#comrade-heather

[la-galaxie-langblr]

11 for the langblr ask game!

Thanks for the ask :D

11. What language learning goals did you reach this year?

My goals were fairly vague but I did achieve some of them - I got an A in my French A Level, I watched more video content in French and I actually did learn and retain a shred of Irish this year :D Nowhere near my original lofty intentions but it's something at least :)

[carbonateddelusion]

one more batch for tonight! try and guess who makes up who!

Hunter is a big, jolly lovebug who barely knows her own strength. She loves you! She might just squeeze your organs out like toothpaste when she tries to show you that. She's also prone to being overconfident and immediately regretting what she says.

Mal (short for Malpractice) is a sweet, relatively shy person with a big activist streak. What do they fight for? Anything. Animal rights, LGBTQ+ rights, environmental protection, whatever. They also do drag in their free time.

Eggplant's the strong, silent type. He comes off as pretty scary, but he's actually a big sweetheart. Who just happens to be constantly grumpy. They have little patience for anybody who rubs them the wrong way, though.

Heather is a VERY sweet, VERY anxious, bubbly personality. They're some kind of ND, and are constantly masking, therefore constantly exhausted. She's the kind of person to cry over finding out someone doesn't like her. She also works as a daycare attendant :)

Hunter is Jade and Sasha; Mal is Sal (short for Salamander) and Tommy; Eggplant is Blue and Red; and Heather is Rae and Billy.

[howtodrawyourdragon]

I still consider the three of them siblings.

Due to Dagur calling Hiccup brother every chance he gets and even refering to Hiccup as their little brother in his letter to Heather written before his sacrifice "Look out for our little brother." Hiccup once asking "so do you wanna save our brother?", and Heather revealing something as sensitive as her origins and her father's horn to Hiccup in a time when she's clearly keeping everything inside of herself.

At that time, she kept up a front for the other Dragon Riders, even Astrid, but she was willing to come clean to Hiccup. Likewise, Hiccup was the one to go "hey, something's wrong here" when Heather first came to the Edge and he ended up being right. Nobody else noticed, not even Astrid or Toothless, who Hiccup trusts above all to be a good judge of character.

So in my eyes, these three are siblings.

Fun fact about my time watching rtte: In the episode where it’s revealed that Dagur and Heather are siblings there is a moment where Hiccup thinks she might be his sister.

I paused it then, wandered around the house in a daze, to me it made a lot of sense, but of course, I forgot to think about the fact that Hiccup was clearly an only child in httyd 2 and it wouldn’t make sense to introduce Heather as his sister in the series, but yeah, I spent about an hour in a weird headspace, went back to my laptop awaiting Stoick’s explanation….

Cue Dagur actually being her brother and Ane dying inside.

[chubsonthemoon]

Last Binderary book is DONE!!!! This is the incredible Maybe sprout wings, by @moorishflower.

This post is going to be a doozy, so gonna just skip straight to the cut!

INTERIOR

INTRODUCTION

I really wanted to model this bind after my own copy of the Odyssey, (which is all highlighted and bookmarked and annotated to hell from my Great Text courses in undergrad ehe, so this bind was such a fun trip down memory lane!). But beyond just the cover/general aesthetic, I also wanted to give the book a similar feel to these kinds of editions of classics--there's usually an introduction, translation notes, and other supplementary materials, right? Like, a physical manifestation of the work of many, many people, all having conversations with one another across time and space.

So that's what I did! I wrote a short introduction (I will also probably post it to my AO3/my blog as well, in the name of preservation etc. etc.) and began reaching out to folks in the fandom who I knew had created art and meta for the fic. The result? 18k words of analysis, comments, and meta, and nearly twenty pages of art!

And this is what I love most about this bind, I think! This book is the work of several people--truly a collaborative work by the fandom--all of whom I will now be shamelessly calling out below :D

CHAPTER HEADER ART

First and foremost, this book would not be what it is without the gorgeous header art by @fancy-rock-dove! Thank you so much Dove for letting include your work, and for being so supportive and kind these past few weeks about this bind <3 You in particular have contributed so much to this book (which I will be getting more into in the next section ehe), and I'm so psyched I get to hold your art and words, too!

NOTES ON THE TEXT

This section was divided into four parts: Asks and Answers, Meta, Selected Comments, and Chapter Heading Art: Process

For Asks and Answers, I trawled Heather's blog for meta she had written in response to questions and other meta about the fic. Asks came from @fancy-rock-dove, @quillingwords, @kulapti, and myself! (I THINK I got all of them--tumblr's search function is finnicky even on its best days, so so sorry if I missed something T_T) I first got hooked into reading this fic because of one of these asks, so I'm very fond of this section in particular :D

For Meta, I included two wonderful essays written by @pastrypuppy (also known as @kulapti) about Hob as an author figure and the Disrupted Fisher King narrative in MSW. Her analyses were so fascinating and I just had to include them in the book! (And thank you as well for your permission, friend!) (also hello fellow Renegade comrade 🫡)

For Selected Comments, I owe everything to (once again :3) @fancy-rock-dove, whose insights are the epitome of transformative fandom at work. I'd look for their comments after I read every chapter to see what their takes were on this or that element of the story, and every single time I would go "!!!!! I didn't even realize!!!" or "OOOOOOOH I hadn't thought of that!!" It was like being in a lecture hall and always whipping your head around when one of your classmates raised their hand, because you knew they were going to say something fascinating that you hadn't considered before.

Aside from one of my own comments, Dove's comments make up the entirety of this section (for which I owe you my life--your long-form responses to fics are a gift to this world) but GOSH was it also so much fun going through the comments section while typesetting and seeing all the keyboard smashing, yelling, and crying from the other commenters. Communal nature of storytelling and ongoing meaning-making of fanfiction, babey!

And finally for Chapter Heading Art: Process: once again Dove coming in clutch with some wonderful insights into the design of each of the chapter heading art pieces! This kind of stuff is honestly my favorite: meta about art for a fic which is, in turn, a transformation of an existing story (not even to mention that The Sandman is its own kind of fanfiction of existing mythologies and histories)--I just!! Think it's all really, really neat :'D (for more coherent/polished thoughts on this pls see my introduction asjdfkls)

ART

The art gallery!!! A million thanks to @fishfingersandscarves, @honeyseller, @jazzpsych, @doctor-rainbowfoxey, and (HI AGAIN DOVE) @fancy-rock-dove for granting me permission to include all of your beautiful pieces!

As usual for artworks in my binds, I printed each piece out on specialty photo paper to really make the colors pop, then sewed each page separately to the text block! Behold, everyone's beautiful beautiful pieces!

The art gallery also satisfies the certain "oooh shiny" part of my brain that always activates when I see pictures in a book, so am also very fond of this section :3

CONSTRUCTION

And now on to the nitty gritty stuff! I used the German Bradel binding technique again, my second time using it. Even though it's more complicated than the case bind, I really love how it gives you the full board space for the cover designs (~it's free real estate~). Keep it a secret but I kiiiiiiind of made a small goof in the last few steps (I did the turn-ins a step too early and so had to paste an extra sheet of cardstock to secure the spine to the boards, whoopsie), but it's a pretty small difference, aesthetically speaking, so it wasn't the end of the world XD

Edges are once again fake gilded, but this time I tried something new with the colors! I did two layers of acrylic paint--one watered down shade of red for the base, then one metallic gold on top of that. I really like the red/gold effect! I'll have to keep experimenting with this kind of layering:

ALSO. Y'ALL! I think I'm finally getting the hang of endbands!!! Many thanks to the folks at Renegade who hosted all the endband workshops last month--I'm still working through them, but even the few sessions I've seen have been TREMENDOUSLY helpful. I learned that tension is Very Important, as well as thread thickness, so I tried doubling my thread and keeping a Very Close Eye on how I was holding the threads while doing the beads. And behold! I still have a ways to go (and one day I would LOVE to do the fancier designs), but I'm v happy with the progress I've made so far!

And finally the covers!! ARCHIVAL MOD PODGE MY BELOVED. I printed on the same matte presentation paper that I used for the art, then did several coats of archival matte mod podge + a pass of gloss mod podge over the title strip to make it ~shiny~. Then once those had dried and I'd adhered them to the boards, I sprayed two layers of matte clear acrylic sealer (also mod podge!) to finish it off. I had some issues with the paper tearing when I handled it before it was fully dry, but luckily the blemishes were small enough that it was easy to do spot corrections with my black acrylic paint. And now I know to be more patient next time LOL

(some non-photoshoot shots that show the shine a little better!)

FINAL THOUGHTS

I had a lot of thoughts while I was binding this book--about Sandman fandom, about Dreamling fandom, about the Odyssey, about storytelling, about fanbinding, about Binderary, about Renegade, about my friends--but really what came to mind the most was gratitude!

Simply put, I'm so grateful to everyone I've met both in this fandom and throughout the years I've been active online--this is SO fun, y'all. It's so much fun to love stories together--to talk about them, to write them, and of course to bind them! I hope I've adequately conveyed that gratitude.

But of course, this book would not exist without the wonderful words of @moorishflower. Heather, thank you so, SO much for sharing your stories, thoughts, and time with us--it is always a happier, better day when I get an email notif from you and when I see you on my dash. I love your work so much, and I'm so happy I finally get to put it on my shelf! So thank you so much again, for everything <3

and OKAY THAT'S IT FROM ME FOLKS!!!!! Binderary 2023 is officially a wrap! I had SUCH a blast--will probably write up a reflection post on it uhhhh after I take a very long nap ajslkdfjslk _(:3」∠)_

all my love! <3

[nighttimepatrons]

The Trial of Glorfindel

altered lyrics of The Trial of Lancelot by Heather Dale

King Turgon's lords, they lined the Counsel Hall Save for one who stood before them For once without a weapon, for once he stood in shame The trial's charge was treason and betrayal of an oath, And should his guilt be proven death would fall on traitors both; The lords would counsel Turgon's hard decision. And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I'm tried for love of Erestor, My crime was love.” The first to speak was Rog with sharpest tongue, “He is an elf like any other, The word of kings command him, his heart does not obey For all his strength and boldness this lord's fea is too weak. His crime has no excuses and no favours may he seek; The laws of kings don't bend and can't be broken.” And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I stand for love of Erestor, For pride in love.” “I know this lord right well,” spoke bold Ecthelion, “And he has ever stood beside me, With steel he's answered insults, defended chivalry And oft this elf contended for the honour of your spouse His actions were not proper but should not cost him his life; His service past should earn of you some mercy.”

And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I fought for love of Erestor, I'll fight for love.” Sir Maeglin spoke, “I love Tuor’s dear wife. For her I gladly suffer, she is my heart's delight Idril, the one who tempts me and she for whom I'm pure, My love for her confounds me and is all of which I'm sure; I understand my comrade's contradictions.” And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I cry my love for Erestor, I've cried for love.” Spoke Egalmoth, the purest of them all, “Have no fear of predilection, For though he is my father, he is my source of shame. He joined in sinful union with my unbeguiling mother, And for all his claim at virtue he has gone and bed another; The laws of Eru declare this act damnation.” And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I lie in love with Erestor, I've lied for love.” As Turgon wept, he called the wrath of Ulmo On the lovers who'd betrayed him On the lord he had called brother, thought worthy of his trust On the spouse who'd hid deception yet could say he loved him still; For lost innocence and beauty And in justice for their guilt; King Turgon knew the only price for treason. And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I'll die in love with Erestor. I'd die for love.”

𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

This has been in my little document for months! I really wanted to make an animatic for this but let's be real that is never going to happen.

I've seen a few Glorestor fics where Glorfindel and Erestor meet in Gondolin, but I imagine for this they meet before the great city is founded. Though things end in Gondolin.

I adore Heather Dale and I cannot listen to her songs without thinking about my beloved elves. hehehe :)

Soon to be posted Fingon and Maedhros Thingol and Melien

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

September 5, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Sep 06, 2024

The U.S. government continues to tighten the screws against Russian malign activity. This morning the Department of Justice announced an indictment charging Dimitri Simes for violating U.S. sanctions against Russia. Simes allegedly worked for a sanctioned Russian television station and laundered the money from his work. Simes advised Donald Trump’s 2016 presidential campaign. 

A second indictment charged Simes’s wife, Anastasia, with sanctions violations and money laundering through the purchase of fine art. 

The Justice Department also issued a grand jury’s superseding indictment against six Russian computer hackers. Five were officers in Russia's military intelligence agency; one is a civilian. The six are charged with hacking into and leaking information from, as well as destroying, Ukrainian computer systems. The hackers also attacked systems in European countries that support Ukraine and in the U.S.

The State Department has offered a $10 million reward for information on the defendants’ locations or their malicious cyberactivity.

The fallout from yesterday’s revelation that six powerful right-wing media figures were on the Russian payroll continues. One of the right-wing commenters referred to in yesterday’s indictment, Tim Pool, has pushed the idea that the U.S. is in a civil war, interviewed Trump on his podcast in May, and has been fervently against American aid to Ukraine. Today, he posted: “Upon reflection I now understand that Ukraine is our Greatest ally[.] As the breadbasket of Europe and a peace loving people we cannot allow the Fascist Russians to continue their crimes against humanity[.] We must redouble our efforts and provide and additional $200b at once[.]”

By this evening, though, he was making a joke of the news that his paycheck had come from Russia.

Notably, Trump posted on his social media site a rant that tied his own 2016 campaign to yesterday’s indictments, although the indictment itself did not do so. He accused “Comrade Kamala Harris and her Department of Justice” of “resurrecting the Russia, Russia, Russia Hoax, and trying to say that Russia is trying to help me, which is absolutely FALSE.”

Vice President Harris is not in charge of the Department of Justice.

By tying yesterday’s indictments to his campaign’s involvement with Russian operatives in 2016, Trump might have been trying to suggest the story was old news, but it does highlight the parallels between Russia and right-wing operatives trying to get him reelected. Along with his colleague Donie O’Sullivan, Jake Tapper put it like this on CNN: “Today, the U.S. government is trying to peel back more layers of what officials say are massive and complex efforts underway to influence your vote in the upcoming election. One part of these alleged plots: replacing your average 2016 Russian social media bots with actual conservative Americans, right-wing influencers with a combined millions of followers, influencers promoted by Elon Musk, some visited by Republican politicians such as former president Trump.” 

Then Trump fell back on the old trope that his opponents are communists, posting on his social media platform: “We are fighting true COMMUNISM in this Country. We have to save our Elections, our System of Justice, our Constitution, and our FREEDOM, but that can only be done after we win BIG on November 5th, and proceed to, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN.” 

Economists for Goldman Sachs Group Inc. say that a Trump win in November would hurt the U.S. economy, while a Harris win—if she also gets Democratic control of the House and the Senate—would make it grow. 

Trump’s 2024 campaign is not at all about reality; it’s about a worldview. When asked at an event at the New York Economic Club “what specific piece of legislation will you advance” to make child care affordable, the 78-year-old Trump answered:

“Well I would do that. And we’re sitting down. You know I was somebody. We had Senator Marco Rubio, and my daughter Ivanka was so impactful on that issue. It’s a very important issue. But I think when you talk about the kind of numbers that I’m talking about, that because—look, child care is child care. It’s—couldn’t, you know, it’s something you have to have it—in this country you have to have it. But when you talk about those numbers compared to the kind of numbers that I’m talking about by taxing foreign nations at levels that they’re not used to—but they’ll get used to it very quickly—and it’s not going to stop them from doing business with us, but they’ll have a very substantial tax when they send product into our country. Those numbers are so much bigger than any numbers that we’re talking about, including child care, that it’s going to take care. We’re going to have—I look forward to having no deficits within a fairly short period of time, coupled with the reductions that I told you about on waste and fraud and all of the other things that are going on in our country, because I have to stay with child care. I want to stay with child care, but those numbers are small relative to the kind of economic numbers that I’m talking about, including growth, but growth also headed up by what the plan is that I just told you about. We’re going to be taking in trillions of dollars, and as much as child care is talked about as being expensive, it’s, relatively speaking, not very expensive compared to the kind of numbers we’ll be taking in. We’re going to make this into an incredible country that can afford to take care of its people, and then we’ll worry about the rest of the world. Let’s help other people, but we’re going to take care of our country first. This is about America first. It’s about Make America Great Again, we have to do it because right now we’re a failing nation, so we’ll take care of it.” 

There is no specific legislation here, or even a grasp of the specific nature of the problem of paying for child care. What there is, apparently, is an argument that high tariffs will solve all of the nation’s problems. In the New York event, Trump called again for slashing taxes on the wealthy and insisted that new, high tariffs of 20% on all imports, and as much as 60% on Chinese imports, will end federal deficits and bring trillions of dollars into the country, although he is wrong about how tariffs work. 

Trump insists that tariffs are taxes on foreign countries, but they are not. They are essentially taxes on imported products, and they are paid by consumers. Trump’s running mate, Ohio senator J.D. Vance, recently tried to claim that economists disagree about whether consumers bear the cost of tariffs, but as Michael Hiltzik explained in the Los Angeles Times yesterday, economists agree on this.

When he was in office, Trump launched a trade war in 2018 by putting tariffs of up to 25% on $50 billion worth of Chinese products. The next year he added another set of 10% tariffs on $200 billion worth of Chinese imports, and the next year he did it again, this time on an additional $112 worth of Chinese products. The nonpartisan Tax Foundation calculates that this amounted to an $80 billion tax a year on American consumers, costing the average household about $300 a year and costing the U.S. about 142,000 jobs.

There are reasons to use tariffs. They can be used to protect a new industry from cheaper foreign products until the new industry can compete, or to stop foreign countries from flooding a country with cheap products that destroy a domestic industry. When he took office, Biden kept those of Trump’s tariffs that protected certain industries.

Trump’s insistence that tariffs will solve everything is not about economics, it’s about pushing a worldview from the Gilded Age of the late nineteenth century, one embodied by the 1890 McKinley Tariff. “If you look at McKinley,” Trump told right-wing media host Mark Levin on Sunday, “he was a great president. He made the country rich.” In fact, McKinley (R-OH) pushed through the tariff named for him while he was in the House of Representatives from his position as a spokesperson for wealthy industrialists. They insisted that high tariffs were imperative to the survival of the country, that such tariffs were good for workers because they protected wages, and that anyone who disagreed was a socialist. But in an era without business regulation, industrialists actually kept wages low and used the tariffs to protect high prices that they passed on to consumers. 

In the late 1880s, the American people demanded a lower tariff, but when Republicans in Congress went to “revise” it, they made it higher. In May 1890, in a chaotic congressional session with members shouting amendments, yelling objections, and talking over each other, Republicans passed the McKinley Tariff without any Democratic votes. They cheered and clapped at their victory. “You may rejoice now,” a Democrat yelled across the aisle, “but next November you’ll mourn.” 

Democrats were right. In the November 1890 midterm elections, angry voters repudiated the Republican Party. They gave the Democrats a two-to-one majority in the House—McKinley himself lost his seat. Republicans managed to keep the Senate by four seats, but three of those seats were held by senators who had voted against the McKinley Tariff, and the fourth turned out to have been stolen.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[ihaveforgortoomany]

Hello, Comrade!

I don't know if you're familiar with Heathers The Musical, but I was listening to my playlist and "Meant to be Yours" appeared and all I could think of was Isolkania

I also imagined Heinrich as Heather C I'm so sorry 😭

Sorry Im not familiar with Musicals a ton but deffo I see Heinrich as a theater kid at the very least 🙃👍

[iwantoseeafrigatebird]

So, regarding my cycling/camping/wild-camping trip to Orkney. I'm currently drafting this in Brown's Hostel, Stromness... going to catch the 6:30 ferry tomorrow morning and back to bleak reality.

gonna be breaking the trip's brief account into parts due to the restraint of number of pictures i can put into each post. will post it as i write it so i can assemble a master post...

I got the idea of cycling/wild camping from a lady who did this in the hebrides in her youth which was in the 70s, 80s. Got the idea of going to Orkney from well, the lost Franklin expedition, another lady who's been going to Orkney almost every year for the past few decades or so, and being handed a card abt the orkney storytelling centre. So handed in my dissertation, moved, bought a second hand bike, strapped my gear onto it, was terrified for a bit there and didn't research much until the last minute, but thought if I didn't go then I ain't never going.

part 1

day 1

my poor bike at waverly.

I was doing a bit of an experiment, so instead of my summer sleeping bag I brought a heavy army surplus wool blanket instead. I wanted to see what it feels like to sleep in blankets. The conclusion is it's fine as long as the temperature is above 9 degrees celsius. But my insulation mattress is leaky so had to get up every three hours to reinflate it. Apart from that, with a bit of help from the sudden balmy weather that graced this part of Scotland, I was mostly warm enough.

So off I went, arriving at Thurso at 11 pm. Cycling 13 miles in the dark towards Dunnet head to see the lighthouse in action (it marks the most northerly point of mainland scotland). Exploring an abandoned seaside house on the way and seeing a dead rabbit (the next morning I saw it again, with its bowels exposed, a crow was pecking at it, which made me feel better as the energy of that rabbit is not going to be wasted). If I was a braver man and brought a better knife I would've strapped it to my bike and skinned it, but I'm too frightened of catching something from eating it.

Dunnet head lighthouse in action.

It was a surreal experience, sitting next to the lighthouse looking into its heart of diamond (the beautiful beautiful fresnel lens) projecting a slowly rotating crown composed of columns of light in total darkness. It was raining and the wind was picking up. I scrambed a bit to try and find a spot to set up camp, almost ended up in a loch (the loch, is black; the unilluminated field, is black; the night, is black; I could't see shit but the falling rain in front of the light mounted on my bike, they fell like silver needles). Camped on heather between three lochs and the sea. At least its a well drained area.

-

day 2

Before catching the ferry to st Margaret's Hope, went up to see the lighthouse in daylight. And all the beautiful cliffs & sea view that I missed in the dark.

Sheltered in a pub in St. Margaret's Hope for a few hours, then went to camp in a wilding hotspot, the Hoxa beach.

The rain just abated but the wind was 37km/hr, got some help from a couple (John and his Danish wife) so after a bit of a struggle finally set up the tent. Wonderful folks, gave me eggs and toast (and extra tent pegs for windy weather). They are from southeast Scotland, somewhere called "Gales Bay" if you translate the name into English.

(tbc)

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #17: Conviction

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, immortal whumpee, injection, paralysis, starvation

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“Why would you think I’m lying?” Jackie laughed as he said this, a nervous laugh, a guilty laugh. “Why would I lie about this?”

“I can see it on your face. You’re a terrible liar. I’ll give you one more chance. Where did you put the notebook?” 

“Why do you even want it?” The rising panic clouded his expression like smoke. “You gave it to me. It’s my notebook. It’s my property.”

“I don’t care.” She stepped forward. “Hand it over.”

Instead of following her command, he simply sat there and stared, eyes wide and wary. What an idiot. She had no idea why he was so caught up over this simple request. What was he putting in that book that was so important? 

“Where is it?” she growled again. “I don’t like to repeat myself. Say it.”

Before he could form a clever reply, or even an apology, the air was pushed from his lungs. She shoved him backwards until he fell off the chair. It collapsed along with him, shrieking against the floor. He lay just a few inches away from that fallen comrade, chest still heaving from the blow, legs sprawled. 

“Wh—wait, Heather—“ As if on instinct, his arms came up in front of his face. “The drug. The, uh, opioid. It’s worn off.”

“That’s even better.” She began to roll her sleeves up. “Pain is a great motivator."

He coiled inwards, as a pillbug does when touched. “Stop. I’ll tell you. It’s—I hid it under the mattress, okay?”

Her sleeves fell back down. “The mattress? Why?”

“…So you wouldn’t find it?” 

“Why would that be a problem? Why are you hiding things from me?”

A puzzled look crossed his face. He lifted an arm away, just enough to stare up at her with a single eye. 

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t the most trustworthy person in this scenario. Maybe someone who was being held captive had reason to lie. But not over a fucking notebook! If Jackie was dishonest about something as small as that, if he couldn’t be trusted to comply over the tiniest things, how would she ever get these experiments to run smoothly? A large part of her findings were based on his word, at the end of the day. This would be an issue. One she had to correct.

Once she reached his bed, she lifted his mattress up and away from the frame, leaving it leaning against the wall. There was, indeed, the notebook, along with a shard of shattered plate and a pair of scissors.

“What,” she began to say as she swiveled around to him, “is this?”

He didn’t say a word. The answer was clear, however. Heather could put two and two together. Scissor blades and sharp edges were better weapons than a table leg could ever be.

She picked the scissors up, gingerly, like it was a dead rat. “Where did you even get these from?”

“You dropped them. Don’t remember exactly when. Recently.”

“I assume you weren’t planning to make arts and crafts.” She gathered the rest of the items, dropped them into her bag. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” 

“Yes.”

She turned to him. A blank expression painted over his stare. Not steeled, not defiant. Not scared. Blank. Waiting, watching. An animal in the tall grass.

She spoke, at last. “You won’t like what happens next.”

 “I guess not.”

“Stay there. Don’t move.”

When she fetched the syringe from her bag, sure enough, he hadn’t moved from the floor. His gaze followed the needle warily. He sat up as she approached, cautious and slow.

The problem with the selective paralyzing agent was that it just wasn’t selective enough. She managed to restrict the majority of the effects to the limbs, but it took a toll on all muscles from the shoulders down. Unfortunately, the heart was a muscle. It wasn’t enough to kill the subject—in small doses, at least—but they didn’t stay awake for long. If Heather wanted to put rats to sleep, she’d give them Nyquil. There wasn’t any point unless the subject was conscious.

Now, as far as Heather knew, Jackie’s heart would not falter easily. His body would stay awake for as long as possible. Perhaps an unpleasant experience for himself, but convenient for her. She pushed his sleeve up and placed the needle above the side of his shoulder.

“Am I getting a flu shot?” Jackie didn’t recoil or flinch, but he didn’t sound happy. “Morphine? What is this?”

“We’ll see.” She injected the agent. The needle pushed past the skin. The fluid drained. Jackie blinked. 

At first, nothing happened. Nothing happened for several minutes. The serum would need to travel the bloodstream first, to reach the spine and disable all the attached nerves. 

Then, Jackie blinked again. He remained silent, but his expression said it all.

“Move your hand for me, please,” Heather said.

“I can’t.” 

“Your legs?”

“What did you do to me?“ 

There was such an abject look of horror on him that Heather felt a little guilty. The concept did have something unnerving to it. Perhaps this was a step too far. Then again, it was only temporary. Probably. If all else failed, she could always light him on fire again. 

“It’s a paralytic.” She put the used needle into a plastic bag, then placed that into her bookbag. “Are you going to apologize now?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. Make it stop.” The corners of his mouth went tense. “Please.”

“I can’t just make it stop. You’re going to have to wait.”

“How long?” 

“I guess we’ll find out.”

That answer did not make him look any happier. Heather didn’t want to sit there and wait for it to wear off either—there were better things to waste an afternoon on—but she needed these results. Drugs weren’t easy to procure, so she’d rather get it right the first time and be done with it.

“Well, then.” She stood up. “I can’t leave you on the floor, so—“

“No. Absolutely not. Don’t touch me.” Those fighting words were betrayed by his petrified expression.

“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” She placed her arms around him. 

He made a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat. “Please don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Christ above, can you go five minutes without apologizing?” She let go. “You need to have more confidence in yourself, you know. Nobody is going to respect you unless you respect yourself. Do you think Albert Einstein went around using sorry as punctuation? Do you think Winston Churchill apologized to the Luftwaffe?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want to be Winston Churchill.” 

“That was just an example. My point is, you’re going to be fine.”

“If you even come close to me—“

“What? You’ll annoy me to death?”

“I’ll—I’ll bite you!” 

Heather had no reply for this other than an exasperated exhale. Once again, she placed her hands around his waist. He did not bite her, in fact. Wasn’t that much of an idiot. He did not whimper again, or say anything at all, but the bitter bile in his glare was response enough. 

She continued anyway. It wasn’t hard to pick him up—he was a scrawny thing, and she was in good shape—so there he remained, in her arms, as limp as a kitten held by the scruff. It was a sort of bridal carry, however ungraceful it seemed to Heather: an arm to hold up his legs, and an arm to support his back, until she was sure he would not fall.

A sharp intake of breath filled his chest. His heart thumped in irregular spasms, the only part of his body that betrayed life. A slight shiver passed over his dead weight. She did not blame him. He had lost all autonomy, even the freedom of movement. The complete erosion of self. But, she had to admit, it was nice to have him docile for once.

There was no point in dragging the affair out. Heather propped him up on the bed. She shifted his arms to a more comfortable position, then stepped away. 

“See?” She met his unending glare with a similar expression. “Was that so bad?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately. 

“Oh? Is that all you have to say?” Heather was uncertain from where this anger originated. He had the right to an opinion, the ability to dislike her. It bubbled up all the same, bringing a sour taste to her tongue. “I could do anything to you right now, you know.”

“Okay? What else is new?” 

“You insufferable little—“

“Alright, miss Annie Wilkes.” He rolled his eyes. “I get it. You’re so big and scary. Gonna blow my house down with a huff and a puff. Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“No. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead and bring out the blowtorch. I’m waiting. Clock’s ticking. Not that I have a clock, ‘cause you won’t give me one.”

“You don’t deserve a clock.” She brought out the notebook. “You aren’t getting this back either, by the way.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?"

She opened it to the first page. "Let's find out, shall we?"

"What do you mean, find out?" He watched with wary eyes as she sat beside him on the bed. Before his helpless sight, she bent that book open to its vulnerable manilla-white insides, a vivisection of stationery and binding-stitches, a dissection of wood pulp and ink. 

"Stop,” he snapped. “Don’t look at that. It’s my private—hey! Are you even listening to me?”

Heather ignored him and angled the first page to the light. It was empty except for a small drawing. A furry, fluffy body, conveyed by a few light strokes. Four legs. A tail. Two pointed, angled ears. Whiskers. Hungry, slitted pupils. The hint of fangs poking out from a wry mouth. It was a cat. 

Okay, that was only the first page. She’d find something worth hiding on page five or ten, Heather was sure. Something that would justify this whole setup, as well as whatever she decided to do with him afterwards.

Page two. Another cat. Curled up, wide eyes replaced by two curved lines, caught in a gentle expression of deep sleep. The lines of ink were distorted by a few small circles, where water—or tears, perhaps—had fallen and dried.

Well. On to the next page.

Page three, a cat running. Page four, a cat sitting on its haunches. Page five, an attempt at a dog scratched out beside a cat ready to pounce. Page six came and went, featuring yet another cat. The edge of the paper was smudged with an ink-stain.

She paused her perusing to glance at him.

“Hm?” Jackie glanced back. He had given up on his complaints. His voice found a lower volume to slope on, his lips in a lenient line rather than a snarl.

“What is with the cats?” 

“I like cats. And they’re the only thing I know how to draw.”

She continued. Seven, eight, nine, ten. At long last, what lay on page eleven was not a cat. Rather, it was a drawing of a girl. A girl with straight bangs, a freckled face hatched in with dark skin, and a gaze that held all the sweet softness of a dead porcupine. 

Heather brought the drawing up to Jackie. “Is this supposed to be me?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes were averted from hers, as if by an opposing magnetic force. His entire face, actually, was tilted slightly up and away. 

“Is it? I mean—“  She faced the paper again. “You got the freckles right, at least.” It wasn’t too bad of a sketch, as far as portraits went. Secretly, Heather thought he was better at drawing cats, but he managed to capture something lifelike in those rough lines. He got the soul down, if not the exact shape of her lips and jaw.

“What else am I supposed to draw? You’re the only person I’ve seen in—“ His voice hitched a bit. “In a long time, actually. How long have I been here?”

A good question, but one that Heather wasn’t obligated to answer. With page twelve, his artistic renditions returned to their usual feline forms. Page thirteen, a cat lounging in the sun. Fourteen, a lanky kitten in the motion of a step. Fifteen, a comically long cat. Sixteen, a cat biting into its kill. Page seventeen, however, was missing. 

The jagged corners of the torn paper were distorted, as if once wet. It wasn’t an even cut. There was no shape or pattern to it, and no apparent purpose.

Heather brushed her finger along the jagged edge. “Rats got to it first?” 

“I did, actually.” The reply was so quiet as to be nearly inaudible. “I was hungry. Paper doesn’t taste that bad.”

Recoiling, Heather dropped the notebook. “Excuse me?”

His shame was palpable. It burned straight through his face, flushed his skin, suffocated his voice to the dullest murmur. “I don’t know. You wanted me to be honest. There you go.”

“Is this your way of asking for food, or do you just… eat paper?”

“I don’t just eat paper. It was a last resort.” He paused, giving his haughty stare time to sink in. “Yes, I want food. You haven’t given me anything for a week.”

She glanced down at the notebook, now sprawled on the floor, pages bent and twisted. “It’s only been a few days.”

“It felt like a week,” he shot back. “How was I supposed to know, anyway? You didn’t give me a calendar. There’s no windows down here.”

“You don’t need a calendar. Or a window. It would give you ideas.”

“Do you honestly believe I’ll ever want to stay here?” This was a genuine question, or it sounded genuine, at least. “That I’ll forget my home? My entire life?”

The silence went thick, as Heather floundered for an answer. She had her convictions, of course, but there were no words to express it.

People did forget their homes, she wanted to tell him. People could be made to forget anything. Memory was not the most steadfast thing. Animals could be domesticated. What were people, if not just clever animals? 

There were worse tortures than sitting in a basement and suffering through various drugs. If she wanted to, or had the guts to, she could break him for good. She could make him happy with that cold, empty life. There were fates worse than death. Fates worse than being bored and alone. There were horrors worse than a few cuts and a couple mean words. If only he had the foresight to keep his mouth shut. If only he realized the depth of her kindness. Really, he ought to be thankful for her lenience. 

But Heather doubted he could grasp anything as subtle as that. She instead asked, “Do you like chocolate cake?”

He nodded, somewhat surprised. “How did you know?”

“That’s what you put on the…” She gestured with a few dismissive waves of her hand. “On that list. Chocolate cake. There’s leftovers in my fridge. I could bring you some.”

“Oh. I want cake, yeah.”

“Oh?” she echoed, sweet as raw honey. “What’s the magic word?”

The conflict in his face was visible, seen in the slight clenching of the jaw, but hunger won over. Who was he trying to fool? Hunger always won. “Please.”

“I was kidding.” Heather sat up from the bed with a small, satisfied smile. “But it was nice to hear you say it. Hang in there.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

A moment later, she returned with the plate. The cake slumped over the surface, decadent black on white, frosting dripping all over with drunk grandeur, and a fork next to it. It was certainly not fresh, and the flavor was too sugary for her tastes, but Jackie didn’t seem to care.

His eyes flicked to the plate, which she placed on the nightstand, then back up to her. “Thanks. I’ll eat it when your drug wears off.”

“It hasn’t worn off yet?” She sat back down on the bed with a heavy sigh. Her posture slumped so that she was almost laying down.

“No, it hasn’t.”

“Why were you so upset over that notebook, by the way? It’s just a bunch of drawings. Nothing to get embarrassed about.”

“I like my privacy.”

“That’s fair.” With the back of her hand, she suppressed a yawn. “Did you draw a lot, before all this? When you didn’t live here?”

“Why do you care?”

Her fingers curled inwards with a hint of contempt, still hovering above her lips. “Would you rather sit here in silence?”

“Yes.”

She shifted upright. “Fine.”

There they both waited, not speaking at all. The late-night hush was as eerie as it was strained. 

Heather had no idea what to do. Jackie cleared his throat once or twice. It was like a staring contest nobody would ever win. She couldn’t break eye contact if it killed her. And Jackie had a weird way of staring. There was a lightning-bright depth to it, an uncomfortable brilliance. She just couldn’t bring herself to glance away.

Her posture grew tense, like she could throw a punch at any moment. She wouldn’t, obviously. That would look stupid. So she waited. For what, exactly? Who the hell knew. Not Heather. Neither did Jackie, from the looks of it. He’d break out in a sweat if this went on for a minute longer.

The silence got to him first. “So.”

“So.”

“Should we play I Spy?” 

“I spy an irritating little insect who doesn’t know how to shut up.”

"That’s easy. Is it my copy of Oliver Twist?" He grinned. "I did read it, by the way. Had nothing else to do. Did you know he also gets kidnapped? He's just like me! Only... younger. And British."

"Very funny, Jackie.” She, on the other hand, scowled. “You should go into stand-up."

“I know. I’m hilarious. We could do a double act, y’know, move to Vegas and get a thing going. We would definitely rake in some cash.”

She stifled a smile by biting the inside of her lip. Heather couldn’t trust herself to reply seriously. While Jackie might have found this funny, she wasn’t done being pissed off. Once more, the atmosphere lapsed into a valley of tension.

Then, Jackie started.

Heather assumed that he lost his nerve before she noticed the movement of his wrist. He shook it out, then his other wrist, and then shifted his legs. As soon as the motion returned in his body, he stumbled off the bed. 

“Finally. Fucking hell.” He walked a few paces around the room. “That was horrible. Never do it again.”

A quick glance at her watch proved that it was nearly midnight. “Four hours.” 

“Four hours? That felt like ten, at least.” He circled one more lap before stopping a safe distance in front of Heather. “Are you leaving now?”

Petty streaks did not die so quickly. “Why should I?”

“Suit yourself, then. Can you get off my bed?”

Heather decided not to grace him with a reply. She sat up and walked to the writing desk. With her arms crossed, she waited. 

Seeing this, Jackie climbed under the covers. “Can you turn the lights out?”

“Turn them out yourself.”

“But you’re already up!” The protest was muffled against his pillow. 

“So?”

“Fine. I’ll sleep with the lights on.” He nestled deeper into the fabric. “You’re the one paying the electricity bill.”

That annoying little cockroach. He made a good point. Heather walked over to the lightswitch and flicked it out. 

The huddled shadow of Jackie spoke. “Good night.”

"Good night, Jack." 

Silence was the only reply. He had already fallen asleep.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

≽^•⩊•^≼

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Smile Time

When Silver (my oc) first met Alison.

-

Muffled voices surround her as she begins to come to. Stirring, groggy, she stretches out her arms, then rubs at her eyes as she sits herself up.

"Oh...Hi, guys." She says with a hint of surprise.

"There she is!"

"Wakey wakey, rise and shine!"

"Mornies! Oh, eh, evenins, haha!"

All of them. All of her Button House above ground comrades are stood around her bed, all of them giving her a rather over the top cheery greeting. Even Fanny and Cap had smiles on their faces. It was rather disturbing.

This was a first. Typically, it would just be Robin, Mary or sometimes Kitty there to see her wake.

"What's all this for?" She asked, moving to sit on a nearby fallen log. It wasn't her birthday or anything...as far as she could remember.

Fanny scoffed; "Well of course we simply all came to greet our dear forest dwelling young friend!'"

"Exactly! Tell us what you've been dreaming about!" Julian said.

Okay, that was enough of a tell.

She crossed her arms; "You guys never want to hear that. What do you want?"

"Eh, she sees right through us." The Tory shrugged, giving up.

Of course, they wouldn't all be here to greet her on a random full moon in July simply to hang out. Silver looked to her closest cohorts.

"Well?" She fixed her gaze on Mary, who looked as sheepish as the rest of them.

"Darling girl, we's just alls has a teensy tiny favor to ask of thee? If you be willing, tha' is."

A favour? What was it she could do for them?

Captain moved to crouch before her. The snapping in the air made Silver wonder at first if he'd managed to step on several twigs.

"Much has changed since you were last awake, Silver." He began.

"Lady Heather passed away." Kitty cut in, somberly; "We were all with her and she was tucked up in bed. It was very peaceful and we saw her go."

"Aww! Bless her, so close to her 100th." There's barely a sting of grief at the news. She hadn't spent as much time with Heather as the others and the old woman provided little entertainment, other than watching TV and reading surprisingly gruesome thriller novels.

Still, Silver tapped her pentacle and prayed to Persephone that she was somewhere nice, wherever they all went went they passed on.

"Yes, yes, all very sad, but we have more pressing matters to focus on now!" Cap waved off, adding urgency to his tone, "The house has come under new ownership by the ones who've inherited the estate."

"I thought there were no more Buttons?" Silver frowned.

"Oh don't worry. She's no Button!" Fanny tutted, dismissively; "No, no, she's a ghastly, rude, common harlot who exposes her knees and has ruined her skin with tattoos and piercings..."

Silver merely stared at her, dead eyed, her own feather earring, nose stud, belly button gem and lightning bolt tattoo as clear as day.

The grey lady cleared her throat.

"Yes, well, you get the idea."

"I like them! Well, mostly her." Kitty chimed in, "She's funny and clever and charming! And even though she was reluctant at first, I do feel like she and I are starting to become friends! She even agreed to a sleepover with me in only eight months time!'

"Wait...What do you mean she agreed?"

"Oh, right, we should have mentioned that first." Pat spoke up, "Yeah, she can see us."

"And speak to us, with her melodic voice." Thomas said, clearly besotted.

Silver got to her feet.

"What?! H-how?!"

"Julian push Kim Wilde out window." Answered Robin blandly.

"ALISON!" Everyone corrected.

"What I say?"

Silver was more struck by the first bit of that sentence. She turned her gaze on the Tory looking something close to guilty for once.

"You pushed her out of a window?!"

"Be-be-be, hold your horses! It isn't how it sounds!" He tried to weasle his way out.

"It's exactly how it sounds." Fanny groaned.

At least by the looks they were all giving him, Silver could see that most of them had given the seedy git enough grief for this.

"So this woman...Alison? She didn't die, I take it?"

"No, which means it's not murder! So you can all stop judging me, thank you!"

Silver shook her head. Just when she thought a Thatcherite couldn't sink any lower.

"She didn't die...but she can see ghosts? ....She can see us?" The realisation struck rather deep in Silver, not thinking such a thing was possible. Not beyond the odd glimpse or blurry photo. "And she's met you all?"

They each nodded.

"...And she still wants to stay? Wow." Silver smirked, "Well isn't that cool?"

"No, young lady, it is not 'cool'!" Cap berated before either Pat, Kitty or Thomas could agree, "Because the new Lady Button has no intention of making the house a family home."

"They wants to transforms it to an inn!" Said Mary.

"Hotel. They want to turn it into a hotel." Julian clarified.

Silver just hummed and nodded. A hotel sounded like a good fit for house with that many rooms. She often wondered why Heather didn't sell it to become something like that so she could downsize.

"Sounds like a good idea."

"NO!" They all shouted in unison, Robin's bark at her right especially making her jump.

"Julian has informed us in great detail what living in a hotel will mean." Fanny stated.

"No more free beds, people rushing about this and that, every room taken up by people getting up to all sorts behind locked doors...Actually, I think I just talked myself into being fine with it." The Tory mused.

"We likes things as they be. Nice and quiet, darling girl, where I donts have to fears those rushin' through me and intakin' all the plumes." Mary shuddered.

That started to sway her a little, seeing the older woman be fearful at the thought. She could sympathise with the idea of having too many people around all the time making one feel unwelcome in their own home, never able to get a moment of peace.

"I take it you've told this Alison how you feel about the hotel thing?" She asked.

"Yes, but she remains unsympathetic. Or as she expressed to me, 'tough shit'." Thomas lamented.

"All they're interested in is making money, they care nothing for us or the history of the house or keeping it a family home!" Fanny looked ready to swoon at how appalled she was.

"We even tried our fair share of 'haunting' before Julian's little trick. Went about as well as you could expect." Pat said, morsoely.

Silver sniggered. She would have loved to have seen that. These lot made Casper look terrifying.

"But this is where you come in, Silver!" Said Cap with enthusiasm.

"Ah, yeah? I was waiting for that."

"You see, Alison is no longer scared of us as she's accepted our existence."

"She barely even jump when go 'Boo!'" Robin moped.

"But you, she's still unaware of!" Cap said with a point of his stick; "You're our secret weapon."

"And you expect me to....what?" She shrugged, "I don't have any gifts like Robin or Julian. No one can see me or smell me." They'd done enough tests with Heather and the odd guest she had around. No reaction, even at her most high pitched singing.

"Ah! But being seen is already taken care of. And what you do have...is a smile."

She blinked; "A what?"

"Moonah Girl smile big creepy!" Robin confirmed.

Silver frowned and touched her mouth, "You guys don't like my smile?" Great, something else for her to be self-conscious about.

She felt a hand touch her arm as Mary sidled close; "Oh, no, no, darling girl. You has a lovely smile, it doth lights up the whole forest, it do!" She assured, touching her cheek.

"We mean the one you showed us the at Impressions Club, petal. When you did the bit with Norman Bates." Pat clarified.

Her chest lifted as her brain clicked to what they were getting at.

"Oh, the Kubrick stare! You mean this?"

Silver took a breath, getting into the zone, centering herself. Then she dipped her chin down, closed her eyes, then ever so slowly lifted her head for the rest of them, eyes opening, her smile stretching wider and wider.

They all shuddered and flinched back, Thomas even letting out a tiny cry, Mary's hands twitching away from her.

"Dear God, I suddenly need to relieve myself." The poet muttered.

"That gives me nightmares and I'm a severed head." Said Humphrey, held at Kitty's side.

"So that's it? You want me to show her that and you think it will be enough to...What? Make her leave?"

"Oh, not leave! We don't want that." The Georgian protested, upset.

"Yes, we dos! She be conversin' with spirits, that doth make her a witch!" Mary argued.

"Uhh?" Silver gave her an offended look.

"Oh no, not a good witch likes you, my little'en!" The woman quickly retreated, leaning in to wrap her arms around Silver's shoulders.

Good, because she'd hoped that they were long since past that after all these years.

"We merely want you to attempt to get her to change her mind about the hotel." Explained Cap.

"It would be a spectacular performance!" Said Thomas.

Now that piqued her interest.

"Performance, you say?"

"Ooh, yes. Moonah Girl get to be big bad villain! They always best fun, yes?" Robin nudged her side.

"You'd be a fantastic Wicked Witch of the West! Not to say you're ugly at all, but she's the one everyone remembers most!" Encouraged Kitty.

That was true. At drama club, she had always auditioned for the villain roles. They allowed for the most over the top expressions.

Silver tapped her chin, "Hmm. Any other way you could ask me....Pat?"

"Ah!" The scout master stepped forward; "Help us, Silver Ravenstar, you're our only hope!"

"Nice!" She grinned, her geeky itch scratched, "But seriously, what do I get in return?"

"One of my own personally written sonnets!" Thomas offered.

"Nope. Anything else?"

"First go at every Music Club for six months!" Pat threw in.

"Make it a year."

"Done!"

The Pagan clapped her hands; "Right then. Let's go put on a show for this Alison chick. Thomas, wanna help me warm up?"

He held up his palm; "Dear Silver, I'm afraid my heart now belongs entirety to the fair Lady Alison-."

"I meant acting!" Plonker.

"Oh. Yes, all right."

-

It was depressing how the red bills were beginning to outnumber the normal bills. Alison chucked the envelopes into the drawer which was quickly becoming full. Too late in the evening to be dealing with that.

What had she gotten herself into? How had this seemed so easy to her three weeks ago? Had she any idea what her life would be now, she'd go back in time to that moment in her solicitor's office and told him 'Sell! Sell! Sell!'

Now she has a boat load of debt, a run down house with dodgy drains she can't afford to fix, oh best of all, a bunch of mad dead people making her life even more of a misery. The cramped flat across from Buddy's Fish and Pizza was looking more and more appealing.

Though, speaking of the ghosts, they had been oddly quiet this evening. She'd even managed a trip to the kitchen to make a cup of tea without Captain Caveprick jumping out from some hidden corner to scare the daylights out of her. And then she'd seen them all go off for an evening stroll to the woods...

Would they be lucky enough to get just one night of peace? Mike had driven into town to pick up a Chinese. Alison preferred not to be left alone in this place for too long but Mike was more freaked out at the prospect than she was.

Just as she's walking towards her bedroom to throw some pyjamas on, she hears a noise.

"Hehehe....Hehehe..."

Alison sighs; "Kitty, is that you? You know I don't like you sneaking up on me."

She turned around. No one there. An empty hallway.

"Hehehe..."

The laugh didn't quite sound like Kitty's. Higher pitched. A little sinister. Could it be Mary? She sniffed, unable to pick up any burning smell.

"Hellooooo..."

Every hair on Alison's neck stood up.

"Are you the...plague girl? Jemima, was it?" She rubs her arm, reminding herself that she would only be a kid. Harmless, "Do you...wanna play a game?"

"Oh yes! Please play with me....Alison! Hehehe!"

Turning on her heel, Alison gasped at the figure stood at the end of the hall. Bigger than a kid, barely an adult, she couldn't be sure.

A girl. Short black hair and alternative style clothes.

"...We've not met before, have we? Where have you been hiding?" She tries to stay casual. They're just people. Annoying, dead people. Nothing to be scared of.

The girl took a step forward, her head bent slightly forward.

"In my field of paper flowers and candy clouds of lullaby," She began to recite, dreamily, "I lie inside myself for hours and watch my purple sky fly over me...Hehehe!"

Alison shivered, though there was something about that verse which sounded oddly familiar.

"Well you're a better poet than Thomas." She complimented. "But how about instead of lingering in the shadows, you come chat like a normal....ghost?"

"Hehehe...What made you think I'm normal?"

The girl raised her eyes as she took a step forward. Moonlight from the window was cast over her face, unnaturally blue eyes glinting, a smile slowly spreading across a pale face.

Alison felt as though someone had dripped ice cold water down her back. Jesus Christ...

"Well. None of you are normal, I know that would be too much to ask!" Alison threw her hands up. "Is this something for my benefit or is it a twenty four seven thing for you?"

"Hehehe...You still think I'm the same as the others?" She asked with a tilt of her head.

Alison gulped; "Aren't you?"

"Oh...we're going to have so much fun..."

The girl dashed through the door on her right, faster than the Duracel bunny. Unsettled, Alison quickly opened the door to find it empty.

Shit, shit, shit...

She stepped back into the hall and looked up and down.

Where the hell had-?

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

The cackle exploding behind her ear made her jump out of her skin and run down the hallway. Sod this, sod this!

As she made her way swiftly down the stairs, the other ghosts were coming in from the foyer.

"Alison! Is everything all right?" Asked Pat.

"What are you all up to now?! I thought we'd called a truce!" She panted.

"What on Earth do you mean?" Fanny looked baffled.

"The creepy giggling girl who just cornered me upstairs! Who is she?!"

They all exchanged weary looks.

"Oh dear, everyone. She's met the Witch Ghost." Tutted Julian.

"The...The what?" A Witch Ghost??

"Our apologies, Alison. We should have told you earlier. This is the reason we prefer to exit the house on a full moon or make sure we stay together." Explained Cap.

"Hmm. Need to be ware of potty ghost." Said Robin.

"Poltergeist!" Corrected Thomas.

"That what I said!"

Alison shook her head. First a witch ghost and now a poltergeist? What was happening?

"What exactly is a poltergeist? How's she different from you lot?" She asked.

"They be more than spirits of the unliving, Al'son." Informed Mary, twiddling her fingers together; "A poltergeist be formed of anger and vengeance most foul."

"This particular poor soul was once just a young girl who lost her life in the woods nearly twenty years past." Thomas explained in typical storyteller fashion; "T'is said she was but an outcast. Scorned and misunderstood by the world. And upon her death, on a moonlit night, her risen spirit became tainted by all the darkness held within her tortured heart. And now, each month on a full moon, she wakes to torment those who displease her."

"But she be a good girl in troth." Added Mary.

The others all glared at her.

"Uh, I means, good for her Lord Satan, she be."

Alison narrowed her eyes. More than a few holes were beginning to appear in this little web they were weaving for her.

"And I've displeased her, have I?" She asked.

"Well, to put it bluntly, we've not seen her appear to haunt anyone in many years now." Fanny said, nonchalant, "It is telling that she comes back after you turn up...but I wouldn't take it personally."

Right.

"Well, could you all kindly explain to her, as I did to all of you, that I have no choice but to stay here thanks to my idiot husband?" She said, crossing her arms.

Cap cleared his throat; "I don't think it's you she has an issue with. But rather your plans to disrupt the harmony of our house and-."

"Turn it into a hotel?"

A scream suddenly shook the entire West Wing.

"Yes, that seems rather conclusive to me, what do you all think?" Asked Cap, to which everyone else nodded and conveyed their agreement.

Alison pinched the bridge of her nose. These lot really were a piece of work.

"Fine! She wins!" She waved her hands and turned on them to head back up the stairs. "You all win!"

Mumbles of confusion rippled behind her as she made her way back to her room.

"Hope they didn't realise I was lying through my teeth. Stupid, interfering dead people." She muttered aloud, purposefully.

As she entered her room, the silhouette of the girl was stood back at the window. Lightning flashed behind her and Alison wondered if the caveman had something to do with it.

"Hehehehe, naughty naughty! You think you had them allll foooooled, hehehe."

"Well obviously, I have to keep them sweet. Just until tomorrow, when I burn the house to the ground and collect the insurance."

"What? Uh, I mean...." the girl's voice dropped several decibels before she checked herself; "That would be very unwise, hehehe!"

"Eh, what good is wisdom nowadays. You can keep trying to haunt me if you want, I'm gonna put some music on. What's your poison?" Alison picked up her phone and began flicking through her Spotify.

The 'witch ghost' began to march toward her, furiously.

"The only poison will be what chokes you on the morning li-."

Alison pressed play.

Don't cry to me,

If you loved me,

You would be here with me...

The girl froze. Her monstrous snarl softened within seconds to that of a lost child as she stared at Alison's phone screen. Without the creepy grin, it struck her how young this ghost was. Just a kid.

Alison smiled; "This your sorta thing?"

"I...I know that voice...Is that...?"

"Evanescence? The verse you quoted earlier was from them, yeah? You were a fan?"

She nodded her head, feather earing dangling beside her jaw flapping.

"I...I never heard this song..." the psychotic lilt to her voice was gone, revealing a south eastern accent.

"Uh, let's see? What year did you die?"

"2004."

"Ah, this is from their second album." Alison read from the description, "2006."

"They...They brought out another album?!" The girl's blue eyes sparkled, her lips parted, as if Alison had just handed her a winning lottery ticket.

Amazing how easy these ghosts were to please.

"Hmm, quite a few songs, I imagine. But as you've made me decide to leave, 'not sure if one night will be enough to-."

"No, no, they don't want you to leave!" The girl said, her tone now innocent. Pleading.

Alison tilted her head; "They?"

"I mean...We. I. Uhm..." She blushed, stepping back and fiddling with the black velvet coverings on her hand.

Pressing pause on the app for now, Alison sat on the edge of her bed.

"How about we start over? Hi. I'm Alison. And you are?"

-

"Right! So, before you retire for the evening, we'd just like to confirm that..." Captain's voice died as he entered and set his eyes on the sofa in Alison and Mike's room, facing their tv; "What the bally hell is this?"

Silver looked up and over her shoulder, the group all stood in the threshold. The glow of the screen flickered against her pale face.

"Guys! Remember those Lord of the Rings movies I told you about? They now have Extended Editions! Extended!" The teen was bouncing in her seat, Alison grinning victorious beside her.

Mary poked her head in, concerned.

"Darling girl, dids thou make a bargains with her to stop the hotel?"

"Stop the what now?" Silver was barely listening, her concentration fully on watching the extra scenes of the Shire.

Everyone groaned behind her.

"Moonah Girl have one job!" Robin complained.

"I tolds you, she doth even bewitch my little'en." Mary clicked her tongue.

"Can I come join?" Asked Kitty, while the others all sulked away.

Silver shifted and patted a spot for the Georgian to come sit next to her on the sofa.

"Well, this is gonna be the strangest girls night I've ever had." Alison settled back against the pillows, next to a dead girl from the 1700s and a dead girl born in the same era as she was and yet ten years younger still, to watch a three and a half hour fantasy movie.

"It's the only one I've ever had." Added Silver. "Craziness aside, we're not so bad, are we?"

Evanescence had certainly broken the ice. Followed by Silver sharing about how she died and the strange conditions of her afterlife, then onto what the others had talked her into regarding this hotel business. But in the end, the matter was out of Silver's- and all of their - hands. Alison wasn't planning on going anywhere, and if she intended to run the hotel herself, then better to have the devil on their side, right?

And same as all the others, she was weak to the offers of modern technology that having a Living to communicate with could provide. She was only human after all.

Alison sighed; "I guess you ain't that bad. For a poltergeist."

Silver giggled.

[seventeen02]

favorite movies !

say you love me

a moment of romance

in blow

scarface

life is beautiful

death in venice

purple noon

mr and mrs smith

hackers

leon

girl interrupted

in the mood for love

days being wild

fallen angel

the beautiful person

the apartment

fuyajo

the black swan

the godfather 2

my own private idaho

two lovers under one roof

the scent of green papaya

vertical ray of the sun

stealing beauty

teorema

call me by your name

bonnie and clyde

fight club

kill bill

city of the rising sun

wheels of ashes

fruit of paradise

floating clouds

ghosts

inception

x movie

ley lines

the brown bunny

american psycho

platonic sex

last night in soho

emma

pride and prejudice

red lights

the dreamers

the wind rises

closer

six in paris

mermaids

garden state

on the occasion of remembering the turning gate

the doom generation

the girl on the motorcycle

open house

the place without limits

ratatouille

twin peaks

before sunrise

malèna

possession

all about lily chou chou

bride for rip van winkle

the lover

amelie

rebels of the neon god

as tears go by

a moment to remember

the hot spot

less than zero

edward scissorhands

eyes wide shut

un homme et une femme

the story of adele h

the last mistress

billboard dad

metropolitan

the pillow book

singles

la la land

mirrored mind

fatal frame

and then we danced

dear ex

tune in for love

one fine spring day

reality bites

running on empty

millennium mambo

lost and found

who's the woman, who's the man

mulholland drive

Jess + Moss

swallowtail butterfly

dorian gray

durian durian

hana & alice

40 days and 40 nights

l'amour braque

picnic

to each is own

guilty of romance

vagabond

city of madness

three times

mary is happy mary is happy

comet

sleepless town

like someone in love

hausu

house

46 okunen no koi

2046

l'enfer

cloud atlas

old boy

mystery train

the odd one dies

kedi

l'amour l'apres-midi

fire on the black hand side

le bonheur

fantastic planet

mirror

belladonna of sadness

daisies

lost highway

sweet movie

pearl

heathers

moulin rouge

suspiria

the rich man's wife

requiem for a dream

the others

return of the living dead

dracula

interview with the vampire

wir kinder vom bahnof zoo

le mepris

chi-n-pi-ra

chungking express

ashes and snow

shuttering island

the grand budapest hotel

the young girls of rochefort

the florida project

the edge of love

irreversible

crash

gone girl

bullet ballet

of love and shadows

minari

galaxy express 999

audition

lan yu

silsila

belle de jour

taal

dead or alive

videodrama

lost in translation

washington square

soulmate

summer lovers

barbarella

snake of june

a woman under the influence

mysterious skin

red eye

happy together

the walk

brick

l.a. confidental

love & pop

linda linda linda

swing girls

nana

the lover

hirugao

helter sketler

suzhou river

kaili blues

kamikaze girls

valerie and her week of wonders

comrades, almost a love story

naked lunch

endless love

whiplash

taxi driver

vivre sa vie

la collectionneuse

dog day afternoon

night in paradise

my mister

my name

better days

himizu

first love, letter on the breeze

split of the spirit

one million yen girl

juncchi mori

la belle

ITSAY

mermaid legend

blue spring

badlands

marie antoinette

aftersun

brokeback mountain

portrait of lady on fire

nostos: the return

shiki-jitsu

farewell my concubine

constantine

never let me go

bones and all

paris is burning

trouble everyday

memories of matsuko

pierrot le feu

taipei story

blue velvet

a woman is a woman

buffalo 66

the love witch

valley of dolls

the rocky horror picture show

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 10, Number 6, Part I

Infinite River

We’re halfway through the year and swamped with mid-year activities (look for our round-up next week), but the records continue to pile-up and we continue to make time for as many as possible.  This month, the slush pile yielded a wide range of music, from Burkina-Faso-ian griot to microtonal composition to snarling black metal to improvisation and jazz. 

Our reviews are split in two parts because of Tumblr's arbitrary limits on sound samples. See Part II here. Contributions included Jennifer Kelly, Bryon Hayes, Andrew Forell, Christian Carey, Jonathan Shaw, Bill Meyer, Jim Marks, Justin Cober-Lake and Alex Johnson.  Happy summer!

Avalanche Kaito — Talitakum (Glitterbeat)

Another of those cross-cultural, Afro-European collaborations that are so often great—see recent works by Chouk Bwa & The Ångströmers, Ndox Electrique and Group Doueh/Cheveux—Avalanche Kaito sets Burkina Faso griot to a rattling, pummeling noise punk beat.  I like “Lago” best, where a clatter of mixed percussion and serrated, distortion crusted guitar dart in and around a keening call and response.  Near the end of a recent long-distance drive, I listened to it 14 times in a row without wearing it out.  Still the title track is fantastic as well, its guitars stabbing in like Fugazi, its drums boxy and agitated, its spatter-painted words dicing the beat into eighths and sixteenths.  The “Kaito” in the band name comes from grioteer Kaito Winse.  The Avalanche comes from the falling-down-the-stairs-but-still-on-beat mix of strident punk and West African syncopation.

Jennifer Kelly  

Ayal Senior — Ora (Medusa Editions)

Toronto’s 12-string warrior Ayal Senior workshopped the songs that became Ora at a monthly residency he has at the Tranzac Club, a haven for the city’s most adventurous musical minds. His comrades Kurt Newman (pedal steel, electric guitar) and Andrew Furlong (bass) joined him on the journey, and together they slowly worked the sonic skeletons into fleshy bodies of song. The trio brought scene veterans Blake Howard and Jay Anderson on board to add drums and percussion when they laid the sounds to tape. Their flourishing rhythms complete the image: five beams of light passing through the prism of Senior’s celestial vision. The guitarist bills Ora as the spiritual successor to 2022’s Az Yashir, yet while that record embraced a post-COVID sea change, Ora is bathed in the light of tranquility. Senior’s folk devotionals draw warmth from the presence of his pals, taking on raga and kosmische adornments as they languidly unfurl. These hymns are beauty incarnate, guitar-centric mantras in service of the cosmic mystery that surrounds us all.

Bryon Hayes

Beams — Requiem for a Planet (Be My Sibling)

Beams is an alt.country ensemble, playing rock and folk instruments in delicate, otherworldly ways.  The voices especially — Anna Mērnieks-Duffield primarily but fleshed out in harmonies by Heather Mazhar and Keith Hamilton—float in translucent layers, mixing eerily with the meat-and-potatoes sonics of guitar, bass and drums.  As the title suggests, Beams main subject is the earth itself, its fragility, its rising temperature, its trajectory towards unlivability.  Yet though there are lessons here, in songs like “Heat Potential,” Beams steers clear of polemics.  “It’s All Around You,” especially envelopes and enfolds. Its string-swooping, gorgeously harmonized arrangements lift you up and out of the mess we’re in.  “Childlike Empress” with its well-spaced blots of keyboard sound, its ghostly, tremulous singing, is an eerie elegy for the world’s natural beauty.  The album is its own thing, but it might remind you of certain twang-adjacent Feelies side projects, Speed the Plough and Wild Carnation especially. 

Jennifer Kelly

DELTAphase — Synced (Falling Elevators)

Process. DELTAphase founder Wilhelm Stegmeier contacts a disparate group of musicians and provides them with a key, beat, tempo for seven pieces of music and allows them complete stylistic and compositional freedom. Each of 10 musicians contributed to one or more of the seven pieces, without knowing who else was involved. Stegmeier, seeking synchronicities and serendipity, collates and adds to the contributions and collages them within the given parameters. Result. The musicians, Merran Laginestra, Beate Bartel, Thomas Wydler, Brendan Dougherty, Lucia Martinez, Antonio Bravo, Andreas Voss, Eleni Ampelakiotou, Dominik Avenwedde, Kilian Feinäugle and Stegmeier come from classical, jazz, electronic and post rock backgrounds, and the music occupies liminal interstices between and across genres. There’s lots of layered percussion, electronic backgrounds and guitar interplay from the squalling electric duel on “Phase Lock” to Bravo’s jazzy riffing on “One by One” which also features Laginestra’s  impressionistic piano. That combination is a standout on an album that can occasionally meander into cul-de-sacs. Remote collaboration has become a commonplace since the pandemic but the caliber of the musicians here and Stegmeier’s skill in pulling their contributions together make Synced a fascinating exploration of compositional process.

Andrew Forell      

   

Taylor Deupree — Sti.ll  (Greyfade)

A recent microtrend involves making acoustic realizations of electronic compositions, the latest being a new version of Taylor Deupree’s lauded 2002 electroacoustic recording Stil. Sti.ll follows suit, with a reworking for acoustic instruments by Deupree and Joseph Branciforte. The bespoke Greyfade book that accompanies Sti.ll is handsome and contains a QR code to download the digital recording. The acoustic versions can sometimes fool you into thinking that you are listening to the original synth sounds, which is part of the game. “Stil.” is nearly twenty-minutes long, for vibraphone and bass drum. The vibes play both textural passages and, simultaneously, repeating dyadic melodies. The bass drum errs on the side of gentle effects rather than thwacking. Another standout track is “Temper,” for multiple clarinets and a shaker. The composition moves through a series of repeated intervals, descending fourth, ascending minor third, et cetera, with harmonic underpinning from the other clarinets and constant pulsation contributed by the shakers. Hard for clubbing, but these pieces would work quite well in a concert.

Christian Carey

Emma dj — Lay2g (Danse Noire)

Paris based Finnish producer Emma dj has the tendency to get distracted by novelty which interrupts the flow of this set and disrupts individual tracks often enough to leave the listener frustrated. If that’s the point, all well and good, but I suspect it’s not, which makes you wonder if this is all in service of the producer rather than the audience. That’s fine if there’s challenge in the music, which here, there is not. He collides bits and pieces of dance punk, chiptunes, video game soundtrack and the detritus of underground sub-sub genres into a messy mélange — a potluck casserole thrown together for a class reunion no one’s attending. It’s particularly annoying for the moments when, by design or serendipity, Emma produces a dish worth eating like “RR.dnk” for instance that sprays warped synth stabs against cowbell hi-hat, thumping kick drum and a stumbling bass line without succumbing to the over seasoning of vocal samples, jokey blips and burps or overwrought exhortations to dance. With a little more focus and balance, he may well produce something pretty good but this is only halfway there.

Andrew Forell

Incipient Chaos — S/T (I, Voidhanger)

There are times when some listeners just want a record of snarling, muscular black metal — thematics and scannable cultural politics be damned. If that sounds good to you, this new self-titled LP from French band Incipient Chaos rages and rips with all the right sorts of aggressivity. It seems that one takes chances with one’s ethics (if not one’s immortal soul) doing this sort of impulse listening in black metal: Is this NSBM? Does anyone have the skinny on that? Do we need to dig into the various “Is this band sketch” subreddits and descend into that 9th Circle of gossip-mongering and reaction? Lucifer smiles; so does Advance Publications. Is that a distinction without a difference? Meanwhile, we can note that Incipient Chaos has released this record on a politically reliable label, and while it’s unusual not to get a lyric sheet from I, Voidhanger (uh oh…), that may just be typical black metal shtick: the words are obscured because they are sooooo evil. Whatevs. The riffs are strong, if not world-changing, and the compositions have drama, if not overwhelming tragedy. Check out the guitar-centric middle portion of “Ominous Acid,” which is hugely satisfying. The down-tempo opening minutes of “Dragged Back from the Abyss” will remind you of the best of Aosoth. It’s all a lot of…fun?

Jonathan Shaw

Infinite River — Tabula Rasa (Birdman)

First came the space, now comes the rock. Infinite River’s first couple recordings had a definite COVID-era vibe to them. The Detroit-based ensemble started out as a trio, with Joey Mazzola and Gretchen Gonzales playing guitars and Warren Defever contributing tambura and a place to record. But a bliss-oriented drone might make less sense in a time when you can get out and play shows than it did when clubs were shut down and people didn’t want to go out than it does when stages are available and Steve Nistor, who drums for Sparks, is available to join in. Last year, Bryon Hayes invoked  Windy & Carl and Mountains when describing Infinite Rivers’ Prequel; “Sky Diamon Raga,” the track that kicks off Infinite River, is more like an arena rock dream of Chris Forsyth’s “The Paranoid Cat.” Much of the time this record feels rather like the Raybeats negotiating production ideas of the 1990s and 2010s, which means that the guitar tones will have you scratching your head to remember what’s being reference and how it’s been changed, but that the snare drum takes up entirely too much sonic real estate. Tellingly, the best moments come when the production is dialed back and the melodies take over, as on a Ventures-does-Coltrane interpretation of “My Favorite Things.”

Bill Meyer

Will Laut — Will Laut (Wavetrap)

Producer Ivan Pavlov AKA COH has collaborated with John Balance and Cosey Fanni Tutti, and the sounds of Coil and Throbbing Gristle are clear influences on his new EP with singer William Laut. Shot through with the feeling of dancing towards doomsday, Laut’s haunted murmur wavers just on the right side of cynicism and sleaze as he sings of living through hate, looking for the redemption of love or at least an opportunity to forget even for a few moments. COH lays down a minimalist carpet of synths and drum machines that use TG’s  “United” and Daniel Miller’s “Warm Leatherette” as templates. Most effective are the slow burn sarcasm of “Cryptoman” and the weary tango of “Wine of Love.” These are songs Brecht and Weill might have written if they had access to cheap keyboards and a primitive drum machine. Noirish, knowing and smart, the four songs on Will Laut are a speakeasy floorshow for the modern world. Highly recommended and hoping to hear more from this duo.

Andrew Forell

Niels Lyhne Løkkegaard and Quatuor Bozzini — Colliding Bubbles: Surface Tension and Release (Important)

Niels Lyhne Løkkegaard is a composer based in Copenhagen. On his latest EP he joins forces with the premiere Canadian string quartet for new music, Quatuor Bozzini, to create a piece that deals with the perception of bubbles replicating the human experience. In addition to the harmonics played by the strings, the players are required to play harmonicas at the same time. At first blush, this might sound like a gimmick, but the conception of the piece as instability and friction emerging from continuous sound, like bubbles colliding in space and, concurrently, the often tense unpredictability of the human experience, makes these choices instead seem organic and well-considered. As the piece unfolds, the register of the pitch material makes a slow decline from the stratosphere to the ground floor with a simultaneous long decrescendo.  The quartet are masterful musicians, unfazed by the challenge of playing long bowings and long-breathed harmonica chords simultaneously. The resulting sound world is shimmering, liquescent, and, surprising in its occasional metaphoric bubbles popping.

Christian Carey

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Annoying anon again. My questions have been summoned.

What do you think everyone's last thoughts before dying would be (thinking about their life, someone, regrets, happiness, etc)

(supposing they're dying on the battlefield, and please give your imput on their most likely deaths if you comfort with it - I have to be your canon, realistically)

Stop calling yourself annoying, hun, in my mind you're the lovely anon <3

This one is quite the hard question! And because it's about a heavy subject I'm going to put a cut, so...

warning: talk about death

To start with, I think the way they all would like to go is quick and painless, without time to suffer, know or say goodbye. I think all of them have seen enough death already and know how it is to be critically injured and feel your life slip away, they must have seen comrades pass like that.

Price - Canonically, I think he'd most likely die protecting one of his men. To be honest I thought he'd be the one to die in MW3, so MW4 would be Ghost, Soap and Gaz out for blood to avenge him. I think he sees himself as the leader, the guide, the rock and glue that keeps his boys together, and he wouldn't hesitate to give his life in exchange for one of his men. His last thought I think would be... peace. Peace, knowing that his boys would keep on living without him.

Now, speaking specifically about my fanfic, I think he'd do the same, but his last thoughts would be for Heather. He knows she would grieve him deeply but understand. After all, they were together for almost a decade before finally marrying, because he refused! He didn't want her to become a widow. It was Las Almas and Chicago what made him decide to take the plunge and marry her.

Gaz - My sweet boy would never die! He is the most intelligent and resourceful out of the whole 141 (and the one I think will get to captain or colonel in the future!). I lowkey thought he'd be the one to die in MW3 too, given how much Activision ignores him in everything tbh. BUT if it happened... I think it'd be stopping someone from doing something bad. Like, throwing himself against a terrorist type. Last thoughts could be either anger/sadness at not having more time to achieve what he wanted, but also satisfaction knowing that he prevented something bad happening.

Soap - My sweet, sweet boy. I will never forgive Activision. Like, I honest to God was considering buying MW and MW2, I was only waiting to see who died in MW3 to guess if I could live with it. Guess what, I don't.

BUT if my sweet boy were to die in the battlefield... I imagine it'd be a case like Kaidan or Mordin in Mass Effect. Manually setting a malfunctioning bomb or something like that. Had to be me and all that shit. The others would try to argue to be told how to and stay instead of him, but he'd be determined to be the only one affected. His last thought would be for his mates I think. Maybe his family too.

Now, refering to my AU/fanfic/worldspace... Riot would need to be knocked out to allow that. Like, she'd go nuts trying to prevent him from doing such thing (tbh I believe Ghost in any universe would simply nod at his explanation and then promptly slap him unconscious to take his place). And she'd be absolutely in shambles afterwards.

Ghost - This one is both tricky and streamline, I think. Canonically speaking, I think Simon feels he is already out. He has no family, nothing to live for except work. I think he does the work he does to make a difference, to feel that he makes some good for the world, even if the world hasn't treated him kindly. I think he does it out of stubborness too. I wholeheartedly believe that if he survived both his childhood and Roba's torture was because he has a extreme, rock solid will. And he'll be damned if he becomes whatever monster both his father and Roba tried to make him.

So, dying in the battlefield. TBH I thought he'd be the one to die in MW3 too. I thought it'd be a nice end to his troubled life if he died protecting one of his mates, as in, at last he could protect someone he cared about. I think he doesn't fear death, maybe he doesn't even fear the way out. I think what he fears is losing more people that he is close to, because they are his anchors. His last thought? Satisfaction. He did it. He protected his people/family.

Now, speaking about my AU. Even more trickier, because he'd do the same, but now... now he has something to live for. It is very easy and romantic and cheesy to say I'd die for you. It's also easier to die for someone than to live for them. He'd feel the same satisfaction at being able to protect her, but at the same time, bitter disappointment for not having more time together.

I wasn't sure if you wanted me to add Riot or not, so that's why I left her for the end, you can stop reading here if you want.

Riot - As I said in Soap's part, she'd have to be physically carried away/knocked out to leave someone behind. It was something she refused to do before THE THING, but after THE THING all the more so. She 'left behind' her squad, she'll be damned if she loses more people. In fact, she prefers to be the last one left, and blow everything up to cover everyone else's escape if needed.

That said... her feelings would be similar to Ghost's. One the one hand, her last thoughts (pre-relationship) would be for Soap. For the MacTavish family and the 141. Post-relationship, her only thought would be Simon and how utterly sad she is for not having more time. But she'd be happy to know he'd live on, just like him.

Of course I'm an asshole. If that were to happen... and it only happened in an unwritten AU of the zombie situation (seriously, I have never written it but I tear up just thinking about my script)... she'd stay or he'd stay. To go out together (very much like the Cousland parents in Dragon Age). It's stupid and useless, but she truly can't, not anymore, not without him. And after everything, he can't lose anyone else. So, out together.

Thanks for coming to my pep talk, have a tissue <3

[ugh-yoongi]

TAG GAME: 3 songs, 3 books, 3 movies — tysm for the tag @monvante <3

three songs

agust d - people

simon & garfunkel - el condor pasa (if i could)

volcano choir - comrade

three books

christopher moore - lamb

haruki murakami - the wind-up bird chronicle

neil gaiman / terry pratchett - good omens (currently reading)

three movies

howl's moving castle

heathers

taxi driver

tagging: anyone who wants to! :)

[josefavomjaaga]

Soult’s plunderings (part 3 of ?)

I’ve already said in part 2 that in Vienna, after the Austerlitz campaign of 1805, Soult’s aide-de-camp Petiet felt he was treated unjustly by his marshal, after the latter had been refused some dubious financial benefits by Petiet’s father. There is a second, even more striking incident of a similar kind in early 1810, in Spain, when Soult apparently seized the largest chunk of a sum King Joseph Bonaparte had donated to Soult’s aides – though this story may come with a twist.

Let’s first hear Petiet’s memoirs. The event takes place, as he claims, during the march into Andalusia, on 20 January 1810, after a battle that had cleared the road through the Sierra Morena.

With the success of the day assured, the king followed the columns pursuing the enemy and taking possession of the high mountains that the Spaniards had so easily surrendered to them. To the right of the road, a very picturesque spot caught Joseph's eye and he ordered lunch to be prepared for him on the heather. At this rural dining table, formed by nature, took their places the ministers, the colonel-general of the guard, the major-general and his aides-de-camp.

This major general being Soult, Petiet of course was among the aides enjoying this impromptu lunch. It’d be interesting to know how Soult reacted to the royal idea of having a picnic while the troops were still pursuing the enemy, a picnic because the landscape was so picturesque…

During the meal, the king showed me a lot of kindness and, when it was over, I had hardly mounted my horse when General Merlin approached me saying that Joseph wanted to speak to me. I went up to the king, who was also on horseback, and he said to me with a smile: " Put your hat on, because we are going to have a long talk ". Indeed, it lasted until we reached La Caroline. I will only report the details of this conversation that may be of interest to my family [...]

Petiet then indeed repeats a very long conversation, in which Joseph asks for the whereabouts of each of Petiet’s family members, praises Petiet’s deceased father, gives Petiet every opportunity to complain about his poverty again and then assures him of his royal friendship, while recalling details of his long-standing relationship with Petiet’s family. Petiet continues:

Joseph no doubt intended to offer a sign of his satisfaction to the aides de camp of the major general. But it often takes a cause of little importance to inspire a memory in kings, and this conversation led to a bonus of one hundred thousand reals that he handed over to the marshal for his aides-de-camps on entering Seville. There were ten of us, which would have made a sum of two thousand five hundred francs for each of us, enough to make up for the loss of our equipment. As far as I was concerned, since I had been in Spain, I had lost six horses and, as always, I had fought the war at my own expense. But it was not to be. The Marshal offered each of us a bonus of 375 francs which we unanimously refused. Soult was very irritated by this refusal, which made our work for him very unpleasant. I don't know why, he imagined that I was the author of this decision and, to punish me for it, he made my comrades have promotions and decorations, excepting me in particular. His suspicions were unfounded, however, and if we had wanted to follow the advice of Saint-Chamans and Bory de Saint-Vincent, we would have sent back to his piqueur the bonus that he offered to his aides-de-camp.

Unfortunately, like with the incident in Vienna, Saint-Chamans’ memoirs do not mention this scene at all. It would have been nice to have a second report and a second point of view. (Plus, Saint-Chamans’s stories tend to be funny.)

When the king left Andalusia in April 1810, he gave a second gratuity of 200,000 reals for the aides-de-camp and the major-general's staff. This time, the Duke of Dalmatia had his chief of staff draw up a list of one hundred and thirty-five individuals, including storekeepers, sub-assistant storekeepers, surgeon-majors, aide-majors, sub-assistant-majors, etc., and, what is most curious, according to the breakdown of the sums, the total amounted to only eighty thousand reals. This time, the Marshal offered us each five hundred francs. Our first instinct was again to refuse, but we thought we should not continue to show so much susceptibility so as not to be stopped in our career and, out of 200,000 reals, twenty thousand forming five thousand francs were not diverted from the destination Joseph had reserved for them.

Unlike much of the rest, as Petiet clearly wants to say.

As ugly as the story is, I guess it shows quite nicely how Soult’s plundering worked – it was more a diversion of available funds into his own pocket than genuine looting. But there is also something curious about Petiet’s memoirs here, as his editor – Nicole Gotteri, who else – notes in the preface: For whatever reason, Petiet (and deliberately, not by accident) changed the date of the long conversation he had with Joseph Bonaparte. Like many memoirists, he was using a set of documents in order to help along his memory, among them the letters he had written to his family from Spain at the time. The conversation with Joseph he copied almost verbally from a letter to Petiet’s mother, but it happened several weeks later, having taken place in Andujar on 3 April 1810.

Why this change? No clue. Maybe just to be able to brag that Joseph’s first gratification was due mostly to Petiet’s long conversation.

On the other hand, I’m a bit wary of Joseph just handing out money to Soult’s aides like that. Granted, Joseph tended to be more generous than his imperial brother – if he expected this generosity to pay off in the future. He saw gifts, donations etc. as an investment, expecting gratitude and loyalty in return. (When Soult, to whom he had offered all that money, and some excellent paintings on top!, some months later decided to remain true to Napoleon’s ideas on how to govern Spain, rather than Joseph’s, Joseph obviously felt betrayed.)

So I wonder: why did Joseph, in April 1810, show such interest in this lowly aide-de-camp? And what other topics, that did not interest Petiet’s family and that Petiet left out of the memoirs, had the two of them talked about, only a couple of weeks before Joseph would all of a sudden set out for Madrid, leaving a flabbergasted Soult in Sevilla to handle Andalusia as he saw fit?

As to the finances of Soult’s ADCs, I guess I owe it to Soult to make another post with an excerpt from Brun’s Cahiers, as Brun gives quite a different description of their situation than Petiet.

[dakotaxmp]

Oakland \\ Kaz, Heather, Invidia & ‘Kota

{Champagne confetti! ;p because ghost rides the whip and California Love! Have a little Russian Roulette of all my muses as all will do a cameo in this multi-city thread!}

Starter for @kazxmp , feat. @heatherxmp, and @mpxinvidia mostly

//

   Nothing could ever just be correct. Nothing at all.

    At least not with his idiot friend group. Kaz had been working a lot lately and had stored up some solid vacation time so when Dakota had presented this fact to him, he had expected him to take off a bit of time. Maybe he might lounge at home, or spend some relatively uninterrupted time with Heather or even get himself stuck in that one game that he keeps talking about in the kitchen with the other workers. Something about a boulder and a gate.

   What Dakota did not expect was a text asking him if he wanted to go with Kaz, Heather and Invidia on a weekender trip to Oakland, California. This close to Thanksgiving?! Dakota sighs as he lays upside down on his couch, legs flopped over the back and typing.

[Txt to: Little Bank] My guy [Txt to: Little Bank] My comrade in cortadas  [Txt to: Little Bank] You and I both know that city ain’t ready for me, the Bay too soft for my attitude

    Still… the idea has merit. He’s not really taken a break himself and it could be fun to blow a band on some quality goods that they just don’t have here in Mount Phoenix. Oakland was also a Bart ride away from San Francisco so he could do some sight seeing there as well in Heather’s old stomping grounds.

[Txt to: Little Bank] Fuck it, sounds gay I’m in.