentation drew closer.

“—Now I think we’ll go alphabetically to tighten up any time between groups, so let’s start with Abigail and Reba,” finally makes it through to Mars. The girls mentioned drag themselves from their respective seats and announce their influential figure, a German essayist Mars can’t pronounce the name of. The clock ticks slowly when they begin listing interesting facts and quotes, and Mars takes their work as a sign that her flashcards would be at least on an acceptable level for grading.

And that’s if Mars doesn’t fumble at public speaking. The concept of speaking to one person her age was anxiety-inducing on its own, and the thought of lecturing two dozen about silly quotes for a silly project did nothing to ease Mars’ tension. 

The first group finishes quickly enough, and Mars is clapping softly with the class as the next group is ushered before the blackboard. Two more, Mars thinks. And then I’m up. Don’t freak out. I swear to God if I begin to—Yeah, she’s starting to shake in her chair. Luckily her breathing hadn’t gone, yet! Hyperventilating amongst a horde of teens would not be any less embarrassing than sputtering her way through a note-card reading. Maybe not a horde of teens, exactly, but their collective gazes could obliterate a mountain if pressed, Mars imagines.

A collective shift in attention dominates the classroom when a student barges in from the hallway. Harrington.

He’s a tad flushed at the throat, collar of his striped polo crinkled and unfolded on his neck. The pink of his lips is bright and smudgy against the pale of his skin. 

Mars feels a bit of the tightness in her shoulders dissipate, but her stomach dips when she pieces together where Steve had come from—or rather, who he’d been with. 

Steve freezes when he notices everyone’s pointed stares. Mr. El Din makes no move but sternly says, “Have a seat Mr. Harrington.” 

The boy obeys, giving a curt nod to the two boys standing at the front of the class, and quickly moves to his seat. His movements are slightly rushed and he’s bumping shoulders with the orange duffel at his side, and Mars tries not to fall out of her chair in second-hand mortification.

He’s finally sitting at the empty desk at the girl’s right when the duo presenting starts speaking once more. Steve sighs and leans back, slouched in near nonchalance. Mars is looking at him from her peripheral. 

She wordlessly parts a select few notecards from her stack and leans to set them in front of Steve. ‘Read these’ is headed at the top of each. His job was straightforward: read off the quotes, pretend to know the material, and profit a decent grade while Mars turned in the essay she’d prepared the night before. 

The girl admonishes in a low voice, “Glad you could make it, Harrington.”

“Thanks, Henderson,” Steve whispers lowly across the narrow aisle.

Mars spares a turn to face him. Steve’s looking straight at her, their gazes meeting and Mars swears she tastes cherry lip balm on her tongue.

I hate cherry flavor.

“You’ve got a little…” Mars motions to his bottom lip with a finger. He starts and scrubs away a glittery patch of rose-colored shine with his sleeve and folds the collar of his striped polo back down. Mars gives her attention back to the group ahead, finishing their speech and receiving some claps.

When Steve speaks next, he’s closer to Mars by a few inches, hunched over in the space between them. “Your mom sounds like a nice lady,” he says, hushed. 

Mars swings her head to look at Steve. “What?” she’s still whispering.

“She picked up when I called yesterday. Super sweet. Voice like an angel.”

Mars is shaking her head. “Claudia’s not my mom.” 

Steve’s brows furrow.

Even if Mars wanted to explain, she’d still be cut off by Mr. El Din’s call across the classroom. 

“Next up we have Mars and Steve,” the English teacher announces. 

Cold trepidation follows Mars to the front of the class like a ball and chain. Her flashcards are clenched tightly in her grip and her eyes dart between the different pairs of shoes of her peers.

Steve’s standing beside her and Mr. El Din is talking again. “Thank you so much for joining us, Mr. Harrington.”

The boy in question nods, a smart grin pointed back at their teacher, “The honor’s all mine, sir.”

There are some laughs from the other students, but Mars is forcing a smile. 

Mr. El Din only gestures at the two teens in response. “Who will you be telling the class about today? Please.”

Mars sucks in a shaky breath. There are so many eyes on her. When she opens her mouth to speak, Steve’s already started.

“Some guy named… Michelle deh Montane. He’s a French guy who was really important during the Renaissance.” Steve is looking solely at the note card in his hand. “And, apparently, he’s to blame for us having to write essays in school. Michelle, uh, really contributed to the whole ‘Renaissance’ thing.”

He pauses, having skimmed through to the end of his first notes. Steve looks over to Mars and motions for her to go next.

“Y-yes—” burning a hole into the back of the class with her eyes, “—Michel de Montaigne’s writings in the 1500s would go on to, um—” she’s swallowing down a crack in her voice, “—influence modern psychology and directly impact the Western writers that followed him. He’s known for his quirky style of writing in his most famous work Essais.” 

Mars copies Steve’s previous motion back to him. And when he begins to speak, she takes the opportunity to refill her lungs with as much air as she can.

“Socrates and… Plu-tar—Plutarch? Plutarch. Yes, Plutarch. Socrates and Plutarch were some of Michelle’s favorite philosophers to quote… And this guy has lots of quotes to give. I’ll just, uh, read some of them for everyone.” Steve turns to his last note card.

He clears his throat. “First we have, oh, this one’s kinda funny: ‘On the highest throne in the world, we still sit only on our own bottom.’” Steve earns a few more laughs, but Mars doesn’t have to force her smile this time. “Next, he said, ‘I find I am much prouder of the victory I obtain over myself, when, in the very ardor of dispute, I make myself submit to my adversary’s force of reason, than I am pleased with the victory I obtain over him through his weakness.’ Kinda badass. And finally—” 

Steve pauses, but it’s only for a second. Mars finally builds enough courage to at least look at Steve, even for a moment. It’s two seas of cocoa, one dashed with seafoam the other with molten gold crashing up against each other, they’re spitting buzzing mist and it’s wonderful.

He doesn’t shake the gaze while he reads off the final note, “—‘Nothing fixes so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it.’” 

Mars blinks. She turns back to her class and gives a bow of her head. “T-thank you.”

Steve follows her to their seats and the other students repeat their applause for a fourth, unenthusiastic, time. Mars almost collapses into her chair with relief, nerves reverberating from her chest to her fingertips.

“Good job, you two. Let’s call up Laurie and Matthew.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧

For a rare moment, the packed halls of Hawkins High School are a breath of fresh air to Mars. Even with the rampant body odor.

When the bell had rung for the end of third period, she’d basically bolted from the class. She’d been sitting silently since the end of her presentation and only moved to hand Mr. El Din her copy of their full write-up. 

Mars is just thankful it’s over. Steve had shot her a thumbs up that she weakly returned, but he’d otherwise not said a thing. I don’t want to look another peep at his stupid, pretty face. 

That is, until she’s colliding with him in the middle of the hall. Mars was staring at the floor as she headed to her locker, head down and thoughts loud in her head. He’d cut in front of her to get her attention.

“Oof!” Mars jumps, cheeks flaming a bright ochre. Her forehead’s reeling from bumping headlong into his firm—what the fuck, Marsie—chest. She steps back and looks up to Steve.

“Don’t tell me you're not going to accept my gratitude, Henderson.” 

“For what?”

“‘For what?’ You pulled through on this project. From what I peeked at in the essay bit, El Din’s going to pass us. I’ll eat my pants if he doesn’t.”

Mars pulls at her sweater sleeve. “And the presentation?”

“C’mon, didn’t you see how bad Reggie’s went? The guy gabbed for three minutes straight.”

The girl allows herself to smile. And he’d pronounced Don Quixote four different ways.

“You know, I think I might keep this,” Steve’s holding up a flash card.

“Oh?” Mars asks with a quirked brow.

“Steve!” cuts from a few doors down. It’s Tommy H., his arms are crossed, and his grin is wicked as he waits by his locker.

Mars readjusts her bag on her shoulder. “I’m gonna get going, Harrington.” And she’s walking away.

“I owe you, Henderson!” Steve’s saying after her, and Mars shakes her head as she smiles to herself.

And when Mars goes about the rest of her school day, she tries to convince herself she’s not getting a crush on Steve Harrington.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

This time when she’s walking up to Benny’s, Mars doesn’t have a crippling headache and she’s covered in significantly less blood. Well, no blood, but that’s still less.

It’s as cold as yesterday had been, but even more windy. Mars has her hair pinned back with her favorite bandana, a bright, burnt orange square of fraying cotton. She can’t quite put her finger on where she’d gotten it, or how long she’s had it, but the word clothesline comes to mind. The bandana does its job well, keeping Mars’ hair out of her face when biting gusts of wind threaten to make her head a bird’s nest.

On the breeze is a zing that foretells rain, and a look at the sky guarantees it. “Cumulonimbus!” Dustin would say. Or was it nimbostratus? 

Dustin was not here, though. And if Aunt Claudia had her way, Mars wouldn’t be, either.

When Joyce Byers called the Henderson house before school that morning, asking after her son with worry in her voice, Claudia and Dustin assured the mother that Will most likely went to school early. He’d done so before, Dustin told Joyce.

But Will Byers hadn’t shown up to school, and Dustin came home to tell Mars and Aunt Claudia that the chief of police came in to question him and his friend. Will was missing.

Claudia had erected a stay-at-home rule in accordance with chief Hopper’s advice. Dustin and Mars were not to leave the house once coming home from school.

And Mars has officially broken that rule. Sorry, auntie.

Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right? She’s only going to Benny’s, Mars tells herself, to make up for leaving early the night before. She’ll just ask her boss to drive her home and slip inside her bedroom without Claudia noticing. Easy as cake.

Mars raps her knuckles against the back door and swings it open. It’s a natural movement, built up after months of working for Benny. She’s stepping into the pantry, pulling off her bag and hoodie. The jukebox is playing lowly through the diner when its namesake strides into the backroom.

“It’s Monday,” Benny says gruffly. Mars notices a distinct lack of grease on his shirt.

“I figured I could help close up the diner to make up for those hours yesterday.”

“We’re closed.” 

Explains the grease, Mars thinks back to the empty parking spaces out front, and that.

“Oh.”

Benny’s looking down at Mars intently, just long enough to set her on edge from his two-heads-higher position.  Then he’s looking into the kitchen, then back at Mars. 

“I do have something you can do for me, though.” The burly man motions for her to follow him, and she does, but then he’s stopping right at the threshold to the kitchen. 

“Um, Benny?”

“Now, actually wait here a sec—” Benny holds out a hand.

Mars stills, sticking her feet to the floor. Over the tune of Johnny Cash, the girl can overhear the man speaking quietly in the other room. She pulls her brows tight in confusion. I thought the diner was closed?

Benny’s standing in front of her again. “C’mon in.”

When her boss had told her he had something for Mars to do, she’d been expecting to mop or scrub the grill. 

In no way had Mars expected to see a bald, tiny human buried in a shirt three times their size. A girl? 

“Kid, this is Mars,” Benny says softly. “She works with me, she ain’t going to hurt you.”

The child is looking at Mars with wide, watchful observance. 

When the girls’ eyes meet, a faint ‘funny’ echoes in the back of Mars’ mind. Like a feather-touch, it brushes her brain and quickly dissipates.

“Hi?” Mars offers as gently, but curiously. 

“Mars is gonna keep you company while I get everything cleaned up, okay? So we can get you settled.”

Mars nods despite her confusion. The small child nods, too, meekly.

Benny steps out to the hallway. The room is much less full when his imposing figure’s gone, leaving the two girls in each other’s presence.

Mars shifts from foot to foot. What the hell do I do, exactly? The only experience in kids Mars has is Dustin—

Oh!

“So, um, do you like comics?”

Mars is only met with a blank stare.

“Comic books? Superheroes?” 

More staring.

“Hm. Okay, yeah that’s a bit of a boy thing, I guess…” What else does a twerp like Dustin enjoy? “Do you like ice cream?”

“Ice…cream.”

Wow, Mars thinks, her first words.

“One sec, I’ll get some!”

Mars goes straight for the freezer. With a heavy lift of the latch and a dive into the frozen box, the teen is scooping up a small tub of strawberry ice cream.

“It’s pint-sized, just like you!” she says, handing the smaller girl a spoon.

There’s a moment that Mars watches Pint-Sized do nothing and fears she’s made the wrong move. The doubt’s quickly dispelled when the girl starts shoveling spoonfuls of the pink treat into her mouth. 

“Wait, I wouldn’t—”

—And she’s got brain freeze! Pint-Sized is palming her eyes, and Mars panics.

“It’s okay, it’s okay! Hey, it’s just brain freeze and it’s so easy to fix, okay? Watch me!” 

Mars waits for the kid’s audience to lift up her thumb to her lips. 

“Just like this,” she’s sticking her thumb over her tongue. “Lah bis!” and her thumb’s warming the roof of her mouth.

Pint-Sized cautiously copies Mars, brows tucked together tight in discomfort. They wait together for a moment, fingers in their mouths, and Mars breaks into a grin. Slowly Pint-Sized’s brows unfurrow, and she’s back to eating ice cream. Though, at a much slower pace.

Mars watches over the girl with curiosity. The room’s filled by the sounds of Pint-Sized’s eating and the trickling in of music. I’ve gotta stop calling her Pint-Sized.

“Sorry, I never got your name,” Mars tries. 

Pint-Sized slows her lapping of the spoon. She turns over her left wrist, and Mars leans close to read the ink on her skin.

011. Eleven.

Mars looks into Pint-Sized’s eyes. There’s that tickling sensation and ‘name’ pops into Mars’ mind.

“That’s… not your name, is it?” Nausea licks at Mars’ throat. How fucked it would be, to be reduced to a number.

Pint-Sized—no, Eleven—nods at Mars’ question. “Eleven.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Eleven.” And Mars sends a warm smile to the girl opposite her.

Eleven returns it.

Benny takes this as his cue to enter back into the kitchen with a collection of coffee cups. He drops them straight into the wash basin, and they make that grating clink noise when they collide that sends irritation straight up to the front of her emotional queue.

“Smile looks good on you.”

Eleven looks oddly up at Benny.

“You know, a smile?” And he does so.

Eleven glances between Mars and the man and gives another smile. It’s perfectly warm and Mars has grown fond of it, she thinks, as she taps her heel along to the Jefferson Airplane song the jukebox has playing.

The joy on Eleven’s face disappears, though, when a knock sounds from the front door. Her breathing picks up again, and Mars wonders what happened to make her this way.

“You girls just sit tight. Whoever it is, I’ll tell ‘em to go away real quick, alright?” 

Mars watches as his voice visibly soothes Eleven, even if it’s miniscule. 

“Are you okay?” Mars asks, but Eleven just watches after Benny. 

His voice doesn’t quite carry into the kitchen from where he opens the door, and Mars shuffles a bit closer to Eleven so she, too, can see Benny. His large frame is blocking Mars from seeing whoever’s at the door.

A few words do make it to them. “Connie Frazier, Social Services.” And Mars feels a weight sink in her gut. 

“Are you scared of them?” Mars tries to get Eleven’s attention, but the girl is frozen to her seat on the counter.

And then Benny’s letting a woman in, “Sorry, again, for trying to turn you away there.”

The woman’s following him towards the kitchen. The hair on the back of Mars’ neck stands straight up at the sight of her.

Bad bad bad bad bad bad—

Mars is inching towards Eleven, hands itching and legs pulsing.

The woman’s stopped trailing behind Benny, digging in her purse. 

Benny’s just being nice. “You know, it’s funny.” 

She's pulling something out.

Benny’s turning back to her. “Your, uh, voice sounds different on the—” and she’s shooting Benny Hammond in the head. 

A spigot of blood follows the bullet’s trail, and Benny’s falling to the ground.

There’s an absence of feeling that Mars experiences in the following moments. It’s as if her mind had gone silent and her body had just acted. 

Mars pulls Eleven off the counter and pushes the girl behind her. A blink, and they both bolt for the back pantry door. 

And then two men are busting in through their exit, guns raised, and Mars again throws herself in front of Eleven. 

Another blink, and the shelves of the pantry fling their contents out at the attackers. There’s a 96 ounce can of barbecue sauce striking one man squarely at his temple, a spoon flying at lightspeed into the other’s forehead, and both collapse to the floor.

Mars spares no moment and books it out the door, heading straight for the tree line. Eleven’s just behind her and they’re gone.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Dustin

Dustin’s breaths are coming out in puffs of steam, and he peddles along Mike and Lucas. Their party hikes down the weary path of Mirkwood, traveling swiftly toward their destination. A rumble in the sky foretells a dangerous quest and…

It’s way past when his mom puts him to bed. 

But it’s not like he ever goes to sleep when she says—it’s more of a formality, a ritual that Dustin finds a modicum amount of comfort in—and he doesn’t have a bedtime no matter what anyone thinks and, like, he’s twelve now so why would he even follow a bedtime rule if he had it? That’s so stupid and he’s insulted that his mom would even think to insinuate he has a bedtime! 

Yes, Dustin has impeached the ruling of his mother, who so foolishly thought she could control a mind such as his. He so cleverly outwitted her, spinning a tale of studying for Gursky’s upcoming test. 

And due to this show of cunning, he is able to join his party on the valiant quest to find their missing friend, Will. No matter how fraught with danger the path may be, Dustin Henderson was ready to save the—

A wet droplet falls from the heavens and hits the brim of Dustin’s cap. Oh, shit.

One droplet turns into three, then four. And when the party’s arrived at their destination, Dustin looks to the sky.

“Hey, guys? You feel that?’

A thunderous rumble from the sky is his response. Both Lucas and Mike are staring down into the woods from their bikes, each searching over the barrier chief Hopper had set along the road.

It’s dark and it’s beginning to rain and Dustin does not want to die a soggy forest death.

“I think maybe we should go back.”

“No.” Mike says, firmly. “We’re not going back. Just stay close.”

Dustin hesitates.

“Come on.”

He’s still watching as the two other boys duck under the barrier and head into the trees, flashlights casting deeper shadows on the already pitch-black forest. 

Mike reasons, “Just stay on channel six. Don’t do anything stupid.” 

Dustin tightens his jacket around his body and adjusts his cap. He swallows, and he likes to picture a green little monster being sucked down. 

“Hey, guys, wait up!” They don’t wait up. “Wait up!” 

He catches up quickly when they pause their trek, both boys squinting as the sprinkle of rain hits their faces. A reinvigorated gust of wind sends a watery chill across each boy’s back.

“Scared of a little rain?” Lucas jibes. 

“No, I’m just being realistic. If we all wake up sick tomorrow, you really think our moms are going to believe that we, coincidentally, all caught colds at the exact same time?”

Thunder cracks and the rain’s suddenly coming down in cacophonous buckets.

“It won’t matter if we find Will,” Mike assures. He pulls up his hood and he’s heading the party, marching deeper into the woods. 

“Yeah, but can we find him if we die?” 

“Shut up, Dustin!”

Mike starts yelling out Will’s name into the black, and Lucas and Dustin follow suit. 

Dustin’s shoes are getting soggier by the minute, his toes battling the devious horde that is wet socks. His hat’s usefulness had fallen off its once promising trajectory, not so effective at combating sideways rain. The coat he’d been wearing hadn’t lasted even ten minutes in the downpour, so that was great. 

Dustin loved Will like a brother, but this whole search party business was really becoming a more than questionable endeavor.

“Will, I’ve got your X-Men 134!” He heaves, giving it his last effort. Tired from mucking through mud and tripping on damp tree branches.

A particularly gnarled shadow startles Dustin backward.

That little green monster’s climbed back up his throat and has staked his claim. Dustin is officially scared shitless.

“Guys, I really think we should turn back.”

“Seriously, Dustin?” Lucas is biting again. “You wanna be a baby, then go the hell home already!”

“Lucas, I'm thinking logically!”

“No, you’re just being a big sissy!”

Dustin gives that green monster a microphone. “Did you ever think Will went missing because he ran into something bad? And we’re going to the exact same spot where he was last seen? And we have no weapons or anything?”

“Dustin, shut up.” It’s Mike’s turn to cut.

“I’m just saying, does that seem smart to you?”

“Dustin, be quiet right now,” and Mike’s holding his arms out in front of the boys behind him.

Dustin’s ready to talk back, but a distinct rustling nearby sends his heart rate up into the bajillions. Even through the heavy rain, he can hear it, too. 

“Did you guys hear that?” And the sound of moving brush is behind them.

All three boys flip in a 180-degree turn, flashlights pointed ahead.

Then the rustling’s closer, just to the right of them, and Dustin says a sweet prayer to the little green monster choreographing the dance it’ll perform on his grave. 

Mike and Lucas flinch beside him, and when Dustin finally looks, he’s met with the absolute last thing he could’ve imagined.

In the white of three torchlights, Dustin’s older cousin Mars stands drenched from rain in her Benny’s Burger t-shirt. A hand is held to protect her eyes, but her other is outstretched behind her. 

In a collective movement, Dustin, Mike and Lucas peer around Mars Henderson to spy a bald-headed girl quivering in the cold and squinting at the light.

“What. The shit?!”

[vixenpen]

Dabi smut with a teacher. Like in some quirkless au or something (He’s scarless but hella pierced and tatted), he had to pick up kid!Shoto one day and he sees his hot black teacher (Sis got thickness and curves for days, even in simple clothes) So he consistently picks up Shoto (even when he doesn’t have to) just to hit on her and when he finally scores a date with her, he’s at his limit after seeing her in casual wear and how amazing her personality is.

I LOVED this request. I had so much fun writing it and the details were amazing! I hope you enjoy

Hot For Teacher (Dabi x Black Reader) Quirkless AU

“Ah, come on kid,” Dabi sighed, expelling a stream of smoke as he waited at the curb for his baby brother to get out of school.

He rolled down the window to air out the car and watched the stream of middle schoolers burst through the double doors and head to their respective busses or cars.

“Shooo,” Dabi groaned, “where are you? I got shit to do, kid.”

He enjoyed hanging out with his youngest sibling, and he had no problem picking the kid up, but he also had a business to help run. If he didn’t get back to the shop in an hour and a half like he’d promised Hawks, he’d get an earful about responsibility and time management and blah, blah, blah.

He leaned back in the driver seat, deciding to give Shoto another fifteen minutes before he texted the kid.

Just then another wave of kids exited the building, Dabi’s bright blue eyes scanned them before landing on the finest woman he’d ever seen in his life.

Her cream colored silk blouse popped beautifully against her rich brown skin and a pair of slacks hugged her wide hips. Her makeup made her dark eyes sparkle and red lipstick painted her pouty mouth.

Dabi sat up, turquoise eyes running up and down that beautiful body of hers as the sexy teacher strutted past to talk to parents and wave good bye to students. When she turned around, his eyes slid down to the fattest ass he’d ever seen and he licked his lips.

Damn it must be hard as hell for her students to concentrate in class.

She turned again and began walking back towards the school. Fuck! If he didn’t stop gawking he would miss his chance. He couldn’t let that happen.

Holding his cigarette between his lips, Dabi quickly stepped out of the car and took leggy strides to catch up with the teacher.

“Excuse me.”

She turned around, her big dark eyes landing on him. Immediately Dabi knew she was sizing him up and wasn’t impressed. She gave that same disapproving teacher look Fuyumi gave whenever she was put off by someone.

Regardless, he flashed her his most charming smile. He may not be a goody two shoes like these other khaki wearing dads out here, but he knew he looked damn better than any of them.

“Sorry to bother you ma’am. I was just hoping you could help me out.”

“Sure,” she smiled back, showing off a pair of pretty white teeth. “Let’s start with that cigarette. It’s against our school policy to be smoking on the premises so if you could.” She cocked a brow expectantly.

Dabi cocked his own pierced brow back in response, but quickly stubbed out his cigarette on a nearby janitor’s cart and threw it away in the accompanying trash can.

Her smile widened. “Great. Now, how can I help you?”

Dabi chuckled. “Well, ya see, I just got this new phone and cleared out all my old contacts. Ya know, new year, new me and all that,” he shrugged, “anyway, my contacts are pretty empty now. So, I was wondering if I could get yours.”

She let out a little snort of amusement.

“That’s your pick up line? How many Girls have had the misfortune of hearing that one?”

“You’d be the first,” Dabi smirked back. “Figured the usual ‘hey beautiful, what’s your name’ line wouldn’t exactly help me stand out.”

“Trust me, you don’t need help standing out.” She replied, eying him again.

“Then that means I’m ahead of the game, right?” He held out a hand, “I’m Dabi.”

Tentatively, the teacher shook it. “Ms. Y/n.”

“Ms. Y/n, huh...” Dabi repeated slowly, his eyes ran over you with a barely masked longing. “Not ‘Mrs’?”

“Not yet.” You replied.

“How soon are you looking to change that?” Dabi asked, his smirk growing a bit smaller and more intimate.

“Who said I was looking to change it at all?”

“Certainly not me,” he replied, “that’s why I asked. I would love to talk more about how much you don’t want to change it over dinner sometime though.”

You fended off a smile. You were not about to give this over confident asshole any encouragement.

“Sorry, but I make it a point not to date my student’s parents.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a parent then.”

“Oh? So you just like to stroll on the campuses of random middle schools and hit on the teachers for fun?”

Dabi chuckled again.

“I’m here to pick up my little brother. Ah, hell, speaking of which, I actually could use your help with that. Kid hasn’t come out yet and I’ve already been here over half an hour.”

Your pretty face immediately crumpled with worry.

“What’s your brother’s name?”

“Todoroki Shoto.”

“Oh!” You looked surprised. “Shoto. I think I saw him headed towards the baseball field. I think the team has practice today.”

“Dammit! Really? Well, I better go say hi to the kid anyway. You mind, uh, leading the way?”

“Sure.” You shrugged.

Turning, you took the lead and guided Dabi towards the baseball diamond behind the school. You could feel the man’s eyes on your ass the whole way, and couldn’t help but put an extra switch in your hips as you did. Much to his appreciation.

You had to admit the man was fine as hell. The black undercut with lines cut in the side, his multiple piercings and even the colorful tattoos you saw peeking from under his fitted black tshirt were hot as hell. However, you had long since given up on bad boy types. You preferred nerds. Still a little light flirting wouldn’t hurt anything, right?

“There he is.” Dabi stated once the two of you verged on the field. He held up his hands to his mouth and called out: “Yo, Sho!”

The boy looked up, heterochromatic eyes widening in surprise.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had practice today you little half and half?”

“Why don’t you ever check mom’s texts?” Shoto shouted back. “She told you to come later.”

You snickered as Dabi pulled out his phone and checked his text messages.

“Huh. Well I’ll be damned.” He muttered to himself. “Alright, kiddo, I’ll be back in an hour!”

“Can you stop shouting and leave now?! I have to concentrate.”

Dabi laughed before turning back to you.

“Anyway, thanks a lot for your help Ms. Y/n.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Still, I would love to thank you properly. Maybe over coffee.” He said, sounding hopeful.

“Before it was dinner.” You quipped, playfully.

“I know. I‘m just planning for future dates.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “It was nice meeting you, Dabi.” With that you turned and strutted off.

“I hope you know I’m gonna keep trying until I get a yes or no.” He called after you.

As you entered the school’s back entrance you could hear Shoto shouting: “Can you please stop hitting on my teachers? I have to see them everyday!”

Unfortunately for Shoto, his plea seemed to go in one overly pierced ear and out the other because almost everyday since then, Dabi made it a point to stop and talk to you when he came to pick up Shoto.

“Hey there, Ms. Y/n. My contacts are filling up fast. You sure you don’t wanna reserve a spot?”

“Sorry Dabi, but my no dating policy extends to immediate family members as well.”

“I hated to cancel our reservations, but you’re left me no choice, Ms. Y/n.”

“Nobody told you to make reservations, Dabi.”

“Dinner was lonely the other day. If only I had a beautiful black queen to keep me company.”

“I’m sure There are plenty of black queens out there that would have loved to accompanying you to dinner.”

“Yeah, but they wouldn’t have been you.”

Dabi was unrelenting. Always complimenting how amazing your outfits looked on your skin tone, how flattering your make up was, or if you wore a new hairstyle or new jewelry.

You couldn’t lie. The attention was both flattering and refreshing. Since becoming a teacher, you usually only got hit on by studious academic types. Attractive yes, but straight laced and all the same with their game

Unfortunately a disturbing amount of married dads also tried their luck with you.

But Dabi was different.

He may have been a far cry from your usual type, but he was always perfectly respectful and even funny. Not to mention he was much closer to your own age than other men that came on to you.

He must have started bribing Shoto for help or asking him about your interests too. Because sometimes when he would see you, he’d have a new book to give you or your favorite iced tea from a cafe you always frequented. Which, admittedly, was pretty damn cute.

The tatted up alt boy was actually growing on you. So one day, when both of you least expected it, you finally agreed to give him your number and go on a date.

That was the first time you ever saw him straight up smile. Not smirk or grin. He actually beamed. Just like a little boy who’d been told he could have a puppy.

Ok, ok. You admit it—he was cute.

Hopefully, that charm would extend over to dinner.

When the big date came, Dabi cleaned himself up. Opting out of his usual dark attire for a deep blue fitted Ralph Lauren polo and skinny khakis. He even took out some of his piercings in an attempt to look more presentable. He thought he cleaned up pretty nice if he did say so himself, but it was nothing compared to what you strutted in wearing.

Dabi had gotten used to your stylish but conservative work attire. He was so used to your hot teacher look, that he forgot you probably had some regular clothes in that amazing wardrobe of yours.

And damn did you pick out the most show stopping dress you had. You wore a wine colored dress that cut low in the front showing off those juicy tits of yours and stopped above the knee. The heels you wore made your thighs look even yummier and your ass was jiggling out of control with every step.

Down boy. Down boy. Down boy.

He scolded himself.

“Well, don’t you clean up nicely, Dabi?” You teased.

“I’m Touya tonight, beautiful.” He struck a pose like a GQ model. You laughed. “Dabi was that guy that kept hitting on you, Touya’s the guy that’s gonna try not to screw it up.

“Oh,” you ran a manicured finger along his solid chest, “well, I agreed to a date with Dabi, but I guess Touya could be fun too.”

Dabi licked his lip, and your eyes fell on his tongue piercing, hungrily.

“Depending on how well the night goes, you might see Dabi come out later tonight.” He replied, suggestively.

You rolled your eyes, but could feel your cheeks (and your pussy) warming.

“Boy! Come on.”

Dabi as Touya opened the door to the restaurant and ushered you inside.

The restaurant he took you to was definitely a high end place; complete with soft candle light, a jazz quartet, and a maître d’.

The chemistry the two of you had definitely translated over dinner.

Dabi was just as funny as he always was and he was genuinely interested in getting to know everything about you. He hung on to your every word about the funny things your students did in class. He enjoyed hearing your college stories. He even knew some of the books you enjoyed reading and could talk literature easily.

You discovered that he was the co-owner of a tattoo and piercing shop. He was the oldest of his siblings. And he enjoyed traveling and learning new things.

Dabi enjoyed vibing with you. He loved that your personality and sense of humor was just as amazing and substantial as that body he wanted a piece of so bad.

Dinner rolled into drinks and lasted well into the night. By the time the two of you were done it was damn near four A.M.

From that night on, you and Dabi became practically inseparable. He picked you up from school right along with Shoto for dinner after work, swung by with coffee, bought you any and everything you wanted (he does come from money after all) and after a year of dating, you became more than just a ‘Ms.’

Pt.2

[sabedile-asoiaf]

What if A Song of Ice and Fire had been adapted in 1997?

Okay, so this is pretty silly, but I was thinking about who could've been cast in an asoiaf film (or show, I guess) back in 1997 when it was originally published, and... I'm actually having a bit of a hard time with some characters.

I believe George R. R. Martin mentioned once that his personal choices for Cersei and Jaime Lannister would've been Nicole Kidman and Cary Elwes, and I can definitely see why. However, I think that by 1997 Cary Elwes had stopped looking particularly Jaime-like, so I'll have to look for a different set of actors for them. They're not easy.

After much deliberation, Kristin Scott Thomas and Ralph Fiennes seem appropriate enough for Cersei and Jaime. Warwick Davis is an obvious (but very appropriate) choice for Tyrion. He's wearing prosthetics in the picture, but he'd probably wear some playing Tyrion too. He's a little too pretty in reality (though that did not stop HBO). Can't find anything that's quite right for Joffrey, though. Maybe Jonathan Rhys-Meyers. Maybe.

Okay, so one of the first things that came to mind was that Anna Paquin should be Arya Stark. Considering what she did for The Piano a few years earlier, she wouldn't have been a stranger to changing her accent. She was a little too old at that point (15), but I imagine they'd age up the younger characters. If we say Arya is supposed to be about 13 in this, then Anna Paquin playing her wouldn't be too far-fetched. Jon could be aged up to 17-18, and they'd probably cast an older actor, so 23 year old Christian Bale seems to work. Finding a brown-eyed Ned Stark to match the others was a little hard, but I think Jeremy Northam is a solid choice. I think they even have similar features.

Emma Thompson as Catelyn Stark was a very easy decision to make. Imelda Staunton as Lysa came naturally after that. Sansa, though... Sansa is a problem. I sort of... kind of... settled on Claire Danes, who could maybe do a british accent, but I had a hard time with a lot of the younger characters. She was 18 at the time, and I think she could pass for a 15 or 16 year old Sansa. If someone has a better choice, don't hesitate to tell me. And please, tell me if you know someone for Robb and Bran... I have nothing. Don't bother with Rickon, though, he'd either be adapted out or some random baby.

I have absolutely no idea what to do with Daenerys. For Khal Drogo maybe a Mark Dacascos type, I don't know, I've never like that storyline. King Robert... is actually complicated. All the actors I've considered (Jonathan Rhys-Davies, Oliver Reed, Brian Blessed) would've been too old.

Just a few random ideas now. Daniel Day-Lewis as Petyr Baelish. I would have put a picture of him in A Room with a View if it had been a bit more recent, but you still get the idea.

If A Game of Thrones had been the only book adapted, these characters wouldn't have been in it, but I'll still include them. For Stannis, I've already said I like Christopher Eccleston. Mark Strong works too (look him up in Henry VIII a few years later). I've also included Tia Carrere for Melisandre. Kull the Conqueror is a lousy film from what I can remember (I mean, I forgot about its existence until I found images of Tia Carrere in character, so I can't say much), but the way they dressed her up made me think she might not be a bad choice for the role.

Who would other people choose?

[potatosoldier]

Are you still there?

/Part 5/

Please, if you could. leave your opinions of this series in the comments :)

l yawned as I sat with Eugene Roe and Ralph Spina at the train wagon. My head was aching and my throat was sore. It was really getting tough to stay awake. I wasn’t going to ask for sick leave, but I felt like there was a spiky hairball stuck to my throat. So much for enjoying the train ride. No, Sonja, you are finally able to relax a little. I shouldn’t be ungrateful and take these moments for granted. 

I slowly take my cross pendant and give it a little kiss of thanks for the little moment of peace. Ralph raises his brows from across me. “You praying?”, he asks kindly. 

I shake my head: “I’m thanking God for being able to rest.” He nods and looks at me with a soft look. Eugene also smiles, they truly are a pair of truly empathetic men. “So you’re religious?”,Eugene asks. 

“Evangelical Lutheran”, I answer. “My whole dads side of the family is, with you know them being Finnish. I was actually confirmed there”, I explain. Religion was something I valued. It did not rule my life, but belief was something that gave me a feeling of contentment. I want to live a pure life, and as long as I keep my intentions pure, I want to belief that something out there is looking out for me. 

“Do you actually speak Finnish?”, the Cajun gentleman asks. I chuckle “Yhtä hyvin, kuin sinä puhut Ranskaa”, I answer and they look at me both very confused. I giggle at their expressions. “I just said that: As well as you speak French”

With Richard and Lewis

Richard Winters was calmly writing into his notebook as he heard a very familiar voice behind him: “Going my way?”

The red head stopped writing for a moment. “Where the train takes me”, he answered. Being the calm and collected man he was, he didn’t feel the need to pester his friend for information. Even if he seemed to be very adamant for him to take interest. 

“Where do you suppose that might be?”

“Haven’t got a clue”

“Yeah, come on. Take a guess. Atlantic, Pacific, Atlantic”, the button eyed officer hints. Richard continues writing to his notebook. He couldn’t deny being a little curious, but he could live without knowing. Lewis on the other hand couldn’t live without sharing. “I’m not the intelligence officer”, Richard interrupts his friends guessing game. 

“As such, I know, but if I told you, I’d have to kill you”, Lewis quips as he leans closer to Dick. 

“So don’t tell me”, Dick answers just as cool and collected as before. It truly amazed Lewis, the amount of self restraint the lieutenant in front of him had. It was admirable, but amusing as well. If your humor is sick enough of course. 

Lewis makes his way and sits in front of his friend. “New York City. Troop ship.England. We’re invading Europe, my friend”, he says seriously and pulls a flask from his back pocket. 

“Fortress Europa”, he salutes and pushes the flask towards his friend. Dick still looks as cool as before. “Since when do I drink”, he inquires dryly. The dry expression and amusement leave his face quickly after Lewis ends up admitting to hiding a case of his favorite whiskey: VAT 69, into his pristine friends footlocker. Dick was not sure which worried him more, the fact that his friend had just sneaked it in or the fact that his friend was so actively drinking. God knows he didn’t want to see Lew hurt. 

Dick looks very displeased as Lewis offers the flask to Harry, before a thoughtful expression takes over as he looks at the flask, making Lewis raise his brow. Was he really considering taking it?

“Sonja’s throat was sore. Might be wisest to get her here and offer some without the men seeing”, Richard says after a while. Lewis shakes his head: “She is a nurse! I’m not wasting my VAT on that” he chuckles. 

Richard raises his brow, looking very displeased again. “And since when was her health a waste”, he whispers looking very serious. Harry next to him laughs. “God Nix, go find her or he’ll be pissy all day”

Nix nods and stands up with a smirk attached to his face. Dick shakes his head, and people dared to say that traveling with friends was pleasant. 

Sonja

My brows furrow as I see Lewis Nixon make a very determined path towards me. And no there was no chance he was coming to see someone else. He locked his eyes with mine and you could see the mischief dancing in his brown orbs. 

He smirks as he stands next to me quickly nodding to Spina and Roe, before leaning closer and whispering into my ear: “Josef calls Mary, I repeat Josef calls Mary”

I pull a face and look at him like he had just gone crazy. He seems to be happy with that, and takes my arm helping me up, before taking a hold of my shoulders and literally pushing me where he wants. 

“Lewis, could you kindly explain, why you decided to kidnap me?”, I ask with mock kindness. “As I said, Josef needs Mary”. I roll my eyes at his joke. 

“You really aren’t as funny as you think you are”, I point out, before I let out a small cough. “Shut up, holy Mary, I’m absolutely hilarious. Though you sound a little rough”, he says and I do hear the actual care in his voice. 

I look at him tilting my chin up and smile gently. “Just a little sore throat. I’m a nurse I know how to work it out”, I soothe. He just shakes his head and says under his breath: “Don’t I know it”

When we make it to their seat Harry jumps up from next to Dick and he and Lewis maneuver me over to his old place. 

“Okay, Maiden fair rescued from the wolves, and Knight Lewis Nixon just got off the hook, thank you” 

So much for being subtle boys. I look around and see no alarming faces. With that I slouch a little and lean against my husbands shoulder. Richard seems to do the same check and brushes my thick brunette locks back before planting a kiss on my forehead. Harry is looking at us with a soft grin, he really was such a romantic. As was I, him talking about Kitty made me feel all kinds of joy for them.

Then he does the most surprising thing, he holds his hand out for Lewis’s flask. I open my mouth to ask why was he offering his teetotaler wife a drink, but I don’t get the chance. “Drink, it’ll ease your pain”, Richard whispers and holds the flask near my mouth. 

My mouth comes to the most loving smile as I look into his eyes. This caring angel of a man. “You noticed, huh?”I whisper tenderly.

 I raise my other hand to tip the flask with his and take a small ladylike sip. The taste is..not my favorite and I pull a face. It felt like those shivers you get when you drink cold tea from the bottom of the mug. 

“Thank you”, I whisper and we pass the flask back to Lewis. Who looks positively horrified. “I just gave you five star liquor and you pulled a damn face. No woman, you don’t say thank you. You apologize”, he scolds. I can’t even tell if he is serious or not. 

“oh forgive me oh lord of sin”, I say tiredly and lean against Dick even more heavily. “that’s more like it”, I hear the pleased answer. Richard takes my hand and intertwines our fingers. I sigh and sleep better than I have slept since I left Lancaster. 

Huge thank you to @iilovemusic12us​, our chats really mean the world to me! :)

[yerrrabitch]

A Ride Home

Y/N - Your Name

Y/B/N - Your Boyfriend’s Name

Y/UNI/N - Your University Name

Y/M - Your Major

C/Y - Current Year

It was a normal night. Well as normal as it could be. You and your boyfriend had a fight earlier in the car because your shirt hung “too low”. It wasn’t your fault that your breast spilled out of your shirt the way they did. However, Y/B/N hated that. He actually hated every time you wore clothes that showed any skin. It was suffocating. You compromised and wore his alumni sweater. 

“Y/N!” a blonde from your 8AM yelled, ”Come dance with me!”

You put your red cup down and took her up on her offer. It wasn’t like you were doing anything but brooding anyway. Y/B/N had went into the house with some friends and you were in the backyard waiting. You hated this part. You’d come out with him every weekend to appease him. Truth was your feet, back and head hurt and you craved nothing more than your bed and the feeling of your fan blowing against your cheeks in the moonlight. But, like every weekend Y/B/N would make you feel bad for wanting rest. You went to school full time and worked part time at a local diner so that you could afford to stay in your apartment. He had graduated during your sophomore year and was living his best life while owning his own bar. 

It wasn't like you hated being out; you were just tired. He didn't understand that. Despite hating your hours and your dedication to work and school, he never offered to help with your bills or spend the night in. It’s not like you’d accept anyway but, the thought that he would consider would’ve been nice.

“Y/N!”, she yelled while latching on to your arm. She had grown tired of waiting for you to come to her. She threw her head back and laughed as she grinded on you to the beat of a popular pop song. You could smell the alcohol on her breath and began to laugh. This was actually fun. You two began to dance together more provocatively and you hated being out less. 

Two songs later and you needed a break. You both decided to get something to eat inside. You took off the sweater and put it on the counter. The house owner, Ralph, had laid out all kinds of cheap food. You gravitated towards the fruit while she dove at the pizza. You looked at your phone and saw it was 12:08 AM. 

You had to be at work at 7 AM.

Y/B/N knew this and was still doing God knows what in the house. Irritation set in and you immediately felt your mood sour. You considered ordering an UBER and going home on your own. No. He brought me here, he needs to bring me home. 

You called his phone twice and then sent him a text message.

Y/N: Hey, it’s late and I have work tomorrow. 

Seen 12:15 AM

“You good, ma?” A tall man asked.

You didn't recognize him. He must be from out of town. 

“I’m fine, thank you”

“You don't look fine.” He said eyeing you and the way you shifted from one foot to the other, “you need a fix or sum?”

You couldn't help the laughter that shot out of your mouth and filled the kitchen. He cracked a wide smile at you. He’s fine.

“No, I’m actually waiting for someone to come downstairs. I need to leave.”

“Who?” He asked raising an eyebrow, while leaning against the table and staring into your eyes.

“My boyfriend.” You deadpanned

“Yikes.”

“What?”

“If I was your boyfriend, I would've never left you alone.”

There’s no reason he shouldn't be answering his phone. Let me see where he is. You moved around the table and the man in front of you to find Y/B/N.

“Ma, let me take you home”

You stared at him for a minute. 

“I need to find my boyfriend.” You said, putting an emphasis on the boyfriend part.

“If he’s in this house, right now. You’re single.”

You stop in your tracks and you feel tears well up in your soft, brown eyes. It had to be the liquor, you aren't sensitive.

“Excuse me”, your voice completely icy and your hands shaky. The blonde grabbed her pizza and went back outside, glad to escape whatever was happening in there.

“They're up there playing a stripping game. When I left nobody had pants on so if he's there now I can't imagine.”

You turned on your heel and flew up the stairs and followed the sound of the crappy 2008 hits into a game room. There he was, sprawled out beneath a girl while she sucked on his left nipple. You cleared your throat and everyone in the room paused, knowing who you were. 

He opened his eyes after a second and jumped up in realization. His face morphed from fright to anger. 

“Where’s the sweater?”

The nerve and audacity of this man. You caught him with a bitch sucking on his tiddy and he had the balls to ask you about what you were wearing? You started to laugh. You were borderline hysterical at this point. 

“Die.”

You turn back around and go down the stairs opening your phone. You could handle that in the morning but, right now you needed to go home and go to sleep.

You sighed loudly and pulled your hair up into a bun. You didn't care that it'd have to stay like that until next wash day. You were overheating and irritated. 

A low whistle broke you out of your blank stare into the street. You looked up and it was the man from the kitchen. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, while sitting next to you on the steps.

“I will be. Once I get home and shower this off of me.”

“I can take you if you want.”

“It’s ok. I don't want to bother-”

“I offered. It’s not a bother if I offer.”

You eyed him weirdly. Why did this man have an interest in you? 

“Ok but, windows have to be down the whole way there and you have to drive with one hand out the window” You stated firmly.

He chuckled.

“Ok shorty. I’ll do whatever you say”

*******

He drove a C/Y Acura with red interior. The car was well kept; it still smelled like a new car. You stared at the inside, instantly falling in love with the car and the way it felt.

“It’s just a car.” Your eyes snapped to his, warmth spreading across your neck.

“Sorry, it’s beautiful though”

“It was a gift.” He said while checking his shoulder and pulling away from the curb. A gift? Who’s he friends with? “From my aunt and cousin.”

“Cool. Usually I get books or dinners.” He cracked a smile.

“They’re overcompensating. They weren't around when they could've been.” He stopped at a light. The red illuminated his face and made his teeth look even whiter, if possible. You noticed for the first time that he had gold bottoms in. His long eyelashes brushed against his brown cheek as he cut his eye at you to gauge your reaction.

“Shorty.”

“Yes,” you said blinking out of your trance. He was delicious. 

“I asked you which way”, he said smirking at you. He knew that you liked what you saw. 

“Keep going straight.” You turned to the road, you wanted to keep an eye on your surroundings not only him. 

“So why’re you in a rush to get home?”

“I have to work in a few hours.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. An action that turned you on more. 

“You knew you had to work and you still came out? You’re wild.”

“I thought I would have left hours ago to be honest. Y/B/N and I got into a fight and I was distracting myself downstairs.”

“I saw you at like 9. You were nursing one cup man.” You felt stupid. You should've left after the argument. Matter of fact, you shouldn't have came. 

“Did I ask you?”

“Look, it is what it is. I’m just saying I don't think you came here for you.”

He was right. Your entire relationship with Y/B/N wasn't for you. It started off to appease him and stop his antics. He had been following you around campus trying to get your number for weeks after spotting you in the cafe. You stayed with him because you found comfort in routine. Fuck him. You were tired.

“That doesn't matter.” You said closing the issue off from him.

“Ok. So tell me about something that does”

“Huh?”

“Tell me about yourself.” You left out a small laugh. He wanted to get to know you right after you walked in on God knows what with your ex. 

“I just walked in on my ex cheating on me. Man let me be single for a second.”

“All I asked was for an introduction.” He cut his eye at you. You felt bad. All he wanted was conversation and you assumed he wanted you. I’m such a bitch.

“I’m a senior at Y/UNI/N and I am a Y/M.” You said quietly. 

“All you do is study? I go there too.”

“I’ve never seen you around.”

“You’re too busy trying to help the world,” He smiled. “It’s admirable though.”

“Not the whole world. Only the brown part.”

He let out a earthquaking laugh that warmed every fiber of your being. 

“I respect that. But, why?”

“I grew up with only my mom around. And I saw how it was for her, a single women, to help feed and raise my sister and I. Turn right at this light. I want to help women like that get the tools they need to succeed. It shouldn't be that hard to live a basic life.” You reminisced about all the late nights and early mornings your mom had just to make sure you kept food on the table. “I’m trying to get an internship with this youth outreach program this summer so I can get more roots in the area.”

“I can get you an internship but, it won't be around here”

You stared at him like he had three heads while he passed your street. You quickly told him to take the other way to your apartment to avoid the embarrassment. 

“What do you mean?”

“My cousin built this outreach center in Oakland. I work there when I’m not in school so I can help my community. If you want I can connect y’all.”

You damn near jumped into this mans lap. 

“Of course I want to! Thank you so much!”

“I’m gonna need your number then, sweetheart.”

He pulled into a parking space in front of your building and passed you his phone. You saved yourself and handed it back to him.

“What about you?”

“I want to help black people worldwide loosen the chains of their white oppressors.”

“Any progress?”

“I’m actually making a lot in Oakland right now. I think it’s important to help each other and lean less on the white man and his government. Only then can we truly break free from them.” His eyes were fiery as he explained his goal. His passion oozed out of him and captivated you.

“That sounds like a few generation long project.” You mused. You wanted to help.

“That’s fine. As long as I help my people. I don't care how long it takes.”

You wished you had met him instead of Y/B/N. This man had humor, looks, and layers and you'd just met him. All Y/B/N had was a strong name.

“You're passionate about this.”

“You should understand.”

“I do.” You looked at his arm still hanging out of the window. “Sorry about that. I just have to make sure you won't kidnap me.”

“Girl, if I wanted to kidnap you a few windows and an arm out the window wouldn't have stopped me.”

“Sir. Please.” You laughed. 

“You should buy a taser. Those are more effective.”

“I’ll think about it.” You said while opening the door and climbing out.

“I could've gotten that for you.”

“After all you've done for me tonight?” You shook your head, “Thank you for the ride...” You didn't know this mans name. 

“So this is dumb but, what’s your name?”

“Erik. What’s yours, bright eyes”

“Y/N.”

“Well go inside Y/N. You need rest.” He pointed at the clock in his car. It read 1:45 AM. Damn. You would've traded anything to keep talking to him. “Don’t make that face. I know you’ll miss me but, don't worry you'll see me soon enough.”

[chappedandfadedvds]

Dec 4th, Friday 19:17

The station was rather busy, people rushing from place to place, as Jens, Lucas and Lotte had stepped off the train. They had taken the stairs up and let Lucas lead the siblings to wherever he had organised to meet his two friends.

While the atmosphere on the ride here had been rather cheery and full of them talking and joking, Lotte drawing them page after page of supposedly them three on a train, it had gotten tenser with each passing minute closer to their arrival. 

Lucas next to him, grew definitely nervous, him turning completely silent as they walked over to another set of stairs they took down. Isa and Kes both hadn’t been told yet who his friend would bring along on his weekend visit. To the two boys it had sounded funny to just surprise his dutch friends. That was until now. Jens could definitely understand this to be a very hard thing to do. 

But his boyfriend was determined and therefore Jens took his hand for a moment until they reached the outside. That’s when he let go again. Lucas smiling briefly back at him, when Jens pecked a kiss against his temple. So gentle, it could have been the older boy just leaning in.

And then Lucas’s smile doubled in intensity as he got excited to see two people spotting them, waving cheerfully.

Both the girl and the boy were dressed in thick coats and scarfs. Both with dark brown curly hair and friendly faces. Isa and Kes, his two best friends, as Lucas had told him so often before. 

The girl’s face though quickly turned into an awfully big grin, as they came closer.

„Aaaaaah.“ She yelled, her hands raised to cover her mouth as she stared at the two boys and Lotte stopping infront of her.

„You okay there Ies?“ Lucas asked very amused, but just as much puzzled by her reaction, while pulling the giggling girl into a long hug.

„Oh my god luc! Finally!“ She exclaimed excited, leaning back in his arms, only to peck a kiss at his cheek and step back very pleased.

Lucas could only shrug, as he looked over to Jens. Both of them visibly unsure what to make of the girl infront of them. She definitely had a lot of energy. And was cute, as her eyes basically gleamed in the light of the station and streetlamps around them.

„Hello to you too? What’s up?“ Lucas tried again, hugging Kes, who did look just as confused at the girl next to him. Apparently a recent development of excitment, Jens guessed.

„I saw you holding hands on the stairs. You are... You know. Right?“

Oh. Okay, Jens got it now and so did Lucas freezing up in his step back to Jens’s side. The younger boy’s eyes transfixed on Isa, who couldn’t stop grinning.

„I had planned to tell you and talk about that at your place instead of here, but eh, yes.“ His boyfriend struggled to keep his voice steady, definitely succumbing to a whisper at the end.

„He is hot, well done.“ Isa certainly was bold, especially as she turned to face Jens and proceeded to wink at him, leaving Jens to feel as dumbfounded as Lucas looked like.

„How do you know?“ His boyfriend asked, curiousity slipping through.

„I’m confused, who knows what?“ Obviously the person being at a loss the most was Kes. Who looked bewildred between them back and forth, his face one big question mark, as he wrinkled his brows. He was unfortunately left to remain in his confusion, when Isa just went on to explain without giving much context.

„Well, Liv and me were kinda waiting for you. We sort of suspected it since last year at the gathering. The one you let Liv borrow your phone? Well she saw the links open in your browser and showed them to me.“

Lucas stared at her, mouth open, wide eyed at the girls confession. 

Jens guessed that Lucas had absolutely not expected to hear this.

„What?“ His boyfriend asked in great disbelieve.

„Sorry, we just wanted you to figure it out yourself, I guess.“ She shrugged smiling apologetic, before topping it off: „Also you messaged Ralph on Grindr, he showed us. So that kinda really confirmed it. Love us, please!“

Isa sweetly batted her eyelashes at the poor boy staring back at her helplessly. 

Jens couldn’t refrain from the sheer amusement crawling onto his face by the awkward revelation. He couldn’t quite pin down who Ralph was again. The name certainly had come up before. But it was clear that it was a shared friend of theirs, as Lucas blushed embarressed to have been caught.

„Somebody here who can help me out?“ Kes pleaded, forgotten where he stood next to Isa.

„Right.“ Lucas turned around to look at his best friend, who was patiently waiting to be let in on it. He got rather uncomfortable, so Jens decided to just fuck it and grab Lucas’s hand, squeezing it gently to let his boyfriend know that he wasn’t alone in this. Just like Lucas had done so often before for him.

„This is Jens. He is my boyfriend.“

Kes was blinking for quite a while, utterly overwhelmed, deep in thoughts about the introduction he had just been given by his best friend. Isa on the other hand was back again to grin at them overly happy about it all.

„Anyway. I’m Isa, and this gaping fish here is Kes. No worries, he’ll get over it. It is so good to meet you in person. Honestly. We’ve really just had seen you commenting on instagram so far. And Lucas just wouldn’t tell us who he’d bring, so consider the surprise succsessful.“

„Oh for sure. I’m super happy to be here and finally get to meet you all.“

While Jens and Isa finally found the moment to properly greet each other, Kes seemed to have come to a conclusion. The boy, still perplexed, now at least wasn’t staring any longer, instead he swallowed hard on something and took a step closer to put his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. 

„Okay, this is weird. Ehem not bad, no, but weird. Since when do you know that you are also interessted in guys?“ 

„Not also. But just.“ Lucas corrected his best friend firmly, looking straight at him in hope Kes would get it. And he did.

„Oh, that’s fine too, of course.“

„Then I suppose always. I had a hard time admitting it though, hence the girls.“

The two boys cracking a smile as they hugged yet again, Lucas looking much more at ease now that this part of his coming out was over. At least to his best friends, who honestly were some of the most important people to be accepted by. Jens knew. He also knew that it wasn’t all of it, the crush on his best friend still kept a secret. And Jens now got both sides. Maybe best to not bring it up for now, or perhaps ever, given the hesitation in Kes’s reaction. He knew, he wouldn’t.

„Well, glad to see you happy. And eh Jens, it’s great to meet you too.“ Kes said, saluting Jens, before him and Lucas let go of each other.

It was then that the four were kinda reminded of the fith person standing infront of the station. Lotte cleared her throat loudly, asking for attention from where she had settled next to Jens, slightly hiding behind his arm, carrying her own small backpack.

„I’m cold.“ She complained, „And hungry!“, She added quickly, earning a smirk and nod from Jens. 

„Seconded.“ He said, looking expectantly at Lucas to let him understand that they probably should get going. The cold definitely was biting now that Lotte had brought it up.

„We didn’t even say hi to you. God, I’m so sorry. Who are you?“ Isa asked, bending down to be at level with the little girl, a gentle smile on her lips.

„Lotte.“ His sister briefly replied, not yet convinced what to think about the two strangers picking them up from an unfamiliar station in an unfamiliar city.

„Honestly Lucas, we sent you off not even two month ago to finish school and support your mom, and now you come back with a boyfriend and a child. What happened?“

„Shut up.“ Lucas laughed at Isa, who was barely able to get through with her accusation, immediately falling into a fit of giggles, as she failed to look even a little serious.

„She is my little sister. And we are super grateful that you let us all stay over.“ Jens helped to explain an eight year old joining them on the trip, when neither his boyfriend nor the girl next to him were able to get a word out.

It took them a whole other minute to finally calm down enough to reply.

„Very much welcome. I’m so glad you do, because I have tons of questions now. I don’t think I could let you go anywhere else but my place.“ Isa declared.

„Oh no. This is Robbe and Sander all over again.“ Jens sighed defeated, Lucas continued to laugh, this time at him, while his two dutch friends looked rather puzzled at the dropped names. So his boyfriend simply waved them off, when Jens was trying hard not to be reminded of the hours long interview he had to endure by his own best friend and Sander two weeks ago.

„Ignore him.“ Lucas said, patting Jens’s shoulder. Not much of a comfort. Jens just wasn’t that comfortable to talk about it. But Lucas was happy and excited, so he wouldn’t keep it from him to explain everything his boyfriend wanted to.

„Well, let’s get going then.“ Kes announced, pulling Lucas closer, with an arm draped over his best friend’s shoulders, as the group began to move. Isa and Lotte sort of quickly caught up in their own little get-to-kow-each-other, leaving Jens to follow and feel contented to watch the two couples infront of him. 

Kes leaned in laughing at something Lucas had told him.

„I can’t believe I never noticed. Fuck, Luc.“

__ __ __

tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

[northernstories]

African American Literature Suggestions from NMU English Department

The English Department at Northern Michigan University has prepared this list of several dozen suggested readings in African American literature, with some materials also addressing Native American history and culture. The first section contains books that will help provide a context for the Black Lives Matter movement. It includes books that will help readers examine their own privilege and act more effectively for the greater good. Following that list is another featuring many African American authors and books. This list is by no means comprehensive, but it does provide readers a place to start. Almost all of these books are readily available in bookstores and public and university libraries.

Northern Michigan University’s English Department offers at least one course on African American literature every semester, at least one course on Native American literature every semester, and at least one additional course on non-western world literatures every semester. Department faculty also incorporate diverse material in many other courses. For more information, contact the department at english@nmu.edu. Nonfiction, primarily addressing current events, along with some classic texts: Joni Adamson, Mei Mei Evans, and Rachel Stein, editors. The Environmental Justice Reader: Politics, Poetics, and Pedagogy. This classic collection of scholarly articles, essays, and interviews explores the links between social inequalities and unequal distribution of environmental risk. Attention is focused on the US context, but authors also consider global impacts. Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness. A clear-eyed explication of how mass incarceration has created a new racial caste system obscured by the ideology of color-blindness. Essential reading for understanding our criminal justice system in relation to the histories of slavery and segregation. Carol Anderson, White Rage: The Unspoken Truth of Our Racial Divide. A very well-written but disturbing and direct analysis of the history of structural and institutionalized racism in the United States. Gloria Anzaldua, Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza. Anzaldua writes about the complexity of life on multiple borders, both literal (the border between the US/Mexico) and conceptual (the borders among languages, sexual identity, and gender). Anzaldua also crosses generic borders, moving among essay, story, history, and poetry. James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time. A classic indictment of white supremacy expressed in a searing, prophetic voice that is, simply, unmatched. Ta-Nehisi Coates, Between the World and Me. A combination of personal narrative in the form of the author’s letter to his son, historical analysis, and contemporary reportage. Angela Davis, Are Prisons Obsolete? In this succinct and carefully researched book, Davis exposes the racist and sexist underpinnings of the American prison system. This is a must-read for folks new to conversations about prison (and police) abolition. Robin DiAngelo, What Does It Mean To Be White? The author facilitates white people unpacking their biases around race, privilege, and oppression through a variety of methods and extensive research. Ejeris Dixon and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarshnha, editors. Beyond Survival: Strategies and Stories From the Transformative Justice Movement. The book attempts to solve problems of violence at a grassroots level in minority communities, without relying on punishment, incarceration, or policing. Frederick Douglass, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass. The most well-known narrative written by one of the most well-known and accomplished enslaved persons in the United States. First published in 1845 when Douglass was approximately 28 years old. W.E.B. DuBois, The Souls of Black Folk. Collection of essays in which Dubois famously prophesied that “the problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color line.” Henry Louis Gates, Stony the Road: Reconstruction, White Supremacy, and the Rise of Jim Crow. Must reading, a beautifully written, scholarly, and accessible discussion of American history from Reconstruction to the beginnings of the Jim Crow era. Saidiya Hartman, Lose your Mother: A Journey Along the Atlantic Slave Route. In an attempt to locate relatives in Ghana, the author journeyed along the route her ancestors would have taken as they became enslaved in the United States. bell hooks, Black Looks: Race and Representation. A collection of essays that analyze how white supremacy is systemically maintained through, among other activities, popular culture. Harriet Jacobs, Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl. Narrative of a woman who escaped slavery by hiding in an attic for seven years. This book offers unique insights into the sexually predatory behavior of slave masters. Ibram X. Kendi, Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America. A detailed history not only of racist events in American history, but of the racist thinking that permitted and continues to permit these events. This excellent and readable book traces this thinking from the colonial period through the presidency of Barack Obama. Winona LaDuke, All Our Relations: Native Struggles for Land and Life Any of LaDuke's works belong on this list. This particular text explores the stories of several Indigenous communities as they struggle with environmental and cultural degradation. An incredible resource. Kiese Laymon, Heavy: An American Memoir. An intense book that questions American myths of individual success written by a man who is able to situate his own life within a much larger whole. Cherrie Moraga and Gloria Anzaldua, This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color This foundational text brings together work by writers, scholars, and activists such as Audre Lorde, Chrystos, Barbara Smith, Norma Alarcon, Nellie Wong, and many others. The book has been called a manifesto and a call to action and remains just as important and relevant as when it was published nearly 40 years ago. Toni Morrison, The Source of Self-Regard. An invaluable collection of essays and speeches from the only black woman to win a Nobel Prize in literature. Throughout her oeuvre, Morrison calls us to take "personal responsibility for alleviating social harm," an ethic she identified with Martin Luther King. Ersula J. Ore, Lynching: Violence, Rhetoric, and American Identity. Ore scrutinizes the history of lynching in America and contemporary manifestations of lynching, drawing upon the murder of Trayvon Martin and other contemporary manifestations of police brutality. Drawing upon newspapers, official records, and memoirs, as well as critical race theory, Ore outlines the connections between what was said and written, the material practices of lynching in the past, and the forms these rhetorics and practices assume now. Claudia Rankine, Citizen: An American Lyric. A description and discussion of racial aggression and micro-aggression in contemporary America. The book was selected for NMU’s Diversity Common Reader Program in 2016. Layla F. Saad, Me and White Supremacy. The author facilitates white people in unpacking their biases around race, privilege, and oppression, while also helping them understand key critical social justice terminology. Maya Schenwar, Joe Macaré, Alana Yu-lan Price, editors. Who do you Serve, Who Do You Protect? Police Violence and Resistance in the United States. The essays examine "police violence against black, brown, indigenous and other marginalized communities, miscarriages of justice, and failures of token accountability and reform measures." What are alternative measures to keep marginalized communities safe? Ozlem Sensoy and Robin DiAngelo, Is Everyone Really Equal? The authors, in very easy to read and engaging language, facilitate readers in understanding the ---isms (racism, sexism, ableism etc.) and how they intersect, helping readers see their positionality and how privilege and oppression work to perpetuate the status quo. Bryan Stevenson, Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption. An analysis of America’s criminal justice system by the lawyer who founded the Equal Justice Initiative. While upsetting, the book is also hopeful. Wendy S. Walters, Multiply / Divide: On the American Real and Surreal. In this collection of essays, Walters analyzes the racial psyche of several major American cities, emphasizing the ways bias can endanger entire communities. Booker T. Washington, Up from Slavery. Autobiography of the founder of Tuskegee Institute. Harriet Washington, Medical Apartheid. From the surgical experiments performed on enslaved black women to the contemporary recruitment of prison populations for medical research, Washington illuminates how American medicine has been--and continues to be shaped--by anti-black racism. Malcolm X, The Autobiography of Malcolm X. Autobiography of civil rights leader that traces his evolution as a thinker, speaker, and writer.

If you would like to enhance your knowledge of the rich tradition of African American literature, here are several of the most popular books and authors within that tradition, focused especially on the 20thand 21st centuries. Novels and Short Stories James Baldwin, Go Tell It on the Mountain James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room Octavia Butler, Parable of the Sower Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man Langston Hughes, The Ways of White Folks Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God James Weldon Johnson, The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man Nella Larsen, Passing Nella Larsen, Quicksand Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye Toni Morrison, Beloved Richard Wright, Native Son Drama Lorraine Hansberry, A Raisin in the Sun Ntozake Shange, For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide / When the Rainbow Is Enuf August Wilson, Fences August Wilson, The Piano Lesson Poetry A good place to begin is an anthology, The Vintage Book of African American Poetry, edited by Michael S. Harper and Anthony Walton. It includes work by poets from the 18th century to the present, including Gwendolyn Brooks, Lucille Clifton, Countee Cullen, Rita Dove, Robert Hayden, Langston Hughes, Yusef Komunyakaa, Claude McKay, Phillis Wheatley, and many others. Here are some more recent collections: Reginald Dwayne Betts, Felon Wanda Coleman, Wicked Enchantment: Selected Poems Honorée Fanonne Jeffers, The Age of Phillis Tyehimba Jess, Olio Jamaal May, The Big Book of Exit Strategies Danez Smith, Don’t Call Us Dead

[yeet-me-dad-dy]

All the More Beautiful...

Summary: Some protestors give Ralph a hard time in the plaza. You do what you can to help make him feel better.

Characters: Ralph x Reader, Connor, Hank

Warnings: Swearing, abusive protestors

Words: 2,224

Inspiration: “Gasoline” by Halsey.

Part 2 >>

A gentle autumn breeze whispered through the plaza, stirring fallen leaves in rich shades of red and gold, sending them swirling through the air. The broadcast from yesterday’s ‘assault’ on Stratford Tower was once again playing in your mind as you took your drink and the brown paper bag with your food order in it from the man in the taco stand. You thanked him with a kind smile and made your way over to one of the tables under an awning, next to a flower shop.

Your favorite android was hot on your heels, not wanting to get too far from you. Ralph still had a hard time being in public, despite all the work you had done with him. He’d made excellent progress, no doubt; only a week or two ago he wouldn’t leave your apartment at all. Now, you could at least get him to agree to join you for lunch. Not only was he self-conscious because of the damage on his face and wary of humans because they were the reason he had damage on his face, but now there was talk of a deviant android uprising. Ralph was a deviant, no doubt, and you both worried what exactly that meant for the two of you.

You slid onto the uncomfortable bench, depositing your lunch on the table in front of you. Ralph sat to your right, as close as he possibly could without hindering your ability to use your arm. He was nervous, if the twitching and fidgeting was anything to go by. You removed your order from the paper bag and placed it before you, watching Ralph pick at the tattered hem of his old cloak out of the corner of your eye. In all honesty, Ralph’s cloak was just the canvas covering from a shipment of gardening supplies that he’d grabbed to fend off the rain when he’d run away. While you were able to get him to wear more normal clothing - a white tee and black jeans with black boots today - he refused to ever go anywhere without his cloak. It was like a comfort blanket and you sure as hell weren’t going to tell him he couldn’t wear it.

“Ah, crap,” you mumbled as you turned the brown bag upside down.

Ralph’s attention immediately turned to you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, worried.

“I forgot a straw,” you said as you moved to rise.

Ralph was on his feet before you even had a chance to remove your butt from the bench. “Ralph will get it for you!” he said excitedly. He was always eager to help out.

Before you could protest, he was off, back toward the taco stand. You were glad the server in the cart was so kind. You couldn’t suppress the amused chuckle that broke free from your lips as you watched Ralph wiggle happily when the young man handed him a straw. He turned to come back toward you, holding up the straw, a huge grin on his lips. The deep burns over the left side of his face were insufficient to make the android unattractive. He was the definition of adorable, and when he smiled, your whole world lit up. You put two thumbs up, a grin of your own overtaking your features. You couldn’t help it - Ralph just made you smile.

Your happiness quickly turned into concern, however, as a large figure in a black suit stepped in front of your android, blocking his path to you. You watched as Ralph’s face fell and he tensed up, stopping in his tracks to regard the stranger.

“These are the demons by which our downfall will come,” the dark-skinned man said. You noticed a small gathering of people off to the side. They seemed to be listening intently to whatever this… preacher… had to say. You quickly rose from your place, food forgotten, as you made your way to your friend.

“Look here,” the man said, gesturing to Ralph’s face. The WR600 tried to turn away as he folded in on himself. “It bears the mark of the beast!”

“Hey!” you called, but the man was louder.

“We have created monsters!” he said, turning to those gathered. “And it is by these monsters that the evil will come!” he whirled back around to face Ralph, causing the android to jump. He was shaking, twitching, and you picked up the pace.

“HEY!” you snarled again. You stepped between Ralph and the man, holding the android’s hands behind your back, trying to comfort him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you growled.

The man eyed you up, pacing from side to side. “Why do you defend this creature?” he asked quietly. “Have you befriended the wicked?” He took a step closer. “Do you lie with the devil?”

He didn’t get a chance to ask another question as a loud CRACK echoed throughout the plaza. Your hand stung and you wiggled your fingers to try and stop the prickling sensation that smacking the man so hard had caused. His glasses were lying on the brick walkway at his feet and the impact of your hand across his face had turned him away from you. He brought his fingers up to ghost over the fresh welt on his cheek as he angled back toward you, scowling.

You took half a step toward him. “Yes,” you answered. “And Ralph has more humanity than any of you lot.” You gestured with your head to the crowd that had gathered to listen to the preacher. “You’re nothing more than subhuman vermin,” you hissed. “If anyone is evil-” you took another quick step toward the man and he took a step back in response. “-it’s you.”

You wrapped an arm around a shaking Ralph and lead him away from the plaza, back toward your car. You were so preoccupied with getting him away from the preacher, however, that you completely missed the crowd of anti-android protesters standing between you and your destination. A man stepped out of the crowd and in front of you and your android. Fucking great, you scolded yourself silently.

“Where do you two think you’re going?” he asked.

“Home,” you replied softly, trying to avoid another inevitable confrontation. Ralph’s LED was blinking red wildly, and while you knew he wouldn’t self-destruct, you were worried for his state of mind. You just wanted to get him back to your apartment so you could take him onto your balcony and dig around in the plant pots. That always helped calm him.

“You’re not going anywhere,” a female voice said from behind you.

“Bold words for someone within stabbing range,” you snarled at her.

“Didn’t you hear?” a man asked to your left, leaving no room for a reply to your comment. “We don’t tolerate android-fuckers around here.”

You scoffed. “I’m sure that’s not what’s going through your head when you’re balls-deep in the androids at the Eden Club.”

The man quickly covered his hand in a feeble attempt to hide the Eden Club admittance stamp on the back of it.

“Get out of our way,” you commanded. “Don’t make me do something we’re all going to regret.”

The leader sneered. “I think we need to teach this little fucker a lesson.”

He stepped toward you, grabbing your arm. You were wrenched away from Ralph and held firm as the android was thrown to the ground.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” you shouted, struggling against the two large protestors holding you, one on each arm.

“Look at this plastic prick,” you heard someone say.

“Pretending to be human…” another voice added.

The leader of the group knelt over Ralph, who was curled into the fetal position. “You’re just a fucking machine,” he whispered. “You’re not a human being.” He pointed to you from where he loomed over your android. “You think they feels anything for you? You’re just their fucking toy! You’re nothing!”

“No!” you yelled. “Don’t listen to him, Ralph!” You kicked and pulled and struggled against your captors, but they held you in a vice grip. “Let me go!” you demanded. “Leave him alone!”

The leader grabbed Ralph, hauling him to his feet. “We’re gonna fuck your bitch-ass up,” he said, then grinned, tilting his head to get a better look at the damage on Ralph’s face. “More than you already are, that is.”

He held Ralph’s cloak in his left hand as his right curled into a fist and collided with the android’s ribs. Ralph cried out, tears streaming down his face. The man readied another punch just as a gruff voice shouted, “THAT’S ENOUGH!”

A grizzled older man with grey hair and a grey beard pushed through the crowd, gold badge in hand that read “Police Lieutenant”. He was followed closely by an android with brown eyes and brown hair, wearing a grey and black jacket that read “RK800”.

“Get your fucking hands off of them,” the Lieutenant commanded as he pulled your captors away from you.

You rushed immediately to help Ralph. You shoved the leader away from him and wasted no time in introducing his crotch to your shin. He fell to his knees, swearing, as you wrapped both arms around Ralph and hugged him tightly. He was shaking violently, his LED flashing scarlet, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel cold tears running down your collarbone to soak into the collar of your shirt.

“Get the fuck out of here. All of you!” the gruff voice shouted. Slowly, the crowd of protestors began to retreat.

You ran your fingers through Ralph’s hair, gently massaging his scalp. “Shhh, Ralph. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m so sorry. Everything is okay now,” you tried to reassure him.

“You two okay?” You looked over to see the grizzled man studying you, a look of concern creasing his brow.

You just held Ralph tighter. “I need to get him home,” you whispered. “Thank you for your help.”

You pulled away from Ralph, holding him by the shoulders. You moved your hand under his chin, tilting his head so that he had to look at you. The tears were still coming, welling up and spilling over to run down his face. You cupped his left cheek and he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, like you’d taught him to do when things got hard. Your fingers ghosted over his wounds, leaving soft, caring touches.

“We’re going to go home now, okay?” you asked him quietly. He nodded, opening his eyes to look at you once more.

“Can, uh…” the grizzled man shuffled awkwardly next to you. “Can we escort you to your car, at least?” he asked.

Ralph jumped at his voice, but calmed when you took his hand in yours. You looked to him for approval and he nodded after a moment of thought.

“Lieutenant,” the other android spoke - the RK800. The man turned to look at him, brows raised. “It’s a deviant,” the RK800 stated simply.

The Lieutenant rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know he’s a deviant, Connor. But he needs to get home, so we’re gonna take him home,” he said, his tone allowing no room for argument.

“Lieutenant,” the android repeated, more firmly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Connor. I know you don’t really want to do this. If you did, you wouldn’t have let those Traci’s go the other day. Just leave ‘em be,” the man said.

The RK800 - Connor - was still for a moment, LED spinning yellow, before he nodded hesitantly. “Fine,” he said dryly.

You didn’t know what the hell they were talking about or what Connor’s deal with deviants was, but you decided very quickly that you liked the Lieutenant.

“I’m Hank, by the way,” the man said as you reached your car, helping Ralph into the passenger’s seat.

You nodded and offered your hand. “(Y/N),” you introduced yourself, then gestured to the android sitting in your car. “That’s Ralph.”

Hank nodded, studying Ralph’s twitching figure behind your tinted windows for a moment before he jabbed a thumb in the other android’s direction. “That’s my partner, Connor,” he said. “An absolute pain in the ass to try and work with, but a friend nonetheless. I’m sorry you were given trouble back there,” he offered.

You smiled sadly. “Yeah. Ralph’s not in the best shape mentally. I can’t imagine what must be going on in his head right now,” you answered quietly, not wanting your friend to hear you. You didn’t want to make him feel any worse than he likely already was. “You saved us back there. I’m not sure how to thank you.”

Hank put a hand up and shook his head. “No one deserves to be treated like that. Doesn’t matter what color your blood is; what those people are doing is inexcusable. I’m just glad we were there to help.” Hank turned to regard his partner, who was standing stiffly beside him. “Well… I helped, anyway.”

You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you saw the ghost of a smirk play on Connor’s lips for a fraction of a second.

“Thanks again,” you said, finding your car key and stepping around to the driver’s side of your vehicle.

Hank took a step back and raised his hand in a wave. “See ya ‘round.”

Part 2 >>

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

Black and Blue - One

Pairing: Detective Loki x Reader

Summary: She saw the world in black and blue

Requested: Nope

Chapter Warnings: Some swearing I think??, panic attack

A/N: so guys... there’s been a lot leading up to this yaknow - the first part of my Detective Loki series!! I’m so excited to share this with all of you at last, I’m really looking forward to this series (I say series but I mean miniseries there’s not gonna be that many parts) but please remember to let me know what you think of it!!! Like, reblog, comment, send asks because they really inspire me to write more and I love talking to you guys :)

Two // Three // Four // Five

Y/N Y/L/N saw the world in black and blue.

Purple and yellow.

Bruised and unbruised.

Moving to Conyers had been simultaneously the scariest thing she had ever done and the best thing.

Every step she took in Conyers felt like a triumph. Every time she would turn the key to her apartment it felt like she had accomplished something great.

And yet so much of her believed it was too good to be true.

The bakery was her haven. The bread her safe place, the brownie’s her comfort, the pastries her joy.

She made friends. Regular customers would come in and ask her how she was doing, but not in the way that she was accustomed to. No sympathetic head tilt, no unsure smiles, no tiptoeing around the truth.

Y/N liked that. The unknowing. The blank space she could fill now with baked goods.

The kids loved her. And the teenagers. Mainly because she gave them free food when they came in looking too stressed or too sad - she remembered that that was like.

And that was how she met the Dovers.

///

“Good morning Y/N!” Grace chirped as she ushered her family into the bakery. Y/N turned away from the oven, hot tray still in hand.

“Morning!” She beamed.

“That smells good,” Grace told her as Y/N placed the tray down.

“It’s a new recipe I’m trying out - well, not really a new one, my grandma usd to make it for me but always refused to give me the recipe,” she laughed. Anna’s nose was pressed up against the glass, her eyes searching the Aladdin’s cave o sweet delights.

“It looks good,” Keller confirmed, his hands coming to rest almost protectively on Anna’s shoulders.

“What are they?” Ralph asked curiously.

“Cardamon cookies,” Y/N told him, filling up a box with the Dovers’ usual order.

“So, Thanksgiving tomorrow, any place?” Grace asked, looking through her wallet distractedly. Y/N winked at Anna and Ralph as she snuck four of the still-hot cardamon cookies into the the box, knowing that Grace and Keller would protest and insist upon paying.

“I don’t celebrate it,” Y/N admitted with a laugh.

“Why?” Anna asked, staring at the box in Y/N’s hand.

“It’s not really a thing back home,” Y/N shrugged, her mind wandering back to snapshots of the childhood she had left behind in the wide, green expanse of the English countryside.

She missed home more than she would never allow herself to admit.

“You should spend it with us!” Grace said with a warm smile. Y/N looked up in surprise to see Keller nodding along in agreement.

“We always go to the Birches and spend it there but they wouldn’t mind you joining us,” Keller added.

“That’s a lovely offer but I don’t want to intrude,” Y/N argued, walking over to the coffee machine.

“You wouldn’t be! Nancy always makes too much food anyway,” Grace promised her.

“Please come, Miss Y/N,” Anna added with wide-eyed innocence.

Y/N hesitated, looking around at the Dovers who were watching her expectantly. She let out a long sigh before conceding with a nod of her head.

“Okay.”

Perhaps it was time for her to allow herself to leave her haven for a little while.

///

Nothing in the world could have ever prepared her for this.

The rest of the evening had been bordering on perfect. The Birches had welcomed her with open arms, their enthusiasm only increasing when they realised she had come laden with three pumpkin pies and cream.

She had done her usual trick of skirting around Keller and Franklin as best she could by offering Nancy help in the kitchen, which had been accepted with great appreciation.

When dinnertime conversation had, somewhat inevitably, turned to her she spoke of her plans for turning her little bakery into more of a cafe with tables and chairs and an array of drinks rather than just coffee. She caught herself before it was too late, though, heat crawling up her cheeks as she turned the conversation back around to the subject of the Birches’ home, something which she knew to be safe territory.

Then, instead of heading home as so much of her was screaming to do, she squashed her nerves down into a tiny box, deciding to them them there for the evening and not let them dictate her life for the first time in a while.

Not let him dictate her life.

Instead, she had joined the group  of parents in the living room, talking and laughing over subjects not quite appropriate for conversations with kids present.

And then, so quickly, everything had gone wrong.

She went with Grace back to her home to look for Anna and Joy. She caught her when Grace almost fell on her weak, Bambi-like legs upon not finding the two young girls and allowed the older woman to cry her worry into her for a moment.

Y/N had been the one to call the police.

The families were too distraught, their words too shaky, their voices too close to tears for them to explain the situation to the operator.

When Ralph had begged her to stay she knew there was no way that she could deny him that. Not when his parents were in the state that they were.

Y/N made buckets of tea.

That was her solution to everything. A band aid of liquid. For months of her life she had filled herself up on tea, painting her insides pale brown to cover up the bleak darkness that lay underneath. The delicate aromas doing their best to replace the undeniable stench that she would never totally be able to loose.

She was her mother’s daughter in the tea brewing.

It was only once they had gotten the call to say that the police had caught the driver of the RV that Y/N went home.

She had expected that to be the end of it, her part in the whole drama should have been over seeing as though she was just a friend of the families rather than a relation of either girl. But she got a phone call early the next morning from the detective working the case saying that she needed to come in to five a statement and be put through a lie detector test.

Y/N had agreed pretty much immediately, though there was no denying how her palms instantly became sweaty, recalling the last time that she had been taken to a police station.

The last time she had been put through a lie detector.

Back home.

Her knee bounced insistently up and down as she sat in the waiting room of the police station. Her eyes darted sporadically around the room, seeing everything but taking in nothing.

“Miss Y/L/N? I’m Detective Loki, we spoke on the phone?” Y/N stood as the tall man addressed her, taking his offered hand with a quick, nervous shake before dropping it back to the other, tangling her fingers together. Her eyes fixed on his lips as they moved to form words, not daring to raise them higher than that.

“Yes, of course. Just Y/N is fine, though,” she responded, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Right. Follow me,” Y/N did as instructed, her mind wandering as they walked seemingly endlessly down the hallways of the police station, only rarely crossing anyone else.

She wanted to ask how long it would take - she had a shipment arriving of tables, chairs and another coffee machine that she had placed weeks ago but had been continually delayed. She needed to be there when it arrived but she didn’t want to ask the detective anything.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Loki said, gesturing for her to take the seat on the opposite side of the table to him, next to the man operating the lie detector.

Y/N didn’t need a lit detector to hear the untruth in his voice. 

“Not as all,” she promised softly, her eyes fixing now on the grimy table between them.

“I just have a few questions for you about last night,” he opened his notepad and Y/N nodded.

“Anything to help,” she tried to hide how her breath quickened.

Her eyes moved from their placed locked on the table to search the room for an escape.

Just in case, she told herself.

Old habits die hard.

The first few questions were standard, simple answered that Y/N was used to having to answer by now. She pushed down the memories that tried to come to the surface as best she could, squeezing her eyes closed desperately.

“Is there something wrong, Miss Y/L/N?” Loki broke off from questioning to ask the woman. Y/N swallowed thickly and shook her head.

“No,” her voice was hoarse. “I arrived late to the meal because I had to close up shop,” she answered the previously asked question, wishing herself as far away from the police station as possible. There was a pause from the detective and Y/N hated herself for her panic causing a break in questioning.

He had to find the girls as quickly as possible and she didn’t want to be the reason for the investigation to be slowed down even just a little bit.

“Right.” Loki said unsurely and from the corner of her eye, Y/N saw the lie detector operator shrug his shoulders. “And where is it that you work?”

“The bakery up the road.”

The remainder of the interview passed in a blur with Y/N answering questions almost on autopilot.

She stumbled out of the confined room as soon as she was unhooked from the machine and crashed against the wall of the hallway, pressing her back to it and desperately gasping for breath. She slid down the wall to the floor, her eyes squeezed tight shut as she desperately attempted to gain control of her breathing. She pressed her forehead to her knees, willing herself to calm down, wishing herself away from the police station and from all the memories it forced to the surface.

She wasn’t trapped anymore.

[puckinghell]

Home | Tyson Barrie

Summary: A new city to call home means a lot of people to leave behind Word count: 2k Note: Thank you to Tyson Barrie for being the mess we all needed in this team. We will miss you, but not as much as Gabe and Nate will. Yall can catch me crying about this until trade season next year despite the fact that he got traded to my other favorite team. I listened to More Than Words by Little Mix while writing this cause it’s the kinda emo song this trade calls for. 

--

You find out through Twitter.

It’s not Tyson’s fault, not really; he’s hanging out with Biz when he gets the call and when Biz knows something, it takes approximately 0.3 seconds before the entirety of the internet knows. 

But still, there’s something surreal about the situation. You’re sitting on the couch watching Nailed It! when your phone starts buzzing and ringing and going absolutely insane. 

The first text you see is from Mel. 

I’m so sorry, babe.

You have no idea what she’s talking about until you see a Twitter notification, staring at you from the small screen in your hand. The words are simple, yet they are impossible to comprehend.

Tyson Barrie and Alexander Kerfoot traded to the Toronto Maple Leafs

Nothing else even registers with you; you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what the Avs got back for them. 

For Kerfy. And your boyfriend.

It’s almost comical, the way your world crashes and burns within seconds while Ralph doesn’t even lift an eyelid. Outside, the cars are still driving. Someone honks. The rain is softly ticking against the window. 

You have no idea how long you sit there, waiting. Thinking. A thousand thoughts whirl through your mind. 

Most of them come back to the fact that it’s not freaking fair. 

Not when Tyson has been so adamant about wanting to be in Colorado. Not when his best friends are here. Sure, he knows Morgan Rielly, likes him, but he’s not Nate. Not Gabe. Not EJ. 

God. 

It’s not fair either, that Tyson was really starting to pull his life together. He mentioned that he wanted some stability. He started looking at houses to buy. He got a puppy; the proof is currently sleeping at your feet, happily oblivious to the fact that everything is going to hell. 

He even mentioned moving in together, a few weeks ago.

There were no concrete plans; he hadn’t officially asked you yet. Just kinda casually threw into conversation that the house he was going to buy was going to have to have plenty room for two people, while he was cooking some stupidly healthy vegetable stir and simultaneously eating ice cream straight out the carton before dinner. 

“Why, is Nate finally moving in with you?” you’d teased, and he’d smiled his typical lopsided smile and said, without even blushing:

“No, but you hopefully are.” 

You were left speechless and in shock and he just started rambling about how nice it would be to have a pool - apparently he’d forgotten about the fact that it was winter for 10 months a year in Colorado - and the subject was dropped, but it had been circling in your mind.

You know you would say yes, if he asked. You would say yes to just about anything Tyson asked, and it isn’t just because his big brown eyes look suspiciously like Ralph’s. 

It’s because you know that for you, it’s always gonna be Tyson. Perhaps it always was, since the very first time you met him all those years ago, all starry eyed and bright smiled at a festival. Since he tripped over his own feet and bumped into you, and apologized profusely while Nate laughed so hard he nearly threw up. 

You’ve never loved someone as much as you love Tyson, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to love someone like that again. 

But now he’s leaving. Ripped from your hands, slipping through your fingers like sand.

It’s not that you haven’t known it could happen, not with the rumors surrounding Tyson like they’ve surrounded nobody else, but it’s a bit like the boy that cried wolf; after a while, the rumors faded into the background, because hey, it didn’t happen last time either, did it?

You let yourself fall into a comfortable sense of peace, and that was your first mistake.

No, second. First mistake was falling for an NHL player. 

Your phone rings again and you barely glance at it, the ringing sounding muffled in your ears - you don’t know how it feels to be in shock but this might be it - but then Tyson’s face flashes across the screen and you reach for it quickly, startling the puppy at your feet, who jumps up and starts whining.

“Tys?” 

It’s quiet, for a second, on the other side, and you wonder if he meant to call you. 

But then he speaks and his voice sounds a little muffled, sounds thick with emotion and empty at the same time, somehow, sounds upset, and that’s the worst.

“Are you still at my place?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I’m here.” Of course you are; he asked you to watch Ralph while he went out and you wouldn’t leave the dog alone, not at this age when he still needs to go outside every ten minutes and likes to eat shoes for entertainment. 

“Stay there,” Tyson says. “I’m coming home.” He pauses and you figure he has the same thought as you are having.

Home. 

But not for long.

“Stay,” Tyson repeats, a little sharply, as if he’s expecting you to run off before he gets there.

You don’t even think you could move if you tried.

“Okay.” 

He hangs up then and it takes him barely fifteen minutes to get there, even though you know the restaurant he was at was at least a 25 minute drive. He burst through the door looking disheveled, looking sad, too. 

His shoulders are slumped and he suddenly looks much more tired than he had when he left this morning. Normally, Tyson is the easiest person to read, but now there’s not really a hint of any emotion on his face. 

He doesn’t even smile when Ralph runs up to him and that’s how you know everything is so very, very wrong. 

“Tys,” you start, but then his eyes meet yours and it’s like all the words leave your mind, and all you can do is walk up to him and collapse in his arms.

He catches you easily, as you knew he would. His arms are tight around your waist, so tight it almost hurts but it’s exactly what you need; to feel him, to know he’s still there, at least for now. 

“I know,” Tyson whispers. “I know, babe.” 

You’re not quite sure what he knows and he’s probably not either, it’s just that there’s not much to say when your entire life gets ripped apart. 

You stand there for what feels like ages. Tyson moves you to the couch at some point, pulling you down with him as he falls backwards into the pillows. You can feel his heart beat under your ear with your head on his chest and the steady rhythm is the only thing keeping your mind from spiraling out of control. 

But however bad this is for you, it’s so, so much worse for him, so finally, you force yourself to sit up and smile.

“So, Toronto, huh? I guess I could be a Raptors fan.” 

“I’m actually gonna play for the Leafs,” Tyson says dryly, and suddenly you’re both laughing, hysterically giggling with tears in your eyes and it’s better than crying out of sadness but only just. 

When silence falls over the apartment, Tyson grabs your hands, his face serious again. “Hey, you know I love you, right?” 

You swallow and nod, not trusting your own voice.

“I love you too much to ask you to wait for me.” 

His words sink in slowly, then all at once, and panic washes over you as the quietness of the apartment becomes deafening.

Wait for you. Wait for him here, in Colorado.

He’s not planning on taking you with him. 

Hurt must be written clear over your face because his eyes soften, a soft “babe” passing his lips right before you yank your hands away from him, scurry away from him until your back hits the arm of the couch. 

“You’re breaking up with me.” 

It’s not a question because you know the answer. 

“I don’t want to.” Tyson’s voice is a little shaky despite the fact that he’s gritting his teeth in order to control it. “I don’t have a choice, Y/N. I’m going to move to Toronto. That’s not just a different city, that’s a different country.” 

“And you don’t want me there.” 

The crease on his forehead deepens. “I can’t ask you to leave everything you have behind. You’ve got a job here. Friends. Family.” 

You jump off the couch, now in full hysterics; tears are pushing against the back of your eyes and you feel your lungs constricting.

“But the only thing I’ve got here that I care about, that I wouldn’t wanna leave behind, is you.”

Tyson stands up too, although he’s not moving. 

“I can’t ask you to leave behind your home,” he croaks and it’s the first time you can fully see how much this is hurting him, how much this is killing him inside, breaking his heart into little pieces with each word he’s uttering. It’s the first time you forget about your own misery completely. 

So you step forward, one hand coming up to cup his cheek; he leans into your touch as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, his eyelids fluttering shut. His cheeks are red, like they always are when he gets upset.

You know him so well, know every single piece of him. 

“Home can be everywhere,” you mumble. “Home can be wherever you are.” 

“I don’t want you to give up everything for my dream,” Tyson all but whispers. “I chose this, not you.” 

“But I chose you.” At that, he opens his eyes, deep brown orbs locking with yours. You can tell he’s searching for a sign, anything in your expression to tell him you’re not telling the truth.

He won’t find any.

“I knew that being with you would include this. But I chose you anyway because I needed to. I need you, to be with you. Wherever that might be.” You pull a face. “And at least it’s Toronto. Can you imagine if you were traded to like. Montreal? I don’t speak French.” 

He laughs, and it’s music to your ears; then suddenly his lips are against yours in a feverish desperation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before.

It’s like your touch is the only thing that could keep him from drowning, meanwhile you’re getting lost in his lips against yours, his hands against the bare skin of your back. He starts pushing you towards the bedroom and you know you’ve not really talked about anything but you let him anyway.

This is what he needs, right now, to feel you with him, to know you’re there. And you’re gonna do whatever he needs because so many times, he’s done that for you. 

Time seems to stand still and speed up at the same time and it’s dark when you’re laying tangled in the sheets, facing each other, his fingers intwined with yours. 

He’s staring at you fondly as he speaks. “I was going to ask you to move in with me, you know. When I found a house I loved. I was gonna bake a cake and put the key in it. Gabe helped me come up with that.” 

You would have laughed at the idea of possibly choking on a key as you tried to enjoy Tyson’s famous lava cake but now you can’t, because at the sounds of Gabe’s name Tyson’s face falls. 

The Leafs don’t have a captain right now and maybe that’s better, because you know there’s nobody that could do for Tyson what Gabe did, nobody that could replace Gabe in that special place in Tys’ heart. 

No more wine nights with Mel, walks with Zoey and Ralph. No more Nate crashing for dinner, no more Josty exclaiming he’s the better Tyson, no more teasing from Z or sarcastic remarks from EJ or Colin, telling you he doesn’t know how you put up with these guys.

You’re gonna miss them, but it’s something you can deal with. Something Tyson has to deal with.

But not alone.

“Ask me,” you say, and Tyson doesn’t have to ask for clarification.

“I don’t think Toronto can be home without you. Will you please come with me?”

He seems a little nervous to ask but your answer was decided a long time ago, long before the rumors really started, maybe even the second you met him.

“Of course I’ll come with you.” 

He wraps his arms around you and he’ll do the same thing in a month, when you spend the first night sleeping on a mattress on the floor in an empty apartment in the center of Toronto, the city lights illuminating the room cause you didn’t have time to buy curtains and the hot summer air crawling up the walls. 

He wraps his arms around you and you’re home. 

[snows-labcoat]

Observations and Realizations || Part Two

Summary: Team Flash watched you and Caitlin Snow fall in love. Your story, from their perspective.

Pairing: Caitlin Snow/Killer Frost x reader

Read: Part One

~~

Okay okay, yes. Barry Allen can be oblivious, but it didn’t go over his head that Caitlin was biting her lip like she always does if something is bugging her; the one thing he seems to pick up on, sometimes. He noticed that during the struggle of losing her father, you were always next to her.

Not that that was particularly abnormal for you two— but he caught how you always seemed to be lightly intertwining your fingers. He watched one night, when he was coming back to grab Iris’s laptop as Caitlin had stayed late—  as she had broken down in her lab. This was when Killer Frost was still missing in action. Her whiteboard had been covered in notes upon notes.

Barry could not disregard the fact that you were the first person she called. The notion that she called somebody in the first place— was highly unusual.

He heard you arrive in record time and immediately sped off, forgetting about Iris’s laptop. When he came back about two hours later, it was now almost 1 in the morning, you two were still together.

You were holding her so close in the lounge, a mug of (no longer) hot chocolate was on the coffee table in front of you two. You had been humming softly, lips just grazing her temple as she leaned into you,  essentially nuzzling into your side as one of your arms wrapped around her back.

He stood out of view when he caught glimpse of you whispering something in the distraught woman’s ear. Standing up and releasing your hold on her hands before taking the cold mug out of the room.

But then— the tall speedster watched as Caitlin moved some of her hair out of her face, lightly brushing where your lips had grazed her temple as you sang.

He saw her stare at her hands while she traced where your thumb had been drawing patterns.

The speedster minded how Caitlin bit on her bottom lip just like she did that night they went to karaoke together, something was bothering her.

The next day, he picked up on how you were quieter. It wasn’t in a bad way— but you looked just a bit more attentive. Always casting what looked like worried glances at Caitlin. She’d look back at you, assuring that she was okay.

When the meta caught the woman of science, anxiously gnawing at her lip once more, he called her out.

She merely shrugged him off, telling him that she was fine. It was just the stress of losing Killer Frost. (He knew she was lying).

When he tried to prod more, Caitlin became snappy. (He should’ve learned after he elicited the same reaction when Ronnie died, back when he first started to bug Caitlin about not smiling during his first year).

Iris motioned for him to back off a bit, so he did. But not before he saw how she was ghosting her fingertips along her temple, once again.

Barry Allen watched you keep Caitlin grounded.

Ralph Dibny and Caitlin Snow had formed an unusual friendship. This mutual understanding of each other often had them sitting and chatting together when they could.

The last time they talked, he made a note on how often Caitlin seemed to mention you. When he saw her next, he placed the “Book of Ralph” in front of her and she crinkled her nose at him.

“Caity!—“

“Not my name”

“Why does she get to call you that?” He pouted, purposely bringing you up, causing Caitlin to just smirk.

She gave him a pointed look and he clapped his hands together.

Ralph had a plan. A plan that didn’t involve his book, per say. Or— better worded, it didn’t involve what was actually inside the book.

See, it caught his eye how your eyebrows furrowed when he brought out the all too familiar book and set it in front of Caitlin, how you left the room but not without brushing your hand against hers,, how it lingered longer than normal. You were jealous.

“I think it’s time we find you somebody new! Bear with me but, it has been awhile”

He noticed the way she glanced around the room, searching for something, or rather— someone.

The tall man continued his lesson, flipping pages and mainly talking gibberish, but always making certain parts extra loud.

He saw Caitlin shift awkwardly in her seat as he continued to speak about how sometimes, you can’t just wait for the next unconscious meta Barry brings in to crush on you and expect them to have soulmate written across their forehead. Which— by the way, is what happened with you. (Except the soulmate part. But,, that might as well be true too). That sometimes you gotta “go find love and grab it by the balls.”

His crude imagery aside, he knew his plan was working when he heard footsteps and saw you come in, holding a drink for Caitlin.

You gently pushed his book away from Caitlin and gave an uncomfortable smile.

Ralph smirked as soon as you began to speak about how he should leave Caitlin alone, and let her find love in her own time (you just really wanted her to love you).

He pouted a bit before pushing the book back at them, asking Caitlin to give it a shot when Killer Frost came out, shooting the book across the room and freezing it to the wall opposite from the three team mates.

The brown eyed man made an exasperated sound before raising his hands in fake surrender, leaving the room. Once his back turned though, he lips curled up in a smile as he confirmed his original notions.

Ralph Dibny watched Killer Frost warm up.

Now, don’t be mistaken. Cisco Ramon noticed things pretty early on. He actually bet money with Nora on who would confess first.

He and Nora were discussing the Jaws franchise when you had walked into the room, immediately wrapped into the conversation because of your love for Steven Spielberg, raving about how it was one of the best films released during the 1970s.

When he heard what sounded like a snort come from the other side of the room, he caught how Caitlin was snickering to herself in the med lab, cleaning her Erlenmeyer flasks.

After that, he felt Caitlin’s eyes watching. Granted, she was watching you, not him. But he still felt it.

He noticed how she smiled whenever you talked, she’d laugh to herself at your jokes, and how she’d sometimes just walk by and brush your hand with hers to say hello.

The dark haired man noticed how you’d show Caitlin puppy photos first instead of him, and how she’d always listen about whatever you were going on about, even if she had no idea what you were discussing because seeing you excited about anything made her smile.

After  analyzing the best romance tropes in films, he and Nora had placed bets on who would confess their feelings first; the closed off, but secretly a cinnamon roll one— or the loving puppy who brings the closed off one out of their shell?

One morning, when he and Caitlin were working together, he saw the slightly larger blue flannel she donned, looking awfully similar to the one you wore a few days ago. He brushed his hand on the sleeve, immediately vibing what looked to be late last night. Caitlin had thrown on a sweater from your closet before jumping into your bed as you both just laid together, small smiles decorating your faces, lost in your own little world.

She raised a brow, Cisco’s lingering gaze not being discounted and he smirked, stating that the clothing change just seemed interesting. The doe eyed bio-engineer just narrowed her eyes playfully before tilting her head.

All Caitlin said was your name for explanation— confirming Cisco’s vibe that she spent the night at your place and took your flannel.

When he asked his best friend if she liked you, she looked confused at first, asking what exactly he meant before he gave a cheeky smile in her direction, saying nothing more. Caitlin shrugged it off but not without blush creeping onto her face.

Cisco Ramon watched Caitlin finally love again.

When Nora reversed time, (53 times, to be exact) she wrote down everything.

Key word; everything.

Including how no matter what changed— the one thing that didn’t was you two.

Most times, Ralph would always ask if Cisco’s left for his date unless Nora were to cut him off again. Cisco would typically say “not the book of Ralph, again!” followed suit by Ralph explaining “you successfully completed my 27 steps to getting over the love of your life. Gypsy is in the past. You have a new siren, so now it's time for "The Art of Love.” “

Cisco always turns to Caitlin before she says “I’ve gotta finish working on the device to inject the cure” and then she always takes a hold of your hand before pulling you with her towards the med bay.

No matter what, Caitlin always glances at you, she always holds your hand, and she always keeps you close by.

Over and over again. The variations on the dialogue were there, different people bringing up the “cyber-stalking” Kamilla, Iris’s work location changing— Nora changed things every time before team flash got their perfect trial. You and Caitlin, were a constant. Are a constant.

Nora wouldn’t be surprised if she were to travel and on every earth— discover that you two are together in some way.

(She most definitely did not test this theory out).

Nora watched the stars align.

Doctor Caitlin Snow. Everyone would agree that she's loyal. Everyone would agree that she's compassionate. Everyone would also agree that she has no idea how to properly handle her own emotions. Sometimes. (Most of the time).

It came as no surprise that it took a while for everything to come to fruition.

When Barry first rushed into Star Labs, your limp body in his arms— Caitlin wasted no time. The blood staining your shirt was coating her gloves as she ushered everyone out of the med lab, knowing that she was going to have to undress you in order to treat the large cut on your back.

She stayed overnight to monitor you, and when you finally woke the next morning, the sound of your voice caught her off guard, but it’s safe to say she immediately was enraptured by you.

It took time for her to realize it, though. She looks back and bites her tongue at how in denial she was. She always knew, in a sense. Caitlin’s intuition would scream at her. The way seeing you in her sweater made her feel was more than platonic, how every time you brushed your hand against hers, she wanted to tangle her fingers in yours. She thinks back to every time you would dance with her, when a practically never ending smile would spread. The rough days and long nights made easier to shoulder as long as you were by her side. “It’s not a burden if we shoulder it together”

There were so many times when you’d hold her tight as the world got to be a little too much. Caitlin Snow didn’t cry very much, but she knew that when she did— you’d always be there.

Killer Frost didn’t really do “love” — at least, romantically. Which is why when she found herself making more appearances, she chalked it up to mere intrigue. Definitely not any upset over the way Ralph had tried to “set her up” with somebody else, or that time some person from the bar Ralph dragged Team Flash to got a little too friendly with you. (In Frost’s defense, the dude was definitely trying to corner you).

Killer Frost protected you, as you protected Caitlin.

Now— don’t be mistaken, the bio-engineer was always by your side. She still protected you. When it felt like weights were shackled to your ankles, Caitlin managed to get you to dance again. When your never-ending smile became too much to bear, Caitlin could always get one out of you— even for a single moment.

If she could freeze time whenever you’d smile, she would take that opportunity. There was exactly one moment when Barry had taken her into Flash Time. You were sat in the lounge with Iris and Nora, a guitar resting on your thigh and a laugh painted across the scene. She wished she could’ve stayed, just a little longer.

Dr. Caitlin Snow watched you make the world a better place.

The two of you fell in love, and for those who were lucky enough to witness, fell in love too.

[coolmarriagerecords]

Johan Kugelberg's Top 100 DIY Singles

From Ugly Things via http://www.hyped2death.com/Kugelberg100.html

1. The Desperate Bicycles -The Medium Was Tedium (Refill Records, 1977 UK) The Desperate Bicycles are the yardstick for this obscurist sub genre. No one did it as easy or as cheap as them. Of the slew of unfathomable brilliant pop 45's, The Medium Was Tedium is the apex: The enthusiasm, anger and joy de vivre that oozes from the tracks contained within has me reaching for Village Green-Kinks and first album Cramps to describe the passion. For drunken, leftist dorm-room intellectuals to describe the faith and for Dez/Chavo-era Black Flag to describe the power ? notwithstanding that the recordings themselves are of 4-track bedroom shut-in lo-fi jangle. Too bad the band don't want the material re-released but a good thing indeed that the records barely rate at all in the collector scum price guide pantheon.

2. Beyond The Implode -Last Thoughts EP (Diverse Records UK 1979) Barrett/early-Floyd psych as good (or better) than any Soft Boys, obscurist strum & drang way more passionate than any Flying Nun band I've heard and Inflammable vocals of the purest Oxbridge confusion. The Spacemen 3 never did anything to match this record. [Messthetics #6]

3. V/A -Weird Noise EP (Fuck Off Records UK 1980) The legend doesn't start here, but at least this isn't a cassette-only release in an edition of 50 copies or so like the majority of the Fuck Off Records oeuvre. This lines up the finest advocates of tuneless bashing within the UK late 70's underground: The 012, Danny and the Dressmakers, the Instant Automatons, The Door and the Window and finally the Sell Outs who seem to be Danny and the Dressmakers under a different moniker. The cut "Please Don't Make Another Bass Guitar Mr. Rickenbacker" showcases one of the odder qualities popular music can have: The ability to disorientate the listener. "Simply the very best in bad music" indeed! [Danny...Messthetics Greatest Hits]

4. Desperate Bicycles ? New Cross, New Cross (Refill Records, UK 1978) The godlike power of "I Make The Product" or "Advice On Arrest" (two of the songs on this six song EP) deliver a little salvation of sorts ? the Desperate Bicycles make you believe, make you feel a sense of belonging. Music does that when it is this good. 5.Slugfuckers ? Three Feet Behind Glass EP (No label Australia 1979) Invoke the god Nyarlathotep they do, cover Manson-songs w/o ever having heard him they do, shmear on the middle class art school elitism thick they do. This is an extreme record; noisier and more abrasive than most first generation industrial stuff, a hell of a lot more punk than, say, the Lewd and intelligent in a scary, vicious bullying kind of way. A blazing, hard record at the same time as everything is slightly out of tune, kind of inept and sorta shoddy sounding.

6. Popes -Knup In Your Eye (Vatican Records. UK 1980) This appeared on the worldwide punk list a few issues ago, and educated guesses can be made for this appearing on any other lists I might do in the future. Not only is the record the cats pajamas as far as relentless art school mirth goes (Derek & Clive go through puberty, again!) but the throb and spark of the band makes for repeated play. And then we have to tag on the swollen nostalgia of my friend buying the only copy at the Rough trade shop in 1980 leaving me with none until Bill Forsyth digs one up for me in his back room, oh yeah, and one for Geoffrey too.

7. The Flak -EP (Northern Records UK 1980 (?)) Starts with a depressed "why am I here" poem and moves straight along into "Knocking on Heaven's Door" done dorm-angst-diy-style. This is followed by what sounds like the band attempting a Joy Division-style song the first time they pick up musical instruments. Completely inept, utterly charming and brilliant indeed. Top shelf genre defining DIY.

8. Fatal Microbes -Beautiful Pictures (Small Wonder, UK 1979) Certainly the best record with Honey Bane on it. Charming, relentless punk-crazed homemade guitar crunch. The window of opportunity of the UK underground musicscene in the late 70's is clearly demonstrated here: I doubt the Fatal Microbes stupendous teen energy could have been nurtured in the world of merchandising deals and first-look demo A&R we live in today.

9. The Silver -Do You Wanna Dance (Black Label Finland 1980) The Silver -No More Grease (Black Label Finland 1979) A riddle wrapped inside an enigma etc. The band appears to be around 12 ? 13 years old. They hail from Finland where the trail grew cold a long long time ago. Maybe upon the release of the record. Pussy Galore without post-modern baggage. "Love Theme from the Snails" as performed by SPK. 12 year olds virtually destroying a recording studio captured on tape, not once but four times.

10. Instant Automatons -Peter Paints His Fence EP (Deleted Records UK 1980) More Fuck Off/Street Level-related sublime nonsense. The battle call is the track "People Laugh At Me Cuz I Like Weird Music" which states: "I was at a pub the other night, when a bunch of mods came in, they eyed me up, then they asked me: Hey man what's your scene? Are you a hippie a mod or a punk? Got a scooter or a motorbike? I can't understand why they burst out laughing when I told them the music I like, because: People Laugh At Me Cuz I Like Weird Music People just don't understand Why pay six pounds for an album when you can, listen to a weird noise band for free I had a girlfriend named Josephine, she liked Abba and the Bee Gees. She thought music was about lawyers and accountants, percentages and legal fees. Just the other night we stayed up late, playing records til half past ten, then I played the Danny and the Dressmakers tape and I never saw Josephine again, because: People Laugh At Me Cuz I Like Weird Music People just don't understand Why pay six pounds for an album when you can, listen to a weird noise band for free" The gospel, folks. From God's mouth to your ear via the Instant Automatons. [Instant Automatons 'Another Wasted Sunday Afternon' CD]

11. Sir Alick and the Phraser -In Search of the Perfect Baby (Black Noise UK 1980) As Chuck Warner put it: They wrote beautiful pop songs then destroyed them. More Homosexuals pseudonymous mystique. The intelligent reader who followed our previous musings on this band and their universe know how much we love them and how much they perpetually pull our collective leg. No straight-ahead answers in this lifetime which is fine ? fine as far as record collecting is concerned, fine as far as lifemanship is concerned.[The Homosexuals -Astral Glamour 3CD]

12. The Four Plugs -Biking Girl (Disposable Records UK 1979) The subtle charm of marginal culture: Truly marginal culture where 1000 singles were pressed more than 22 years ago. How many got lost? How many are never being played? How many are stored in a box in the attic? How many are being played repeatedly on turntables that cost ten times as much as the recording and pressing of this given 45? "She used to be my biking partner ? she used to be my biking girl. We used to go for rides in the country side". A true punk rock/diy statement issued by the Damaged Goods people, who knew their Chesterton and Thomas Browne.

13. The Evening Outs -Channel (Refill Records UK 1980) Super-fierce skronk from a pissed-off pseudonymous Desperate Bicycles. Puts that no wave stuff to shame, really.

14. Puritan Guitars -100 Pounds in 15 Minutes (Riverside Records UK 1980) How much it cost to make the record and how long it took. Genius sturm und sturm und sturm und drang clank from a seriously inspired one chord wonder.[Messthetics Greatest Hits and Messthetics #104]

15. The Flying Brix -EP (Modello Records UK 1980) So subtle it can barely be heard: A band consisting of Wally's and Erberts, with the odd dead-end yob or two. This record could've been released by Illegal, Fuck Off or fit in on Carry On Oi. It could also have been performed on an episode of Noddy or by Flanagan & Allen. Ur-English music, this.[Messthetics #104]

16. Shrinking Men/Beevers -Hazards in the Home EP (Pop Records UK 1981) The Beevers present a Guthrie-esque talking blues here, except that it isn't a blues, but a charming DIY-shuffle, and that Woody Guthrie as far as I know never sang about the plight and blight of the office boy. The Shrinking Men in turn showcase an angry, loutish anti-army rant that Phil Ochs would've been pretty proud of I think. And there you have it: The folk music connection rears its uncombed head. [Beevers -Messthetics #6]

17. Handgrenades -Demo To London (Phonographics (?) USA 1980 (?)) Coulda fooled me ? Excellent primitive punk/chug/diy from Noo Yak City! Who woulda thunk? Somewhere between "Pink Flag" and Fuck Off Records.

18. Homosexuals -You Are Not Moving The Way You Are Supposed To (Black Noise UK 1980 (?)) An untouchable band, and the lack of a retrospective isn't much of a crime in this house (I have lots of their records snicker snicker snicker) but in other people's houses it sure is. As if Gang of Four would've been any good, as if Wire would've immersed themselves in dub, as if indeed. Parallel universe chart toppers indeed. We all know that there is at least one world out there in the ultra-cosmos where the proverbial kids are kicking these jams daily. A truly inspired and inspiring record..[The Homosexuals -Astral Glamour 3CD]

19. Cindy and the Barbi Dolls -Press The Shutter EP (A Not Major Production UK 1980) Dorm angst at its very best. Dark, brooding overtly romantic without gothing it up, these jams have the same lurking power as the pre-Joy Division Warsaw EP or the spookier first line up Soft Boys tracks. A possible sister band to Beyond the Implode in the sense that they play a curiously British form of psychedelic music in the midst of the DIY lack of musical chops. This Cornwall band were seemingly very hip to musical peers, thanking the Desperate Bicycles, the Mekons and Ralph and the Ponytails on the sleeve. There are musical (and one lyrical) nod to the Kinks "Village Green Preservation Society" as well. A very good thing. [Messthetics #7]

20. Versatile Newts -Newtrition (Shanghai Records UK 1980) If this record hadn't existed we would've had to invent it: The marriage/blend of the Swell Maps, This Heat and the TV Personalities. In equal chunks with no lumps. Gadzooks! [Messthetics #103]

21. Pink Dirt -Hey Sir (No label Norway 1979) As far as inept, crazed joi de vivre goes ? Here's the acme. I've written this one up before and will do it again. While this is obviously a straight-ahead angry punk rock band, the abandon and enthusiasm of this record could raise the dead. An angry rant against organized religion ("I have this to say tonight ? never, never get involved with christianity!") howled in a barely English Johnny Rotten-imitation by some Norwegian genius backed by shitrock more primitive than the first Endless Boogie rehearsal. There is no sleeve, no labels, just the legend "Pink Dirt Hey Sir/Hooker" scrawled in magic marker. Who were these gods and why did they walk among us? Please email me if you know anything about the people behind this stunning art experience.

22. Scrotum Poles -Revelation EP (One Tone Records Scotland 1980) Helicopter Honeymoon is going to be played at least three record collector funerals I know of, not including mine. The mighty, mighty Scrotum Poles, proudly proclaiming "DIY! We love the TV Personalities" on the shoddy, xeroxed sleeve. Their website (http://home.switchboard.com/hornstreet) is highly recommended, though we're hesitant to vouch for its complete veracity. Here's how they tell it: "'Pick the Cats Eyes Out' featured lyrics found on the back of a set list by one of the first Dundee punk bands, Bread Poultice and the Running Sores..." [Somebody please send us a demo tape!] "Helicopter Honeymoon," meanwhile, came from a headline "in the Sunday Post." What we should add for American fans is that "cats eyes" are what Brits (and Scots) call those little orange reflectors embedded in highway pavement: "Cats Eyes Out Ahead" used to be a common roadside sign. [Messthetics Greatest Hits and Messthetics #105]

23. File Under Pop -Corrugate (Rough Trade UK 1979 (?)) Godlike DIY power. Primitive grunting, out of tune skeletal instrumentation and noises recorded at Heathrow. I know a guy with an extra copy who'll swap it for Butchy Butch and the Butch Butchers.

24. Nancy Sesay and the Melodaires -C'est Fab (It's War Boys UK 1981 (?)) Un-musical, un-punk and possibly unpleasant music hall-esque skronk/DIY by the godlike Homosexuals using one of their myriad of pseudonyms. And whence you can't imagine the doofus art wank getting any more unlistenable, they spin on a dime and throw in a beautiful chorus sitting on top of a backwardsy funky drummer beat. I am, as per usual, in awe. Shall I hook some enterprising young bootlegger up with a CDR of all their stuff?

25. Performing Ferret Band -Brow-Beaten (Dead Hippy Records UK 1981) Deeply moving primitive musical fumble from this rare 45 by the masters behind the in my mind most seminal LP to come out of DIY. The eponymous Performing Ferret Band LP, which features jaw-droppers such as "Plastic Macho Man", "Fizzly Drinks" or "Great Duos Of Our Time". Fantastic over-enthusiastic juvenilia of an almost supernatural beauty. The Performing Ferrets - no one told us CD (Messthetics #216)

26. Different Eyes/Royston - Shish EP (Tuzmadoner Records UK 1979) One of the two masterpieces released on the Tuzmadoner label (the other being a 12" comp entitled, uh, "folk music" bringing up more parallels to skiffle that we should probably choose to ignore). Royston are like Flanagan & Allen fronting the world's greatest shit rock band. Different Eyes sound more lethargic than anyone else I've heard I think, and I used to work for Pavement's label. Simon Gilham from either Royston or the 'Eyes later played in Colin Newman's solo band. [Royston -Messthetics Greatest Hits and #1; Different I's -Messthetics #101 (plus their even better track from Folk Music)]

27. Homosexuals -Hearts In Exile (Black Noise UK 1978) Words fail me. As far as beauty goes, this is like Mozart or Shirley Collins. Probably their greatest moment. Somewhere along the lines of Brill Building and traditional UK folk and the Upsetters and ESP Records all at once in perfect harmony. A milestone, I think, and a record that I'd place in a timecapsule of 20th century folk art.[The Homosexuals -Astral Glamour 3CD]

28. Andrew Klimek -Felt Hammer (Mustard Records USA 1979) The guitar break alone sends this one soaring over the sky scrapers. Has that patented and most beautiful basement 4-track sound down pat even though I get more and more convinced that all those legendary Cleveland bands all were record collector rock of the umpteenth degree. Extraordinarily self-aware, sly and with meticulously thought out records, this one being no exception. The pompous liner notes on the sleeve of the 45 proves me right. You got to be some kind of Apples in Stereo-type shmuck to brag on a record sleeve that you put the bass guitar through a ring modulator.

29. Mekons -Never Been In A Riot (Fast Records UK 1978) Way before they became icky hippy-punk icons for aging counter culture types across the world they released a couple of singles of gorgeous nihilist slop. This is the first, and the funniest and the noisiest.

30. Jelly Babies -De Nada EP (No label name UK 1981) Simply heaven. A clumsy speed-chug with lyrics about a day of roller-skating and lovely pre-pubescent boozy backing vocals. Genius. Extra-tinny sound, extra passionate execution. I've quoted this portion of the notes on the (shoddy xerox, natch) sleeve: "Recorded at Dirt Cheap Studios, the best studios in the whole wide world by Grant Showbiz, the most silly person in the whole wide world, who steals your food and has a nice red guitar with a super tremelo arm which somebody gave him." Like Blake, the words transcend space, time and mortality. You need this record. Crunchy granola collectors should also note that I have personally seen at least five different (shoddy xerox) picture sleeves for this record where the priority can be determined with relative accuracy using the carbon 14 method. [one from the EP is coming on London v.III: another song from the EP demos appears on Messthetics Greatest HISS (Messthetics #110)

31. Thin Yoghurts -Girl On the Bus (Lowther Street Runner Records UK 1980) More sing-a-longa-slop-charm. You can take the limey out of the music hall but you can't Cute, touching and romantic lyrics about lusting over some tasty lassie on the bus to the kippers factory. They did this record as well as a cassette, which is a hundred bucks in your sweaty palm, if you send it to me. [Messthetics Greatest Hits]

32. Lucky Pierre -This Could Be The Night (No label USA 1984 (?)) Scuzzy, phenomenal art-rant by some Ohio Bowie-boy who'd re-record these musical chairs of Chain Gang, Klaus Nomi and cocaine freebase ten years later for Trent Reznor's label adding a "industrial dance beat" to the mess and changing the band name to Prick. Supposedly (some record-log-pincher told me) there were only 50 copies pressed for Lucky Pierre to use as record deal bait (also the reason that the lyrics are etched on the flip together with a ten second excerpt of the song). Well, I guess it worked. I seem to recall seeing a video for the re-recorded version on MTV during ol' Pierre's 15 seconds in the spotlight. The awe-inspiring power of this record remains tho'.

33. Skabb -78 EP (Mistlur Sweden 1978) Track 2 side one is jaw-dropping Opus-style DIY-crunch punk with Kriminella Gitarrer-guitar breaks. I can't believe this isn't a hotly pursued record by herd-following punk rock turd-swallowers round the globe. Fantastic slop-o-rama-lama-fa-fa-fa production too.

34. V/A -Angst In My Pants double EP (Street Level UK 1979) Imagine how good the previous 33 records on this list are, as I guarantee by risk of punishment of rock writer hyperbole, that this is doubtlessly one of the finest records I've ever heard, and the second greatest compilation in the history of rock! How can I say this wonders Rutger the Punk from his bedroom in Krakow ? Well the proof is in the pudding: Not only does the record include some of the finest recorded moments by the legendary Instant Automatons (who unknowingly channel the Monks!), 012 and the Door and the Window, but furthermore a rare vinyl appearance by the Digital Dinosaurs, heralded by me, Mario and Geoffrey in that most smug sort of way as unheralded gods of music! If that ain't enough you get some fine TVP-related spurts from the Missing Persons and extremely do it yourself DIY frenzy from the Midnight Circus. Who in "Silicone Baby" and "Hedonist Jive" have out-poignanted a tow-truck full of Aimee Mann's and Michelle Shocked's edgy humanity and funny as shit to boot. [Digital Dinsaurs and Instant Automatons are on Messthetics Greatest Hits: Midnight Circus have their own CD...And there's more on Deleted/Street Level at the Instant Automatons website]

35. Pleemobielz -Dagenlang Balen (Kamikaze Records Holland 1981) More sociological sloganeering a la Midnight Circus here: Dagenlang Balen which needlessly translates as "fuck all day" roars through the speakers with all the might of a bunch of over-testosteroned 16 year old virgins singing about what they think it'll be like to have sex some day. Tinniest sound in history. When a copy finally showed up on my doorstep after the fucking (literally!) record had spent a solid 10 years on my want list my expectations were quite low since anyone I had talked to who had heard the record all stated that it was weak/a waste of time etc. Well: It being a want list staple has more to do with the scarcity of the disc than it being a desirable punk rock record. However: It is an extremely desirable record if frenzied DIY bliss is your chosen poison.

36. Just Urbain -Guns & Guitars (No label Australia 1979) Another amazing DIY record from Australia, this one definitely sports a spiritual kinship with SPK, the Slugfuckers, the first Thought Criminals record, and those Systematics and Tactics records I need to find. Very dark, scuzzy art-damaged DIY that (a la Cabaret Voltaire or early SPK) is well aware of the fine krautrock musics coming out of Germany on Ohr or Sky a few years previously. The proto punk of say Neu or Cosmic Jokers is here handled with poisonous skronky passion.

37. The Gags -Sex Ist Schau (Leg Auf Records Germany 1981) And then one has to simply wonder if the belly laughs generated by this piece of vinyl have racist connotations: How much are we allowed to laugh at the Germans? This might be the stiffest record I've heard. The vocals lyrical bark manages to reanimate Basil Fawlty's classic performance in the "Germans" episode as well as the Sprockets. The jams are crazed. Stiff, yes, but crazed.

38. Desperate Bicycles -Smokescreen (Refill Records UK 1977) Their debut, more aggressive than a lot of the other classics and maybe it was the year. This is the 45 that launched hundreds of others: Two songs on one side to save mastering costs, the cheapest packaging, music that had to be documented, and it didn't matter if it was done in the cheapest and easiest way imaginable. [Messthetics #8]

39. Butter Utter -Jävlarnas Jul (Leonid Breznjev Records Swe 1977) Took me ages to find this one. Extremely inept, Shaggs-like fumble with a certain Je Ne Sais Qui of punk rock aggression. A lot of Killed by Death-types paid a lot of moola for this one, that some guy hyped to the moon in a Boston straight-edge fanzine back in the 80's. Only truly "punk" in the musical disaster sense of the word.

40. Cut-Outs -DIY (EMI UK 1979) Great novelty pop monster complete with carpentry noises. Possibly not a DIY record at all, but since the genre is made up by people like me this is a DIY record cuz I sez so. [NOT on Messthetics #7]

41. Massmedia ? EP (Massproduktion Swe 1979) Debut sloppiness from future KBD mainstays. There is no discernable musical ability to be found on this record and yet they play and play and play. The energy level is however awe-inspiring.

42. Dagens Ungdom -EP (Mistlur Swe 1980) Having an art school wank with Dagens Ungdom. Brilliant faux-DIY released on one of the major noo wave era indie labels of Sweden, home of Ebba Gron. All songs have titles nabbed from Kafka books, lyrics are more adjective heavy than a tub full o' Morrisey and the music is flawless DIY stumble n' fumble.

43. The Discounts -Selling Records (Original Records UK 1980) Blank 1000-yard stare DIY novelty straight out of High Fidelity. The lyric is a monologue as by a bored-to-tears record store clerk. The jams are sub-sub-sub-Blockheads DIY stumble. Extremely amusing.

44. Grinder Wickford's So Boring -EP (Wax Records UK 1979) Forget punk rock, bring in hick-rock! The aliases of the band read: "Dav-Id, Si-Kic, Terry-Ball, Stu-Pid and Holy-Grail"!. Three band members have moustaches! The singer is wearing a Rocky Horror t-shirt! The a-side is a "humorous" ditty about the acne problem of Spiderman, reflecting the sleeve front depicting some fool in a Spiderman costume driving a tractor, The b-side is an anti-fuzzy dice song. Genius. It is obvious to me that Wickford wasn't boring at all as long as you hung out with the bold gents of Grinder. The songs range from primitive clunky riff-rock to DIY jangle of the highest order. Messthetics #101

45. Psykik Volts -Totally Useless (Ellie Jay Records UK 1979) More Music Hall-punk DIY genius. The spirit of Vivian Stanshall is looming large; as is the empty pint glasses littering the room as this 45 is stuck on repeat. All together now: "It's to-tal-ly useless"!! The sleeve bears the legend: "Side A: recorded in a sock, Side B: recorded in a morgue. May god bless vocalist and songwriter Victor Vendetta. Now pardon me while I go to the corner and cry.

46. Raisinets -More Fun To Play Than To Listen To (Fun-Ethic Records USA 1979) Fantastic record-collector hippie-punk a la Gizmos/Afrika Korps/Half Japanese. Primitive guitar duets complete with questionable production values and mucho muchacho helpings of pure static. Great post-arrest pre-OD lyrics making fun of Sid too.

47. Dag Vag -Dimma (Ball Records Swe 1978) Two years after this record was released, Dag Vag were playing new wave-scented white-boy reggae to sell-out crowds all over Sweden. This, however, is a one-man band bedroom project by a Träd Gräs & Stenar roadie who had discovered punk rock and the DIY scene. Beautiful dark/sinister home studio atmospherics, killer fuzz guitar and demented lyrics about psychiatric care and drug experiences. A great record. And by all means: Don't buy any other Dag Vag records after you've obtained this one.

48. I Jog & the Tracksuits - Redbox (Tyger Label UK 1978) More lost artform unique stumble-rumble from the UK. Sounds like it was recorded under water this one. A petty miracle of a pop tune with a sublime lyric about waiting for the bus. Gotta bless em for the stamina it takes to get a record out: Recording, Mixing, Mastering, Designing, Printing, Approving, Distributing, Balancing. All to get a little song about missing the bus heard by me 22 years later.

49. Injections -Prison Walls (Radioactive Records USA 1980) This has always been an extremely desired and expensive record in KBD/Japanese Tasty/Moustache circles, and it doubtlessly deserves its inflated price tag even though we aren't talking chainsaw-buzz punk rock per se here.

50. Devils Hole Gang -Free The People (Slow Burning Fuse Records UK 1979) Huge moustaches, huge choruses, and a record that sounds like it was recorded inside one of those Moroccan hotel showers that basically consist of a huge tube of aluminum siding. My pretentious nature is such that I feel forced to unleash the folk art metaphor for this again. If your friendly neighborhood rare record dealer charges you a couple of C-notes for this and you feel like your being had for big G's by the sleaze, then remember that you are investing in art, not buying a record!!

51. Funboy Five -Life After Death (Cool-Cat Daddy-O Records UK 1980) A pure pop record indeed, but where pricey production values would've turned this into a memorable Stiff Records 45, the band's lack of bucks and resulting throwaway/enthusiasm production and energy has created a masterpiece. Both sides are stalwarts for a neighborhood sing-song or a rousing music hall chorus. Punk rock music hall: A genre waiting to happen again! [Messthetics #101]

52. How To Get Rich In Rotterdam - Dapper Dan (Vormgeving Rotterdam Records Netherlands 1981) Brilliant, plodding art-slop that reeks of inside jokedom. This record is a reason unto itself to pay ebay prices for vintage drum machines.

53. Come -Come Sunday (Come Organization UK 1979) Before William Bennett became the Benny Hill of industrial noise, his band Whitehouse were called Come and released a single and an album which both are quite lovely homemade art-dirge crankiness, a friendly psychedelic kind of crankiness indeed.

54. The Riotous Brothers -Vicki's Dancing (Riotous Records 1980) How all these disparate bands came up with a sound this cohesive is a mystery to me. Any of the hints handed to us through fanzines and interviews only mess things up further: Yes, anyone could form a band, make a record, start a record label indeed. Where it gets weird is why so many of them harbor a similar tinny guitar sound, cardboard-y drums, messy synths, inept recording techniques, smart-assed lefty lyrics and nasal singing tone. This was not a movement. It was just a bunch of stuff that happened. That's all. This record has the beautiful simplicity of a Shaker chair or a Maine seafood soup. The swanky speedpunk of "Operation Zero" or the plink-a plunk-a guitar solo on "Emotional Cripple" will some day have their own wing at the Victoria and Albert museum. Make my art primitive!

55. Partizans -Goods (A-Noyz Records UK 1980) Chain Gang's retarded English cousins. Ace!!

56. Amor Fati -Economics 100 (Yuck/Flesh Records USA 1984 (?) Very angry anti-r&r/anti-big-business slightly tongue in cheek rant that shows spiritual kinship to "Rat City" by the Art Attacks. Vertical Slit/V-3. The odd blend of wanting in, wanting to play the game and wanting to stay the fuck away that is symptomatic for a lot of Ohio underground musicians (Shepard, Hummel, House etc.)

57. Desperate Bicycles -Skill (Refill Records UK 1978) Blazing DIY-shuffle and unmistakenly Bicycles. More pro production which has this one slip further down the list. Still godlike though.

58. Sarah Coffman -Titta Jag Ar Död (Konkurrenz Rekårdz Sweden 1980) Excellent primitive shit-rock by band from my hometown!

59. Hornsey At War -Deadbeat Revival EP (War Product UK 1979) Extremely amusing ultra-sloppy DIY. No discernable production values, sound-as-filtered-through-ground-beef, emotionally charged out-of-tune vocals, crackly guitar (broken cable?) and a true aura of dead end yobs (and jobs) instead of the more common middle class art school vibe as prevailing on most DIY records. Hornsey At War are complaining about English radio too: "They won't play this record on the radio because it poses a threat!" Here tis again: That charming blend of hubris and defeatist that seems to penetrate the psyches of most people involved in underground music and/or collectors of it.

60. Take It -How It Is (Fresh Hold UK 1979) Stunning out of control DIY/noise not unlike a more frenzied Soft Boys, a more good Gang of Four or a less psychotic SPK. Igor and Simon seem like a couple of gents with some hardcore political and intellectual pursuits, and like the Desperate Bicycles before them I sense that the choice of releasing a noisy cheaply recorded 45 with a xerox cover was an act of some sort of political defiance, back in the day where such an act was not co-opted from the ground up by extreme sports and Wall Mart hair dye. [Messthetics Greatest Hits and Messthetics #2]

61. Rough Cuts EP (Z-Block Records UK 1980) Inspired sampler of four bands (The Boywonders, The Ghoulies, The Czechs and the Decadent Few) two of which tell us their age on the cover (The Boywonders are all 16, The Czechs are all 17). Humbling thought that such musical spirit could be mustered at such a tender age. Great variety of flavors too: The Boywonders great inept, spooky DIY strut where the band might think that a reggae influence is prevailing, us knowing that the stumbleblock shuffle bears more resemblance to ancient Celtic airs, the unbearable beauty of the Czechs utter disregard of tone, meter and signatures or the Ghoulies oddly Booker T-esque chug n' scrape. The business, all and all. [Boywonders and Czechs on Messthetics #104: The Z-Block Story is here]

62. The Petticoats -Normal (Bla-Bla-Bla Records UK 1980) Ripping good-kind-feminist anti-normalcy rant. Spiritually uplifting in a way not dissimilar to first-hand experience of medieval church architecture, I shit you not. Recorded at Street Level which means that this record is Fuck Off Records related.

63. Reducers -We Are Normal (Vibes Product UK 1978) The sub genre Geoff Weiss-punk is hereby coined to describe this record. High-energy ineptitude. There is a strange kinship to the Pink Fairies/Deviants axis on this record ? A similarity in energy and attack, notwithstanding that the Reducers really don't know how to play their instruments very well. [Messthetics #1]

64. Il Ya Volkswagens - Kill Myself (Mechanical Reproductions UK 1981) One more year in the rehearsal space for these guys and I wouldn't be writing this. Discernable elements of gothrock and Bauhaus influence can be noticed as a faint vapor in this aural air to speak it in goth-speak, the crunch of the slightly sour guitar, the plodd of the (genius) bass line and the all-in slouch of the lethargic vocalist and the cracked-everyday electronics elevates this dirge into an 18 carat DIY-cruncher.

65. Quite Ridiculous Nonsense -Identity Crisis (No Label USA 1984) Most ace industrial wank of that rare late 70's variety. Wildly entertaining experiments in four track flatulence and transistor radio static.

66. Pervers/Deutscher Abschaum split 7" (Suff Productions Germany 1984) The Godhead. Reminds me of Teddy and the Fratgirls or the Foams in the sense that one gets the notion that these must have been fun gals to hang out with or date. The timeless splendor of the arty urban misfit girl: Her goofy charm and no-holds-barred enthusiasm for all that she found weird, interesting or sexually appetizing. A toast to the art school weirdo outcast girls of the world: May they forever paint their room black or read Hermann Hesse to you in bed! The music is wild, out of control amateuristic slop goes from Electric Eels fuzzed out haterock to drumkits thrown down the stairs to minimal teen-angst and then back. Beautiful stuff. Got this in trade from Thurston Snore for some boring free jazz records back in the day. What a chump!

67. The Prats -Disco Pope (Rough Trade UK 1979) 15-year old Scottish schoolboy punks seething with rage over the demon disco. Early Downliners Sect-style one chord R&B shuffle complete with the drum breaks that made God decide not to spare humanity. Don't miss it!

68. Plast -EP (Stranded Rekords Swe 1979) Four song EP of the finest in teenage punks attempting to embrace the confusion in their head from listening to TG, Cabaret Voltaire and Pere Ubu. An ungodly racket where the hostility of the chosen sounds meets the cozy ineptitude of the random noises. Plenty of short-wave noises and the crappiest of synths. Utterly charming.

9. Raincoats -Fairytale in the Supermarket (Rough Trade UK 1979) All enthusiasm/zero chops Ubu-esque DIY-charm from these stunning ladies. This is the best of their many records. Some kinda CD anthology that I can't find right now was released in the USA on the basis of Kurt Cobain being a big fan.

70. Tone Deaf and the Idiots -Why Does Politics Turn Men Into Toads? (Blue Angel UK 1979) Tone Deaf and the Idiots how do I love thee. This flexi is taken from their debut album Catastrophe Rock which still stands alongside the Damian & the Criterions "Avant Garde", Alvaro's Drinking My Own Sperm and Kräldjursanstalten's Voodoo Boogie as peerless monuments of original thought as far as late 70's underground albums are concerned. Catastrophe rock indeed. This is what "Music from the Big Pink" would've sounded like if it had been performed by the Portsmouth Sinfonia.

71. Desperate Bicycles -Grief Is Very Private (Refill UK 1980) One of the mighty Bicycles more introspective and subtle moments. Their entire recorded output is well worth hearing, and the range of emotions they paint from their palate quite astounding.

72. Door and the Window -I Like the Sound (NB Records UK 1979) One of many brilliant anti-music art school rants by the grand old daddies of the very genre. They like sound, they don't like the Pop Group, they like noise (um yeah!), they don't like butter The list goes on and I can't say that I reached any enlightenment as such by the end of this demented scratchy noise-fumble. But the journey sure was great.

73. Slugfuckers -Instant Classic (PRS Australia 1979) Homosexuals-y whiteguy funk/noise fracture that Liquid Liquid would've been pretty stoked about. Screeching scrape and dumb jokey asides. Who could ask for anything more?

74. Happy Cadavers -Nothing New (Undefined Records UK 1982) Punk/wave slop from the Midwest ? kind of aims for the Stranglers but hits Small Wonder Records. Charming stuff. Give me a fake English accent any day.

75. The Reflections - 4 Countries (Cherry Red UK 1981) Coulda been by the Desperate Bicycles this: stop/start gurgling plodding slop with most excellent Mark P. whining on top. Patented Karl Blake crumble-o-rific drumming not to mention the ambience added by the illustrious Nag of Door and the Window celebrity status. The Reflections album is well worthy of your grease as well as it is more of the same DIY-gunk but with a more contempo Recommended Records-type sound. [Messthetics #1]

76. Reacta -Stop the World (Battery Operated Records UK 1979) Another one that demands the Desperate Bicycles as cultural cookie cutter ? A beautiful ramble with the edgy guitars of Hilton Bomber-Thought Criminals.[Messthetics Greatest Hits]

77. Crash Action Winners - Hurricane Fighter Plane (Sonic International UK 1979) Somewhere in this mess of static and filtered mud are the chord-change(s) of "Hurricane Fighter Plane". The sleeve hints at the band being American, the sounds point straight in the direction of an English middle class art school, and the record cover furthermore defines them as a bunch of record collectors to boot. Not only is a Roky Erickson tune given the same crap-o-riffic sonic treatment, but the shoddy crumb-bum picture sleeve showcases record covers by the Seeds, the 13th Floor Elevators, Russ Meyer and Question Mark and the Mysterians displayed in tasteful collage form. Messthetics #104

78. The Plastic Mechanical Pig -Book Brains (IX Recording Company Japan 1981) Tricky one here, Ricky and Paul, the two guys on the cover of the PMP 45, look like a couple of student teachers and the record sounds like a couple of student teachers recorded a Raisinets/Half Japanese hybrid on a primitive 4 track. Charming record this, with two folky DIY-punk cuts, but why on earth was it released in Japan?

79. V/A - Mell Square Musick EP (Yaw Records UK 1979) I've listened to this record a good dozen times or so, and my jaw still drops. Frenzied homemade punk where the energy could light up a medium-size town. Similar to the Tandstickorshocks, Seems Twice or Red Cross "Born Innocent" LP in its instinctive disregard for notes, chords and melody, the Accused or the 021 are more than deserving of particularly exquisite golden wings in the halls of the Valhalla of Amateurism. I bow my head. [Cracked Actor Messthetics #7; Accused and 021 - Messthetics #103]

80. Tandstickorshocks - Allan Vogalan (King Kong Records Holland 1980) The Dutch Puritan Guitars right here, it is almost spooky how similar the sound of the two bands is. Spinning these 45's makes me wonder if this music somehow managed to sidestep rock & roll and the black music tradition as a core influence. There is something about the Tandstickorshocks which at the same time manages to remind me of Schoenberg, microtonal composers and Irish tin-whistle folk music. This is, needless to say, evidence that I should get out more often, but also that these slices of true-life counterculture juvenilia are not isolated from a cultural context, but embracers of it. Even if it did take a couple of decades for these records to be collected in some kind of organized manner. The kids in Tandstickorshocls must have been aware of Wire and the Young Marble Giants, but the minimal primitive music they create is original in the same manner as the artists on Pat Conte's "Secret Museum of Mankind" compilations.

81. Foams - Paint Me (Pet Me Quick Records USA 1981) A classic of sorts. Frenzied, inept live recordings by this all-girl Austin Texas punk band. The only way that I can explain the similarities to the Slits or the Raincoats are that gals sure have a different way of looking at things, or at least playing drums. Great smutty lyrics and barky art-school vox too.

82. SST -Clutch On the Ward (Tidal Wave Records USA 1977) Super-inept hippie punk/DIY from California with lotsa early punk scenesters name-checked on the sleeve. Ted Falconi pre-Flipper on guitar.

83. The Simple Approach to Newtown Products EP (NTP Records UK 1980) My approach was to pay the inflated price the dealer was asking and happily walk home with this great record. 4 songs, four bands: Crimedesk are toilet-recorded DIY-slop, Basic Unit must be the most amateuristic goth band I've ever heard, Beat Necessity showcase only the finest in tuneless death-dirge with off-key howling and Story So Far is an awesome Joy Division/Factory Records attempt, but with no discernable musical talent. Needless to say, the whole EP is as charming as the day is long.

84. Hörförståelse -Förläst Jävel (CTR Sweden 1980) Demented art skronk of drums, bass and crap keyboards featuring out of tune vocals regurgitating about someone being an over-educated bastard. Perfect, really. A must for fans of primitive shit music.

85. What To Wear - Casual But Smart EP (Basic and Typical Records UK 1980 (?)) Inspired stumble as an attempt to play dub, The Homosexuals can do it ? These guys can't. I don't know if this given failure brought about something new, but this record is a very listenable stab at atmosphere by a DIY band with limited budget and equipment. The flip also contains a couple of amazing speed-pop DIY-rambles. [ Messthetics #104]

86. Contact -Future (Object Music UK 1979) An avantfied klutz by a band who probably wanted to be Tubeway Army one thinks as one gazes upon the sleeve. They move from sloppy pro-rock attempts to full-on art-noise to excellent DIY jingle and jangle. One of many excellent items on the Object label. [ Messthetics #106 and Messthetics #7]

87. Good Missionaries -Deranged in Hastings (Unnormality Records UK 1979) A great stop/start hiccup with the patented GM/ATV tinny guitars and peripheral production. What makes this stand out is that barely concealed aggression, like a slow fuse or something.

88. The Potent Human EP (L'Aventure Records UK 1980) I maintain, and not only because of my middle class lifestyle, that the Bathroom Renovations is the greatest band name in the history of rock. This EP is a four out of four winner. Brilliant DIY fumble from The Mekon (no relation), The Liggers , The Spurtz and the ultra-wah-wah power of the Bathroom Renovations. Let me type that again: Bathroom Renovations. [Liggers: Messthetics #106]

89. Disco Zombies -Here Comes the Buts (Dining Out Records UK 1980) This is my favorite of their three spectacular singles. Thw thuick brogue of an accent blends in a most interesting way with the crappy guitar and dull throb of the melody line or the voluptous Steve Severin-style bass line.

90. Record Players -Double C Side EP (Wreckord Records UK 1978) The Record Players came from Kent, which mustered a bit of a mod scene a couple years later, but otherwise wasn't much of a factor in the punk (or DIY) world. Here they've mustered up an anti-MOR rant with a chorus that comes off kind of, eh, MOR-sounding. Imagine the classic DIY trashing, bashing and gnashing, but with one big ol' chorus, and the most obvious bridge you'll ever hear. "Ignore Us" on the flip is self-defeatist art that'll piss all over any Magnetic Fields as far as smug self-hatred goes. "It's just one thing you gotta do if you want to move along, ignore the music and ignore this song ? Ignore us and we might go away". How about that. [Messthetics #1]

91. Boys and Girls Come Out and Play EP (Boys and Girls Records UK 1980) Might be a grade school project this one, and not an art school project. Bands like the Human Cabbages, The Profile and The Famous Five are very young sounding. The fragile beauty of these tunes remind me of the UK Voice of the People anthologies of field recordings of folk songs. The purity, private nature of the songs and homemade-ness makes for a truly intimate, moving listening experience. The people on this record should be proud of this slice of juvenalia 20-odd years later.[Profile -Messthetics #103 -also a Human Cabbages song]

92. False Idols -Ego Wino (Old Knew Wave Records UK 1980) Paul Morotta's unknown English nephews. This could be a Poli Styrene Jass Band outtake. Great, spazzy DIY with jazzy chording and great, supressed aggression.

93. Bandage -Republik (Bandage Records Sweden 1978) Seems as if the average age of the band members is 16 or so, and that the mere existence of this record points to the purest and most blissfully unaware state of do it yourself: Some kids in a suburb of Stockholm getting turned on by punk rock and the notion of releasing their own record. The four songs are all fuzzed out riff rock, not unlike say, the Crucified EP, but the poor quality of recording, sound separation, levels and what have you is why the record is mentioned on this list. Not that any of that was done on purpose, mind you, for any DIY-ethic of sorts. Necessity and gratification and all that good stuff.

94. 49 Americans -Big Value (NB Records UK 1979) Another hidden Fuck Off Records release? The 49 Americans certainly moved in the same circles, and furthermore share plenty of aesthetic choices with Danny and the Dressmakers or the Instant Automatons. This record consists of 14 short blasts of fuzz punk meets art wank and is absolutely brilliant.

95. Gods Gift -925 (New Market Records UK 1979) Three tuneless tunes of the finest in fuzzed-out death-dirge DIY-slop. Kilslug jamming with the Door and the Window.[Messthetics #106]

96. Mud Hutters -Declaration EP (Defensive Records UK 1979) Mud Hutters ? Information EP (Dead Good Records UK 1979) Truly original band this. Somewhere in a Heartwork Records/Rock In Opposition neighborhood, but with a real Safe As Milk-crunch. There are psych elements on both these records, moments of blistering punk rock, and a generous infusion of the Desperate Bicycles (or Thought Criminals) ethics and esthetics. Fantastic records, and mandatory listening for any fan of the underground music of the late 70's era. Unfortunately, their subsequent album isn't great. By that time the band got Gang of Four damage.[ Messthetics #106: a track from their first EP is on Messthetics Greatest Hits]

97. Horrible Nurds -Consuming Passion (Half Wombat Records UK 1980) Oddly enough, this record sounds a hell of a lot like early Problem (Sweden) on the a-side, with the b-side being Tim Rose backed by ATV in a fantastic art-rock/DIY howler In that lost art form kind of way.

98. Reptile Ranch -Animal Noises EP (Z Block Records UK 1980) Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 (one of the most under-rated bands of the last 15 years says I and ponder an upcoming UT article) are here channeled way before they even were formed by some UK art school kids. Fantastic Beefheart-y R.I.O-hybrid DIY. Passionate, crude and obnoxious, sending this record to the top shelf of any record room! [Messthetics Greatest Hits]

99. Freiwillige Selbstkontrolle - EP (Zick Zack Records Germany 1980) Ace generic DIY/punk that could've been at home on an early Rough Trade 45.

100. The Rutto - Ei Paluuta (Ikbals Records Finland 1983) Figured I'd seal the circle with this one: A record as stupendous as "Medium Was Tedium" and as prominently throwing all the weight of the DIY-aesthetic on us, the listeners. The Rutto seem to be your 1983 run-of-the-mill small town punk rockers, and this 45 is generic, frantic buzzsaw guitar 2-chord punk. The magic with this one, however, is that in between the choca-blocks of teen nihilism is a noticeable sense of wonder and joi de vivre oozing thru' the grooves, or maybe I am just getting old and sentimental. Thanks for reading.