#buzz moran

[t-tex-edwards]

For one week only, then it comes down. Here is a live track from 1999, T. Tex Edwards & The Toetags performing a Yardbirds tune. RIP Jeff Beck. https://ttexedwards.bandcamp.com/track/evil-hearted-you

T. Tex Edwards - vocals Davy Jones (RIP) & John "Breakfastime" Hancock - guitars Hunter Darby - bass Steve McCarthy - drums

Recorded live at The Continental Club 1999 by Buzz Moran. Photo by Dan Allen.

[ghuleh-witch]

And We Are Tied As One Eternally-XIV

Fandom: Ghost Rating: Explicit Warnings: none for this chapter Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x OFC Additional Tags: soft!dom Copia, eventual smut, developing relationship, kind of a slow burn, no beta reader Chapter Word Count: 2615 Summary: Ellie Moran just wanted to make a new life for herself. Running to escape the people in her past, she ends up in a small town in the middle of nowhere that happens to be home to a Satanic church. She never expected her life to change again after she started attending the public masses at said church. Ao3 || Masterlist Chapters: 14/? Previous Chapters Tag list: @sodoswitchimage

Copia made sure Ellie got home safe and sound after the ball and kissed her again before she locked herself in her apartment for the night. She felt like she was on cloud nine and realized this was the first time in years she felt truly happy. After getting out of her dress and into pajamas, she fell back onto her bed and sighed. Part of her was afraid of the way she was acting. Did thirty-year-old women act like schoolgirls when they get kissed and asked out on a date by someone they liked? She didn’t know. Her experiences with men and romance were extremely limited. 

Her phone buzzed on the bed next to her and she picked it up, smiling when she saw it was a text from Copia.

I can’t wait for our date. Sleep well, tesoro :-) 

Ellie smiled and replied with her own “sleep well” and a smiley emoji. She plugged her phone in to charge and got under the covers, thinking about what the next day would bring. She fell asleep shortly after putting her phone down. Her dreams started pleasantly enough. She and Copia were having a picnic in a grassy field. There was wine, laughter, and kissing, but then the dream morphed. She was alone and in her bedroom. Ellie looked around and found the room dark.

“Elenor,” a voice said in a sing-song tone. 

Dream Ellie found Ethan standing at the end of her bed with a maniacal grin on his face. Burns and charred marks covered half of his face.

��Your freak friends put me in Hell,” he hissed. “It’s very hot there.”

“Get out of here,” Ellie said.

“I don’t think I will,” Ethan said, surging forward to wrap his hands around her neck.

Ellie woke up gasping and panting. She sat up in bed and turned on the lamp next to her. Ellie looked around her room and found she was very much alone.

“Just a dream, just a dream,” she said to herself as she looked at the time on her phone. It was just after four in the morning. She groaned and laid back down, wishing she wasn’t alone.

The day dragged on and Ellie spent it yawning and rubbing her eyes. She never got back to sleep after her nightmare and spent her day at work trying to keep her eyes open. At the end of her workday, Ellie got a text from Copia reminding her when he’d be picking her up for their date. She smiled and hurried back to her apartment to get ready. Despite her exhaustion, she felt excited about their date together.

She looked through her clothes, settling on the same black dress she wore the very first time she met Copia. Ellie did her hair, making the waves more defined before pinning back the stray pieces that liked to fall into her eyes. She lined her eyes in black and put on a little eyeshadow and lipstick, trying to keep everything toned down and natural-looking. 

It was only the second date Ellie had ever been on. After she found out she was pregnant, she and Ethan tried to make their relationship work. He took her out on a date and it was then Ellie realized their relationship would never be what she wanted. Looking back on it, she knew she should have run then and there. 

Ellie nervously paced her living room as she waited for Copia. At exactly seven, there was a knock on her door and practically flew to the door to answer it. Once she got it open, she found Copia standing there holding a bouquet of pink and white flowers. He wore black slacks and a jacket with a black button-down underneath. He had on his usual black paint around his eyes and on his upper lip. His face lit up when he saw her and he held out the flowers. “For you,” he said.

“That’s so sweet,” Ellie replied, taking the flowers and smelling them. They were carnations, and their scent reminded her of spring. “Thank you,” she said, turning and inviting him in. “I’ll put these in some water and then we can go.”

“You look beautiful by the way,” Copia said as he stepped into her apartment. 

Ellie smiled. “Thanks,” she said as she opened a cabinet, looking for something to put the flowers into. She found a tall plastic cup and decided that would be good enough since she didn’t own a vase. She trimmed the stems and put some water into the cup before displaying the flowers on her counter. “I’ll have to get an actual vase for them, but I love them. Thank you again.” 

“You ready to go? I made a reservation for us at a restaurant.” 

Ellie nodded and grabbed her clutch before following him out the door. Once outside, Copia opened the passenger door of his car for her, closed it once she was inside, and buckled in. A second later, Copia was getting behind the wheel and starting the car. They left town, driving thirty minutes into a nearby city. Copia parked in a parking garage came around to her door, and opened it, holding out a hand to her. 

“We walk from here,” he said as she took his hand and got out of the car. He took her hand and looped it through his arm, and Ellie wondered if he could feel her shaking with anticipation and nerves. It had been so long since she had last been on a date or in any sort of relationship. She felt like an inexperienced teenager as he led the way down the busy city street. 

“Are you okay?” Copia asked, pulling Ellie from her anxious thoughts. “You haven’t said much this entire time.”

“Sorry, I’m just…nervous. It’s been a long time since someone took me out on a date,” Ellie confessed.

“You don’t need to apologize, tesoro,” he said as they walked around a corner. “It is okay to be nervous. I know you haven’t been on a date in a while. I understand. What can I do to help you relax?”

“Just keep talking,” Ellie said, already feeling better just from his reassurances. 

He chuckled. “I’ve been called a yapper before, so that won’t be a problem,” he said. “Ah, here we are.”

They stopped in front of a busy restaurant. There were tables of people outside dining under the warm glow of string lights. Inside, patrons talked and laughed while servers moved among the clustered tables. 

“This is the most authentic Italian food around,” Copia said, leading her inside to a podium where a hostess stood waiting to greet them. “I hope that is okay. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise by asking if you liked Italian”

“It’s perfect,” Ellie smiled. “And for the record, I love Italian.” 

“Great,” he said as he stepped up to the podium. “ Ciao, we have a reservation. Last Name Emeritus.” 

The hostess looked over the tablet in front of her and, with a stylus, checked something off. “Emeritus, got it. Table for two. If you will follow Jack here, he’ll get you settled.” She said, handing a couple of menu cards to a waiting server.

They followed the man named Jack, a tall, lean blonde man in a tight server’s uniform, to a table towards the back of the restaurant. Before Ellie could sit, Copia was pulling out a chair for her. The simple gesture filled her with a fuzzy warmth as she sat down and Jack placed a menu in front of her.

“Tonight the chef’s special tonight is pappardelle ai funghi, made with fresh porcini mushrooms and a piece of our house-baked focaccia,” Jack informed them. “Can I get you started with some wine?”

“Yes, please, we’ll take a bottle of…” Copia said, looking over the wine menu before pointing to a bottle. “This one place.”

“Excellent choice, sir. If you’re ready, I can take your orders now as well.”

“Are you ready to order, tesoro ?” Copia asked Ellie.

“Uhhh,” Ellie mused, looking over the menu. “Sure. I’m ready. Can I have the ricotta and spinach ravioli with a side salad?”

“Of course, madam. And for you, sir?” Jack asked as he wrote Ellie’s order out on a pad.

“ Pasta allo scarpariello ,” Copia said.

“Of course. I’ll get your orders into the kitchen and I will be right back with your wine and some water,” Jack said, taking the menus from them and leaving.

“What’s the dish you ordered?” Ellie asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a rigatoni dish,” Copia said. “With a cherry tomato sauce and some parmigiano-reggiano cheese. It’s a simple dish, but a favorite of mine.”

Ellie made a mental note and tucked that information away for later. “You weren’t kidding when you said this place had authentic Italian food. I swear half the menu was in Italian.”

Copia smiled. “Well, I’ll just have to teach you the language so you know what you can order for next time.”

Her ears delighted when he said next time. She smiled and felt her cheeks warm. “So, what else do you have planned for us after dinner?”

“Ah, mia cara, it’s a surprise,” he said as their server returned with a bottle of red wine. Jack poured them both generous glasses before filling two other glasses with some water and setting the pitcher on their table. The server left again and Ellie watched as Copia reached for his glass. He swirled the liquid gently and brought it to his nose before nodding in approval and taking a sip. “I made the right choice,” he said. 

Ellie lifted her glass and gave the wine a sip. The liquid was sweet and savory all at once with a hint of spice to it. “This is good,” Ellie said, taking another sip.

“I’m glad you like it,” Copia said, his eyes lighting up at her preference. “I was hoping you would.”

In almost no time at all, Jack was returning to their table with their food and a basket of freshly baked focaccia bread. He grated cheese over their dishes and tossed Ellie’s salad before leaving them again. 

“That looks good,” Ellie said as she looked at Copia’s food, cutting into a piece of her ravioli. 

“Here, try some?” Copia said, stabbing a piece of rigatoni with his fork and lifting it to her, inviting her to take a bit. Ellie smiled and leaned over, allowing him to food her the piece of pasta. His eyes seemed to darken ever so slightly when her mouth closed around the fork and she took the pasta into her mouth.

“That is really good,” she confirmed after chewing and swallowing the rigatoni. “Want to try a piece of my ravioli?”

“Sure,” Copia said.

She cute a piece of her stuffed pasta in half and got it onto her fork before holding it out to him. She watched as he gently took her wrist, guiding her hand, holding the fork closer to his mouth before he ate the pasta. “Delicious,” he said, licking his lips and making Ellie bite her lower lip at the act.

They ate dinner, exchanging conversation as their server occasionally stopped by to ask how they were doing and to top off their wine glasses. Before Ellie knew it, Jack placed a piece of tiramisu in front of her for dessert. As she savored the dessert, she watched Copia slip a credit card into the folder with the meal’s bill. She felt bad and immediately reached for her clutch. “Let me help. This was really expensive.”

“No, Ellie,” Copia said gently. “I appreciate you want to help, but I want to do this for you. I wanted to take you on a proper date and spoil you. This is my gift.”

“O-oh, okay,” Ellie flushed, unable to stop the small smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you.” 

“You deserve it, tesoro .” 

“Next time, it’s my treat, though,” Ellie insisted. “I mean it.”

“Of course. Who am I to argue with a beautiful woman who wants to treat me?” Copia chuckled. 

After paying for dinner and leaving a generous tip, Copia and Ellie left the restaurant and walked down the street. It was starting to get late and the streets and sidewalks were less crowded. Ellie thought they might be going back to the parking garage, but they walked passed the place Copia parked the car and towards the entrance of the city park. Copia let her through the park, following the paved path light by warm lights through the trees until they came to the lake at the center of the park. Ellie gasped when she saw the sight. There were thousands of paper lanterns on the lake and on the far side of the water, there was a light show casting pink, blue, green, and orange lights across the surface. There were other groups of people and couples mingling around the path that circled the lake. A chilly breeze rippled across the water, making the lanterns glide this way and across the surface. 

“Copia, this is gorgeous,” Ellie gasped as she took in the scene in front of her. “All the lights and the lanterns. This is so beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Copia said, tugging her hand. “Come, this way. Let’s get some hot chocolate.” 

They walked down the trail to a little booth with a line three people deep. When they got to the counter, Copia ordered two hot chocolates with marshmallows. 

“Here’s to a magical night tonight,” Copia toasted.

“I can toast to that,” Ellie said, clinking her styrofoam cup with his and carefully sipping the beverage. 

They walked around the lake, taking in the lights and all the lanterns floating on the water. By the time they got back to the park entrance, it was late. They returned to the parking garage and Copia paid the parking fee before opening the passenger door for her. Ellie smiled and slid into the seat. A few minutes later, they exited the garage and went home.

“I had a great night,” Ellie said. “Thank you. This was the best first day ever.”

Copia chuckled. “I’m glad, mia cara. I know your first first date probably wasn’t the experience you wanted, so I was hoping to make up for that and give you the experience you deserve.”

“And you have,” Ellie said. “Thank you, again.”

Copia reached across the expanse of the bench seat and took her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing her knuckles. Ellie blushed furiously as he lowered her hand, still keeping hold of it. “Let’s get you home,” he said, glancing over at her.

They fell into a comfortable silence. Ellie kept hold of his hand as Copia drove. Before she knew it, he was putting the car in park outside of her apartment building. “Here we are,” he said, letting go of her hand and turning the car off. He got out and walked around the front of the vehicle to open her door. Ellie took his outstretched hand and allowed him to help her out of the car. He then walked her inside and up the stairs to her apartment door. “So…” he said almost nervously, rocking back and forth on his feet. “This is the part where I give you a kiss goodnight and we part ways.”

“We don’t have to,” Ellie said quickly. “Part ways I mean…”

He raised his brow. “Oh? Are you inviting me in, cara?”

Ellie unlocked her door and opened it, gesturing for him to go in first. “I am.”

[spnfanficpond]

Weekly Pond Newsletter!

Louden Swain just celebrated their 100th show at a Creation event, and there's so much buzz on Twitter about it! If you don't know Louden Swain, definitely look them up! (And check out Billy Moran's new album, Surprise Party For The Introvert!!)

Old Business:

The June Angel Fish Awards were posted! Click here to see what new fics were nominated.

The monthly prompt for July was posted! Click here to check it out and get inspired. Remember to tag us in anything you write based off a prompt you get from our blog so we can reblog it!

We've got wind of some fanfic-related drama lately happening out there regarding certain ships. We just want to remind everyone that the Pond's #1 rule is no hate, ESPECIALLY about ships. We are old school and fly under the Ship And Let Ship/YKINMKATO flag. We all like different flavors of fanfic, and enjoying fanfic about something does not mean we condone those actions happening in real life. Stories are a way to experience the world without actually affecting the world, and as such are a safe space to explore what would be unconscionable in the real world. Basically, writing/reading a story about starting a school for serial killers is fine. Actually starting a school for serial killers is not. All ships and kinks are welcome in the Pond and always will be, with proper warnings attached, forever and always, full stop.

Last week's #TweetFicTues prompt was:

In July, the Pond and the FanFicOcean are celebrating RPF stories! (That's Real People Fiction for the newbs.) With that in mind, your #TweetFicTues prompt this week includes Mitch Pileggi and Samantha Smith in a domestic scene during the pandemic. Bonus prompt: add vampires!

New Business:

Zooms and Stageit concerts with Paul Carella and Jason Manns. Later today, Paul Carella is hosting a zoom party! Click here to get more info and buy a ticket. On Thursday, Jason Manns will be one of four singer/songwriters performing at his venue in Virginia, The Heist. They will be livestreaming part of the night via Stageit so those who live far away can also participate! Click here to find out more about it and by a ticket.

Competitive Writing Sprints in the discord server later today. Admin Michelle will be hosting this time, and just looking for good reasons to hand out prizes! Add words to your WIP and get cool stuff, too!

Next weekend is Fishing For Treasures weekend here at the Pond. This month, we're looking for your RPF (Real People Fiction) stories! Send us links to your favorites! You can either submit them via the blog or drop a link in the #fishing-for-treasures channel in the discord server. You can self promo your own fics, or send us recs from other writers!

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(Divider by @glygriffe!)

That's all for this week! To see all Pond events, and also other SPN-related things like conventions and online concerts, check out our Google calendar! We try to keep it as up to date as possible. If there's something you want to see on the calendar that's not there (maybe a convention we missed, or cast birthdays, or something similar), send us an ASK and let us know!

Hope you have a great week! - From your Admins and Manta Rays, @manawhaat, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @princessmisery666, @thoughtslikeaminefield, and @katbratsupernaturalwhore!

[violence-infatuation]

Travis, B.

By Maile Meloy

Chet Moran grew up in Logan, Montana, at a time when kids weren’t supposed to get polio anymore. In Logan they still did, and he had it before he was two. He recovered, but his right hip never fit in the socket, and his mother always thought he would die young.

When he was fourteen, he started riding spoiled and unbroke horses to prove to her that he was invincible, and they bucked and kicked and piled up on him. He developed a theory that horses didn’t kick or shy because they were wild; they kicked because for millions of years they’d had the instinct to move fast or be lion meat.

“You mean because they’re wild,” his father had said, when Chet advanced this theory.

He couldn’t explain, but he thought his father was wrong. There was a difference, and what people meant when they called a thing “wild” was not what he saw in the green horses at all.

He was small and wiry, but his hip made it hard for him to scramble out from under the horses, and by the time he was eighteen he had broken his right kneecap, his right foot, and his left femur. His father drove him to Great Falls, where the doctors put a steel rod in his good leg from hip to knee. From then on, he walked as though he were turning to himself to ask a question.

His size came from his mother, who was three-quarters Cheyenne; his father was Irish and bullheaded. They had vague dreams of improvement for their sons, but no ideas about how to achieve them. His older brother joined the Army. Watching him board an eastbound train, handsome and straight-limbed in his uniform, Chet wondered why God or fate had favored his brother. Why had the cards been so unevenly dealt?

He left home at twenty, and moved up north to the highline. He took a job outside Havre feeding cows through the winter, while the rancher’s family lived in town and the kids went to school. When the roads were clear, he rode to the nearest neighbors’ for a game of pinochle, but mostly he was snowed in and alone. He had plenty of food, and good TV reception. He had some girlie magazines that he got to know better than he’d ever known an actual person. He fed the cows with a team and sled, and dragged the sick or injured ones back to the barn on a rope. He spent his twenty-first birthday wearing long johns under two flannel shirts, his winter coat, and the rancher’s big oilskin, with his feet on the space heater, warming up soup on the stove. But he got afraid of himself that winter; he sensed something dangerous that would break free if he kept so much alone.

In the spring, he got a job in Billings, in an office with friendly secretaries and coffee breaks spent talking about rodeos and sports. They liked him there, and offered to send him to the main office in Chicago. He went home to his rented room and walked around on his stiff hip and guessed he’d be stove up in a wheelchair in three years if he kept sitting around an office. He quit the job and bucked bales all summer, for hardly any money, and the pain went out of his hip, unless he stepped wrong.

That winter, he took another feeding job, outside Glendive, on the North Dakota border. If he went east instead of north, he thought, there might not be so much snow. He lived in an insulated room built into the barn, with a TV, a couch, a hot plate, and an icebox. He bought some new magazines, in which the girls were strangers to him, and watched “Starsky & Hutch” and the local news. At night, he could hear the horses moving in their stalls. But he’d been wrong about the snow; by October it had already started. He made it through Christmas, with packages and letters from his mother, but by January he got afraid of himself again. The fear was not particular at all. It began as a buzzing feeling around his spinal cord, a restlessness without aim.

The rancher had left him a truck, with a headbolt heater on an extension cord, and he warmed it up one night and drove the snowy road into town. The café was open, but he wasn’t hungry. The stores were closed. The gas pumps stood in an island of bluish light. He turned off the main street to loop through town, and he drove by the school. A light was on at a side door and people were leaving their cars in the lot and going inside. He slowed, parked on the street, and watched them. He ran a hand around the steering wheel and tugged at a loose thread on its worn leather grip. Finally, he got out of the truck, turned his collar up against the cold, and followed the people inside.

One classroom had its lights on, and the people were sitting in the too small desks, saying hello as if they all knew each other. Construction-paper signs and pictures covered the walls, and the cursive alphabet ran along the top of the chalkboard. Most of the people were about his parents’ age, though their faces were softer, and they dressed as though they lived in town, in thin shoes and clean bright jackets. He went to the back and took a seat. He left his coat on, a big old sheepskin-lined denim, and checked his boots to see what he might have dragged in, but they were clean from walking through snow.

“We should have gotten a high-school room,” one of the men said.

A lady—a girl—stood at the teacher’s desk, at the front. She had curly light-colored hair and wore a gray wool skirt and a blue sweater, and glasses with wire rims. She hung her red down coat over the teacher’s chair, and took some papers from a briefcase. She was thin, and looked tired and nervous. Everyone grew quiet, and waited for her to speak.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said. “I’m not sure how to start. Do you want to introduce yourselves?”

“We all know each other,” a gray-haired woman said.

“Well, she doesn’t,” another woman protested.

“You could tell me what you know about school law,” the young teacher said.

The adults in the small desks looked at each other. “I don’t think we know anything,” someone said.

“That’s why we’re here.”

The girl looked helpless for a second and then turned to the chalkboard. Her bottom was a smooth curve in the wool skirt. She wrote “Adult Ed 302” and her name, Beth Travis, and the chalk squeaked on the “h" and the “r.” The men and women grimaced.

“If you hold it straight up,” an older woman said, demonstrating with a pencil, “with your thumb along the side, it won’t do that.”

Beth Travis blushed and changed her grip and began to talk about state and federal law as it applied to the public-school system. Chet found a pencil in his desk and held it the way the woman had said to hold the chalk. He wondered why no one had ever showed him that in his school days.

The class took notes, and he sat in the back and listened. Beth Travis was a lawyer, it seemed. Chet’s father told jokes about lawyers, but the lawyers were never girls. The class was full of teachers, and they asked about students’ rights and parents’ rights. He’d never imagined that a student had any rights. His mother had grown up in the mission school in St. Xavier, where the Indian kids were beaten for not speaking English. He’d been luckier. An English teacher had once struck him on the head with a dictionary, and a math teacher had splintered a yardstick on his desk. But in general they had been no trouble.

Once, Beth Travis seemed about to ask him something, but one of the teachers raised a hand, and he was saved.

At nine o’clock, the teachers thanked Miss Travis and said she’d done well. They talked to each other about going someplace for a beer. He felt he should explain himself, rather than sneak out past the crowd, so he stayed in his too small desk. His hip was stiff from sitting so long.

Miss Travis packed up her briefcase and put on her puffy red coat, which made her look blown up, like a balloon. “Are you staying?” she asked.

“No, Ma’am.” He levered himself out from behind the desk.

“Are you registered for the class?”

“No, Ma’am. I just saw people coming in.”

“Are you interested in school law?”

He thought about how to answer that. “I wasn’t before tonight.”

She looked at her watch, which was thin and gold-colored. Her wrist was narrow. “Is there somewhere to get food?” she asked. “I have to drive back to Missoula.”

The interstate ran straight across Montana, from the edge of North Dakota, where they were, west through Billings and Bozeman and past Logan over the mountains to Missoula, near the Idaho border. “That’s an awful long drive,” he said.

She shook her head, not in disagreement but in amazement. “I took this job before I finished law school,” she said. “I wanted any job, I was so afraid of my loans coming due. I didn’t know where Glendive was. It looks like Belgrade, the word does, I mean, which is closer to Missoula—I must have confused them. Then I got a real job, and they’re letting me do this because they think it’s funny. But it took me nine and a half hours to get here. And now I have to drive nine and a half hours back, and I have to work in the morning. I’ve never done anything so stupid in my life.”

“I can show you where the café is,” he said.

She looked at him, as if wondering whether she could trust him, and then she nodded. “O.K.,” she said.

In the parking lot, he was self-conscious about his gait, but she didn’t seem to notice. She got into a yellow Datsun and followed his truck to the café on the main drag. He guessed she could have found it herself, but he wanted more time with her. He went in and sat opposite her in a booth. She ordered coffee and a turkey sandwich and a brownie sundae, and asked the waitress to bring it all at once. He didn’t want anything. The waitress left, and Beth Travis took off her glasses and set them on the table. She rubbed her eyes until they were red.

“Did you grow up here?” she asked. “Do you know those teachers?”

“No Ma’am.”

She put her glasses back on. “I’m only twenty-five,” she said. “Don’t call me that.”

He didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t have been able to guess her age—she was three years older than he was—but that was because in his mind she had started as a teacher. Her hair in the overhead light was the color of honey. She wasn’t wearing any rings.

“Did you tell me how you ended up in that class?” she asked.

“I just saw people going in.”

She studied him and seemed to wonder again if she should be afraid. But the room was bright, and he tried to look harmless. He was harmless, he was pretty sure. Being with some-one helped—he didn’t feel so wound up.

“Did I make a fool of myself?” she asked.

“No.”

“Are you going to come back?”

“When’s it next?”

“Thursday,” she said. “Every Tuesday and Thursday for nine weeks. Oh, God.” She put her hands over her eyes again. “What have I done?”

He tried to think how he could help. He had to stay with the cows, and driving to pick her up in Missoula didn’t make any sense.

“I’m not signed up,” he finally said.

She shrugged. “You could go to the Adult Ed office. But they’re not going to check.”

“I might, then,” he said.

Her food came, and she started on the sandwich.

“I don’t even know school law,” she said. “I’ll have to learn enough to teach each class.” She wiped a spot of mustard from her chin. “Where do you work?”

“Out on the Hayden ranch, feeding cattle. It’s just a winter job.”

“Do you want the other half of this sandwich?”

He shook his head, and she pushed the plate aside and took a bite of the sundae. The ice cream had started to melt over the brownie.

“I’d show you if you could stay longer,” he said.

“Show me what?”

“The ranch,” he said. “The cows.”

“I have to get back,” she said. “I have to work in the morning.”

“Sure,” he said.

She checked her watch. “Jesus, it’s quarter to ten.” She took a few quick bites of sundae, finished her coffee, and laid a ten-dollar bill on the table. “I have to go.”

He watched as the low lights of the Datsun disappeared out of town, then he drove home in the other direction. Thursday was not very far from Tuesday, and it was almost Wednesday now. He was suddenly starving. He wished now that he’d taken the other half of the sandwich, but he had been too shy.

Thursday night, he was at the school before anyone else, and he waited in the truck. One of the teachers showed up with a key, unlocked the side door, and turned on the light. When more people arrived, he went to his seat in the back. Beth Travis came in, took off her coat, and pulled a sheaf of papers from her briefcase. She was wearing a green sweater with a turtleneck collar, jeans, and black snow boots. She walked around with the handouts and nodded to him. She looked good in jeans. “KEY SUPREME COURT DECISIONS AFFECTING SCHOOL LAW” the handout said across the top.

The class started, and Beth Travis asked questions and hands went up. Chet sat in the back and watched. It was strange to see teachers being students, acting like real people. He tried to imagine his old teachers here, but he couldn’t. A man not much older than Chet asked about salary increases, and Beth Travis said she wasn’t a labor organizer, but he should talk to the union. The older women in the class laughed and teased the man about rabble-rousing. Chet could see cliques forming. At nine o’clock, some of the students went for beers, and he was left alone again with Beth Travis.

“I have to lock up,” she said.

For forty-eight hours, he had assumed that he would go to dinner with her, but now he didn’t know how to make that happen. He had never asked any girl anywhere. There had been girls in high school who had felt sorry for him, but he had been too shy or too proud to take advantage of it. He stood there for an awkward moment.

“Are you going to the café?” he finally asked.

“For about five minutes,” she said.

In the café, she asked for the fastest thing on the menu. The waitress brought her a bowl of soup with bread, coffee to go, and the check.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said, when the waitress left.

“Chet Moran.”

She nodded, as if that were the right answer. “Do you know anyone in town who could teach this class?”

“I don’t know anyone at all.”

“Can I ask what happened to your leg?”

He was surprised by the question, but he thought she could ask him just about anything. He told her the simplest version: the polio, the horses, the broken bones.

“And you still ride?”

He said that if he didn’t ride he’d end up in a wheelchair or a loony bin or both.

She nodded, as if that were the right answer, too, and looked out the window at the dark street. “I was so afraid I’d finish law school and be selling shoes,” she said. “I’m sorry to keep talking about it. All I can think about is that drive.”

That weekend was the longest one he’d had. He cleaned the tack for the team, and curried the horses until they gleamed and stamped, watching him, suspicious of what he intended. He dosed the calves that needed it with medicine, but mostly they were fine, and went bawling back to their mothers, who waited outside the barn. He wondered if the cows had an idea of their calf, with his habits and smells. Did they worry, or did they just wait for the next thing to happen?

Inside, he sat on the couch, flipped through the channels, and finally turned the TV off. He lay on his back, wondering how he might court a girl who was older, and a lawyer—a girl who lived clear across the state and couldn’t think about anything but that distance. He felt a strange sensation in his chest, but it wasn’t the restlessness he had felt before.

On Tuesday, he saddled one of the horses and rode it into town, leaving the truck plugged into the orange extension cord. There was a chinook wind, and the night was warm, for January, and the sky clear. The plains spread out dark and flat in every direction, except where the lights glowed from town. At the school, he tethered the horse to the bike rack, out of sight of the side door and the lot where the teachers would park. He took a fat plastic bag of oats from his jacket pocket and held it open. The horse sniffed at it, then worked the oats out of the bag with his lips.

“That’s all I got,” he said, shoving the empty plastic bag back in his pocket.

The horse lifted its head to sniff at the strange town smells.

“Don’t get yourself stolen,” he told the horse.

When most of the teachers had arrived, he went in and took his seat. Everyone sat in the same seat as they had the week before. They talked about the chinook and whether it would melt the snow. Finally, Beth Travis came in, with her puffy coat and her briefcase. He was even happier to see her than he had expected, and she was wearing jeans again, which was good. He’d been afraid she might wear the narrow wool skirt. She looked harassed and unhappy to be there. The teachers chattered on.

“Can I give you a ride to the café?” he asked, when the class was over and the teachers had cleared out.

“Oh—” she said, and she looked away.

“Not in the truck,” he said quickly, and he wondered why a truck might seem more dangerous to a woman. He guessed because it was like a room. “Come outside,” he said.

She waited in the parking lot while he untied the horse and mounted up. He rode around from the bike rack, elated with the feeling of easy movement, of sitting a horse as well as anyone did, to where Beth Travis stood hugging her briefcase.

“Oh, my God,” she said.

“Don’t think about it,” he said. “Give me your briefcase. Now give me your hand. Left foot in the stirrup. Now swing the other leg over.” She did it, awkwardly, and he pulled her up behind him. He held her briefcase against the pommel, and she held tightly to his jacket, her legs against his. He couldn’t think of anything except how warm she was, pressed against the base of his spine. He rode the back way, through the dark streets, before cutting out toward the main drag and stopping short of it, behind the café. He helped her down, swung to the ground after her, gave her the briefcase, and tied the horse. She looked at him and laughed. He’d never seen her laugh before. Her eyebrows went up and her eyes got wide, instead of crinkling up like most people’s did. She looked amazed.

In the café, the waitress slid a burger and fries in front of Beth Travis and said, “The cook wants to know if that’s your horse out back.”

Chet said it was.

“Can he give it some water?”

He said he’d appreciate it.

“Truck break down?” the waitress asked.

He said no, his truck was all right, and the waitress went away.

Beth Travis turned the long end of the oval plate in his direction, and took up the burger. “Have some fries,” she said. “How come you never eat anything?”

He wanted to say that he wasn’t hungry when he was around her, but he feared she might shy away.

“Why were you afraid of selling shoes?” he asked.

“Have you ever sold shoes? It’s hell.”

“I mean why were you afraid you couldn’t get anything else?”

She looked at the burger as if the answer were in there. Her eyes were almost the same color as her hair and ringed with pale lashes. He had his mother’s dark hair, and he wondered if she thought of him as an Indian boy. “I don’t know,” she said. “Yes, I do know. Because my mother works in a school cafeteria, and my sister works in a hospital laundry, and selling shoes is the nicest job a girl from my family is supposed to get.”

“What about your father?”

“I don’t know him.”

“That’s a sad story.”

“No, it’s not,” she said. “It’s a happy story. I’m a lawyer, see, with a wonderful job driving to fucking Glendive every fifteen minutes until I lose my mind.” She put down the burger and pressed the backs of her hands into her eyes. Her fingers were greasy and one had ketchup on it. She took her hands away from her face and looked at her watch. “It’s ten o’clock,” she said. “I won’t get home before seven-thirty in the morning. There are deer on the road, and there’s black ice outside of Three Forks along the river. If I make it past there, I get to take a shower, get dressed, and go to work at eight, and do all the crap no one else wants to do. Then learn more school law tomorrow night, then leave work the next day before lunch and drive back here, with my eyes twitching. It’s better than a hospital laundry, maybe, but it’s not a whole fucking lot better.”

“I’m from near Three Forks.”

“So you know the ice.”

He nodded.

She dipped her napkin in her water glass and washed off her fingers, then finished her coffee. “It was nice of you to bring the horse,” she said. “Will you take me back to my car?”

Outside, he swung her up onto the horse again, and she put her arms around his waist. She seemed to fit to his body like a puzzle piece. He rode slowly back to the school parking lot, not wanting to let her go. Next to the yellow Datsun, he held her hand tight while she climbed down, and then he dismounted, too. She tugged her puffy coat where it had ridden up, and they stood looking at each other.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded. He wanted to kiss her but couldn’t see any clear path to that happening. He wished he had practiced, with the high-school girls or the friendly secretaries, just to be ready for this moment.

She started to say something, but in his nervousness he cut her off. “See you Thursday,” he said.

She paused before nodding, and he took this for encouragement. He caught up her hand again and kissed it, and it was soft and cold. Then he leaned over and kissed her cheek, because he had wanted to do that, too. She didn’t move, not an inch, and he was about to kiss her for real when she seemed to snap out of a trance, and stepped away from him. She took her hand back. “I have to go,” she said, and she went around to the driver’s side of the Datsun.

He held the horse while she drove out of the parking lot, and kicked at the snow. The horse sidestepped away. He felt like jumping up and down, in excitement and anxiety and anguish. He had run her off. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He should have kissed her more. He should have let her say what she wanted to say. He mounted up and rode home.

Thursday night he drove the truck in, no cowboy antics; he was on a serious mission. He was going to answer her questions honestly. He was going to let her say the things she intended to say. He didn’t wait for the crowd to arrive before going into the classroom; he went in early and took his seat in the back. The classroom filled up, and then a tall man in a gray suit with a bowling-ball gut came in, and stood behind the teacher’s desk.

“Miss Travis,” he said, “found the drive from Missoula too arduous, so I will take over the class for the rest of the term. I practice law here in town. As some of you know, and the rest of you would find out soon enough, I’m recently divorced and have some time on my hands. That’s why I’m here.”

While the man talked on, Chet got up from his seat and made his way up the aisle to the door. Outside, he stood breathing the cold air into his lungs. The lights of town swam in his eyes until he blinked them clear again and climbed into the rancher’s truck. He started it and looked at the odometer: 156,358 miles. He gave it enough gas so the engine wouldn’t quit, and it coughed and steadied itself and ran.

He knew that Beth Travis lived in Missoula, six hundred miles west, over the mountains, but he didn’t know where. He didn’t know if the truck would make it all that way, or what the rancher would do when he found out he’d gone. He didn’t know if it was he who had scared her off or the drive.

But he put the truck in gear and pulled out of town in the direction he had three times watched the yellow Datsun go. The road was flat and straight and seemed to roll underneath the truck, dark and silent, through a dark and silent expanse of snow-covered land. He stopped outside of Miles City, and again outside of Billings, and hobbled around on his stiffened-up leg until he could drive again. Near Big Timber, the plains ended and the mountains began, black shapes rising up against the stars. He stopped in Bozeman for coffee and gas, and drove the white line on the empty road past Logan and Three Forks, to stay out of the ice that spread from the shoulder in black sheets. Somewhere off to his right, his parents were sleeping.

It was still dark when he reached Missoula, and he took the side streets, hoping he might happen on a yellow Datsun parked outside a house. He stopped at a minimart and looked up “Travis” in the phone book, and there was a Travis B with a phone number, but no address. He wrote down the number with a borrowed pen, but didn’t call it. He asked the kid at the cash register where the law offices were in town, and the kid shrugged and said, “Maybe downtown.”

“Where’s that?”

The kid stared at him. “It’s downtown,” he said, and he pointed off to his left.

Downtown, Chet found himself in dawn light among shops and old brick buildings and one-way streets. He parked in a one-hour parking spot and got out to stretch his hip. The mountains were so close they made him feel claustrophobic. When he found a carved wooden sign saying “Attorneys at Law,” he asked the secretary who came to open the office if she knew a lawyer named Beth Travis.

The secretary looked at his twisted leg, his boots, and his coat, and shook her head.

In the next law office, the secretary was friendlier. She called the law school and asked where Beth Travis had gone to work, then cupped her hand over the receiver. “She took a teaching job in Glendive.”

“She has another job, too. Here.”

The secretary relayed this information over the phone, then wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

“Down by the old railroad depot,” she said, pointing toward the window with her pencil.

“Can I walk there?”

She glanced at his legs and smiled, embarrassed, when she saw him notice.

“I’ll drive,” he said.

“Good luck.”

He pulled up at the address on the piece of paper at eight-thirty, just as Beth Travis’s yellow Datsun pulled into the same parking lot. He got out of the truck feeling jittery. She was rummaging in her briefcase, and didn’t see him. Then she looked up. She looked at the truck behind him, then back at him again.

“I drove over,” he said.

“I thought I was in the wrong place,” she said. She let the briefcase hang at her side. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

She nodded, slowly. He stood as straight as he could. She lived in another world from him. You could fly to Hawaii or France in less time than it took to do that drive. Her world had lawyers, downtowns, and mountains in it. His world had horses that had woken up hungry, and cows waiting in the snow, and it was going to be ten hours before he could get back to get them fed.

“I was sorry you stopped teaching the class,” he said. “I looked forward to it, those nights.”

“It wasn’t because—” she said. “I meant to tell you on Tuesday. I’d already asked for a replacement, because of the drive. They found one yesterday.”

“O.K.,” he said. “That drive is pretty bad.”

“You see?”

A man in a dark suit got out of a silver car and looked over at them, sizing Chet up. Beth Travis waved and smiled. The man nodded, looked at Chet again, and went into the building; the door closed. Chet suddenly wished that she had quit teaching the class because of him. He shifted his weight. She pushed her hair out of her face and he thought he could step forward and touch her hand, touch the back of her neck where the hair grew darker. Instead he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. She seemed to scan the parking lot before looking at him again.

“I don’t mean any harm,” he said.

“O.K.”

“I have to go feed now,” he said. “I just knew that if I didn’t start driving I wasn’t going to see you again, and I didn’t want that. That’s all.”

She nodded. He waited, thinking she might say something. He wanted to hear her voice again. He wanted to touch her, any part of her, her arms, maybe, her waist. She stood just out of reach, waiting for him to go.

Finally, he climbed up into the truck and started the engine. She was still watching him from the parking lot as he drove away, and he thought about driving back, but he didn’t. He got on the highway and left town. For the first half hour he gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, and glared at the road as the truck swallowed it up. Then suddenly he was too tired to be angry, and his eyes started to close and jerk open. He nearly drove off the road. In Butte, he bought a cup of black coffee, and drank it standing next to the truck. He wished he hadn’t seen her right away in the parking lot. He wished he’d had a minute to prepare. He crushed the paper coffee cup and threw it away.

As he drove past Logan, he thought about stopping, but he didn’t. He knew what his parents would say. His mother would worry about his health, driving all night, her sickly son, risking his life. “You don’t even know this white girl,” she’d say. His father would say, “Jesus, Chet, you left the horses without water all day?”

Back at the Hayden place, he fed and watered the horses, and they seemed all right. None of them had kicked through their stalls. He rigged them up in the harness, and loaded the sled with hay, and they dragged it out of the barn. He cut the orange twine on each bale with a knife and pitched the hay off the sled for the cows. The horses trudged uncomplainingly, and he thought about the skittery two-year-olds who’d kicked him everywhere there was to kick, when he was fourteen. The ache in his stomach felt like that. But he hadn’t been treated unfairly by Beth Travis; he didn’t know what he had expected. If she had asked him to stay, he would have had to leave anyway. It was the finality of the conversation, and the protective look that the man in the dark suit had given her, that left him feeling sore and bruised.

In the barn, he talked to the horses, and kept close to their hind legs when he moved behind them. They were sensible horses, immune to surprise, but he had left them without water all day. He gave them each another coffee canful of grain, which slid yellow over itself into their buckets.

He walked back outside, into the dark, and looked out over the flat stretch of land beyond the fences. The moon was up, and the fields were shadowy blue, dotted with cows. His hip was stiff and sore. He had to pee, and he walked away from the barn and watched the small steaming crater form in the snow. He wondered if maybe he had planted a seed, with Beth Travis, by demonstrating his seriousness to her. She wouldn’t come back—it was impossible to imagine her doing that drive again, for any reason. But she knew where he was, and his parents and his uncle were the only Morans in Logan. She was a lawyer. She could find him if she wanted.

But she wouldn’t. That was the thing that made him ache. He buttoned his jeans and shifted his hip. He had wanted practice, with girls, and now he had gotten it, but he wished it had felt more like practice. It was getting colder, and he would have to go inside soon. He fished her phone number out of his pocket and studied it awhile in the moonlight, until he knew it by heart and wouldn’t forget it. Then he did what he knew he should do, and rolled it into a ball, and threw it away. ◇

[pipwasreal]

Febuwhump Day 9: Bees

Characters: Sebastian Moran

Content warnings: dreaming/hallucinating, sleep deprivation

Sebastian is lying on cool, hard earth.

The sunlight must be bright, he can't open his eyes more than a squint. He has a blurry impression of grass and purple flowers.

It would be perfect if not for the insects, buzzing loudly nearby...

Sebastian awakes with a start, phone vibrating on the concrete floor near his head.

The spike of adrenaline won't cut through the fatigue for long. But his hands are steady. That's all that matters.

He looks through the scope. Still no movement in the target's apartment. Three days late.

He resets the alarm for another ten minutes.

[kcsplace]

Seeing Brett Goldstein and Dylan moran in July and absolutely buzzing!!

[justthegreat1]

Answer The Call: The Black Phone Review

I know I’m a little bit late for this review as “The Black Phone” came out on June 24th,2022. But this movie is something I have been wanting to talk about for a while and I didn’t get a chance to do that until now. I’m going to give you my spoiler free thoughts about this movie.

The Black Phone is a 2022 horror film directed by Scott Derrickson (Sinister and Doctor Strange) who also produced this movie, The Black Phone is produced by Jason Blum and C. Robert Cargill. The executive producers are Joe Hill, who is Stephen King’s son (and the movie has that Stephen King elements), Ryan Turek, and Christopher H. Warner. The cast involves Ethan Hawke (Sinister) as The Grabber, Mason Thames as Finney, Miguel Cazarez Mora as Robin Arellano, Madeline McGraw as Gwendolyn “Gwen” Blake, Jeremy Davies as Terrence Blake, James Ransone (Sinister, Sinister 2, and IT chapter two), Tristan Pravong as Bruce Yamada, Jacob Moran as Billy Showalter, Banks Repeta as Griffin Stagg, Brady Hepner as Vance Hopper, Rebecca Clarke as Donna, Gaven Wilde as Moose, Spencer Fitzgerald as Buzz, Jordan Isaiah White as Matty, and Brady Ryan as Matt.

The Plot:

After being abducted by a child killer and locked in a soundproof basement, a 13-year-old boy starts receiving calls on a disconnected phone from the killer’s previous victims.

Positives:

One of the many positives I have about this movie is the cast, and I know I said this in my “Scream (2022)” review, but the cast worked so well together. I really enjoyed Ethan Hawke’s performance as The Grabber as it sent chills down my spine when I saw him wearing that mask and the dialogue he had in the movie. I loved the performance of Mason Thames and Madeline McGraw as brother Finney and sister Gwendolyn Blake as they felt like actual siblings trying to protect each other and their performances make the audience hope that they get reunited.

Pictured above is Ethan Hawke as The Grabber

Image credit: Universal Pictures and BlumHouse Studios

The second positive I have is how faithful the movie was to the short story which can be read over here, The Black Phone short story by Joe Hill. I really loved the fact that Scott Derrickson includes elements from the story while telling his own story. Now it may seem cliché to some, but I believe that adaptations of stories can be faithful to the source material while telling their own story has the potential to be good or at least decent…but that’s just my opinion.

The third positive I have is that the victims felt like actual people and not meaningless characters that killed off with no consequences. These victims matter and it pays off in the finale. As the movie progresses, we get to learn some backstory on some of the victims and that makes the movie so disturbing.

Negatives:

One negative I have about the movie is that we do not learn about The Grabber played by Ethan Hawke’s backstory. With the movie having a budget of $16 million and earning over $150 million, Here’s hoping that we get a prequel exploring The Grabber’s backstory and his motivations.

My overall thoughts

After watching this movie, I can say that this movie has the potential to be a classic for future generations. This movie is one of my favorite horror movies of 2022 as it delivered on the scares, the chills, and the thrills. The characters were amazing, I enjoyed the soundtrack, and it had many edge of your seat moments.

What did you think about The Black Phone?

Feel free to leave a comment

The Black Phone trailer:

The Black Phone Trailer (2022)

Where to watch The Black Phone?

Blu-Ray, DVD, Digital Retailers, and Peacock

Sources of Information:

IMDB-The Black Phone

The Black Phone short story by Joe Hill

CNBC: Blumhouse’s ‘The Black Phone’ shows that horror, and original storytelling have a place at the box office.

 Pictured above is “The Black Phone” poster. Image credit: Universal Pictures and BlumHouse Studios

[thephilosopheroffeelings]

On my birthday I quietly reflected all day: Being an immigrant, is this who I am?

Literally yes, I am one. But figuratively I am more like a homeless. I do not belong where I live, I do not belong where I was born. 35 and counting.

Whenever someone says they would like to run away, they would like to vanish or start over, I think to myself ‘Wherever you go, you will take your inner turmoil with you. You do not want to run away, you want to have peace with yourself - you want ‘normality’ - whatever that is to you.’

When I do not question a thing, when I live in the moment, when I spend a day without feeling high or low, that’s a win.

My favorite English historian, Joe Moran summarizes it perfectly:

In an English thesaurus, the word everyday is found alongside other words – dull, humdrum, workaday – which seem to dismiss it as unworthy of interest. The British prefer to look at their daily lives through the distorting lenses of irony and bathos, perhaps. We should rid ourselves of the notion that our lives are defined by major events. We are “more deeply and lastingly influenced by the tiny catastrophes of which everyday existence is made up”. This existence escapes our attention because it feels anonymous and unowned – like a story with no narrator, plot or protagonist. In an essay on boredom, Kracauer calls the everyday “a life that belongs to no one and exhausts everyone”.

Our daily lives are a mixture of the habitual disguised as the essential and the essential disguised as the habitual. We can’t just opt out of our dependence on others; we make everyday life together. Crises make us long for a return to normality, where everyday life is mere background noise, a respite from self-analysis and existential doubt. We start to miss that cheering open-sesame buzz as we lay our swipe card on the entrance scanner at work, the gossipy huddle at the photocopier, even attending a proper meeting instead of those lonely online affairs full of oblong glimpses into the domestic lives of colleagues. The everyday only feels enslaving when you are stuck inside it. The daily grind that Parisians call métro-boulot-dodo (commute-work-sleep) had its compensations after all. In the end, perhaps we all want – to invert the famous curse – to live in uninteresting times.

[theanticool]

Andy Cruz stops Antonio Moran in the 7th round!

The Olympic gold medalist improves to 4-0 and picks up his 2nd stoppage win over someone with a lot more pro experience. People wanted Cruz to be more aggressive. They didn't want another Cuban amateur fighter who would dance around for 10-12 rounds. Well, Cruz is doing just that. Getting in the pocket and getting his hands dirty. Got buzzed earlier in the fight (3rd or 4th round) but managed to recover. Was seriously laying into Moran by the end of it. Had him hurt for most of that 7th round before landing the finishing overhand that sent him to the ropes stumbling in the closing seconds of the round.

[playermagic23]

Nick Jonas is proud of Priyanka Chopra as she gets nominated for Critics Choice Super Awards for Citadel

Back in May 2023, Prime Video renewed the series for a second season with Joe Russo set to direct every episode and executive producer David Weil returning as showrunner.

The nominations for the 4th annual Critics Choice Super Awards 2024 have been revealed, showcasing the cream of the crop in action, superhero, horror, and sci-fi or fantasy films and TV shows from the past year. Among the nominees, one name shines particularly bright is Indian actress Priyanka Chopra Jonas. Her recognition comes in the form of a nomination in the Best Actress In An Action Series category, courtesy of her role in the action-packed series, Citadel. Adding to the buzz surrounding Chopra's nomination is the heartfelt support from her husband, singer Nick Jonas.

Taking to his Instagram story, Jonas shared a screenshot of the nomination list featuring Priyanka's name prominently displayed. Alongside the image, he penned an encouraging message, “Let's go Priyanka. #proud,” followed by a fiery emoticon.

The actress is nominated alongside Angela Bassett for 9-1-1, Luciane Buchanan for The Night Agent, Queen Latifah for The Equaliser, Zoe Saldana for Special Ops Lioness, and Maria Sten for The Reacher. The winners will be announced on April 5.

Back in May 2023, Prime Video renewed the series for a second season with Joe Russo set to direct every episode and executive producer David Weil returning as showrunner. The spy thriller—starring Richard Madden and Priyanka Chopra Jonas, and featuring Lesley Manville and Stanley Tucci—premiered on May 26 of last year.

The official synopsis of Citadel season 1 reads, "Eight years ago, Citadel fell. The independent global spy agency—tasked to uphold the safety and security of all people—was destroyed by operatives of Manticore, a powerful syndicate manipulating the world from the shadows. With Citadel’s fall, elite agents Mason Kane (Richard Madden) and Nadia Sinh (Priyanka Chopra Jonas) had their memories wiped as they narrowly escaped with their lives. They’ve remained hidden ever since, building new lives under new identities, unaware of their pasts. Until one night, when Mason is tracked down by his former Citadel colleague, Bernard Orlick (Stanley Tucci), who desperately needs his help to prevent Manticore from establishing a new world order. Mason seeks out his former partner, Nadia, and the two spies embark on a mission that takes them around the world in an effort to stop Manticore, all while contending with a relationship built on secrets, lies, and a dangerous-yet-undying love."

From Amazon Studios and the Russo Brothers’ AGBO, Citadel is executive produced by Anthony Russo, Joe Russo, Mike Larocca, Angela Russo-Otstot, and Scott Nemes for AGBO, with David Weil serving as showrunner and executive producer. Josh Appelbaum, André Nemec, Jeff Pinkner, and Scott Rosenberg serve as executive producers for Midnight Radio. Newton Thomas Sigel and Patrick Moran also serve as executive producers.

[nottinghillhq]

welcome to notting hill artemis & rachael we’re super excited to have you here, you’ve got twenty-four hours to send in your account!

⸻  XOLO MARIDUENA. HE/HIM / have you ever heard of BE KIND by marshmello fea. halsey, well, it describes YAGO HERRERA to a tee! the twenty two year old, and BARISTA AT THE GRIND was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say HE is more absentminded or more NIMBLE instead? anyway, they remind me of bright smiles as a greeting, the urge to not roll your eyes when your parents scold you, the dull buzz of a coffee grinder and cowlicks that never quite lie flat, maybe you’ll bump into them soon! [ ARTEMIS ]

⸻  JUNO TEMPLE. SHE/HER / have you ever heard of BOIS LIE by avril lavigne feat. machine gun kelly, well, it describes STEPHANIE MORAN to a tee! the thirty four year old, and ANIMAL CARETAKER AT FRIENDLY PAWS was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say SHE is more skeptical or more APPROACHABLE instead? anyway, they remind me of the low throb of a bass drum, curls bouncing in the sunlight, stubborn resolve and cramming as many of your friends into a photo booth as you can at the mall, maybe you’ll bump into them soon! [ ARTEMIS ]

⸻ ALEXANDRA BRECKENRIDGE. SHE + HER / have you ever heard of the night we met by lord huron, well, it describes VIVIENNE ALLERDYCE to a tee! the forty-one year old, and anthropology professor was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say she is more stressed or more wise instead? anyway, they remind me of late nights spent at a table covered in books, glasses pushed up to the top of her head to give her eyes a break, a liquor cabinet emptied in a rush, and the faint smell of cigarettes, maybe you’ll bump into them soon! [RACHAEL] *filling viktor’s wife wc

⸻ TAYLOR ZAKHAR PEREZ. HE + HIM / have you ever heard of night of the hunter by thirty seconds to mars, well, it describes DASH JULIAN ALVAREZ to a tee! the thirty-one year old, and diplomat was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say he is more cocky or more flirtatious instead? anyway, they remind me of a wardrobe full of neatly-organized suits, lipstick stains on shirt collars, morning light seeping in through the cracks in the curtains, and spicy cologne, maybe you’ll bump into them soon! [RACHAEL]

[saintbleeding]

putting this under a cut so this post doesn’t become app-crashingly long, but. got more. from 178:

ARCHIVIST: Her latest victim. [DOOR IS WRENCHED OPEN WITH A METALLIC CREAK] [MARTIN REELS, SOUNDS OF FLIES BUZZING] Recognise her.

BASIRA: … No… I don’t think I do.

ARCHIVIST: That wasn’t a question. It was an instruction. We can’t move on until you do.

MARTIN: Jon, what are you getting at?

ARCHIVIST: This isn’t just a journey through spaces.

BASIRA: … Fine. I recognise her. I don’t know her name, though.

ARCHIVIST: Isabelle Moran. Shoplifter, drug addict. Daisy was certain she was dealing as well. Derailed her recovery twice.

BASIRA: Fine. Noted. Can we just move on, please?

i mean. do i have to comment.

ARCHIVIST: I told you before. We can’t hunt a monster you refuse to see.

BASIRA: Don’t give me that patronising, ominous-oracle bullshit, John. I’m not an idiot.

ARCHIVIST: I never said you were.

MARTIN: Guys…

BASIRA: [Angry] Look, I need you to lead the way. I don’t need your advice, and certainly don’t need you stood there judging me!

the way she equates implicit knowledge with being tantamount to sufficient acknowledgement. the way she hides behind the argument that looking what she allowed in the face means the others are judging her, because she knows, without saying or having looked at it explicitly, that her actions are worthy of judgment! she’s been hiding from this reality on purpose because that’s what she has always done

BASIRA: I wanted to help people, you know? When I first joined. Protect people. But then I saw what some of those same people were capable of, and… something changed. I wanted to hurt them, the ones that deserved it, and it… it felt good. It felt righteous. I thought I could feel the line though. I really did. Eventually, though, it was too much… I was going to quit. I couldn’t take what I saw myself becoming. But… then I got sectioned, and suddenly… suddenly it turned out there were real monsters out there, and, well, that just made the power feel better. So things kept slipping. But Daisy was always there for me.

i am Not The Authority on this topic by any means but i think it’s really pertinent that we find out the wilful ignorance stuff began before she ever even discovered the existence of, as she puts it, “real monsters”. i think in a broader sense it supports that she will really just pick a conviction and, as i’ve been saying, close her eyes to anything that contradicts it, because it’s too painful to reassess and find that she’s been wrong. but in this moment she can see. eye/dark.

also jesus fuck this episode is heavy.

hiiii i'm asking about basira as a dark/eye avatar💕

GOD IM SO GLAD I THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER ASK (just kidding i knew it would be u <3)

so like. here's the thing right.

so she interrupts the dark ritual obvi.

and works at the institute

one can definitely argue for her also being very touched by the hunt and that's extremely valid but i have Other Thoughts abt that entity. so. another time.

SO.

so she definitely has exposure to both entities, and i feel like if you had to reduce basira’s character to a phrase, it would be “the power of wilful ignorance”. because she actually makes quite a lot of references to being on the brink of some sort of major realisation or other.

and she then goes on to willfully shrink away from these realisations. like. repeatedly.

plus she is incredibly good at tuning things out.

(mag 095): MARTIN You weren’t listening? BASIRA No, I was reading.

i mean, this exchange is funny, but it’s also so telling? i don’t think it’s a suggestion of her being able to like, magically turn off sensory input, but i do think it shows she’s very capable of just not looking at something

later in 95, when martin’s like “but basira? the horrors?” she just goes “yeah but im reading these cool books so i’m good actually :)”: MARTIN How… Doesn’t it bother you?! BASIRA Of course it bothers me, but so do a lot of things I can’t change. So you make the best of things.

w o w ok

it’s not that she is deluding herself into thinking that reality is not what it is. it’s that she closes her eyes to things that are painful or not useful.

similarly, there’s the whole thing of how she escapes the unknowing: it’s not that she just blindly gropes in the darkness of meaninglessness. she considers pieces of information, assesses their usefulness, and curates accordingly. she does this with relative ease, as well -- she literally says at one point “too much, too much” and just. moves on.

after daisy’s death, she gets real quiet. now, of course, this is. a pretty normal reaction to something like what she just went through. but i think it’s also really interesting that in one of basira’s really key character moments, the audience is left to form her characterisation in their heads by an absence of words or input on her part. her silence says as much or more than her words would.

almost like how someone heavily touched by the eye and the dark could be able to impart information where there is none.

i feel like i would be remiss in making this post without mentioning what a blind eye she turned to daisy’s actions when they were both still police -- though i will say i think that that’s a much bigger discussion, with much, much bigger implications, than what i want to discuss here, but it bears mentioning even so.

for good or ill, basira is extremely good at choosing what info she does and does not want to see and take in

eye/dark.

fight me

[thediaryofatheatrekid]

Casting Goals: Sam Moran (former Yellow Wiggle) as The Phantom in Phantom of the Opera

I just listened to a few of his songs (Non-wiggles stuff) and he’s got a nice voice. I’m not sure it’s strong enough for the Phantom, but hey I’m down.

[windsweptinred]

Revisiting the Defiance of the Endless AU again after watching some Dylan Moran stand up 😅. I've been meandering around his own mind bending artwork as inspiration for the more supernatural aspects.

True form: I love the idea of him having one red eye, for anger and determination . Purple for independence and pride. The eyes... He seems to have a thing for eyes in his art. It fits though. Seriously the amount of songs alone I've discovered called 'Defiant Eyes' just through one goodle search! The bees, well Bernard love his bees. And the idea he's accompanied by a perpetual buzzing, like the ring of anger, I like it.

Sigil: I really had to fight myself not to just make it a wine glass or a tankard... Still kinda like that. 😅 But the pen. In the modern age, acts of Defiance are more likely occur through the written word then pyshical ones. In some respects, he feels like a replacement for Destruction. So 'the pen is mightier then the sword' allegory works. Also I like the notion it's representation of Defiance against Destiny. Destiny has a book, Defiance has a pen. He'll write his own way.

Realm: I saw it as a kind of steampunk, gothic metropolis of a world. Continually shrouded in night, cloud or smog, Where every other building is a either pub or a bookshop. 😆 Where you're either going to get swept up in it and loose yourself completely. Or find exactly what you need. I'm rather taken with The Reckoning. But that's just me.

Obviously these are just my own ideas. I'd love people to have different takes. 😁

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

The Dancer In The Window.

This is a submission for the smut challenge!!! The prompt is:

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

warnings: Smut, Exhibitionist, Oral sex, Self pleasure. Time Travel, angst, dark, horror, mystery.

She was there once again, third night in a row. He took a drag on his blunt, staring at the window across the alley, at the silhouette of the naked, curvaceous woman dancing behind the lighted shade.

The Temptress…

Who doesn’t love New York? There's no other city on the planet with an energy that can compete with New York. The fast pace, the buzzing traffic, the hustle and bustle of the people, the 24-hour life, and the creative spirit make NYC one of the most vibrant places in the world.

Starting in the 1920s, New York had nearly 6 million residents and was a center of manufacturing, commerce, and culture. Immigrants entering through the port and migrants coming by road and rail fed the city's thriving economy. In 1923 New York produced 1/12th of all manufacturing in the nation.

As you probably already guessed, it wasn’t all fun and games. Mobsters assimilated into the scene, bringing criminal activity with them. It wasn’t long before prostitution and other shady businesses became highly prevalent. It’s 2019 and next year marks the 100th anniversary of the start of one of the biggest boondoggles in American history – Prohibition. The Volstead Act, which took effect on July 17, 1920 triggered a lawless 13-year era that effectively bankrolled organized crime, put mobsters like Al Capone, Meyer Lansky, Lucky Luciano and Bugs Moran on the map, led to vicious gang wars in New York and Chicago and put the “Roaring” in “The Roaring 20s”.

When most people think of that era and its speakeasies, they imagine glamorous and romanticized F. Scott Fitzgerald-like establishments like “21,” The Players Club, the Cotton Club and Chumley’s, where good booze flowed, “flappers” flapped and celebrities, mobsters and the rich and famous rubbed elbows and drank in a fun-filled atmosphere.

The building next door was a fancy, 4 star hotel, nothing like the 3 star he was staying in. But that body was the stuff of dreams. Erik was in town on business, staying at the Aloft Harlem on Lennox Avenue and every evening when he got back to his room, come midnight, some slow jazz music went on and the woman started dancing. Swaying her hips, feeling her body up and down as if molding her curves like clay. Exotic, erotic dancing, behind the lit up drapes. Erik added a few stains to the threadbare carpeting, stroking his dick like there was no tomorrow—watching her sway and undulate and writhe to the complex harmony, syncopated rhythms, and a heavy emphasis on improvisation that is jazz music.

She was voluptuous and curvy, agile, breasts ample in profile, seductive hips in motion, legs long and plump. Her hair was loose and cropped, flying all over the place when the saxophone burned hot, clutched in her hands and streaming through her fingers when it smoldered sultry. Erik was there for the floor show every night, mesmerized, blunt dangling from his lips as the smoke clouded his vision, hard-on filling his calloused hand thickly. She cavorted her serpentine shadow for twenty minutes or so. And then the lights went out and the music seized.

The curtain never rose.

The curtain staying down despite his cursed begging.

He had his weapons briefcase sitting in a dark corner of his room, a table set up with his electronics, a camera in his lap, spying on her through his sniper scope. As uncomfortable as it is to wear boots, body armor, gun and knife holsters secured to his legs, thick cargo pants, and a long-sleeve black crew neck, it was necessary.

Erik was ready to tear the seams of his pants, releasing the heavy girth that begged to be touched, licked, sucked, and swallowed with that shadow dancers’ velvety walls. He knew for certain that her pussy had to be a beast with the hold she had on him alone. He hadn’t even smelled her or heard her voice and he was pumping his weighty erection into his oiled fist with raised hips for the past four nights.

Erik had to do something more meaningful than jerk and jack. A man only gets such an opportunity once in a lifetime. Who said he can’t have a little fun while away on business? The job was done, and he was a day overdue at his next stop already, but he wasn’t about to hit the road until he’d seen for himself what was behind that curtain—seen it and fucked it.

Erik crushed out his blunt, adjusted his dick, removed some of his gear, only keeping concealed weapons, and placed his camera on the desk in his hotel room. Erik exited the small suite, looking over his shoulder and both ways before testing the door lock to make sure it was secure. It was only a extra precaution, he could detonate the entire 10th floor if anyone dared break in. It was ten after midnight, and Erik had to move fast before the dance ended. 9th floor. That’s where she stayed. Erik left the elevator and walked with long strides, hustling along the lobby and out the revolving doors into the cool evening.

As soon as his feet stepped onto the pavement outside of her hotel, Erik rushed through the front doors and past valet, ignore the fact that the once modern, sleek, four-star hotel turned into something from the swing era. Erik’s eyes wandered, taking in the old-fashioned decor, the smell of cigarettes, and sweltering heat. If he were still standing outside, he would have noticed that he walked into an ominous-looking brown building on a street of buildings that looked almost identical, so tall they cut off the light on the narrow street. He also overlooked the dimly lighted sign above the entrance door.

HOTEL OLGA.

“How many!”

Erik’s eyes fell on an older, black gentleman with neatly combed steel gray hair, a white dress shirt and a pair of slacks, suspenders, and an ugly scar on his left elbow. He ashes his cigarette before placing it in an overflowing ashtray, blowing smoke from his nose like a dungeon dragon.

“Uhm. I was wondering if you could tell me about a woman on the 9th floor. I don’t know her name but I’m good with faces. She’s tall, thick…”

“There are a lot of tall, thick gals that barge in and out of here all day and all night. Got another description?” The man questions.

Erik simply shrugs before his unkept brows pinched together in thought.

“Straight hair, about,” Erik demonstrates where her hair fell, “To here. Barely touching her shoulders. She plays loud jazz music at midnight—”

“Are you talking about Cora?”

“Cora…”

“She’s a tall gal, chunky, performs at the ballroom?”

“Which floor does she stay on?”

The elderly man chuckled hoarsely, “She lives here. Pays five dollars a week in advance.”

“Five dollars? What kind of hotel is this?” Erik said with an amused expression.

The older gentleman leaned against the scarred wooden counter, his 8-panel floppy cap neatly placed next to him.

“Ninth floor, fourteenth room, Big Cheese. Take these stairs here.”

Erik’s eyes followed where he was pointing. A narrow unstable staircase met his onyx eyes.

“Big Cheese?” Erik said with a lopsided grin.

“The way you’re dressed, I’d say you make a lot of money. What kind of business you runnin’?”

“Not the kind you need to worry yourself over…thanks for the info.”

“No problem, my spiffy brother.”

Erik climbed those stairs three at a time, listening to the voices of men and women seeping from beneath the slits in the doors, inhaling the scents of burned food and old sweat. She was in 914. He knew it was the 9th floor from hours of figuring and fantasizing. All that was on his mind, as if a little voice in his head was telling him what to do, was find her and have her all to himself. The hallways are painted in light grey-green with multiple wooden elements on the ceiling as well as piping and light fixtures. There are several wall lamps between the rooms’ doors. The carpet is designed in black, yellow and dark red polygon stamps. He could hear radios, low chatter, headboards banging from wild sex, and the occasional baby crying. It didn’t take him long to reach her door, not even quick sand could stop him.

Erik knocked on the gray wooden door.

It opened.

“Yes?”

She was naked, skin reminding him of light honey. A woman with the most tantalizing, shapely body he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Are you Cora?”

“Yes?” She said with a light giggle before arching a thinly plucked brow, “And, you are?”

“I’m Erik.”

“Well, hello there, Erik.”

She sat into her hip and Erik could see a sheen of sweat shimmering across her breasts that are bared with hard nipples just for him. His eyes traveled the valley of her gorgeous body and he found that she had a finely-trimmed bush of loose curls decorating her fat pussy lips.

Cora wetted her plush lips with the tip of her neon pink tongue and smiled, “you’ve seen me perform?”

Erik got closer to her, reaching out to grab onto the door frame, his eyes telling her to let him in.

“You could put it that way.” He said before sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

He couldn’t stop staring at her body. Damn. And she hadn’t even turned around yet. She had large, liquid brown eyes in a smooth, oval face. Her hair is dark and straight on the left side with the right side styled in soft finger waves. Her breasts had him drooling the way they hung plump and ripe off her chest, two-inch wide areolas tawny. Her waist was wide and hourglass and her legs were shapely and shining.

It was too much too close for this sex-starved assassin. Erik wanted to grab that fine woman in his arms, lift her up by her thunderous thighs, and fuck her just like that. Show her that the weight she carried is what he liked. Thrust up into her wet, frothy puss over and over. Cora sensed it and welcomed it. She too found Erik attractive. Tall, towering man. Wide threatening muscles. Fleshy lips. Thick fingers. And domineering eyes. His hair intrigued her and the attire he wore screamed money. A dapper man in a wool summer suit with two tone shoes. Erik could hear jazz playing from a record in her room and it was situated in next to the infamous window she danced in front of.

“Won’t you come in?” She asked with a dulcet voice.

Erik grabbed the temptress by her waist and followed her into the room, the door slowly closing behind them on its own accord. She peeled herself away before glancing back at him with a wink. His eyes looked around and what he saw when he noticed his reflection on a wall mirror startled him. Startled him so much that he felt his heart leap in his chest cavity and nothing scared him. He checked out his fit, twisting from side to side and smoothing his hands down the front of the suit.

Cora took a seat on a small couch near the window and opened a small canister filled with coffin nails before grabbing up a match to light it. She held it between her fingers and brought it to her mouth before taking a puff. Erik ogled his appearance, trepidation smothering him. How did he miss it? The lobby and the man alone was strange. Cora watched him with a hard stare and her cigarette burning. She sucked hard on it and blew out the smoke before rising with a sway of her thick hips towards him.

“Taste this and let’s get down to business, daddy.”

Erik looked from the cigarette to her before lightly pushing her hand away and creating space between them.

“Don’t smoke? Hm…that’s new. Most fellas I know smoke.”

“I prefer weed.”

“You got some of that on you—”

“What year is it?” Erik asked abruptly and with unblinking eyes.

“Well,” Cora pondered before turning her back on him.

Erik had to clench his jaw when he got a good look at that big ass. Dimpled, heavy, and juicy. For a second, he forgot about the inexplainable things happening around him.

“It’s 1924, daddy.”

“19—1924? What?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with frustration. None of that made any since to him.

“Yes—are you alright? Need a drink? I got a little stash.”

Cora walked up to her bed and lifted the mattress. She retrieved a flask and held it out to him.

“It’s Gin Rickey. Snuck it from a secret club here in harlem. A speakeasy. They got the goods.”

Erik didn’t have time to respond before Cora thrust the flask into his hand. He took one look at it before unscrewing the cap, sniffing the contents and then taking a big gulp. It indeed packed a punch, but Erik was able to handle the burn. He tossed it onto her quilted bed, removed his suit jacket, and instinctively rolled up his sleeves. It was blazing in that room and the window is open from what he could tell.

“1924…how?”

“Time, that’s how,” Cora gives him a strange look, “Now, how long have you been watching me, daddy?”

“…f-four nights—what are you—”

“Enough questions. Did you come here to fuck me or talk nonsense, daddy?”

“I wanna know what the fuck I’m getting myself into with you. As you can see,” Erik finger combed his locs and did a 360, “I’m not from the 1920s, baby girl.”

“The hair does give it away, doesn’t it? I like it, better than that slick back look. It makes you unique.”

She gave him a beautiful smile before sauntering over to him seductively.

“Cora…tell me about you. You don’t sound like your from New York.”

Erik’s eyes were scanning the room for any signs of a joke but nothing stood out to him. It really did look like he hopped into a time machine and entered the Harlem Renaissance. Cora lightly pushed Erik onto the lumpy, stale mattress surrounded by flickering colored lights before climbing onto his lap. The sound of banging and shouting closed in around him, gaining his attention until Cora had a hold of his chin, his eyes brought back on her. She studied his dreads with curiosity, even smelling his hair. Erik caught a whiff of her skin and it made him swallow spit and groan. She smelled like powdery sweet vanilla with warm notes of incense and amber.

“Rudell, Mississippi. After my parents died I decided to get out and pursue my dreams as a singer and dancer. So, I moved to Chicago first, did a few shows there, hardly made any money. Then, a good friend of mines told me about some opportunities here in New York so I came over and now I perform in the ballroom on weekends. It’s a start. Next, I’ll be singin’ at the Cotton Club. A girl can dream.”

Erik sat in silence just staring up at her, watching her blink away the puddle in her eyes that wanted to fall. She dabbed her eyes with her knuckles and began fidgeting with Erik’s shirt collar. He saw the flash of pain and even though she tried to hide it with a smile, he couldn’t forget it. Cora exhaled and bat her lashes at him before leaning in to kiss his lips. She tasted like Gin and cherries. He grabbed the back of her head and prolonged the kiss by invading her mouth with his thick tongue. Cora could feel her pussy pounding against his crotch like a morse code, signaling him to give her wetness some attention. Their wet, slithery appendages danced together like two bodies connected in Tango. She was the first to break the kiss, her faint ruby lips creating a lip print with its normal wrinkles and grooves along his cheeks.

“Maybe I can take you to the Cotton Club…would you like that—”

“Can’t. I…I can’t go. You see…I…I’m stuck here.”

“Show me, through that window.”

Erik wanted to see what the outside looked like from this very room. If it looked how he would expect it to look in the 1920s then he would be fully convinced. So far, he believes that this hotel is run on a 20s theme and everyone, including its occupants, have to play along to keep up with things. Cora climbed off of his lap and held out a hand for Erik to take. Erik slowly took her hand and they both walked to the window. Their eyes connected briefly before Cora peeled the curtain back for Erik to see.

It was bone-chilling. Erik tried his best to appear normal but he was losing his cool. So eerie to look down on Harlem and see what he could see. He stood as still as possible, hoping that Cora couldn’t see that he had the jitters. This killing machine was afraid. Would he ever be able to get back? Was he stuck here forever? The screws in his head began turning. What. The. Fuck. He could see yellow taxies, green, maroon, blue, black automobiles, and fancy looking Cadillacs and Buick’s cream-colored lining the streets. It was bustling and vibrant, the center of an African American cultural movement. Each window told a story.

People ran wild, ready to party with drunken tongues and dancing. Couples holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. Aspiring musicians playing their harmonicas and saxophones out the windows. Dark alleyways with prostitutes dangling a leg out of the shadows for horny men to see. His mouth began to feel dry and soon the scene below him disappeared when Cora closed that curtain. His dark and heated gaze met her lonely eyes and she reached out to unbutton his shirt.

“So…you came all this way just to have a piece of me, huh, big daddy?”

Forgetting once again what he just saw as if being controlled, Erik chuckled deep in his throat, “I bet you knew I was coming over here, didn’t you?”

Cora peeled back Erik’s shirt and her sweet lips were on his rock hard abs. Erik closed his eyes and breathed in, unable to fight the overpowering urge to fuck Cora senseless for teasing him so goddamn much.

“Did you touch yourself?” She whispered hauntingly.

It felt like a ghosts whisper.

Erik silenced her again when his lips crashed into hers. Cora squeezed along his solid and intimidating arms and when his sculpted pectorals brushed across her stiff peaks, she mulled.

“I always hoped a man would come here to be with me…so if I danced in the window…I would gain his attention.”

“You don’t have to do all that with me. One look at you and that’s enough for me, Cora.”

Cora turned her face away from Erik and began sobbing. Erik reaches out with both of his hands to grab her round face so she could see how serious he was.

“You’re beautiful, Cora. What happened to you?”

A haughty chuckle flowed from her mouth and then she tried her best to control her tears that ran black from her mascara. She quickly wiped her face and tried her best to smile but it wasn’t meeting her eyes.

“Just promise you won’t leave me tonight, Erik. No matter what happens.”

“Cora…what do you mean—”

“Promise me, Erik. Please.”

Erik twisted his lips in thought before slowly giving Cora a nod.

“Aight. I’ll stay. But you gotta tell me what’s going on.”

Cora sniffles, “After you do all the things you’ve wanted to do to my body, Erik.”

“Whoever left you by yourself to pick up the pieces is a real asshole, baby. Fuck him for that shit. You deserve so much better.”

Cora’s eyes snapped up to his when she heard what he’d said.

“Don’t you ever feel like you’re not good enough. You are. Every part of you. Niggas should have to work hard to get near you, ain’t the other way around. Remember that.”

Erik’s eyes dropped down to Cora’s lips and once again the heat of his desire for her bloomed once more. The way she looked. The way she smelled.

“Go stand in front of that window again and move like you do at midnight, please, baby.”

Cora dropped her eyes away from Erik and a blush formed on her face. She looked back at him through her lashes and turned to align the tone arm with the record. Bessie Smith began playing and Erik recognized this song and figured this must be a favorite of hers.

I've got the blues, I feel so lonely

I'll give the world if I could only

Make you understand

It surely would be grand

I'm gonna telephone my baby

Ask him won't you please come home

'Cause when you're gone

I'm worried all day long

Cora saw the tent in Erik’s pants and she imagined how good it would feel inside of her. He sat in a chair facing her, his hand on his crotch and eyes never blinking.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself, Erik?” Cora asked while swaying her hips back and forth in slow motion.

“Ever since I laid eyes on you. Hell yes. Poke your ass out for me…just like that, Miss Cora.”

The sound of his zipper was loud within his ears and so was the old wooden chair with chipped paint that he sat one. Erik raises his hips and brings his pants down to his knees before grabbing his girthy dick through his briefs. He openly stroked his dick to show her how he did it every time she danced. Cora wanted desperately to see it for herself so she continued to seduce him with her moves while focusing on him. She circled slowly, sweat dripping down her spine.

“Keep doing that…mm…fuck…shit…keep dancing just like that, baby…spread your legs.”

Cora widens her thighs and thrust her hips out at Erik with a pop of her lower back, ass gyrating out of control each time she did it. His breathing became heavy and the more he stroked he could feel pre-cum dribble over his fingers. He needed to fuck her.

Cora could hear the sound of his hand jerking off his thick dick. When she looked back and saw his hand come down at the base of his shaft making his nut sack bounce she gasped.

“You have such a big, pretty dick, big daddy.”

Cora’s hands are in her hair and she’s going all in—hips swaying, and moans spilling from her mouth.

“You got a beautiful fucking body, Cora. Big thighs…big ass…big tits…big stomach…I fucking love all that shit. Keep going, baby, fuck, ima cum all on that ass, girl.”

Cora could feel Erik rubbing his dick on her ass so she shook a little for him. His eyes had grown darker and his lips were parted, a soft hiss from his open mouth causing Cora to moan. His sweat had his body looking like he’d been splashed with a bucket of water.

“Yeah…I been beating this dick to you…it’s your fault…you gonna let me nut on this big ass butt, Cora? Huh?” Erik said with a deep voice.

“Yes, daddy, give me that tasty treat…cover me in it…unh…yes…I want it.”

“Ooooohhhhhh, fuckkkk.”

Erik placed a hand around her neck and emptied himself all over her lower back and ass. He spanked her flesh with his dick before rubbing the tip against her skin.

“Erik,” Cora whined, “Fuck me, big daddy.”

“Promise me you’ll stay here and beat my pussy up, daddy. Please give me some good lovin’ all night, daddy. Make this pussy feel good…give it to me all night long.”

“I’ll fuck you so good, baby, you won’t be about to get out of bed, you hear me?”

“Oh, yes,” Cora moaned.

Cora turned and her arms coiled around Erik’s neck and her lips moved against his, body fitting his like a heated glove. They only came up for air when a loud thump from a drunken occupant startled them. They went back to wildly kissing, Erik’s paws all over her silky, curved back and filled them full with the heavy, rounded meat of her butt. He gripped and squeezed her bloated cheeks with enthusiasm. Cora moaned into his mouth and followed up with more tongue.

Erik takes off his drenched shirt and he was left with his briefs hanging from his hips barely. Cora didn’t let go of him for one second as they made their way to the bed. Erik pressed his erection into her belly, pumping skin-on-skin, gathering up her butt again and lifting her right off the the bed and into her lap, squirming her body to the beat of his dick. Erik stuck his tongue out as far as it could go and let Cora suck on it, her pouty lips pulling hard.

She eased her head back, sliding her mouth off his tongue. She brought her breasts together and smashed them into Erik’s face. He nibbled on her breasts and grabbed them himself to suck with a wide open mouth.

“You see these titties when you watched me perform?”

Erik grinned, grinding his dick against her stomach, “Right across the street. Through the curtains.”

Cora turned her head and looked at the window, “Uh-huh?”

“Not like now,” Erik juggled her luscious tits, “big ass titties…”

“Mmm!” Cora moaned.

There was probably more than one man peeping there late-night show but Erik had a plan before he left this city—getting into her pussy. Now, they could see what happened when a man had the balls to act. Erik hefted her tits and dipped his head to paint her areolas with his tongue and lips. She shuddered, breasts jumping in his hands. Huge and soft, Erik was a wild man sucking on her nipples.

“Let me taste you…”

Cora slid down out of his hands, landing on her knees on the carpet, his dick high above her head and swollen to the point of eruption. Cora stared at Erik’s fat rod, watching it twitch with twinkling eyes. When her fingers laced around his pulsing erection, Erik threw his head back and groaned. Cora cupped his balls and stroked his dick while looking up at him with her big brown eyes. Her parted lips were an inch away from his mushroom cap.

“Eat this dick, baby…”

“All for you, big daddy.”

Cora’s mouth opened wider, engulfing his hood, wrapping her in wet, dangerous warmth. Erik jerked, watching and feeling Cora slide her lips down his pulsating length, swallowing his dick whole. Erik bucked his hips, almost blasting in her mouth when she peppered kisses on his balls. Erik could bet that those other men watching were jealous of the way Cora inhaled his ridged length. Erik blew air from his cheeks and his eyes shut slowly, amazed at how packed tight he is in her throat. She wet-vacced his dick, lips sealed tightly and tongue flowing, up and down, mouth and throat sensuously stretching to accommodate and envelope.

“Fuck…”

Cora sucked fast, sucked slow, locked him, kissed him. Erik had to hold his hand out to stop her before he covered her face like he was her personal face painter.

“You gotta stop, Cora, I don’t wanna cum yet. Let me taste you.”

Erik picked her up, instructed for her to climb onto his face, and right above him, pussy-level, he caught a whiff of her intoxicating scent and almost choked on his own spit from Joe heavily he salivated. She was sodden, dripping with moisture, lips swollen and slick on the outside, hair smooth and shiny from her arousal, pink and gleaming on the inside. Erik stuck out his tongue and touched her flaps with the tip. FUCK. He stuck his nose in it and breathed in. FUCK. His dick jumped.

“Big daddy! Yes!” Cora gasped, jerking.

Erik slid his hands around her thighs and onto her fleshy ass, digging his fingernails into the smooth, stretched skin. Erik licked up her slit from deep in between her legs to the top of her trimmed black fur, dragging her pussy in one long, hard, wet stroke.

“Ooooh, baby! Don’t stop!” Cora moaned.

Her body was jumping in his hands. Cora stared down at him trembling. Erik looked up at her and grinned, his lips glistening with her dewy goodness. He lapped her pussy, stroking her inner lips with his tongue, gulping down her sugary juices.

“Fuck, you taste damn good, girl.”

Erik spread her lips wide and sucked on her clit. Cora collapsed forward and clawed the mattress. She weeped and Erik continued on until she released into her mouth. She looked back, staring glossy-eyes down at him. Erik flicked his tongue back and forth over her clit and Cora opened her mouth but no sound came out. Erik gave her ass a hard slap and she came for him once again. Erik kissed her clit and lifted Cora off of him, bringing her down on her back and throwing her ankles over his shoulders. Erik probed her pussy with his hard shaft and with his hips he plunged inside.

They both groaned.

Erik couldn’t believe the pure, velvet heaven wrapped around him. She’s juiced beyond succulent thanks to him. Her body bounced on that stiff bed with his frantic thrusts, bodies sweaty and melded together. Fat dick to fat pussy. Cora’s breasts bounced and hit her chin, heels rocking into his upper back. Erik reached under her and spread her cheeks, toes digging into the bed and thrusts deeper.

“UNH!!!!!”

“Yeah, this my pussy, Cora. This big daddy pussy?”

“Jesus!!! That feels soooo fuckin’ nasty!”

“Answer me,” Erik gripped her neck, “Big daddy pussy, baby? Yeah?”

“Yessss!”

Erik pumped his hips over an over, never tired, body dripping sweat, eyes locked with the temptress. She grabbed for his face and cried out, tears staining her blushed cheeks. Erik sat up on his knees and pushed her thighs so wide open her stomach pushed up to her breasts. She looked down between her breasts as best as she could and that’s when Erik rocked into her pussy hard and long.

“Give it to me…give it to me…give it to me…”

Erik’s impressive muscles flexed with each pounding thrust. Cora grabbed onto the rails of the headboard, twisting her head from side to side, pleading for him to cum.

“Cum…cum, daddy…please…so much dick in me…”

The jazz music rose to a fever pitch and Erik went harder, bed scraping against the hardwood floor.

“Fuckin’ good pussy—DAMN—”

Cora moaned low and long, consuming Erik’s pistoning dick. Erik hammered into her hole and then he bit into the flesh of her shoulder. Erik pulled back, out, almost over the edge. Cora sat up and opened her needy mouth while jerking Erik’s cream-covered dick. She arched her back, ass cheeks bouncing behind her just for him. Erik grunted before blasting inside of her mouth and on her face, spurt after spurt all over her pretty ass face.

“Fuck, I needed that.” Erik said.

He looks down to find Cora eating his cum off of her lips. She found her reflection and played with her sweaty hair, posing for him.

“I look beautiful.” She said.

“Yes you do, baby.”

Baby won't you please come home

'Cause your mama's all alone

I have tried in vain

Nevermore to call your name

When you left you broke my heart

That will never make us part

Landlord gettin' worse

I've got to move May the first

Baby won't you please come home, I need money

Baby won't you please come home

The loud banging returned and Erik looked above and around him, wondering what all the commotion was about. Cora climbed out of bed, quickly grabbed robe, and walked to the tiny bathroom within her room. After she slammed the door shut, Erik saw that as his que to leave so he started getting dressed in the suit that materialized on him as soon as he entered the hotel. He thought everything was going good. He could feel his cum soaking the front of his briefs and he had to adjust his crotch to make it feel more comfortable since it’s still solid.

“Cora?”

Cora slipped from the bathroom with a wash cloth to her face and her hair pulled back with silver clips.

“I was gonna head out…”

Cora paused.

“You’re not staying? You said you would stay.”

Cora snatched the clips from her hair and turned away with a flip of her hand.

“Typical fucking men. You get what you want and then you leave. Can’t even stay one night. Just fuck and go—”

“Cora, hold on, you got out of bed so damn fast without a word I just—”

Cora opened her robe and all Erik could do was stand with his lips shut.

“Don’t leave me alone in this crazy hotel, Erik. Stay…”

Cora walks up to him and wraps her arms around his waist before resting her cheek on his chest. Erik stood puzzled, taking his hand to rub circles on her back. When he looked up, he saw a white man with pale skin, sunken eyes, a thin mustache, and an expensive pen stripe suit staring back at him through the mirror on the wall. He takes off his hat, smoothing back his shiny, jet black hair before giving Erik a wink. Erik leaped away from Cora, his back knocking hard against the wall behind him, record skipping.

“Erik?”

“What the fuck is this?”

Erik’s eyes were flying all around the room. He seemed to have come to his senses. Who was the man in the mirror? How did he get there? He looked at Cora with narrow eyes before snatching up his two tone shoes, forgetting about the laces.

“You’re leaving—”

“Cora. I’m sorry, but some weird shit is happening and I gotta bounce. It’s like one minute, I know things aren’t right and then the next, I’m fucking you and forgetting about everything that’s wrong with this hotel—”

“You can’t leave.”

Cora sits on the bed, folds her thick legs, and tossed back her hair. Erik watched her with an elevated brow and blazing eyes.

“Why’s that, Cora?”

“Because…the Salvager needs to collect a new soul. That soul is yours, Erik.”

@uzumaki-rebellion @honeyandpeaches @blacklytical @tchallasbabymama

[ninjastormhawkkat]

“Gene, is everything okay? Have you been crying again?” Carl asked worriedly.  Gene flinched a bit at his father’s words and concerned tone. Of course the man only wanted to find out why his son was up this late with red puffy eyes and find a way to help alleviate the problem. Gene didn’t want to burden his dad with his troubles. The man had been through so much. Gene had done nothing but made major screw ups ever since they were separated. He mentally kicked himself for his Two Brains’ days. Even though Thomas apologized to him, even though no one in his circle held grudges towards him, Gene just couldn’t forgive himself. He couldn’t forgive himself for acting so rash and out of control. He was trained by his pops for pete’s sake to learn how to control your actions but also when to let loose. His logic and common sense along with his mind all seem to be thrown away the day Squeaky pressed that button. Gene knew Moran sabotaged the experiment but Gene cursed that he didn’t have better control of himself. Of course he and everyone else blamed the mouse brain for overpowering Gene’s will. Still, what Corbin and Patricia said about demons still echoed in his mind. Did the fusion do something much worse than what he or Moran expected? Was he ever human during his Dr. Two Brains’ days? Gene snapped out of his emotional thoughts when he saw his dad was still patiently waiting for a response. Gene tried once again to shrug off his dad’s concerns. “I’m fine dad really. I just had a bad dream and it woke me up with a dry throat. I just wanted to go downstairs to get a drink of water.” Gene responded as he mustered what was supposed to sound like a convincing calm and nonchalant tone. Unfortunately, it seemed that Carl was practicing Victor’s lie detection skills this time as his face furrowed deeper into a frown. It was coupled with a growing, immense sympathetic expression. Carl gently placed a hand on his youngest son’s shoulder and stared at him directly in the eyes. He spoke in a calm, firm, and assuring tone all at once. “Do you want to talk about it? Carl asked. That simple sentence broke the barrier holding back Gene’s emotions. In a swift motion, Gene embraced his father in a tight hug. Carl was a bit taken aback by the sudden action, but he quickly recovered and embraced his son within his own arms. Gene softly cried into Carl’s clothes, unleashing all his emotional distress and plights into jumbled words. Carl continued to hug and reassure his son, saying nothing until Gene was finished. Neither man noticed strange runes appearing on Carl’s body under his clothing. They didn’t see how the runes glowed a low but deep red. Carl didn’t know it yet but the last thing he would remember from that night was comforting his youngest child before Gene became emotionally exhausted. He would recall Tristan quietly coming downstairs to retrieve his husband and carry him bridal style back to bed. Carl would recall feeling an intense flurry of emotions over what Gene had spilled to the man. Carl would recall letting those emotions swarm into his mind, making him forget about getting his own water though the thirst remained. The last thing Carl would recall was a growing, buzzing sound rising from the back of his mind. Then darkness. He was hungry. So very hungry. He was angry. So very, very, angry. He wanted something to satisfy his thirst. Something to quell the rage and anguish he was feeling. He glided along the shadows. His appearance shrouded in a darkness that resembled him greatly. He paused. The sound of a voice chatting filled the quiet night air and streamed into his ears. It took a while before he recognized the arrogant tone. The familiar sound of haughtiness and egotism played his ears like nails on a chalkboard, yet it lured him as if it were a melody. He soon spotted a face he hadn’t seen in so many years, chatting boisterously over a phone. @dualnaturedscientist

Heart of chaos

A year had passed since the B.E.A.W Labs organization had fallen. Since all the events had taken place. Becky being taken along with Bob. The poor girl being experimented on by a cruel scientist who had no love for anyone but himself. Matthew had broken out of the facility with her, Carl and Steven. Gene's true identity being revealed along with losing his Dr.Two-Brains persona. Shocking revelations unfolded. Betrayals and redemption. Things had calmed down significantly since but that didn't mean life had been dull. It certainly wasn't for Fair City. Especially with the villains, heroes and its eccentric inhabitants livening up the city. Becky had been making a wonderful recovery. Though she still wasn't at her full recovery Becky was still making so much more progress than the year prior. Gene still had identity issues, dealing with the loss of Squeaky. Though he didn't go through it alone. The still mad scientist had his family and friends help him through everything. Matthew and Carl took up residency within the city. A house that wasn't too far from their sons. Life in this place was definitely lively and peaceful in comparison to the hellish place many innocent souls were imprisoned in. Matthew was less exhausted than before. Relaxing within the living room in his son's house, watching whatever was put on the television. Matthew felt his eyes beginning to droop. Sleepiness hitting him out of nowhere. He simply allowed himself to doze off, not fighting it. Knowing that he was safe there. It wasn't until he felt weight on him that Matthew opened his eyes. Usually a dog or cat would be the cause for this but Matthew met many eyes. Fluffy had snuck into the house yet again. A small warm smile spread across his facial features, patting the spider on its head. Fluffy leaned into Matthew's hand, making soft happy noises. It was funnily cute to him. Though he understood as to why Gene was so afraid of him. Even Carl was squeamish around the giant spider. “Aw, who's a good boy? You are! You're a good boy!” Matthew couldn't help but baby talk the arachnid. He looked up, wriggling his chelicerae in response. As to say ‘Me! I'm a good boy!’ He chuckled at that, giving Fluffy gentle scritches. It was like a huge puppy in a spider's body. Though the peacefulness was interrupted by a sudden shout. “NO! WHY IS IT HERE AGAIN?!” Gene was in the doorway of the living room. Looking quite terrified at the huge arachnid. Fluffy instantly moved around on Matthew's lap to look at Gene. Excitedly jumping off of the supervillain's lap in favor of his son. He bolted right for the mad scientist, causing him to yelp loudly and make a run for it. “SOMEONE KEEP THAT ABOMINATION AWAY FROM ME!” Matthew gave a small laugh. “Can't help but feel abit rejected there.” Archie, who was quiet until then, responded. “I know that feeling.” This caused Matthew to jump up startled. “Don't do that! I'm old. Also I could accidentally blast you.” Archie blinked in confusion. “You didn't notice me? I came in with Fluffy. He got loose and snuck into the house. I just came to bring him back before he got to Gene. Too late for that now.” Archie frowned. “I can't help but be jealous at how much Fluffy loves him. Though Gene is terrified of him. That spider just won't listen to me when it comes to his favorite person.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “You want me to help you?” Matthew was being genuine with his question. He didn't want his son dying of fright from the giant arachnid. “That would be greatly appreciated. I have to take him back home. He can't avoid taking his medication this time.” Matthew got up, stretching first before doing anything else. This earned him a strange look from Archie. “What? I said I'm old. If I don't stretch I'll pull a muscle.” The hero shrugged. “Let's go get him soon. I have to look after Charlotte as well.” Archie always had the brightest smile when Charlotte was brought up. Either by him, Sunshine or anyone else. It was sweet. “Alright, alright.” They were completely unaware of an enemy observing them. Waiting.

Miss Power growled in frustration at the display she was witnessing through a window to the Boxleitner or rather the Woods household. A display she thought was very disgusting. How badly the alien conqueror wanted to charge right in their and obliterate everyone in her sights. She couldn't do her usual tactics and tricks right now, not after what she learned after coming back. She was still ticked off after that little alien brat Wordgirl and her parents dupe and tricked her into leaving the planet in defeat. There was no way she could go back to her planet and face her people with such a shameful stain to her otherwise brilliant record. Fueled by revenge and hatred, Miss Power spent her time preparing, training, and waiting so she could exact her revenge against those who wronged her, against the little hybrid girl and her freak of a family that humiliated her. Sadly when Miss Power and her loyal sidekick Colonel Gigglecheeks did decide to return, they were not prepared for the recent changes that had happeend in their absence. Miss Power did not care much for this Darius person or B.E.A.W labs, she had seen those like them a dime a dozen before on other worlds. The alien wished she could have congratulated the person who tortured and dehumanized Wordgirl and her sidekick. If it was up to her, Professor Ross Moran would receive high honors among her people for his actions. She did give her condolences at his unmarked gravestone. While the recent trauma Wordgirl and her sidekick have suffered gave Miss Power an opportunistic advantage, the alien conquerer unfortunately could not risk using it especially with her grandfather around. Miss Power was amazed at hearing about the past and recent exploits of Maddrix the Malicious. She was shocked that someone so bloodthirsty and powerful was the father of that scientist who used to have a mouse brain attached to his skull as well as a weird cheese obsession. To her disappointment, Miss Power could clearly see the man was too human and had regretted his actions in the past. Actions that would have made him highly respected among her people despite him being human. Still Miss Power wasn't going to risk striking back while that old coot was still alive. Age did not always equate to weakness according to what she had been taught. Even though he was old, Maddrix was clearly still powerful. It was likely that her and Gigglecheeks would wind up dead by the man's hands before they could claim revenge and victory. A chittering sound snapped Miss Power out of her musings. She turned her head to see her sidekick give her a concerned look. He chittered again and asked 'So what are we going to do?' Miss Power smiled and scratched her sidekick's head which he enjoyed. "Don't worry Colonel Gigglecheeks. We'll get our revenge soon. We just need to learn more about Mr. Malicious and what weaknesses he might have so we can use it to defeat him." Miss Power cooed. She then took her sidekick and flew off without anyone being the wiser. Miss Power was brash and bold and could be tricked sometimes, but she was no fool. The alien conqueror learned long ago that the best way to win your battles was to be prepared and know your enemy more than they know themselves. Carl sighed with relief and slight exhaustion as he sat down in a comfy chair. He had just finished sweeping the floor of his and Matthew's home. Now all he had to do was sit and relax until his husband got home. Carl wanted to try a nice 'mom and pop' owned restaurant that one of Gene's friends, Chuck, had recommended to the man. Carl had been itching to get out and do something more and more recently. If he had to be honest, he was getting bored. In the past, Carl had his job and work as a scientist to keep him occupied along with spending time with his husband and kids. Unfortunately after his 20 year imprisonment, Carl couldn't step in another official science lab ever again without a severe anxiety and panic attack @dualnaturedscientist