#everyone knows it's a forty year old writing those teen romances

[bearzisvibin]

Honestly i'm more of a ace Wednesday vibe, but Wednesday x Enid is good too.

I wouldn't have a problem with any of the straight ships if they actually worked. Like Enid with Ajax!! It's a long term crush she had with someone just as bubbly as her and it works, tho not in the best way too.. the writers should just learn how to make believable relationships honestly.

Btw, is Eugene non-binary or agender or what?? Pronouns please?? Ty very much

[hc-axl]

The Scare

girl, so scary

Hot summer nights, mid-July. This week, two of my friends turned twenty, being the last of my batch of high school friends to join the Twenty Club, every generation’s big scare. During our walk around Chinatown, before a night of moshing, I asked my friend Benji how he felt now that he was twenty “I still feel the same, it’s not like I’m turning Forty”, he answered, Val and I reacted the way any overthinker would, we tried to make him realize his vast growth during his teen years, which would lead him to be the person he is today. He understood the picture eventually but I was surprised he hadn’t thought about it before we mentioned it.

I can't be nonchalant about anything. I give everything way too much thought. Sometimes, it’s a good thing because I can find romance and beauty in the most mundane things. Other times, if I don't stop thinking about something, it'll eat away at me until I crash, hurting myself and others in the process. Turning twenty scared me. I knew there wouldn't be an instant change, but I’d look back in a few months or a year and mourn my nineteen-year-old self, just like I did with my eighteen-year-old self.

“Soho in our mid-thirties”, an inside joke and bit my friends and I started when we were shopping at one of those overpriced vintage consignment shops, and Benji pulled out a leather trench coat and said “This is so Soho in your mid-thirties” to Chloe as she was looking through the coat section. We laughed at this comment since it was normally so out of character for Benji to speak about fashion this way. After some thought, I knew that the friendships I’ve made up to now were precious and rare, yet change is scary, but easier to cope with the right people, we’re all navigating similar challenges and transitions, and knowing that we can depend on each other creates a sense of security and belonging. If I neglect their feelings, act selfishly, or take them for granted, I risk damaging these connections and losing the chance to have these amazing people in my life for the long haul. Soho in our mid-thirties: a childish dream or a likely possibility? 

The high summer temperatures agitate everyone, whether you are heated or in heat, you are never as relaxed as you were in the winter, even if summer is meant for relaxing, we all know it isn’t. This week I got the internal reboot I needed, after weeks of losing my cool and constant bitching, I’m back to the early May days when summer’s harsh realities hadn’t yet come in swinging. The "summer of love" I craved hasn’t taken off for me, but being single is the best it's ever been. I’ve often obsessed over someone who doesn't want me, chasing something I can’t have. My girlfriends have always been there, anxiously ready to catch me when I fall. I owe them the world. I've never felt a deep attraction towards anyone, and I'm not focused on finding one right now. My alone time is my favorite time. It's no longer filled with constant depressive thoughts like it used to be when I was sixteen.

I love being alone, I love my bedroom, my bedroom is my sanctuary, a sacred space I've crafted over the years. It’s where I write, where I read, where I used to starve, where I find peace, and where I feel most like myself. This room, these four walls, have seen me through several wars, holding my joys and sorrows like a tender secret. This is my gallery of imagination, where I wander without ever leaving. My bed, draped in soft linens, is a haven of rest. It cradles me through sleepless nights and sunlit mornings. It’s my place of peace, where the weight of the world melts away. Posters and photos adorn my walls, a testament to battles fought and victories won. This room is my museum, chronicling the challenges I’ve faced and the strength I’ve discovered within myself. Each mark, each scar, tells a tale of resilience.

I do way too much thinking, I wish it would stop. My anxious mind is a beast, constantly trying to take over and control everything. It's like this relentless dictator inside my head, barking orders and stirring up chaos. I try to plan every little detail, overanalyze every situation, and predict every possible outcome, but the sad truth is, I can't control everything. It's frustrating as hell, not just for me but for everyone around me too. I know my need to micromanage and my constant worrying is a drag, and it's so displeasing to see how it affects the people I care about. But I'm done letting these anxious thoughts ruin my life. I'm tired of being held hostage by my own mind. I'm gonna start pushing back against these evil attacks, fighting for my peace of mind. I know it's not gonna be easy, and there will be days when I'll slip back into old patterns, but I have to try. It's gonna be a long, messy process, but I can't keep living like this. I owe it to myself and to the people I love to fight back against these anxious thoughts. 

[fibula-rasa]

The Vamps — Part Two: Theda Bara and the Star Image

Theda Bara was born in the shadow of the Egyptian pyramids–the daughter of a French actress and an Italian sculptor. Her betrothed is a skeleton.

Theodosia Goodman was born to a middle-class family in Cincinnati, Ohio. She was the daughter of a Jewish haberdasher.

In the early years of the film industry, there were no stars. Film producers knew that allowing for name recognition would empower their performers to make demands–like greater pay. So, the performers in films were routinely uncredited. Around 1910, that began to change. When The Biograph Girl, as she was known, moved to a different studio, her name was finally made known to the public: Florence Lawrence.

An aside: If this seems wild to you, think about modern television commercials. Before he jumped to a different company, how many people repeated the phrase “Can you hear me now?” without knowing the actor (Paul Marcarelli) from the Verizon commercials? Nowadays, what with google and social media, this isn’t quite as common but, still, How many people know the names of those Sonic guys (who are clearly in purgatory btw) but know their gags well? (Their names are T.J. Jagodowski and Peter Grosz.)

Once Florence Lawrence became The First Movie Star, it didn’t take long at all for the trappings of the star image’s constructed reality to develop. Movie fan press began covering the “private lives” and habits of performers. Studio employees built biographies for film performers that better matched their on-screen personas than their actual background. The performers themselves were variably complicit in the smoke and mirrors act. That’s not to suggest that everyone accepted these tales as the gospel truth. Much of the gossip press and movie fans simply had fun with it. That’s right, smarks are as old as kayfabe.

Theda Bara’s burst onto the screen in 1914 was an immediate draw. As the concept of film stars was crystalizing the film star’s image was intentionally muddled with the characters that they interpreted for the screen. In Bara’s case, Fox studios started fleshing out Bara’s Vamp pedigree. The Vamp archetype itself had taken form over the past decade [see Part 1], but Bara would give life to the paradigm. That first biography above is what was reported to the fan press by Fox’s press agents. The skeleton boyfriend was suggested by the copy to accompany a promotional photo shoot where a scantily clad Bara drapes herself beside a prone skeleton. The ties to Spiritualism are clear. Death was by no means a finality to Bara’s romance.

Bara swiftly became one of the biggest stars of film in the teens–alongside Charlie Chaplin and Mary Pickford–The Vamp, The Tramp, and The Sweetheart. As movie fandom grew and the Los Angeles colony of filmmakers coalesced, concerns arose about the real, unconstructed lives of the performers. For Vamp types in particular, the question of their IRL morality was important to address in order to maintain their popularity. If anyone actually believed Bara was a sex-crazed goth, that could spell trouble for her career as the public began to care about film-star morality. In a May 1918 issue of Photoplay, Bara was asked about her morality to which she responded:

‘People write me letters,’ she said smilingly; ‘and they ask me if I am as wicked as I seem on the screen. I look at my little canary and I say “Dicky, am I so wicked?” And Dicky says, “Tweet, tweet.” That may mean “yes, yes,” or “no, no,” may it not?’

Coy and quirky answers aside, Bara continued to be a popular draw for Fox. In 1917, she took on the ultimate Vamp role, Cleopatra. The film is now believed lost, but at the time, it was her biggest hit. As her contract with Fox was running down, Bara began to campaign for non-Vamp roles. After that contract expired, that’s what she tried to pursue. It didn’t really work out and she eventually opted to retire from acting in 1926.

Bara made forty films in her roughly twelve-year-long film career. Unfortunately, only a handful of her films are still extant. So, how has Bara’s image persisted so strongly more than a century after her debut when there’s so little of her work for admires to engage with? Well, there’s a lot of potential answers to that question.

For one, the character of Theda Bara, the film star, was very well-limned and much of that promotional material has survived. The photographs and accompanying promotional copy paint a vivid picture that people still respond to today. I can tell to you that, as a teen, when I was encountering Bara’s photographs in a book I was immediately dedicated to seeing her films. The heartbreak that came with discovering how few of them exist and were readily available to watch in the late 1990s was real. It’s a story that’s still repeated today.

Bara’s acting style probably contributes to her persistent popularity as well. She was part of an acting tradition that involved the repetition of specific expressions and gestures to interpret a characters’ emotions. This style translates beautifully into still photographs. It’s not a stretch to suggest that it’s easier with Bara than many other lost film stars to extrapolate what their films and performances were like.

Also, Bara herself lived on, continuing to play with her image–even parodying herself in her final film appearance in 1926.

Additionally, by chance, one of Bara’s most popular surviving films is A Fool There Was (1914), the film that officially solidified the Vamp archetype. From the material we have, film fans and scholars can use Bara handily to build narratives about the emergence of the star system and fan interaction. So, Theda Bara, The Vamp, has lived on regardless of the dearth of surviving film. Feels pretty Spiritualist in itself, eh?

Learn How to Get the Look BELOW THE JUMP

The Costume

To build yourself a Theda Bara costume, this are the key elements I would focus on:

The Makeup

Bara did her own makeup and costuming for many of her films. It was common practice at the time. So, like later-Cleo Elizabeth Taylor, Bara’s makeup is pretty consistent across her films. Authenticity be damned though, because you are making a costume for fun in 2018, not to be photographed on orthographic film in 1918. I chose maroon-red for my eyeshadow because I thought it would be more striking and, in black and white, would photograph darker than a cooler shade.

The key shape is curvy, elongated eyeshadow in a single color, well blended into a dark liner shade. Bara has pretty round eyes, so you’ll likely want to line your waterline with a lighter shade–white if you wanna be really striking, a nude lighter than your skin tone if you wanna play it low key. Your eyebrows should be straight and drawn out as long as the eye makeup.

The lip shape is small, but not a pucker-pout. Focus on the sharpness of the cupid’s bow. I chose a color in harmony with the eyeshadow, but any deep red or pink would do.

Blush and contour? Skip it. First because you need to cherish the gothy pallor. Second because it would look incongruous with this makeup style. Film stars of the era didn’t typically wear rouge because, on film, it would come off as a deep shadow. The gaunt look wasn’t very fashionable.

The Hair

You have lots of freedom here. Bara had long, thick, and curly hair but as bobs became more fashionable, she often pinned it up into a messy faux-bob. The latter is what I went with. I brushed and pinned the hair on the crown of my head forward to make an era-appropriate pouf.

Head gear is a good choice. I actually pinned a necklace into my hair but if you have any art-nouveau or ancient-Egypt inspired pieces, you’re set. It might sound a little wild, but a dead flower crown would be so on brand.

The Clothes

Scanty. The most important skin to flaunt is around your neck and collar bones. For dress/skirt length, you should go close to floor-length if possible. The fabric should ideally be drapey and/or gauzy. Now, if it’s cold where you are around Halloween, an extra-large scarf would be a good call.

Read Part One

Part Three: Pola Negri & Exoticism coming Thursday!

[thatscarletflycatcher]

I watched the Tom² Panel at the ACE Con today...

And it fueled the impression I already had about Tom Hiddleston and where he is in his life right now. I’m speculating, I know that, and I mean no disrespect to him or Tom Holland and I don’t even remotely pretend that I know his mind or what he is thinking or feeling. Is just an speculation and nothing more. 

Everybody knows how private he has become after the whole hiddleswift thing and the GG speech drama, and of course, those things were big blows to him and his reputation, and it is natural that he withdrew from the spotlight after that. 

Every time I see Tom Holland, and specially today at the panel, it makes me uncomfortable the way fandom and media, and sometimes even other actors, treat a 22 year old man as if he where a teen, just like his onscreen character. I don’t mean to say that it is done on purpose, and of course it isn’t done with ill will. But I wonder if something like this didn’t actually happen with Tom Hiddleston before.

Tom has always been bubbly, and sparkly, and youthful, and that’s something everybody loves about him. And I wonder if all the attention drawn to that lead to an unconscious infantilization of him. Everyone is wired to please others, and consciously or not, we tend to repeat the behaviors other people has reacted favorably to. I wonder if Tom, in his characteristic desire to please, to be liked and make people around him comfortable and happy, ended up being carried away by this image of a carefree twenty-something when he was actually in the middle of his thirties.

It explains to me the whole hiddleswift ordeal, which I think was genuine on his side and not a PR stunt. Specially because it was obvious that he wouldn’t profit from it in the least. I think he fell for TS, and it is consistent with everything he said before about love and romance. He is a romantic guy, who believes in falling head over heels, on wearing your heart on your sleeve and risking things for the people and the things you love. Or at least he was like that. And when you think of it, he met TS Cinderella style, on the closest setting the modern world has to a royal fantasy ball: the MET gala. And they danced the night away. Then Rome, Australia, the beaches, the family... all “nauseatingly” romantic, kind of out of a rom-com. 

But his romanticism and openness crashed against the cynicism of the world. But, maybe, also, he was childish about this romance. Maybe he was seeing himself as the twenty-something he wasn’t. He didn’t see things through, he ignored the signs of danger, he behaved recklessly, because he was this goofy pal that made funny MTv videos with Josh Horowitz and posed in underwear for magazines.

I think that since then he has been trying to find his balance, the balance in which he doesn’t lose the the charm of his light-heartedness and youthfulness (People can be youthful at any age. See Maggie Smith for example), because that’s who he is, but gains some of the gravitas and aplomb of a man that is closer to his forties than his twenties. And the only way to find that balance is going as far to the opposite extreme as you can, to see how much you need to. 

I don’t think that Tom’s “hiding” is going to last forever. He just needs to find that place in which he is sure about what it is ok to share and what is not, which things are really truly private and which are just personal but not invasive. He needs to find that state of mind and that image that is truest to himself at this stage of his life. And once he finds it, he will come to the other side stronger and happier and improved. The same Tom we met, who is the Tom we see now and will see then; same person, different places in his life.

And these are the thoughts I needed to put on writing so that they would stop roaming my head and not letting me do the things I need to do. 

[hovercraft79]

Circle in the Sand

3rd in the Hecate’ Summer Playlist series

Chapters: 1 Word Count: 12,656 Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017) Rating: General/Teen  Warnings: Some violence, someone being drugged without their knowledge (to comedic effect), injuries. Summary: A long weekend at the beach sounds like the perfect setting for a Cackle’s staff retreat. Unfortunately, nothing goes to plan and nothing is as it seems.

Notes:

This story continues Hecate’s adventures from weeks 1&2. Again, it’s helpful, but not necessary, to have read those. This one is a bit of a departure from those; I thought I’d give Hecate a break from having so many feelings this week. The title, of course, is from Belinda Carlisle’s classic ‘90s song.

As you know, I’ve been following my own extremely loose version of the Hackle Summer Trope Challenge (foundational, life-altering friendship, not romance), but the Hicsqueak is starting to assert itself so I’m not going to tag it that way anymore. I’m still using the prompts and following the trope-a-week schedule to motivate my entry into writing fan fiction for tumblr. Thanks to cosmic-llin for her advice and encouragement.

Again, thanks to Sparky, who is still editing my fics. She really wishes I would write something shorter.

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               Hecate silenced her buzzing alarm spell and flung her arm over her eyes. She wondered if she could possibly convince Ada that she was too worn out from last weekend’s family retreat to leave for the annual staff planning retreat.

               Each year, once Selection Day passed, the entire faculty would gather at the Cackle family beach house to plan for the upcoming school year. The incoming First-Years’ skills and weaknesses would be evaluated and appropriate curricula developed. Each level of students would receive the same evaluations and lessons would be adjusted accordingly. The retreat allowed the teachers a set block of time to work out their own plans in a new, more pleasant environment, as well as pair up for interdisciplinary lessons. Most importantly, as far as Ada was concerned anyway, the retreat allowed the teachers to spend time together in a less formal, child-free environment.

               Hecate sighed and threw the sheets off to the side. Ada wanted them all together. That was all the reason Hecate needed to be there. Besides, she thought, there are worse things than being forced to spend a week in a beachside cottage. She sat up, smiling at the framed picture on her nightstand – two small witches, one dark and one light - standing with their arms linked in front of Miss Amulet’s Academy.

               Making her way to the bathroom, Hecate ghosted her fingertips across the petals of the flowers in the vase beside it, smiling. A new bouquet appeared every week, no card, no comment included - not that she needed one. The flowers began arriving shortly after the Spelling Bee and each time the primary color of the bouquet had been pink -  not much mystery there. She opened the bathroom door and stopped short. A brightly colored, cross-stitched thing had been hung from the side of the mirror. Since their reconciliation Pippa had also taken to leaving bright, frivolous things in her rooms to ‘give them a little color.’ Hecate still didn’t know how she managed to get them in past her wards, but she suspected Pippa may have enlisted Ada’s help on that front. The large stitching read You look so FABULOUS today darling… Hecate smiled and leaned forward so she could read the smaller stitching below …that I just had to stab something 10,000 times! Hecate laughed out loud; after all these years she’d not forgotten how weird Pippa’s sense of humor could be. She summoned her maglet and sent a quick thank you before getting on with her morning routine.

               An hour later, she was still smiling, even in the middle of the noise and disorganization of five people getting ready to fly out to the cottage.  “Are we all ready?” Ada asked, double checking Pendell’s carrier. Receiving a full set of agreements, Ada nodded at Miss Drill. “All right then, Dimity, we’ll follow you.”

               “All right you lot, there’s a spot of weather to the south, so we’ll head out on a bit of a northern route. Flying should be good, and we should be landing in about forty-five minutes.” 

               Dimity brought them down in the front garden of the buttery yellow cottage exactly forty-nine minutes later. “You’re slipping, Miss Drill,” Hecate drawled.

               “It’s not my fault Miss Bat kept falling asleep and drifting off course. Maybe you should brew up some Wide-Awake potion, and we can start slipping it into her morning tea.”

               “Ada said no,” she said with a shrug. They turned to face Ada, who had stepped onto the porch and set the starfish-shaped windchimes to ringing.

               “Welcome, friends, to this year’s planning party! As always, I hope you will make yourselves at home and enjoy the cottage as if it were your own.” Her expression sobered. “Unfortunately, things will be a bit different this year.” She paused, looking down as she began wringing her hands together. Hecate stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Thank you, dear,” she murmured, offering a tight smile before straightening her shoulders and continuing on. “As you know, we at Cackle’s have encountered a few…difficulties over the past couple of years.”

               “That’s an understatement,” Dimity muttered under her breath.

               Ada shot her a look and continued. “As a result, the Council feels that some supervision is necessary, at least for the time being.” She held up her hands, hoping to forestall any protests. “They also want to see us incorporate explicit lessons on the Witches Code into all of our subject areas.”

               “You mean that pompous toad Hellibore is going to be interfering with our curriculum?”

               “I’m afraid so, Algie.” She shot Hecate an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I’ve also had to adjust our usual rooming assignments. My mother is here and will, of course, be in the master. I’ll share with her. We must leave one room free for our…guest that will be arriving late tomorrow. I’m afraid that Hecate and Dimity will have to make do with Agatha’s and my old room.” If Ada had suddenly dropped a rotting fish out of her handbag, Dimity and Hecate couldn’t have looked more horrified. Ada refused to make any eye contact whatsoever. “Algie and Gwen, you have the same room as last year.” At least at the retreat, no one bothered to pretend that those two weren’t basically living together. “Now, I’ll let you get settled. Shall we meet in the living room in…thirty minutes? Then I’ll tell you more about what’s going on.”

                  Within fifteen minutes everyone had gathered in the living room, tense and wary. Much like Ada’s office, knickknacks covered most surfaces, instead of cats and owls, though, seashells and colorful fish dominated. Only the Cackles had yet to arrive. Unable to sit, Hecate stood rigidly in the corner, the only movement her thumbs rubbing across her fingertips. Dimity sat on the sofa, knee bouncing nervously, while Gwen and Algie sat on the loveseat, hands clasped in support. They looked wholly out of place in the cheery environment. Finally, Ada entered, followed by Alma.

               “I see you’re all eager to get down to it. Very well.” She gestured for Hecate to take a seat and waited for her to settle stiffly next to Dimity. “As I said, the Council feels we may be in need of…monitoring. Now, nothing has been formalized yet, and I’m quite optimistic that, after spending time with us during our planning sessions, the Council will be satisfied and the matter dropped.” Even Ada could hear how forced her optimism sounded. “We shall carry on as we normally do, with…a few… small…accommodations for our guest. Tiny ones, I’m sure.”

               “Who is this guest?” Algie interrupted. “You seem to be avoiding giving us a name. Is it Doomstone again?”

               Ada shook her head. “No. This time it’s Wilbur Birdsong.”

               Algie leapt to his feet. “That strutting peacock? He wouldn’t know quality teaching if it crawled up his robes!”

               “Who’s Wilbur Birdsong?” Dimity asked.

               “I’ll tell you who Wilbur Birdsong is – he’s the one that prances around schools telling teachers how they should teach and how they should grade, criticizing everything that isn’t done just the way those fools on the Council want it.” Algie crossed his arms and flopped back into the loveseat with a huff.

                “You mean…like a School in Need of Improved Pedagogical Expertise?” Dimity looked back and forth between Ada and Hecate. “Are they saying we’re a bloody SNIPE school? Our comparable scores haven’t slipped that much, have they?” Not even Wormwood had ever been a SNIPE school.

               “They most certainly have not,” Hecate said, finally speaking up. “Ada, I can’t believe you would allow this…wizard…to come in and interfere with our academy.”

               “Our academy, Miss Hardbroom?” Alma Cackle stepped into the middle of the room, staring them all down. “I don’t believe it’s your name on the school letterhead. It’s mine and Ada’s names which are being tarnished by this infernal monitoring. Now, I don’t know what all you lot have been up to for the past two years, but it certainly doesn’t look like student discipline has been a priority. Fires, student feuds, the theft of the Founding Stone? It looks like those girls are running amuck. Now, Deputy Headmistress, I believe you are charged with school discipline, are you not?”

               Hecate sat, frozen, while her mind struggled to formulate any sort of response. Her mind failed, but she could feel her body responding – her cheeks burned so hot she knew her face had to be flaming red, and she could feel tears flooding her eyes. Before she could even think about it, her fingers had spasmed and she transferred away.

                  Dimity closed the door of their shared room as softly as she could. Hecate was lying face down on one of the twin beds, breath coming ragged and unsteady. Oh my broom, she thought, is Hecate Hardbroom crying? She knew the potions teacher’s tough-as-dragonhide exterior was all a façade, but these were uncharted waters indeed. However, she told herself, desperate times and all that… Dimity took a deep breath and forged ahead. “Hecate?” The woman on the bed went rigid. So far, so good, she thought, she wasn’t vanished or turned into a toad. Yet. Dimity stepped forward and nudged Hecate’s hips. “Budge up, Hecate. We need to talk.”

               “I don’t want to.” Hecate’s voice was muffled by the pillow, but her petulant tone still rang through, loud and clear.

               Dimity pushed harder, until Hecate grudgingly rolled over enough for her to sit down. She kept one hand firmly on Hecate’s hip in case the older witch decided to transfer away again. She summoned her blue teddy bear to her hand and held it out to Hecate. “Mr. Monkey wants to say hello – he missed you.”

               Hecate looked at the stuffed animal and sniffed. “I’m not a child, Miss Drill.” Dimity simply raised her eyebrows and wiggled Mr. Monkey in Hecate’s face. After a moment, she rolled her eyes and took the toy, snuggling him to her chest. “Thank you, Dimity.”

               “Any time, HB.” She waited for Hecate’s breathing to even out before continuing. “Mrs. Cackle had no right to say those things to you.” The older woman said nothing, but Dimity could feel the tension increasing in her muscles. She flicked her fingers towards the window centered between the bunks, raising the sash to let in the sea breeze and sound of the waves. She hoped it Hecate would find it soothing. “It’s been a pretty eventful summer for you, yeah?” Hecate shrugged. “C’mon now – those book signings and lectures, making friends with Mildred’s mum and that retreat last weekend? For someone who likes to be a hermit during the summer, you’ve barely been home. And now this? Even you are allowed to be overwhelmed.” She patted Hecate’s hip. “If you promise to stay here and talk to me instead of disappearing, I’ll let go.” Hecate nodded, and Dimity moved her hand. Instantly, Hecate disappeared. “Dammit, Hecate Hard-“

               Hecate rematerialized, sitting primly next to Dimity on the bed, Mr. Monkey in her lap. She was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep a smug grin off her lips.

               “You’re an arsehole, HB,” Dimity said, bumping her with her shoulder.

               “You aren’t the first to say so.” She looked a bit embarrassed. “I just needed to burn off a bit of magic so I can settle. What did you want to talk about?”

               “This whole SNIPE, but not SNIPE thing. It all sounds fishy to me. Look, I know you don’t think I take things seriously enough and that I teach something frivolous…”

               “I don’t.” Hecate looked as surprised as Dimity when she disagreed. “The girls need to be fit – stronger witches are better able to use their magic. And look what happened when the Founding Stone failed – a forced march into the village? No, Miss Drill, you serve them well.” She turned and stared out the window, eyes focused on the whitecaps breaking just offshore. “As for the rest, it’s true that you are opposite me in most ways, but I can’t look at the state I’m in now and honestly say that’s a bad thing.”

               “Thanks.” Dimity reached out and patted Hecate’s knee. “So, now that we’ve sorted the mushy stuff, back to business. Cackle’s is on the ropes – again, and I think Ada is too punch-drunk to come out swinging the way she needs to. We need a plan.”

               Hecate looked at her blankly. “You’re using sports metaphors, aren’t you? I haven’t a clue what you just said.”

               Dimity shook her head. “I know you’ve been watching the Harry Potter movies with the Hubbles. How about you spend an evening watching Rocky with me sometime?” She didn’t give Hecate a chance to answer. “It means that we are under attack. I’m not sure what kind or where it’s coming from, but it feels like we are. And we’re losing. I’m telling you, HB, this whole thing stinks like my old gym shoes. If the Council still had concerns after you and Pentangle proved the scroll Ursula Hallow used to remove Ada had been faked…well, why didn’t they leave Pentangle in charge then? Or appoint someone else? Or assign this Birdsong git then? The Great Wizard was satisfied with restoring Ada to her position.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “What made him change his mind, Hecate?”

               The potions mistress’ brows furrowed together. Dimity had a point. “It does seem odd…What does ‘punch-drunk’ mean? Ada hasn’t been drinking.”

               “It means she’s…taken so many hits she can’t think properly,” Dimity answered, sadly.

               Hecate’s black lacquered fingernail traced the outline of one of the seahorses printed on her bedcovers. She wanted to disagree, but… “I fear that assessment is fair.”

               “Why else would she have called in her mother? You and Ada have handled every situation so far.”

               Hecate snorted. “Mildred Hubble has handled every situation of late. We’ve scarcely been more than her hapless assistants.”

               “And I’m not above asking for her help – or anyone else’s for that matter. I’ve bloody well had enough of being a punching bag. Sorry, sports metaphor.”

               “I think I understand that one. What’s your plan?”

               “Well, that’s what I need you for, isn’t it?” Dimity winked. “The way I see it, we’ve got two problems. The first one is this Birdsong fellow and his meddling that are going on right now. The second is finding out who’s behind it all. And. Making. It. Stop. Now,” Dimity stood and began pacing in the narrow space between the twin beds, barely missing Hecate’s toes. “Who do we think can help us? I don’t think we can expect Miss Cackle to do anything but…be here? Be her usual self? But what about Mrs. Cackle?”

               “I don’t know. I don’t understand why she’s here. After tonight, I doubt she’ll want to have anything to do with me.” Hecate’s shoulders slumped the tiniest bit.

               “Then she’s a fool,” Dimity spat. The other woman’s shock was almost comical. “I don’t care, Hecate, she had no right, none, to attack you that way. I’m not too proud to admit that Cackle’s would have fallen apart long ago if not for you.” She noticed Hecate’s shoulders straighten again. “Unfortunately, I think we need to know her motivations. Job one for you then is to find that out. If Ada will tell anyone, she’ll tell you. Otherwise, you’ll have to go straight to the source. If anyone’s got a brass broomstick big enough to ask Mrs. Cackle, it’s you.”

               Hecate’s eyebrows arched, but she still looked rather pleased with Dimity’s assessment of her… broomstick. “I’ll do my best.” Her tiny smile faded away. “I do suppose we need to address our weakest link…”

               “Miss Bat,” Dimity provided. Hecate nodded. “She certainly knows her material. She’s Esper Vespertilio for heaven’s sake. Not to mention that she’s forgotten more witchory than most people know.”

               “That’s because she was there for most of it,” Hecate said drily.

               “Careful, HB, I might get the impression that you’ve got a sense of humor.”

               “I’ll deny it to the bitter end.” She subtly maneuvered Mr. Monkey’s arms into a rude gesture.

               “Oy! Don’t be teaching him bad habits!” She chuckled a moment before turning serious again. “I know Miss Cackle said no Wide-Awake potion for Miss Bat, but she meant at school, during the term, right?” She sat on her own bed, facing Hecate.

               “Strictly speaking, I suppose.” She didn’t feel comfortable with the direction Dimity seemed to be going.

               “I think we need to abide by the letter of the law here, HB, not the spirit. If Miss Bat falls asleep while Birdsong is here…” She left the threat hanging in the air between them. “I know you use Wide- Awake potion,” she held out her hand between them. “Give it over. If I’ve got it, then you can honestly say you didn’t dose her.”

               “The letter, rather than the spirit, Miss Drill?” After a brief hesitation she shook her head and summoned a small vial and handed it over. “Two drops, no more, at breakfast and lunch. Nothing after that. We simply want her more alert, not an insomniac. What about Mr. Rowan-Webb?”

               “Dunno, he might be a bit too…jumpy…to help out.” She looked at Hecate, grinning expectantly.

               Hecate sighed. “Isn’t the council punishing us enough? Must we endure your vile puns as well?”

               Dimity laughed, warm and friendly. “We’ll play him by ear, I guess. I think it’s up to us, HB. Maybe that’s why Ada put us together? So we can plot?”

               Hecate stroked the fur on Mr. Monkey’s head. “Perhaps.” She looked up to see Dimity chewing her bottom lip, looking at her. “Out with it, Miss Drill. You’ve never been afraid of me before.”

               “No. Me mum’s too fond of you. Anyone she likes that much can’t be that bad.”

               “She was very kind to me when I first arrived at Cackle’s.” A tiny bit of warmth flickered in her heart. “Just say what you want to say.”

               “I was only thinking that you – and I – are going to have to be less ourselves while Birdsong is here. You can’t insult him or roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, no matter how ridiculous he is. Certainly, I think we have to expect that we’ll be told we’re doing everything wrong.”

               “That will be…difficult.”

               “Tell me about it. I have to be serious and responsible – basically, I have to be you!” She wrinkled her nose in mock disgust.

               “Such a burden.”

               They were interrupted by a knock on the door which was opened immediately by Alma Cackle. “It’s time for dinner.”

               “On our way!” Dimity said, hopping to her feet. As soon as Mrs. Cackle snapped the door closed she bent down and said, just loud enough for Hecate to hear her. “I hope she’s not popping into Gwen and Algie’s room that way. She could wind up with quite the eyeful.” She added a clarifying hand gesture or two.

               “Thank you, Miss Drill, for that lovely image that I’ll never be able to scrub from my brain.”

               “Yeah, well, your bed’s the one up against the wall adjoining their room.”

               Hecate leapt off the bed as though it had burst into flames.

                  Dinner was quiet, conversation stilted. Ada tried gamely to keep up a constant stream of chatter, but it only served to emphasize how quiet everyone else was. Finally, dessert was served and the group was dismissed. Unlike most years, no one stayed around to chat.

               By eight pm, the twins’ bedroom looked like a command center. Papers outlining different possible motives and outcomes were scattered across both beds and the dresser. Dimity was having a heated hand-mirror chat with her mother about the crisis, and Hecate had just made the connection to Pippa Pentangle on the vanity mirror.

               “Hello, darling, you do look fabulous today!” Pippa glanced at the sports witch pacing behind Hecate. Her bright smile dimmed ever so slightly. “I see we have a guest tonight. Hello, Dimity!” She waved a greeting, and Dimity waved back. “Is it just splendid to be at the beach? I can’t tell you how envious I am.” She finally noticed the grim set to Hecate’s features. “Hiccup? What’s wrong?”

               Like a dam bursting, Hecate told her everything. Unable to stop once she’d begun, she told Pip about Birdsong, Alma Cackle’s harsh words, Dimity’s suspicions and even the guilt she felt about secretly dosing Miss Bat with the Wide-Awake potion. She didn’t even notice that Dimity had finished her mirror call and was now standing behind her.

               “Oh, Hiccup! What a horrible situation! What do you need from me? Do you want me to come?” Her hand reached up and stroked the star brooch she wore on her lapel. “I can be there in an instant.”

               Hecate smiled and reached for her own crescent moon pin, her half of a Twin Pin set that would always let one wearer instantly be transported to whoever possessed the other half. She’d worn it ever since Pippa had gifted it to her, even pinning it to her night dress. The only time it was ever off was when she was in the shower or bath. “As much as I’d love to say yes, Pipsqueak, I think now is not the time. I do need your help, though. We can’t work out how this got started. I’ve not seen our ratings yet, but I find it hard to believe that Cackle’s could possibly be a SNIPE school.”

               “Quite right,” Pippa said, summoning a scroll and her reading glasses. “The ratings only came out today, so I’ll admit that I’m quite curious how it could already have been decided that you need a monitor.” She opened the scroll and put on her glasses, following her finger as she skimmed through the information.

               Hecate stared, mesmerized. How the woman managed to make reading glasses look…sexy, Hecate had no idea, but she was bewitched every time Pippa wore them.

               “Down girl,” Dimity murmured in her ear. “We’ve got work to do.”

               “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Hecate insisted, desperate to ignore the blush she felt rising from her chest onto her cheeks.

               “Whatever you say…Hiccup.” Dimity knew she was dancing along the edge of being mollusked, but she didn’t care.

               “Oh, here it is, darling.” She glanced up long enough to catch the knowing smirk on Dimity’s face, and the rising blush on Hecate’s. She winked over the top of her readers at Dimity and gave Hecate a tiny shrug before continuing. “Only Amulet’s is rated higher than Cackle’s.” Her finger edged sideways across the page. “Your raw accountability score is two points higher than Pentangle’s score. If you are in danger of becoming a SNIPE school, then we surely would be as well. Instead, I received a congratulatory maglet message from the Great Wizard. Ada should have as well.”

               “That’s why none of this makes any sense, Pip.”

               “I’ll see what I can find out. I don’t usually attend many events during the summer, but I’ll make the rounds. Ummm…you might also get in touch with Julie. Hubble.”

               “Why on earth…Do you think she knows about the political machinations of the witching world?” Hecate caught the barest frown on Pippa’s face. “I’m sorry, Pipsqueak, that came out wrong.” She sighed and rubbed the space between her eyebrows with her thumb. “What do you want me to ask her?”

               “It’s all right, darling. I know you’re under a lot of stress. I wish you’d…” She glanced back at Dimity and shrugged again. “I wish you’d let me visit, just for a bit, though I understand why now is not a good time.” She sighed, wondering when it would ever be a good time for them to just…be. “I think you need to ask Julie to let you know what sort of messages Mildred is getting on her maglet. Remember last week, when she said that Ethel had somehow found out that Julie wasn’t being allowed to attend the retreat? She couldn’t resist taunting Mildred about it. Ursula Hallow talks and Ethel tends to repeat it if she thinks she can get some sort of advantage from it. She may do it again if she hears any talk about Ada – or you. Don’t forget the roles you and I played in discrediting her mother.”

               “That makes sense.” She looked at Dimity. “I do not want to involve Mildred Hubble in this, however. That girl has endangered herself enough on our behalf.”

               “Agreed.” Pippa pressed her hand against the mirror, their usual signal that she was getting ready to sign off. Hecate looked back at Dimity, who jerked her chin toward the mirror. With a tiny smile Hecate leaned forward and pressed her hand against Pippa’s. “Promise me that the two of you will be careful, Hiccup. Dimity’s right, I don’t like the way this smells at all. Tell me you’ll have each other’s backs.”              

               “We’ll be careful,” Hecate assured her.

               “You don’t need to worry about…us.” Dimity said, grinning broadly.

               “Thank you, Miss Drill,” Pippa said, coloring slightly.

               “Please be careful as well, Pip, I don’t think we have the full picture of what’s going on.” She brought her hand away from the mirror just long enough to kiss her fingertips and put it back. “Sleep well, Pipsqueak.”

               “You too, Hiccup.” Pippa blew her a quick kiss, and the mirror swirled back to Hecate’s reflection.

               She met Dimity’s eyes in a challenge. “Not a word, Miss Drill.”

               “Not even congratulations?” She watched the smile flitter across Hecate’s features. “You two deserve whatever happiness you can get. Now,” she pointed at the mirror, “Julie Hubble, before it gets too late.” Hecate summoned her cell phone and started tapping in her code to unlock it. “I still can’t believe you have one of those.”

               “Julie made me. She said she needed a way to contact me since she can’t start a mirror call.” She opened the phone and tried to remember where to find Julie’s number. “Ummm…” She looked up at Dimity, confused. “Julie explained, but…”

               “Not used to it yet, huh?” She sat on her bed and patted the space next to her. “C’mon, I’ll give you a refresher.”

                  Julie Hubble was up to her elbows in oven cleaner when she heard her phone chime. She’d just sent Mildred to take her bath, so she couldn’t get her to check it for her. She decided to ignore it, but then it chimed again, and again. “Bleedin’…” She yanked her gloves off and snatched up the phone, glaring at the texts.  Hecate. She glanced at the messages.

               “Juoiwe.”

               “JuLiee. I hewd to tak”

               “yolu. Ptobstrly”

               Julie threw her head back and laughed, a deep belly laugh, harder than she had in…since the slumber party. Say what you would about Hecate Hardbroom, that dour witch could make her laugh. She checked the living room mirror to make sure that Hecate wasn’t on the other side. When she saw she wasn’t, she headed to her bedroom. Success. “Having a little trouble with the keyboard?” She asked, waving her phone at the frazzled looking woman in the mirror. “Hello, Miss Drill!”

               “Well met, Ms. Hubble! We’ve been practicing texting.”

               “My nails make it difficult,” Hecate ground out.

               “Why didn’t you just shorten them, like when we were bowling?” The gobsmacked look on Hecate’s face was Julie’s first clue that the idea had not even crossed the witch’s mind. She decided to just let that one go. “Did you need me or Mildred?”

               “You. Please don’t let Mildred hear this conversation.” The smile slipped from Julie’s face, and she stepped away to close her bedroom door. “Thank you,” Hecate said when she returned. “I don’t exactly know where to begin…”

               “We think somebody is trying to mess with Cackle’s again, but we don’t know why,” Dimity supplied. Hecate scooted over and magicked up a second chair so Dimity could join her in front of the vanity. “There’s nothing concrete, but…something feels hinky.”

               “What do you need from me?”

               “Nothing,” Hecate said quickly. “I don’t want to involve you in this, and I certainly don’t want to involve Mildred. All we’re asking is for you to pay attention to any messages Mildred may get from her friends or, Ethel Hallow. She seemed to have access to information she shouldn’t earlier, if she makes any comments that seem to involve the school, let me know.” An idea struck her. “Also, try to read Felicity Foxglove’s gossip column. I don’t know where she gets her information, but she often has knowledge that she really shouldn’t.”

               “I can do that. I’ll start reading through the Witching Weekly as well.” She shrugged. “Mildred wanted to start taking it during the breaks. I’ll see if anything looks odd,” she chuckled softly, “odder than the rest of it, I mean.”

               “That’s brilliant, Ms. H.” Dimity high-fived the mirror. “Brilliant.” Julie preened under the praise.

               “Whatever you do, Julie, don’t let Mildred know what you’re doing. We both know she can be…” Hecate searched for the right word. “Impulsive. And prone to acting without thinking things through. I don’t know what the undercurrents are to this, and I don’t know if there is danger or not.”

               “I won’t. I know how she can be. You be careful, too, Hecate. I don’t fancy having to find Mildred another magic mum.” She looked at Dimity. “Both of you.”

               “We will. Pippa’s helping as well, so if you have any questions…” Julie nodded. “By the way, since you mentioned it, I…um…I filed the paperwork yesterday. Everything is in order.” She sucked in a lungful of air trying to calm the bats that took flight in her belly every time she thought about this new role she would have in Mildred’s world.

               “So… you’re officially her magic mum then? That’s wonderful, Hecate.” She started tearing up, fluttering her hands in front of her eyes until the feeling passed. “I’m so pleased it all worked out. We’ll tell her about it together, next week. We’ll have a nice dinner and do it properly. Just the three of us, or with Pippa and Ada – a real family dinner.” Julie scrubbed a tear off her cheek. “I hear Mildred getting out of the bath. Don’t you go getting yourself hurt, Hecate Hardbroom.”

               “I won’t. We won’t.” She ended the mirror call but didn’t move away. She’d told Julie it was done. That felt more official than filing the paperwork had. Realer. Another flicker of warmth spread through her chest.

               “Magic mum?”

               Hecate released an aggrieved sigh. “An adult that would be…responsible for Mildred in the magic world, a guardian of sorts. A way to keep her here if something should happen to Julie.”

               “You have had an eventful summer, haven’t you HB?” The older woman nodded. “Good for you.”

               “That’s it? No jokes? No teasing?”

               “I meant what I said before, Hecate. You deserve every happiness that comes your way. I just hope that one of these days you’ll believe that.”

                  The morning planning session proved just as hideous as Hecate feared. By 9:15 she was certain she would rather be back in the woods, cooking gritty eggy toast on top of a tin can. She’d asked Ada if she’d seen their accountability ratings, but Ada changed the subject, wandering away to offer the staff tea and biscuits. Each time Hecate tried to speak with her the same thing happened. Finally, she resigned herself to analyzing the errors of the First-Years’ potion-making test and plotting out the range of lessons she hoped to cover. All the while Alma Cackle stalked from person to person criticizing their plans, their teaching strategies and, in the case of Mr. Rowan-Webb, the state of his beard.

               Hecate had already adjusted her plans three times and still Alma Cackle wasn’t satisfied. “Are you certain the Second-Years might not want to duplicate cheese this term as well, Miss Hardbroom?”

               By lunchtime everyone was tense and irritable. Miss Bat skipped eating altogether and instead chose to have a lie down in her room. Algie made himself a plate and followed along behind her, stroking his beard and muttering to himself as he left. Hecate tried to sit with Ada but, no sooner had she pulled out her chair, than Alma called her daughter into the kitchen. Voices were just starting to rise when a silencing spell slammed down, muffling the words, but not the noise.

               Alone, Dimity and Hecate forced themselves to eat. Hecate couldn’t even do that properly until she’d transferred herself to their room and back twice.

               “You know, I always thought you did that to be flashy,” Dimity said between mouthfuls. “Just that much more drama for the girls to be afraid of. It never occurred to me that you had so much magic that you had to burn it off.” She pointed at Hecate with her fork. “Should have though, you don’t really do things to be flashy on purpose. How far can you transfer?”

               “I don’t know, really. I know I can transfer to Pentangles and London. I’m not sure if I could transfer to Cackle’s from here, but I think I might.”

               “That’s pretty amazing, HB. I could maybe go from Cackle’s to the village, and then I’d have to sit down a bit I think.”

               “Luckily, you’re the Star of the Sky.” Hecate checked her maglet. “I’ve not heard anything from Pippa or Julie.”

               “It’s a bit early, though-“

               The kitchen door swung open with a bang and Alma Cackle marched to her chair at the head of the table. Ada followed, head down. She made her way back to her seat, and Hecate could swear that she felt Ada’s hand trail across her shoulders as she passed, but when she looked Ada gave no sign of it. Still, she thought, Ada was in there somewhere. Punch-drunk, indeed.

               After lunch, Alma gathered them all into the living room. “We’re going to take a break from whatever it is you think you’ve been doing,” Alma glared at all of them, daring someone to argue, “and we shall now discuss the new curricula the Council wishes for us to incorporate: Lessons on the Craft and Code.”

               Here, at least, Hecate felt confident. Her knowledge of the Code was perfect and her respect for the Craft immeasurable. Then Alma kept talking.

               “Clearly, the standards at Cackle’s have fallen.” She ignored the strangled noise that escaped Hecate. “It’s true and you know it. I can’t say I fully blame you all of course. It all comes down to a failure in leadership.” She looked scathingly at Ada.

               Hecate couldn’t bear it another second. “How dare you?” She jumped to her feet. Everyone flinched when a ceramic dolphin on the side table exploded. “How dare you say Ada is a failure! Ada has kept this school running under impossible circumstances and you’re blaming her? She has been cleaning up a mess that you made fifty years ago! If you hadn’t tried to hide Agatha’s problems or…or ship her away, then perhaps she could have been helped or stopped before she became what she did.” A shell-encrusted lamp cracked, and the lights flickered. “Don’t stand there judging us when the blame for our problems lies squarely at your feet!”

               The only noise was the crackle of the electricity and Hecate’s gasping breaths. All at once the reality of where she was and who she was talking to crashed down around her. Ten wide eyes were staring at her as she transferred away.

                  The sea churned before her, spraying foam until it hung like mist in the air as dozens of angry seabirds swirled above, almost entirely blocking out the sun. Sand rippled across the beach like water in a pond after a stone had been thrown in.  Hecate stood in the middle of it all, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders hunched, static electricity crackling in the air around her.

               Alma kept herself well back, waiting patiently for the magic storm emanating from Hecate to pass. In a few moments it eased, at least enough for her to feel safe in approaching. She transferred to just behind Hecate and walked slowly into her field of vision. Alma watched, fascinated as the younger witch slowly opened and closed her hands, keeping time with her breathing. Hecate didn’t look at her, but the sea and sand both calmed and the birds drifted mostly away.

               Hecate straightened her shoulders and dropped her arms to her sides but otherwise gave no indication that she’d seen Alma. “Have you come to relieve me of my duties or my position?” She wasn’t prepared for Alma’s soft chuckle.

               “Are you kidding? I don’t fancy having a Section 7 with Ada for trying either of those. It’s bad enough I owe her fifty quid.” She took a few steps closer.

               “I’m afraid I don’t see the humor in all of this.”

               Alma took another step closer. “No, dear, I don’t suppose you would. It really isn’t funny, just a bit of gallows humor on my part, I suppose.” Finally – finally – Hecate’s eyes flickered her way. “My job yesterday and today was to get you lot ready for that Birdsong man. To poke you and prod you so that, if anyone was going to lose their cool, it would be with me. Frankly, Ada thought Mr. Rowan-Webb would be the first to crack, but I told her it would be you and that I knew just what buttons to push. Told her I’d have you lose your stack by lunchtime or I’d owe her fifty pounds – a hundred if you didn’t snap at all. After me, I think that Mr. Birdsong won’t be much trouble to ignore, do you?”

               Hecate was quiet for a long time. She didn’t know whether to be angry or hurt or how she should feel. “Is Ada all right?”

               “She’s angry. I was here to test her, too. I don’t know what the Council’s game is here, but I intend for us to win it.”

               “As do I, Mrs. Cackle.” Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Hecate turned and looked back at the waves rushing against the sand. “I’m sorry about the things I said. I had no right.”

               “Hecate, you are as dear to me as either of my daughters – in fact, I’d say quite a bit dearer than one of them. Of course, you have the right. Let’s not kid ourselves…what did you say that was actually untrue?”

               “Mother?” Both women turned to see Ada standing behind them, hands stuffed in the pockets of her pink jumper. “I told you I’d give you five minutes to settle things up with Hecate. It’s been seven. I’d like a few words myself, if you please.”

               “Certainly, daughter.” Alma slipped an arm across Hecate’s shoulders, ignoring the way she stiffened at the touch. “I’m very proud of you, Hecate Hardbroom. You are a credit to Cackle’s Academy and a blessing for Ada.” She transferred away before Hecate could reply.

               Ada looked at her Deputy, silently asking permission to come closer, nearly stumbling in her haste when Hecate held out a hand to her. As soon as their hands touched, Ada pulled Hecate into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry about today, Hecate, but I…I can’t tell you how it felt to hear you stand up for me this time.”

               “I’ll always stand up for you, Ada.” She squeezed a little harder before letting her friend go. “Walk with me?” She asked, linking their arms together.

               “Gladly.” They walked silently, arms linked, up the beach. After a bit, they reached a little tide pool. Hecate waded in to gather a few shells that were useful in potion-making.

               Finally feeling settled, she decided to broach what she knew about their accountability ratings, shocked to discover that Ada already knew.

               “Yes, Hecate, that’s why I’ve had mother giving everyone such a hard time. I fear this visit from Mr. Birdsong is meant to do one of two things: intimidate us into following whatever the Magic Council wants us to do or to provoke us into failing this meeting and allowing the Council to take us over anyway. I don’t know why just yet.”

               Hecate debated telling Ada what she and Dimity were up to, but finally decided not to, all her reasoning coming down to two words: plausible deniability. If there was any risk to be had from their activities, it would fall on Hecate. “What time is Birdsong scheduled to arrive?”

               “Around five. In time for dinner, of course.” Ada grumbled. “I suppose we should be making our way back, then.” She threaded her arm through Hecate’s again. “How are you and Dimity getting on in your shared space?”

               Hecate couldn’t check her smile. “Better than I would have thought, actually. Still, I much prefer my regular roommate at these events.”

               “As do I, my dear, as do I. Mother’s snoring is even worse, if you can believe it.  I could hardly sleep last night.”

               “That is…hard to imagine.��� If Ada Cackle couldn’t sleep through it, Hecate hated to think how bad it was. “I…I… talked to Julie Hubble last night. She wants to have a family dinner when we tell Mildred about my…new status. I hope you’ll join us.”

               “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, dear.”

               By the time they returned to the cabin, Wilbur Birdsong had arrived. A roly-poly little wizard with glasses and a wheezy laugh, he was the last person to look like he was up to no good. Hecate was immediately suspicious. She and Dimity crawled into their twin beds with no news at all from Julie. Pippa did report that she had wrangled an invitation to a garden party at the Hellibore’s and hoped that she would have more to share the following night. Hecate fell asleep listening to the rise and fall of the ocean, thankful that Dimity did not snore.

                  “Wake up girls, wake up!” Miss Bat flipped on the lights as Hecate bolted upright in bed, desperately trying to shield her eyes from the light. Disoriented, she heard Dimity shout something rude, quickly followed by a loud thunk as she rolled off her ridiculously narrow twin bed onto the floor. “It’s only two hours until breakfast! I can’t believe you girls are being such lay-abouts.” Gwen spun on her heel and was gone before Hecate was even able to focus her eyes.

               “I’m sure I specified only one or two…” A huge yawn nearly doubled her over. “Drops. How many did you use?”

               Dimity pushed herself off the floor and slumped halfway onto her bed. “It was two. I swear. I put them in her mug last night.” They both jumped as Gwen banged on the door again. Dimity groaned into the mattress. Clearly, they were up for the day.

  Hecate schooled her features into a blandly pleasant expression and forced herself to nod every few seconds, her hands folded serenely in her lap. She told herself that she would not be consumed by this fresh new hell. Repeatedly. Birdsong had paired them into ‘shoulder partners.’ Hecate had hoped to be paired with Ada, or at least Dimity. Instead, she was relegated to vain attempts to rein in a manic Miss Bat.

“Our objective, as you know, is to enhance performance-driven proficiencies within our professional learning community. Let’s begin by sharing our norms with our shoulder partners.” Hecate continued to smile and nod. By Merlin’s beard she would do so even if she burst into flames. She turned to find Gwen gone. Suddenly, she heard a loud crash from the kitchen. A moment later, Alma Cackle called Hecate over.

“I think I may have done something…ill-advised,” Alma said, a sheepish expression on her face. “I’m afraid I may have given Miss Bat some Wide-Awake potion.” They both glanced at Gwen, who was a blur of motion as she prepared a tray of sweets. “Too much apparently, though it was only a couple of drops in her orange juice.”

Four drops, Hecate thought, weighing the effects of the potion. “That should be…okay…” She heard Mr. Birdsong ask for her and hurried back to the living room, summoning her Lessons Table for the First-Years, handing it over to him as she passed. Sitting patiently while he looked over her plans, she mentally shuffled through her prepared responses for today’s tortures.

“These are very thorough, Miss Hardbroom, but…I wonder if you might be open to some suggestions?” Hecate widened her dead-eyed smile and tilted her head. “I’d like to see more discovery learning taking place in smaller collaborative groups during potions.”

“D-discovery learning? Do you mean we should just let the girls…mix ingredients all willy-nilly and…see what happens?” He nodded enthusiastically. “That is a unique approach.” She tried to picture how that would work. Practically every scenario ended with her potions lab in ruins. Even so, she dutifully made the requested changes, certain this man had never brewed a potion in his life.

Miss Bat rushed through the room, foisting sweets on everyone as she passed. She made the rounds twice before scurrying away. Hecate spotted Ada looking at Gwen with a worried expression – and a guilty one as well. She caught Ada’s eye and arched a brow. How many drops? She mouthed. Caught out, Ada held up one finger. Five drops, Hecate waggled her head. Fresh hell, indeed.

At last, the lunch break neared, but just as they thought they would be set free, Birdsong announced that he had one more ‘quick’ item to cover. And thus, they were forced to sit through a motivational film on encouraging the students to have ‘grit.’ All it did for Hecate was cause her to grit her teeth. A faint ping sounded, but she ignored it – as she did the second and third time. A wadded-up paper struck her cheek and bounced into her lap. Straightening, she looked sharply around, surprised to see Dimity scowling at her. The sports witch pursed her lips and jerked her head at the wad of paper, flashing her eyes at Hecate until she picked it up.

Smoothing the paper open in her lap, Hecate could just make out the words in the dim lighting. Dimity has terrible handwriting, she thought, before turning her attention to the message. That pinging sound is your phone – answer it, you bloody Luddite!  Hecate wadded the paper up again and threw it back at Dimity, earning a stern throat-clearing from Ada. With as much discretion as she could muster, Hecate summoned her phone and pushed the home button, unwittingly bathing herself in bright blue light. Dimity tried and failed to camouflage her bark of laughter as a coughing fit.

The instant the video finished and the lights flickered up, Hecate checked the messages. All were from Julie Hubble and she wanted to talk to them – now. “Ada, Miss Drill and I will be a few moments late for lunch. I have something I need to attend to, and I require her assistance.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Do try to get Miss Bat to drink some chamomile tea.”

Without another word Hecate transferred them both to their room, they mirrored Julie straight away. “Oy! What took you so long? I can’t keep coming up with jobs to keep Millie out of earshot forever now can I?”

“We were watching a film about grit,” Hecate drawled. “What have you found out?”

“Well it was a bit of brilliant telling me to look through Felicity’s blog. I don’t know where she gets her information, but she’s spot on. She had an article about the school accountability ratings as well as a mention that, in spite of the fact that Cackle’s came in as the number one non-fee-paying school and number two over all, you lot are still in danger of being a, a…a SNIPE school and are under monitoring. She even mentions that Birdsong man by name.”

“We already know all this…” Hecate was losing her patience.

“Yeah, well, keep your skirts on, Catey, because I haven’t told you the most interesting bit yet.” She set the maglet aside and reached for a copy of Witching Weekly. “Way back in the local section of last week’s newspaper for you lot, there’s a tiny article about an Education Minister winning a trip ‘round the world. Now, who do you think that Minister was?”

“Wilbur Birdsong.” Hecate couldn’t deny she was impressed. “Well done, Julie Hubble. So much so I’ll overlook ‘Catey’ just this once.”

“Does it say when he left on holiday?” Dimity asked.

“It would have been the day after the article ran.” Julie cocked her head, listening. “That’s Millie back from getting the washing. This is all skeevier that I thought it would be. You two be careful or I will kill you myself. Dimity,” she nodded. “Catey.” She cracked a wicked grin and ended the connection.

“So, Catey, you know what this means?”

“Call me that again, and I will hex you where you stand.” She called up just enough magic to turn her irises red.  “It means that man down there is most likely not Wilbur Birdsong.”

“You’re creepy when you do that. You know that, right? What do we do now?”

“I say some investigating is in order. Mr. Birdsong, or whoever he is, should still be at lunch, correct?” Dimity nodded. “Very well, come with me. You can be the lookout.”

They tiptoed down the hallway and crept into Birdsong’s room. Dimity stayed by the doorway. If she leaned just a little, she could see the staircase and could warn Hecate with enough time for her to transfer them away. Meanwhile, Hecate studied the room. At least he’s tidy, she thought. She thumbed through a portfolio on the nightstand, hoping it had some sort of identification in it. No luck.

She had just opened a drawer when Dimity grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her away. “He transferred to the second floor, lazy sod. We don’t have – quick, get in here.” She flung the cupboard door open, stunned to find Ada Cackle already hiding inside. “Bloody hell,” she whispered, nudging Ada aside and shoving Hecate in before squeezing in herself. She magicked the drawer shut and closed the cupboard door just as Birdsong walked into the room. Hecate grabbed both their hands, ready to transfer them away. “Wait,” Dimity breathed, “let’s see what he’s up to.”

Hecate kept her grip on both their hands but angled her head so she could see through the crack of the door. Humming to himself, Birdsong puttered around his dressing table, straightening his tie, combing his hair, cleaning his glasses.

“I suppose,” Ada whispered, “that it would be hypocritical of me to say I’m disappointed in you two?”

“I should think so.” Even in a whisper Hecate’s voice managed to drip sarcasm. Hecate pressed her eye up to the crack again. Birdsong had pulled out what looked to be a bottle of mouthwash. He gave it a quick shake and took a generous swig straight from the bottle. Hecate hissed – loud enough for Birdsong to pause and look around. After a moment he screwed the cap back on and set it back on the table before looking around one last time and heading out the door.

Hecate counted all of twenty seconds before bolting from the closet, Ada and Dimity trailing behind her. By the time they had crossed the room, Hecate was already sniffing the bottle’s contents. “Pondweed…grimly grass…bat drool used as an amplifier…” Hecate looked at her companions. “This is a Switching Potion – a powerful one.”

“Too bad it doesn’t tell us who he’s switched with,” Dimity complained. Three heads swiveled as footsteps lumbered up the stairs. “Time to go, HB.” She grabbed both Hecate’s and Ada’s hands and let Hecate transfer them into their own room. They’d no sooner materialized when Mr. Rowan-Webb poked his head in the door.

“Forgive my intrusion, ladies, but, I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Hecate sighed and rubbed that space between her eyebrows again. “How many drops did you use, Algie?”

“Three – but not all at once.”

“Great Merlin’s beard, am I the only person who hasn’t drugged Miss Bat today?” Hecate glared at the lot of them. At least they had the decency to look embarrassed. “Does anyone have some sleeping potion?”

“I do. I brought some since I would be sharing a room with Mother.” Hecate held her hand out. “Really? Are you sure?” She gazed up at her over the top of her glasses, eyes pleading. “Please, Hecate, you don’t know what it’s like. Mother’s snoring would peel the hide off a dragon.”

Hecate arched one eyebrow. “I believe there’s a sports metaphor I’ve heard Miss Drill use before, Ada. Something about taking one for the team?” Ada slumped in defeat and summoned the potion, handing it over with a heavy sigh. Hecate took it at once and held it out to Algie. “Put…five drops in a cup of chamomile tea. Make her drink it, if you must. I’m surprised she isn’t emitting sparks with that much potion in her. You, Mr. Rowan-Webb, shall be in charge of administering any further doses of Wide-Awake potion.” She looked at Ada. “Tell Alma that no one else is to give Miss Bat anything.”

The four of them traipsed back down to lunch. Hecate and Dimity did their best to try to draw Mr. Birdsong into conversation but had little success. It wasn’t until a somewhat calmer Miss Bat asked him if he thought the new coursework on the Craft and Code should be a stand-alone course or a part of Witchory that he finally spoke up.

“For now, it may be that it has to be incorporated into Witchory. I know you’re down a staff member since you lost Mari Mould. It will be difficult to fill two positions.” He thought for a moment. “I suppose it could also replace a section of Chanting.”

“Replace Chanting?” Miss Bat sounded positively scandalized.

“Certainly chanting has a long history within the Witching World, but how are we adding value to the curriculum in order to establish a growth mindset that will allow your girls to develop Twenty-first Century witching skills?”

Miss Bat stared at him, glazed eyes blinking furiously. Hecate wondered if anyone would notice if she stabbed herself in the leg with a fork. It would surely be more pleasant than listening to educational jargon.

  “I’m sorry, Hiccup, I don’t feel like I found out anything that would be particularly helpful.” Their mirror call was later than usual and Pippa was already in her night dress - a pale pink gown made of a shimmery fabric that Hecate desperately wanted to touch. “I spoke with a couple of other Heads or Deputy Heads, and Hellibore sent out the same form letter of congratulations to everyone that wasn’t a SNIPE school.” She pulled out a white cloth and started removing her make-up. Hecate suddenly felt very parched. She started unpinning her bun just to give her hands something to do.

“As far as Wilbur Birdsong goes,” Pippa continued, “he simply seems to be a mediocre wizard from a mediocre wizarding family - exactly the sort you’d think would have his job. One odd thing, though, the witches in his family are very powerful, at least compared to the wizards. A few centuries ago there was even a Narvilla Birdsong that was the Great Witch. I’ve not heard much about them lately, though. Do you suppose the weaker wizards are diluting the line?”

“Possibly. I know it’s why some of the older, more traditional families still arrange marriages – to be sure their magic is preserved.” Families like mine, she thought with a shudder. Finally, the last pin was gone and she could rake her fingers through her loose hair, scratching her scalp and generally relaxing. She looked up to see Pippa staring at her, pupils wide, teeth chewing at her bottom lip.

“You are so lovely with your hair down, Hiccup.”

“Oy! Roommate present!” Dimity reminded them.

“And it’s lovely to see you today, Miss Drill.” Pippa leaned around Hecate and waved. “Anyway… Hiccup?” She snapped her fingers at Hecate, who sat, playing with a strand of her hair and staring at the mirror - shy smile on her lips and a flaming blush coloring her cheeks. “Hiccup!” She knocked on the mirror, startling Hecate back into the present. “As I was saying,” she winked and colored a bit herself. “There doesn’t seem to be much of note about your Mr. Birdsong, personally or professionally. He certainly wouldn’t fare well in a Section 7 with you, darling.”

“Which would be good news – if this was actually Wilbur Birdsong.” She filled Pippa in on all the details, calling Dimity over to make sure nothing was forgotten.

“I like this less and less, Hiccup. Tell me you’re spelling your door and taking every precaution.” Hecate nodded, as did Dimity behind her. “I do wish you’d let me come. I hate being here when you could be in danger.”

Hecate smiled. “I would hate for you to be in danger even more, Pipsqueak.” She kissed her fingertips and placed her hand on the glass, doggedly ignoring Dimity behind her. Pippa did the same before pressing her hand against Hecate’s. They hadn’t kissed since that night at the retreat, but these mirror chat goodbyes felt every bit as intimate, maybe even more so. “Please don’t worry, Pip. Sleep well.”

“I always worry, Hiccup, have done for the last thirty years. Have beautiful dreams, my love.” The mirror faded back to normal.

Dimity gave her a moment to settle before resting a hand on Hecate’s shoulder. “You two need to go on an actual date – soon.” She squeezed a bit. “You make me need to take a cold shower.”

“Leave it to you to make things tawdry.” She patted Dimity’s hand. “I’d just like to be in the same building for a little while.”

A gentle knock sounded at the door. Dimity stepped away to open it. It was Ada, wondering if Hecate might care for a walk along the beach again.

“That would be lovely. May I transfer us? I’ve got some energy I need to burn off.”

“I bet you do,” sniggered Dimity. She just managed to dodge the pillow that flew towards her head as Hecate and Ada faded away.

  Again, the night was lovely. Clouds rippled like dragon scales across the sky, reflecting the light of the nearly full moon. The breeze had picked up, washing them in the clean, salty air of the sea. Hecate felt invigorated just from breathing it in. She noticed that Ada seemed a bit distant so she linked their arms and dragged them down to the beach, summoning a blanket so they could sit and listen to the night.

“How’s Gwen?” Hecate asked, leaning back on her hands to watch the clouds drift past.

“Finally settling down. It turned out she’d taken a dose of Wide-Awake herself.” She vanished her shoes and dug her toes into the sand. “This is lovely,” she breathed.

“Good Goddess,” Hecate ran through the various doses. “That means she took ten drops of the potion today, Ada. She’s lucky her brain didn’t…short circuit. I can’t imagine the state I’d be in if I took that much.” She snuck a glance at Ada out of the corner of her eye.  “How are you holding up?”

“Oh, well enough under the circumstances, I suppose.”

“Ada…”

“Very well. I’m tired of playing the fool in all of Agatha’s maneuvering. I’m tired of children undermining the safety of the school – its very existence for heaven’s sake. And I’m tired of it being children who are pulling us out of one scrape after another – no matter how remarkable Mildred Hubble may be. Mostly, I suppose, I’m dreadfully tired of myself always, always, giving second chances to people who turn around and use it against me. It makes me wonder if the Council wasn’t correct when it removed me as Cackle’s Headmistress.”

Hecate jerked upright, grabbing Ada and spinning her around until they were facing each other, both hands on the older woman’s shoulders. “Of course, they were wrong, Ada! That’s why they reinstated you as soon as Ursula Hallow’s lies were exposed. It’s not your fault that Agatha is the way she is – you’ve tried to help her change and given her every opportunity to do so – but never knowingly at the expense of the school. It’s not your fault that the one thing Ethel Hallow needs – consequences for her actions – is the one thing you have been forbidden from providing. Well,” she smirked, “she needs that and a fit mother.”

“You’re being kind, Hecate.” Ada pulled away and stared out at the ocean. Hecate shifted so she could still see her face.

“I’m being honest, Ada. May I remind you that one of those people you gave so many second chances to was me? Where would I be without you? Who would I be without you?” She slipped a hand around Ada’s arm. “I would also remind you that the remarkable Mildred Hubble is someone else who’s benefitted from your kindness and second chances. And if I’m not worth all the heartache that comes from being let down, that girl surely is.”

“As are you, dear. You know, I can ask you the same questions. Where would I be without you? Still a snail, probably.”

“You would still be exactly what you are: the finest Headmistress I’ve ever known.”

Ada reached up and squeezed her hand. “That’s high praise considering who you’re keeping company with these days.”

Hecate blushed. She was really starting to get annoyed with how her face responds like it’s only fifteen instead of fifty.

“When do you think we might actually start seeing more of Miss Pentangle? You know she’s welcome anytime. You don’t have to keep her a secret.”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m doing. With everything that’s going on, now doesn’t seem like the time.” She pulled her knees up and rested her chin against them. With her free hand she started drawing random shapes in the sand.

“Surely you two have put things off long enough.” Ada’s voice is kind, but Hecate still feels the ache those missing thirty years cause her every time she thinks about them. “Besides, there’s always time for love, Hecate. I know that I, for one, am looking forward to meeting Hiccup and Pipsqueak.”

Hecate stopped drawing, her other hand dropped away from Ada’s arm. Something was writhing around in her brain, trying to get her attention. Ada started to speak, but Hecate raised her hands to stop her. “What did you just say? Say it again!” Her eyes were closed, and her hands clutched the side of her head as if she could will the writhing idea into stillness.

“I said I wanted to meet Hiccup. And Pipsqueak. Those are your nicknames for each other, yes?”

“That’s it!” They both ignored the small plume of water that shot up from behind Hecate as she leapt to her feet. “That’s where Birdsong made his mistake. During lunch today, he talked about Miss Mould, except he didn’t call her Miss Mould. He didn’t even call her Marigold; he called her Mari – a nickname. Did she ever introduce herself as Mari or go by Mari that you know of? Dimity will know.”

“You think Birdsong knows Miss Mould?”

“Why else would he call her Mari? Marigold was in Agatha’s coven. Do you ever recall anyone named Birdsong that would have known Agatha?”

“No, I don’t think so…wait!” Agatha slapped her forehead. “Rolando was a Birdsong. I believe she may have dated a Rolando Birdsong while she was at Wormwood’s, maybe some after as well.” She held out an arm and waited for Hecate to pull her to her feet.

“That’s two connections, then. So, what is their plan?” Hecate paced back and forth along the beach, kicking up sand as she marched. “Just to close the school? It’s possible, I suppose. We know Agatha has an ‘if I can’t have it, nobody can’ sort of attitude, but that wouldn’t matter to anyone but Agatha.”

“If you were a wizarding family whose powers are weakening… You might attach yourself to a powerful witch with a low regard for the Code. Someone who could and would use an Extraction Spell to take another’s powers. But…” Suddenly, Ada grabbed Hecate’s arm. “The wards, Hecate, he was after the wards!”

“Tell me you don’t mean what I think you mean.” What little color Hecate had drained from her face.

“As a monitor, Birdsong gets total access to the school. Literally and magically speaking, he has the keys to the castle. That can only mean one thing…”

“THE PHOTOGRAPH!” They shouted.

Ada turned and started running for the cottage. It took Hecate a moment to realize what was happening, but she broke into a run as well, catching up with Ada in a few long strides. “We’re witches, Ada,” she shouted as she grabbed her hand. “We don’t have to run!” She swished her fingers in the air and transported them back to the cottage.

Birdsong was still there, sitting in the living room with Algernon. Hecate froze, but Ada recovered quickly. She held on to Hecate’s hand and pulled her into the living room.

“What do you say, Hecate? Let’s go see if Dimity wants to join us for a midnight swim. I haven’t been skinny dipping in ages!” Ada kept her grip on her Deputy’s hand and pulled her up the stairs.  As soon as the door closed behind them, Ada and Hecate filled Dimity in on their new theory.

“We need to get that picture – pronto. You said you thought you could transfer from here to Cackle’s. Are you sure, Hecate?” Dimity asked.

“I’m not positive.”

“And she’s not transferring into an unknown situation alone. Mr. Birdsong’s role in all of this may be to keep us here while others go to Cackle’s. Get your brooms, take the fastest two and fly as far as you need to before Hecate can transfer you both straight in. Get the photo and get out. I’ll keep Birdsong distracted.”

Hecate waved a hand, and her narrow dress changed into a black button-up blouse and a pair of black jeans. “Let’s go,” she said, checking to be sure her pocket watch and her moon pin were in place. Satisfied, she transferred them to the porch and grabbed her broom, Dimity right behind her.

“Ok, HB, you set the pace, we’ll-“

“Just go, Dimity. I’ll keep up.” She ignored the look of surprise on Dimity’s face when she mounted her broom in the racing position – astride it, leaned all the way forward with her feet against the bristles. She shot forward, not bothering to wait for her partner, assuming that Dimity would catch up.

She did, but it took her longer than Hecate expected - and Hecate wasn’t too proud to admit that pleased her. As she pulled alongside, Dimity took a good look at the reserved Miss Hardbroom. Her hair, still loose from before, streamed behind her; a full-on grin was plastered across her face. Dimity eased closer and shouted. “You never stop surprising me, HB!”

“I feel like I’m sixteen again! Come on!”

They flew. After ten minutes Hecate thought she could transfer them both to Cackle’s. After fifteen, she knew she could. She stretched out a bit further, eking out just enough speed to catch up with Dimity. “Time to go!” She shouted, grabbing her arm.

  They explode back into substance, hurtling over the rooftop of Cackle’s, both of them pulling up into a messy, tumbling stop. Dimity had to bite her tongue to keep from shouting. Hecate pushed herself upright, gasping and smiling, wild hair blowing every direction. Witchiest witch indeed, Dimity thought. For a moment, she was actually jealous of Pippa Pentangle. “Let’s put down on the roof.”

As soon as they landed, Hecate extended her power. “Can you feel the wards?” she asked. “It all feels normal to me.”

Dimity felt along the edges of the grounds, the outer walls and finally the wards surrounding Ada’s office. “I don’t feel anything strange, but if they’ve got the charms from Birdsong, we might not know, right?”

“I’m afraid that’s true. What do you suggest?”

Wow, thought Dimity, Hecate Hardbroom is asking my advice – after riding a broomstick like she could have been a Star of the Sky. In a pair of jeans. “I say we head straight in. Pop us into the office, grab the picture, and pop us back out.”

“In and out in thirty seconds, right.” Hecate reached up and magicked her hair smooth and back into its customary I-mean-business bun. She held a hand out for Dimity and transferred them away.

They knew the instant they reappeared in Ada’s office that they were in trouble. People were there. Luckily, they’d startled the intruders as much as they’d been startled themselves. A yellow ball of energy careened towards them. Hecate was barely able to deflect it. A second one screamed past her, grazing Dimity on the leg. With her wits collected, Hecate fired back, sending her own green balls of lightning as fast as she could. Her eyes darted behind her, looking for Dimity. Finally, she spotted her. Dimity had dragged herself behind Ada’s overturned tea table and, even on the floor, was sending her own shots at the intruders.

The fighting was fierce. Whoever the intruders were, they used both light and dark magic. The air sizzled with it. A dark bolt slipped past Hecate’s defenses, passing so close that it burned a hole in her blouse, pain seared her side, just below her ribcage. One more scar to join the others, she thought, at least this one would have a good story to go with it. Carefully, she edged her way back, until she finally got close enough to Dimity. “Grab my leg!” Hecate threw as many bolts as she could, as fast as she could, hoping to clear enough time for them to transfer.

Just as they were about to disappear, they were yanked back - like a giant hand was slamming them to the floor. Hecate screamed, certain she had dislocated her shoulder. It was all she could do to block the fireballs flying towards them. It occurred to her that they were losing this fight, that her home was under attack, and she was failing to defend it. That she never got the chance to tell Pippa that she loved her – had always loved her. She ignored the tears streaming down her face and kept blocking everything she could.

Suddenly, there was a clap like thunder and Pippa Pentangle was standing in front of her, swinging a shiny gold Wizard’s Staff like a battle axe. Sweeping it in front of her, Pippa channeled a slice of white lightning across the intruders, catching one in the chest and sending him howling away. When another threw a dark, oily orb her way, Pippa used her staff like a cricket bat, swatting it back at its caster. “Hello, darling!” She calls over her shoulder, sounding like she was having altogether too much fun.

Hecate tried to stand but got knocked off her feet again, white-hot pain flaring in her shoulder as it was knocked back into place. She felt like she might throw up, but at least her arm was usable again. She pulled herself to her knees and adds her own fireballs to Pippa’s. Under the noise of the battle, Hecate could hear Dimity chanting behind her. Realizing what’s coming, she pulled Pippa down just as Dimity yelled “DUCK!”

A second later a wave of blue energy rolled through the air above them, blowing the glass out of the windows and sending the last of the intruders fleeing into the night. For a moment, everything was quiet, save for the sound of their own ragged breathing.

“Are you lot okay?” Dimity called. She’d collapsed again, back behind the tea table.

Hecate and Pippa looked at each other. Both were disheveled and dirty. Half of Hecate’s bun had come loose, but they nodded. “We’re okay,” Hecate rasped.

Pippa lifted a shaking hand to brush a strand of hair from Hecate’s face, cupping her cheek. Before Hecate could think about it, she crushed Pippa’s lips in kisses, whispering ‘I love you’ every time she needed to breathe.

“You’re kissing, aren’t you?” Dimity called from behind the table. “That’s great! I am literally over here bleeding but you two keep on snogging. Bloody repressed lesbians – don’t you worry about ol’ Dimity. You just take your time. Have a right proper shag while you’re at it.” She looked up to see them both staring down at her, hands tangled together, practically glowing.

Pippa quirked an eyebrow at her. “That all seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think, Hiccup?”

“I agree, Pipsqueak. Quite unbecoming in a witch.”

Carefully, they helped her to her feet, quickly righting one of Ada’s chairs when it’s clear she can’t stand. Her leg would need medical attention, as would Hecate’s side. “Look at all this destruction. For a picture.” Hecate gestured at what was left of the office. “And for naught – the picture is gone.”

“I don’t know, darling. If you two hadn’t figured this out, they could have come and stolen the photograph and replaced it with a duplicate. We’d never know. At least this way we know to be on the alert.” Pippa pulled Hecate against her, careful of both her side and her shoulder.

“We, Pipsqueak?”

“We, Hiccup. There is no me without you. Surely you must know that by now.”

Hecate rested her head against Pippa’s. “Is that how you knew to come?”

“It was the Twin Pins. I was in bed reading when all of a sudden the pin jumped like it was trying to connect, but then nothing happened. I’d never heard of anything like that so…I grabbed my staff and here I am.” Dimity hissed as she tried to shift into a more comfortable position. “I think we need to get back to the cottage.”

“Can you ride, Dimity?” Hecate summoned their brooms from the rooftop. No reason not to go through the windows now, she thought.

“I think, if we use my staff, that we can transfer back,” Pippa said, pulling them over to stand where Dimity could grab the staff and they could support her on either side. “If everyone hangs on and puts their transference energy into the staff, that should be plenty of juice to get us to the cottage. Will you steer, Hecate?” She nodded and off they went.

  Dimity screamed when they landed in Ada’s living room, the rough landing jarring them all.

“We need a mediwitch!” Pippa wheezed. “We’ve got injured!” She turned to look at Ada, anger warring with sorrow in her eyes. “Cackle’s has been breached.”

For a heartbeat everyone was frozen; then everything seemed to happen at once. Dimity collapsed - only Algernon’s quick reflexes kept her from hitting the floor. Alma summoned the healing kit. Miss Bat set forth a stream of profanities that would send the swarthiest of sailors running for church as she hurried to call for medical help. No one commented on why or how Pippa Pentangle happened to be there, holding Hecate’s hand and keeping the potions mistress on her feet.

Ada tore her eyes away from the raw and blistered skin visible through Hecate’s shredded shirt. “I’ll summon the Great Wizard.”

As Ada moved past her, Hecate reached out and grabbed her hand, wincing as her shoulder and side protested the movement. “The photograph, Ada. It’s gone.”

“So is Mr. Birdsong, dear, whoever he is.”

[tenroseforeverandever]

Dear Father Christmas... Chapter 21: December 24, 2036

MASTERPOST

Characters:  Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Tony Tyler; OC Hope Tyler-Noble; OC Charlotte Tyler-Noble; OC Wilfred Tyler-Noble; OC Therin Thomson; Javic Thane; Gray Thane

Rated: Teen

Tags: Family!Fic; Kid!Fic; Pete’s World; Letters to Santa; Christmas Fic; Family; Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Angst; Romance; Love; gun violence; violence resulting in death; life-threatening injury; life threatening situations; life threatening illness; original characters

Summary: When Rose Tyler was little, she always wrote a Christmas wish list to Father Christmas. As she grew older, the wish list became more of a letter to someone she could confide in once a year, but she fell out of the habit somewhere along the way. Now, as a new mum, celebrating her daughter’s first Christmas, Rose takes up writing her Christmas letter to Father Christmas once again.

Rose’s Christmas letters are excerpts from her life with her beloved Tentoo and their children in Pete’s World, written once a year, for each of 31 years.

Chapter Summary: Rose is feeling melancholy about having an empty nest, and the Doctor suggests a quick trip in the TARDIS for hot chocolate to cheer her up.

Notes: Hello, everyone! I hope you all spent the last week or so with days full of peace, joy, and love.

Today’s chapter references an earlier story of mine, The Cupid’s Arrow, revised edition.

To my betas, @rose–nebula and mrsbertucci, my endless gratitude. <3<3

Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for their 31 Days of Ficmas prompts. The prompt I used today was Hot Chocolate.

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

December 24th, 2036

Dear Father Christmas,

It just doesn’t feel like Christmas this year. The girls are off studying (that’s nothing new), but Wilfred has left us too. He’s decided to do a bit of travelling on his own this year, a world tour. He’s a restless soul, he is, not a scholarly type like his sisters (they can buckle down and study when they need to). No, Wilf’s much more like his Dad, always needing to be on the move. He’s spending Christmas on a beach in Australia, surfing and eating shrimp from the barbie, and generally having a good ol’ time.

So, I guess that makes me and the Doctor official “empty nesters”, yeah?

Now I know how mum felt all those years ago, when I left to travel in the TARDIS. She must have been so lonely. At least I have my Doctor to keep me company; she had no one. And, at the time, I never gave it a passing thought how alone and worried she must have been… just the way my babies probably don’t think about me.

Look at me, blubbing away. Just as well I came out here to the treehouse. The Doctor would have been worried to see me cry. It’s been happening a lot recently. I’ll have to face the music soon enough, though. I can feel his concern, but at least he knows I’m safe, and he understands when I feel like I need some time to myself (well apart from Snowflake: she’s curled in my lap. You’re not leaving your mum, are you, darling?)

It’s a little chilly out here, to be honest, but being up in the treehouse makes me feel so much closer to the kids. So many memories here, and besides the view is unparalleled! The sky is so clear tonight, and the view from here is spectacular, though I can’t see many of the stars right now; the moon is directly overhead, in its last quarter but still so bright it’s hard to see anything else. But it is a gorgeous thing all on its own.

I’m always in awe of the fact that I can actually make out some of the Lunar colonies. So much has changed in the last few years, and Torchwood has been at the centre of it all. The Doctor contributed his extensive knowledge about space bases (after all, he’s run through so many in his lifetime!) and supervised the design team and the actual installation. It never gets old, witnessing first hand, humans taking those first few steps into space, especially since I know what the future has in store for them (the privileges of being a time traveller.)

The Lunar colonies are actually becoming very well established now (you’ll need to start visiting the moon on Christmas Eve, Santa, if you haven’t already. The first official Lunarians… Selenites… (I dunno… The debate for a proper name is still on. Mum just calls them all Loonies!) were born there early this year. I don’t know how you’ll keep up once humans spread across the universe!)

Of course, Hope has decided to be a part of it all: she has a position as a physician on Lunar Base Shepard lined up for the coming year, once she graduates. She loves the idea of “pioneering” and has her sights set on eventually going on to Mars once proper bases are established there. That’ll be a while though, and thank goodness! The Doctor had a very bad reaction when she mentioned it. I’ve very rarely seen him so bloody frightened: pure fear and dread. He never could explain why, exactly, just that he had a feeling it was a very bad idea and muttered on about fixed points and such for hours afterwards.

But that’s years off. In the meantime, I’m just missing my babies so much. It’s funny how the holidays are the times we tend to miss them most. The rest of the year, since Wilfred went travelling, me and the Doctor (and Snowflake) have been too busy off adventuring in the TARDIS to really dwell on their absence too much. It’s almost like old times, and I mean really old times, back in the Prime Universe: the two of us; lots of running; saving the universe… only a bit slower than we used to (not exactly spring chickens, us!) and with a lot more vacationing in between… and with a cat (something my Prime Universe Doctor would never have entertained!) But now, it’s all so completely brilliant! It’s so good to know we can still make a difference out there in our own little way.

But now, standing still, that’s when it sinks in… the loneliness.

We’re only really here for the Hand in Hand feast, and Mum’s New Year’s Gala, back in full swing this year, now that she’s fully recuperated. It’ll be at least a full week before we’re back running through the stars!

But that doesn’t mean we can’t go for a short trip, does it?

Ah ha! Right on cue, here he comes: My Doctor. He must have felt my itchy feet over the bond, because he’s beaming away and shouting up at me “Where to, Rose Tyler?”

I guess I’m off on another great adventure… even if it’s just for a few hours!

--ooOoo--

We’re back, Santa! Made it in just in time for me to finish my letter to you… it’s almost midnight!

So, I was shivering when we set off, and the Doctor decided we should go somewhere for hot chocolate. Who am I to argue with that? Years ago, he’d discovered there was a Planet Valentine in this universe. We’d been to the one in the Prime Universe, back when he was still wearing leather (that was an adventure and a half!) and the Doctor had proclaimed one of the cafés there (The Cupid’s Arrow) had the best chocolate treats anywhere in the universe, hands down. We’d yet to properly visit this universe’s version and agreed it was finally time to discover if it was up to scratch. Sure enough, both the planet and The Cupid’s Arrow were just as tacky and over-the-top as I remember, and the hot chocolate was just as gorgeous.

I briefly wondered why we had never come here before (the kids would have had a blast!) but as we were seated at our table, and it ascended on its anti-grav platform through showers of confetti, I looked around me at all the other patrons, and all the reasons why this was not a “family” adventure came rushing back to me. I could feel my cheeks flushing in embarrassment and, I admit, a bit of arousal. This was indeed the planet of love, and many of the customers of The Cupid’s Arrow were very, very, very… sexually uninhibited! The Doctor, hearing my thoughts very clearly, waggled his eyebrows at me and gave me a cheeky wink.

Laughing and very glad it was just the two of us, we placed our orders on the touch screen. I should mention, our family is very particular about how we take our hot chocolate. Me, Charlie, and Wilfred all prefer loads of miniature marshmallows, but the Doctor and Hope prefer whipped cream with chocolate curls. And we always get into a huge debate about which way is best, the whole family, all five of us… together. So, of course, while we waited for our cocoa to arrive, me and the Doctor couldn’t resist starting in on the familiar argument. But it just wasn’t the same without our three not-so-little trouble-makers contributing their two pennies worth, and it didn’t take long before I was crying again.

Blimey, it doesn’t take much to set me off these days. Mum thinks it’s an early sign of menopause (most of my uterus may be gone, but the doctors managed to save my ovaries, so she may very well be right. I’m about the right age for it: forty-seven.) Poor Doctor, he has a loooong few years ahead of him with menopausal-me. And he’s just so lovely and sweet, holding me when I need it, and letting me know how loved I am (because it’s easy to forget when I get into a state like this.)

It wasn’t long before the sparkly, fuchsia Droid-waiter appeared with our hot chocolates. It fluttered its long lashes at me, its heart-shaped deely-bopper eyes bobbing slowly as it expressed concern for my tears. It was so ridiculous I couldn’t help but smile and thank it for asking after me. After it flew away, me and the Doctor broke into gales of laughter, again. He wiped my tears away with his thumbs. “Better?”

Oh, I felt so much better, and apologized for being such a nutter.

He grinned at me, took a swig of his chocolate, and with a full, whipped cream mustache, leaned in and gave me a big, sloppy, creamy kiss. “Now you look like a nutter too!”

I gave him a (loving) shove and told him he looked like one, as well.

“Oh, yes!”

And, oh Santa! I made a startling discovery as I licked the cream from my lips (and then from his.) I discovered that I really, really liked hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate curls, and he discovered that he enjoyed marshmallows, especially the little gooey bits that stuck to the edges of my mouth. So we decided on an exchange… and then, well… we might, possibly have got rather enthusiastically involved in the uninhibited spirit of Planet Valentine. I even forgot about my children for a little while there…  But I did remember to pick up some chocolatey treats for them and my mum before we left.

I hope I’m not on your naughty list, now…

Happy Christmas, Santa. I bet you and Mrs. Claus would enjoy the Peppermint Hot Chocolate at The Cupid’s Arrow. It’s so good! Love to both of you, the elves, and the reindeer too!

Rose

[cullinankatsudon]

Let’s get super damn real about representation/education and coded protection

So this is a series of asks I just got, which is actually one ask, which I can’t answer publicly without only answering one, so I just screenshot the whole mess and now I’m “answering” by using this as a jumping off point and going from here. And when I say GOING I mean fucking going, because JFC do I have some goddamned thoughts. There is so much to unpack here, both the stuff said and the stuff which is unsaid, which the asker may or may not have been thinking, but I know other people are so I’m just going to say it and everyone can either listen or leave. I don’t really care. The title of the blog is Just Here For The Ships and it is true. Please skip this and go back to the pics of Victuuri being awesome if you like.

I am not 24. I am 44. I am the author to over 25 published novels of LGBTQIA romance, many of which have won awards and have been translated into...I’ve lost count of the languages. Like, five? Lots. I’m not Big Shit but I’m not some peon who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I write about sex, though, and sensuality. I have written an asexual romance, and BDSM romances, and moderately sexual romances, and a romance with an autistic hero, several with heroes with anxiety/depression, May/December relationships, and a great number of new adult novels, which is basically the next step away from young adult, and often features 18yos so basically I write, often, teenagers having sex. And as I have said, I am 44, so I guess from the perspective of a 24 year old I am an ancient old creaky person perving like fuck. But we will cover this more in a moment.

I am also by identification a queer woman. No one has any right to that information whatsoever, it is none of your business. But I am public about it and I volunteer it for a specific reason which I will also underline later in this conversation. Now to the answer to the ask.

The incredibly short answer to this ask is, if you don’t like what other people are doing, don’t look at it. Don’t read their shit, don’t read their blogs, don’t engage. I keep quoting @fencer-x in this discussion because her opinions and mine align, and I respect her way of dealing with frustrating topics: she blocks people when she knows their views and hers clash and interactions with them will only make her angry/frustrated. My god, what an adult reaction. She doesn’t chase people down and harass them (not adult). She simply says, “This will make me ranty. I’m going to end this before it can start and go on with my happy ways.” Incredibly proactive because she has high-volume interaction on Tumblr.

But this ask isn’t a harassment, it’s an honest ask: why would an adult want to read about two teenagers having sex. I find it a frustrating ask, but I’ll honor it because I’m in a waiting-for-email loop and anyway, I’ve been seeing this go by my feed for months, Fencer keeps hammering at it and why should she have to keep saying the same thing? I’ll take an axe swing for the team. Just be ready because I am here with some fucking receipts.

Answer A: Assuming that adults people are reading about teenagers having sex because they are getting off is incredibly juvenile and reveals shallowness of comprehension of literature in general.

I don’t have hard sales on YA romance in front of me, but I’m a member of Romance Writers of America and could probably get it pretty quickly with a few emails; what I do know is that YA romance is doing fine, more than, and it’s not being read by only teens and whatever magical cut off is considered not-gross in legal adulthood. I don’t have any comprehension over what moment that is, when an adult human becomes old enough and now reading about teenagers is gross--is it simply always someone younger? Am I not allowed to read about thirty-year-olds fucking?--but whatever this is, I don’t care, because I don’t subscribe to it, largely because I know that readers of romance in general but especially young adult romance are rarely reading for sex alone. There are some people, yes. There’s nothing wrong with those choices, but they’re rare in any event, and we’re not talking about them yet. 

My new adult novels, however, while they are read by some college age people and some high school students, are largely read by adults, many of them my age or older. For the queer identifying reader especially, the books featuring young protagonists starting out in life often move them to write me passionate letters which in turn make me cry. But the heterosexual readers will often feel just as strongly. 

Why? Because it will possibly surprise (or depress?) a number of twenty somethings to discover that when people hit their thirties or especially forties/fifties, they look back at their twenties/youth and feel nostalgia, regret, and sadness over possibilities lost, time slipped away, and in the case of many women and queer youth, opportunities never granted. For many bi/pan people in particular of my generation, we quietly slipped into a heteronormative path because it seemed like the only choice, and while we may have made happy marriages, there are parts of our selves which never got to see the light of day, and that hurts. These books, these explorations, are ways to have those moments. 

Writing fiction is an even more empowering way to explore those same themes--and not everyone wants the hell of chasing down a publishing career, so fan fiction is a nice alternative. 

Perhaps you’re about to say, “But Heidi, those straight women are FETISHIZING!!!!!!!!” Oh, sure, maybe some are? I don’t know. I imagine you’d like to point them out to me? I suspect you have a list prepared. I bet you know who alllll those bitches are, eh?

Let me tell you a story. 

In the publishing world, people do the same thing. Readers and published authors alike loooove to play that game, imagining who is entitled to do what, and every so often someone decides to go on a witch hunt. Now sometimes there are truly people who have been deceiving others and the betrayals are horrible to see unfold, and they always break the community. And then sometimes--several times in my tenure--I have watched people go after “straight” women who have “dared” to step wrongly in queer romance...and all the while I have known that these women are in fact not straight, but rather are simply not out. I have done what I can to help, but there isn’t much to do, except that I keep a list--a real list--of the people carrying torches and I do not engage, do not highlight, do not give oxygen in any form, ever. So be very careful when you make your judgments of shippers FETISHIZING!!!!!!!! because you might be completely wrong, even if the bio on that person’s blog says they’re straight. If you don’t like what someone is doing, you should probably take Fencer’s approach and simply block them.

One of the reasons I am out--though only one--is because it is more uncomfortable for me to think about being jumped by assholes from my own team wanting to accuse me of appropriation than it is being accosted by an antigay bigot. I would like you to think about that for a long time before you ever approach someone about being allegedly straight.

But even the straight shippers have plenty of agency to enjoy writing about teenagers having a relationship which may include sex. That brings us to the next answer, though.

Answer B: women have a lot of unpacking to do in this damn world about sex, and in nearly every culture they are saying, over and over, romance between male same sex pairings helps them do this work. Including young pairings.

This answer comes with a ton of controversy and has taken me eight years of being published to come up with, and my way of speaking to it is ever evolving. While it is true that I have many gay male readers and nonbinary readers for my books which are largely about gay males falling in love, I also have many female readers of all orientation, though a large chunk of those are straight. This phenomenon has been the butt of jokes and point of ire depending on who is writing the article or asking me questions over my years as an author. 

This is a whole other essay, gnarly and deep, but the main gist is that women’s sexuality is so fraught and politicized that many women--worldwide, across cultures--feel more comfortable exploring issues about sexuality when the pairing is between two men than a woman and a man or two women. Now: personally, I want us to move beyond this and evolve, to move to two women as well as two men, to add in some heterosexual pairings but have the man be different as part of a trope--but we aren’t there yet, clearly, for so many reasons.  I think it’s important we keep pushing and trying, but it’s going to have to evolve there, not be shamed there or rammed there. 

We have a patriarchal culture; it’s no surprise that to undo this women pit two men against one another and attempt to undo the power structure by domesticating it, by rewriting it (literally), by remixing it on their own terms. Now--speaking as a queer woman, I do think we must, especially when writing gay men, be respectful and be aware we are writing about a marginalized group. However, this is a marginalized group writing about a marginalized group--women/gay men--and especially if the pairing is about white men, it’s an even power match. Gay white men in fact can seize more power than white women, if they want it--they must deny their orientation, but the choice is there.

It’s true that women writing about gay men can and have been sloppy, that descent into rape fantasy and feminization harm the relationship between gay men and women of any orientation. It’s also true that there are gay men quietly reading those same tropes the same way women in the 70s and 80s read rape fantasy and rescue fantasy in romance as part of their own evolution to claiming power (and yes, that is a thing). 

But wait, Heidi, you say, what the hell does this have to do with teenagers having sex?

Plenty. 

Because we’re talking specifically about Otayuri, yes? Yurio having sex with Otabek, who is not an adult, but is for some reason to some people, and we’re talking about adults reading about this. They are a gay pairing. And unlike Victuuri, they are not canon, not yet, maybe not ever, and this is very important right now, because there is more power in a non canon ship when you are writing them yourself, because you are creating the link. When you write Victuuri you’re celebrating a couple the creators literally put rings on. When you write Sterek or Sheith or anyone else who is not in their actual fictional show a couple, and when you are taking straight men and queering them up in a pairing, you are claiming power. I don’t care what your orientation is. You are taking a big dildo and aiming at the patriarchal system of the world through fiction and you are saying, “I am going to fuck with this, literally.”

To do that with young men is another statement on top of that. I don’t know, do people bitch about Sterek? Are there people freaking out about TEEN WOLF, TEEN Sterek and the older guy, the mentor, the adult graduate jailbaiter who gets shipped with him? I don’t have a problem with it at all, but if you want to go legally by the show, those are the terms. Why do people do it? Because there’s something in that power play that speaks to them. Something specific about Styles, who appears weak and young and vulnerable, and Derek, who is older and powerful but has a vulnerable side. 

Derek is the patriarchy, and Styles is how you bring him down. It’s more complicated than that, nobody thinks like that, but if you want to get deep as fuck with it, and I do, that’s what’s happening, and why it’s important. Styles is a kid, technically. As an actor I get that he’s an adult. Maybe that’s why there’s no freak out?

Okay let’s go to Sheith. Shiro is 24 and Keith is 18. Legit no legal issues here, plus they’re in space and in the future, but still youth is on board, and we have an age difference. Age differences are powerful. May/December is a thing and they’re heady in gay romance. Boy do people love the idea of a younger man bringing an older man to heel through love. This is not May/December, 24/18, but that age gap is enough to make people feel the pull, and the power dynamic is another. Shiro is the leader. Patriarchy. Keith is the feisty underling. You want to know why that ship is hot? That right there. Staid patriarchy needing feisty youngling to fuck it from underneath and get it to unlace.

You want to know why gay romance is so alluring, why people love gay ships, especially with straight characters? Because we are so goddamned desperate to change our culture and it won’t change and we don’t know how to do it and we feel like we have no power, and materially we don’t have a ton, but what we do have are these stories and a few hours a night to read or write subversive literature.

So I did everyone but Yurio. Let’s talk about Yuri P. Yurio is fifteen, a baby, a precious baby. He is not a baby. He tells you over and over he is an ice tiger. He got an upgrade in the BD where he explained how he wanted to dress himself and do his own music and he got his friend boyfriend to help him get dressed and pick a song and choreograph a new skate overnight, and then when he saw Victuuri was going to one-up him he came up with something to top them on the fly and it was hot and sexual and not at all contrived. The boy bled sex all over the ice, and if he had skated that routine up against Eros and Chris’s ass grab he would have won the competition. The boy is not a boy, he’s a young man and he is aware of his sexuality. He gets to play with it and claim it.

And people get to play with it too. It is a real thing, it is there, and it is ripe for the exploration. It is valid and on the table. Which brings us to the last answer (except there are about fifty more, I’m just only going to give one more because this is long as fuck and I have a family and I”m getting bored of this)

Answer C: Sex is fabulous and it is okay to like sex (and okay to not like sex)

Okay at the moment I am answering this in the theoretical, as a hysterectomy and PTSD over a past trauma regarding sex and way too much work-related stress have made the actual having of sex not something I’m interested in personally, but theoretically I find sex to be a wonderful, beautiful thing, and I’m currently going to therapy once a week to get my shit straight so that someday I can have it again because I do like it a lot and I believe in the power and beauty of sex and everyone’s right to have it and enjoy it (or not) in whatever way that pleases them so long as it is safe, sane, and consensual. I’ve written books that open with a blow job (true story) and books that are described as about “fisting cowboys full of feels” and also books with nothing more than two kisses and make out sessions holding hands and books where the sex is awkward and books where the sex mostly fades to black and everything in between. 

This includes sex by and for teens, because they have it. It’s okay for them to have it and it’s okay for me to read about it (and watch shows where they have it) and find it hot if it is because there is not an age limit where this happens. It’s an amazing thing, but I read books and find things hot or funny or sexy or scary or happy or sad and I don’t feel they are happening to me personally. I don’t feel that I am now that person. I don’t think that I am entitled to that character’s life, and I don’t mistake that I am suddenly that age. 

Nobody, by the way, would ever say this of someone about a horror novel for teens, or anything else for teens, and amazingly, nobody would ever and has ever said this about men reading fucking Lolita, a “literature” book about a goddamned girl and the pedophile who ogled her. Well, women. But people usually tell them to shut up because literature. Nobody says this to Woody Allen or the other men who have done all kinds of nasty shit. We are talking here, in a coded way, about “older” women reading about young men having sex. Because that’s a dirty act.

It is not. I am not old. I am older, yes, and so much wiser, and I can argue like this all damn day. 

But I might not do it every day because I also have a lot of work to do. Really, to sum it up: if you don’t like it, don’t look at it. Absolutely nobody on here is the morality police and nobody is entitled to protect anyone. The odds are really good you’re fucking up and hurting a lot of people if you try.

Just be here for the ships. Your ships. And everything will be fine.

[drewkatchen]

Twenty years ago it wasn’t novel to have a really specific opinion about Jawbreaker, the little three-piece punk rock band that everyone personally owned until they no longer did. It was all glowing praise, outrage over their calculations and callous indifference toward your thoughts of their career ambition or anywhere else on the spectrum, and most people fiddled with their bangs or barrettes while telling you this stuff over a bean burrito. 2017 is no different. I’m guessing that anyone from say college age to wizened old forty-something, maybe with a tattoo or several, bike owner and drinks shitty beer through a chipped tooth whether because of financial restraints or for posturing, you have likely given a piece of your mind to someone within earshot about the state of reunions and where you fall on Jawbreaker returning to a stage. Maybe it was to the Internet or to your wife or your husband or your kid, and maybe they know what you’re talking about or maybe they just think you should feed the cat. At forty, it could be gauche or off-putting to have opinions about old bands because maybe it makes you seem out of touch, and rightly maybe you’ve moved on to talk about the evils of gentrification and new construction or neighborhoods with good schools, but Jawbreaker is still something else entirely and you will share what you think.

Maybe you’re really happy because, like me, you spent the better part of the nineties in remote corners of the country, unable to find a ride to the show a hundred miles away on a school night, and you missed the chance to dance up against your buds in your Dickies to ‘Shield Your Eyes.’ And you think about how life conspired against you. Maybe having ample chances to see Jets to Brazil just left you a bit cold, like observing someone in the wrong relationship or what from the outside seemed like the wrong relationship. Or maybe, in the reunion-saturated circus that is now (are we living on a planet with more reunited acts than new acts?) you’d hoped that they would be the one group of individuals who just wouldn’t sully the enduring image you had of them, whatever your enduring image is. The acrimony that seemed present at their dissolution, certainly you could rest assured these were the guys that wouldn’t be tempted. You may also not care, but then again, if you don’t care about the band, then you’re probably not reading this either. But it doesn’t matter because my opinion isn’t as strong as that damn mighty group, still fortified all these years later with the power to beguile, that first popped up again for me last month on Chrissy Piper’s Instagram feed, her announcing to the world again something was happening when singer Blake Schwarzenbach, a totem of some kind of endurance, was leaning against a tree and having a smoke before a secret show, a post that absolutely took my breath away.

And my opinion about them coming back to life may not matter, but I have one and so do some of my friends, and they’ve been through zits and bad bands and lack of sex and then sex and then edge-breaking and then shit jobs and then good jobs and then weddings and kids with this band. We’ve grown, moved laterally, dipped and emerged with Blake, Adam and Chris. They don’t know us and we don’t know them, but we know them and we know ourselves in relation to what they’ve created. And I wanted to hear what my friends had to say because they’re funny and insightful and this stuff got to them all when their cement was still wet and for better or worse is in them for good.

But I’ll go first.

Jawbreaker were a band above most others, as far as I was concerned. From a distinct community of musicians that went on to have a global footprint, but best I could tell they were their own scene. This wasn’t my friend’s band; they weren’t kids from the high school even though they knew the kids from the high school started bands to sound like them. Accessible but also off-kilter, lyrics that used a bunch of common words to tell heartbreaking and affirming stories of love and house parties and untapped potential. They were the band my straight edge friends and emo friends and skater friends and pop punk friends could all agree on. There was a universality to their narratives that could speak to you if you let them. What was their party affiliation anyway? Beer? Books? Trains? Sadness? Effortlessly them and if you wanted to find yourself in their lyrics then you could.

I can see myself, a doughy Catholic high school teen in 1993, in different rooms and in the cars of different friends. My mom couldn’t stand Frankie and his dyed hair, but he opened up my world when he lent me the Chesterfield King record, the cover evocative in what it showed and in what it hid. I gripped it tight before putting it on my crummy turntable, allowing the titular song to really warm my ears. Who was the singer in the cool pants? Why was his face hidden? Why was he playing his guitar that way? Who was on the back cover? Were they in the band?

To me (and as it turned out, thousands of others), the song sounded like love. A love that I had never experienced and love I may never realize. Sweet, wooly, woozy love, and listening to it on my bedroom stereo, I imagined what it would be like to be held. The singer's rasp, appealingly like shredded glass and smoke, somehow sounded like romance or aching. Did I understand the lineage working? Did I know of Westerberg and Mould and Richard Butler? Maybe, but no, not really and it didn’t matter. As a teen, Blake Schwarzenbach was my Westerberg. I’d found succor in the pointed frustrations of Ian MacKaye and Ray Cappo, but what I most wanted was a boyfriend, to have someone there to buffer the family chaos tornadoing around me and to play with my hair. I didn’t have that but I imagined being the love interest in this singer's world. Did I notice then he used a pronoun only once or twice unless he was describing the ‘toothless woman’, a tableau affording me the chance to picture two men together on a couch, tracing lines on palms and clinging together in outerwear. The words in the song painted an image of proximity: of a protagonist close enough to, however odd, smell his love's thoughts. It sounded like heaven; it made me feel warm. This was my introduction to Jawbreaker. ‘Chesterfield King’ was a song I first experienced alone in Goose Creek, South Carolina, and it followed me all the way to this year, where it still sounded like love when it played during my wedding reception in a cozy bar on a winter day in Jersey City, New Jersey.

---

As far as them being a band now, I don’t begrudge anyone trying to make money and keep their lives afloat or even just being together with their friends. These guys were talented enough to write and record winning lottery tickets they could cash in decades down the road and now they are smart enough to take it. Good for them. Maybe I was concerned about my own relationship with the band in the current moment. Did I even have one? Did I need to? Aside from putting on their records at home or on my phone for the morning commute, how much did I really care anymore? How much did I need to care? I no longer sit and worry about things like relationships and affection when my legs are on my husband's lap, the TV or turntable on near us. That they have sounded good at every show they have played this year is great and it's inspiring to see their determination to make it sail. That they are around in 2017, existing in the face of nuclear nonsense and terrifying natural disasters, calms my jitters just that much. So I thank them for that as well. I didn’t travel to Chicago because my husband and I are saving our pennies for a home but just know that Jawbreaker breathed life--real, concrete life--into my half-lived youth and helped me understand my heart a little bit better, and I owe them a real debt of gratitude for it. And if, as Schwarzenbach says, there’s a 95 percent chance of a show in New York City, then consider me camped out for it already.

But I think I speak for everyone when I say this: no new music, guys.

And now my friends:

Tommy, in his early-forties, college professor

“Trying to Take Its Form”

Most of us remember when we heard that Jawbreaker had broken up. It followed soon after the release of Dear You [Jawbreaker’s final album, released in September 1996], or the moment when most of us felt Jawbreaker had broken up with us. In hindsight, the punk underground’s bitter rejection of Jawbreaker and Dear You seems petty and self-righteous at worst, naïve at best. On one hand, we might see the subsequent redemption of Dear You and Jawbreaker’s long afterlife as a confirmation of all of that. On the other hand, we might also recognize the profound, almost inexplicable, attachment people must have had to a band to feel so spurned by their career decisions and to cherish them so many years after they were gone. That kind of attachment is what comes to mind when I think of the many, many hours I spent with Jawbreaker after I discovered them in 1992. My first encounter was through a friend whose older brother had an enviable record collection. He had been in the right places in the late 1980s and early 1990s to acquire some absolute gems. His record crates held first pressings of Jawbreaker, Jawbox, Fugazi, Samiam, and virtually every New York hardcore LP and compilation. From those crates I randomly drew the New Red Archive’s Hardcore Breakout USA Volume 1 double LP. The second song on the first side is Jawbreaker’s “Rich,” which I am guessing by the date and sound was recorded during the same session as Unfun [Jawbreaker’s debut record, released in 1990]. The guitar tone, Blake’s scratchy, but melodic vocals, and the relentless drums made me think the Lookout Records pop punk I had feasted on for a good year was suddenly outdated.

“Rich” slots in neatly with other material from Unfun; it doesn’t aspire to the experimentation or darkness of Bivouac nor does it exhibit the stripped-down pop and lyrical mastery of 24 Hour Revenge Therapy [Jawbreaker’s third album, released in 1994]. It is a minor song, minor enough not to make an LP that few would claim as the band’s masterpiece. But man, did that fucking song cut its way into me; it sunk into the surface of my skin and gave me goosebumps. I never, ever wanted to listen to it in the company of other people. Jawbreaker became that intensely personal band, one you use as a measurement of other people, but don’t want to share with anyone else.

I was a 16-year-old punk kid in small town South Carolina when I found that song. Climbing into manhood was usually signaled by sexual conquests (my score card was comfortably and securely at zero), athletic prowess (flamed out in little league), or outdoor activities that involved shooting animals before arriving at school. Guns seemed weird and I hated the “hunt before homeroom” kids enough that I never wanted to be identified with them. Punk offered some refuge from those models of masculinity and their suite of expectations. I learned pretty swiftly how to say “Fuck you” to most of those people. But crawling out from under those pressures didn’t lead to much else. You could, it turned out, be righteous in your refusal of everything and still alienated. Like other people in my small punk circle, I dreamed of getting out, of fleeing to neighboring Columbia, a town which seemed by comparison metropolitan, diverse, culture rich, and home to a vibrant punk and hardcore scene.

Enter Jawbreaker’s “Rich.” I don’t know the story behind this song or what compelled Blake to write it. I do know that I heard it as a fucking promise:

“A Dream rising. Trying to take its form against the norm. A goal, hard to hold. Sizing up itself against the world. Don’t push, it’ll come. Everything is gonna be alright. Steady now, don’t fall apart. Keep yourself upright.”

No one ever said any of that to me when I was a struggling teenager. They didn’t say it because I never relayed how much I hated going to school or how much I hated everyone there or how hopelessly narrow my future prospects seemed. I wanted something else, somewhere else, but had no reason to think I deserved more. Black Flag and Minor Threat had taught me how to internalize music. I could close the door to my room and make those voices screaming on the other end of my headphones scream for me and scream with me. It was a survival strategy. Jawbreaker’s “Rich” spoke to me immediately and intimately. It was okay to want more, to have outsized dreams, and even to feel crushed by the weight of them. “Everything is gonna be alright.” It is the simplest of lines; it could also be among the most trite and cliché. Those words would have been meaningless if anyone else had ever uttered them to me. But from Jawbreaker, they felt honest and shockingly new. The rising of Blake’s voice at the onset of that line signaled confidence, understanding, and, fuck it, I’ll say it, love. I spent hours alone listening to that song over and over.

Several months later I was punished for standard teenage punk antics: not coming home on time (or not at all in this case), getting blind drunk with friends in the woods, and driving 70 miles to Myrtle Beach at 4 in the morning because it seemed like only thing left to do. Housebound and on restriction for weeks, I took those Hardcore Breakout and Unfun records into my room and lived with them for days on end. At some point, I was allowed a trip to Manifest Records (southeastern record store chain) and the cashier handed me an advanced copy of Jawbreaker’s Bivouac on cassette. I was obsessed. That month’s issue of Maximum Rocknroll contained an ad announcing Jawbreaker’s summer tour and Columbia, SC was on the itinerary. I was granted early release due to good behavior just in time for that show and it was everything I needed it to be.

If you were a teenager when Jawbreaker started releasing records, there is a very good chance that you grew up with the band. Blake’s lyrics and storytelling became increasingly complex and mature; the direct appeal of “everything’s gonna be alright” blossomed into narratives of entangled love, unshakeable regret, and the pull of places near and far. In other words, teenage angst evolved into the intense emotional swings of early adulthood. And somehow, for me anyway, those first three albums never lost their power to give form to experience. They still haven’t lost that power.

If so many of us were furious when Jawbreaker “sold out,” it was because they taught us how to feel our way through worlds that didn’t want us to feel; they told us we could leave places that didn’t want us to escape. We could hold out for a little longer because it would be worth it.

Todd, late thirties, works with computers, lives in Washington, my former roommate

I came across Jawbreaker in the spring of 1995 while doing a radio show at WRUV in Burlington, VT my junior year of high school. My friend Mike called in and wanted me to play “Ashtray Monument,” [a song from he 1994 album 24 Hour Revenge Therapy] so I played it and fell in love with the song, so I "borrowed" the CD from the radio station for the next week and listened to it pretty much non-stop. The latter-half of that album in particular became the soundtrack to the end of my high school life; I would listen to Do You Still Hate Me? and West Bay Invitational over and over again obsessing over the heartbreak and joy found within each song, but it wasn't until 1996 when I bought a copy of Bivouac that I really got into them.   Bivouac always felt like a very odd album to me. There's still such a contrast between the first three songs on that record (”Shield Your Eyes”, “Big” and “Chesterfield King”) compared to the rest of the album -- those songs are light and poppy compared to the density of most of the later tracks (although "You Don't Know What You've Got" and "Pack it Up" break that mold.) I was super into Orange Rhyming Dictionary [an abum by Jets to Brazil, a band that formed after Jawbreaker with Blake Schwarzenbach as singer], but quickly was disappointed by Jets to Brazil. Four Cornered Night killed me with that "I love my piano" song, and while Perfecting Loneliness was much more decent, it never could capture that frenzied energy that Jawbreaker managed to contain. I remember getting a copy of a live show of their's at Mad Hatters on VHS from Rick Ta Life [singer of New York Hardcore band 25 ta Life] off eBay when I lived with you in Boston, and the camera operator is standing on Chris' [Bauermeister, Jawbreaker bassist] side of the stage so the recording is insanely bass-heavy. They rip into “P.S. New York is Burning” and for the first time I really heard what was going on in with the bass line in that song. This was right after 9/11, so there was some poignancy to the song title at the time as well, but it just felt heavy and cathartic at the same time. “Parabola” and the eponymous Bivouac follow that line as well; they're songs of release.

This was also the time when I realized that what made Jawbreaker so amazing wasn't just Blake's lyrics or guitar or Adam's drumming or Chris' bass, but rather the interplay of all of them together and how they worked off each other to create something new. I never got the chance to see them -- they broke up way too quickly after I discovered them and never played anywhere close enough to Burlington to be able to catch them live.  

Vincent, Has a really adorable daughter, lives in North Carolina with his awesome wife, wrote for HeartattaCk, has a nice voice

How did I find Jawbreaker? Memories attached to them? Did I see them? What do I really think about JTB? What song of theirs really meant something to me? What do I think of the reunion?

"The Boat Dreams from the Hill" reminds me of a late-80s maroon Volvo. I was in a classmate's car when I heard it, and the rest of 24 Hour Revenge Therapy for the first time. Most memorably, I remember every passenger in that tank belting the chorus to "Boxcar," ("1-2-3-4 / Who's punk / What's the score?") while trucking around Hillsborough Street.

That weekend, I went down to Schoolkid's Records and picked out 24-Hour Revenge Therapy and Farside's Rigged. I brought both to the clerk, and asked which one was better. He admitted to knowing nothing about Farside, but took one look at the Revelation Records logo and said, "Do you like heavy stuff? This one is gonna be heavy." He held up the Jawbreaker and said, "I can definitely tell you that this album's great." And, boy, it was. (I got Farside's 'Rigged' a few weeks later, and that, too, was also great, but definitely not heavy).

While most retrospectives stake out Jawbreaker as a monument to emo, in their zeitgeist they were lumped in with pop punk and the East Bay scene. Where pop punk stayed within the confines of a three-chord, verse-chorus-verse formula, Jawbreaker veered into extended instrumental jams, moody, white noise textures, and irreverent samples. Where pop punk's attitude was basic and bratty, Jawbreaker's demeanor was literary and melancholy. They appealed to kids that matured from fart jokes to irony. Like J. D. Salinger, I think Jawbreaker speaks to post-pubescent angst really well. In particular, hyper-sensitive and brooding young males like myself. We're a lot of fun at parties.

I saw Jawbreaker on November 2, 1995 at the Cat's Cradle in Carrboro, North Carolina. The openers were The Smoking Popes and Eagle Bravo. If a kid were born on that day, they could legally drink now. Whoa. This show was notable for a number of reasons: 1. Like most ambitious punks, I did a zine at the time. I reached out to Jawbreaker's publicist at Geffen Records, thinking they were too big for some 15-year old kid with a zine that had a circulation of about 500 copies. Nope. Geffen was cool, set me up with a couple of hours with the band before the show, and put me and a friend on the guest list.

2. Since it was for my zine, I took photos. I had just gotten a fully manual SLR from an uncle and taken a photography class here and there, but definitely had no idea what I was doing. I shot black and white and developed the photos in the hallway bathroom. They didn't come out great, but it started a long tradition of photographing live music that I still partake in today. 3. My +1 couldn't make it, as he fell ill on the day of. It was something pretty serious, as Jawbreaker was one of his favorite bands. I got him a Get Well Soon card and had the band sign it. I remember that Blake wrote "Be well soon," to which I thought he was real learned and shit.

I followed the hype around Jets to Brazil enough to pick up Orange Rhyming Dictionary, and saw them a couple of times. They never grabbed me in the way Jawbreaker did, and I'm already bored writing this sentence, so that'll be that. [Editor’s note: So shady, Vincent].

There's only a couple of bands from my impressionable and developmental days that aged with me, and Jawbreaker was one of them. In the way that a song might have meant something to me at 16 years old, but take on a totally different meaning when I was 25. "Donatello" off Bivouac was like that. Over the years, I related to various interpretations: my relationship with my parents, living in suburban North Carolina, racial expectations, but it was never a love song to me. One random memory: there was a period in my life where I started making "normal" friends, stepping outside of the murky underground music scenes, and navigating parts of Chicago I had initially avoided. I ended up falling in love with a lady, who is now my wife. She threw a party once, and, for music, just plugged in her iPod and hit random. "Kiss the Bottle" was on there, a track from a mix CD a college friend had made her. While everyone was out back having some epic Flip Cup tournament and talking about the Cubbies, I was on the couch with a union cement pourer, taking Jameson shots, hugging as Jawbreaker fans do, and yelling every single word to that song at the stereo. He and I had casually talked records before, but I think that was a moment we really connected.

The reunion? I hope they make a million bucks. They deserve it. I already witnessed them endure the purist wringer when they signed to a major, and that seems so moot in 2017. However, I won't see them at Riot Fest. I lived in Chicago, but never went to Riot Fest, and have a million thoughts about it that aren't relevant to Jawbreaker. The one that does: there's a certain kind of performer that can create enough spectacle out of their music to entertain a massive audience in an outdoor venue. I don't think Jawbreaker is one of them. But, I also have never been around 60,000 people screaming "1-2-3-4 / Who's punk / What's the score," so what do I know?

Doug, teacher, has incredible hair and a preponderance of nice shirts, is someone I care about a great deal

My relationship with Jawbreaker is so intimately entwined with my coming of age that it is never really clear to me where Blake Schwarzenbach’s lyrics captured perfectly the fumblings and hurts of growing up and when those lyrics shaped my thoughts. If it is difficult for me to delineate this now, it was impossible for me when I was 19. At that age I was studying American literature in college, had my first band of any importance, fell in love and had my heart broken, and had what I thought was full control of the vices that would later haunt me. Dark secrets burn their vessel, it has been written, but at that age you can save them for later. It would be a few years until I fell from the wagon to the night train.

Fiction, reading and writing, was always more truthful to me. Looking back, it was because I wanted to write myself a better story. As a teenager I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion. Like many of us in those awkward years, that drove me into independent bookstores and record shops. Although it felt iconoclastic in my suburban Boston town, like most angsty teens I fell in love with poetry, really and specifically, Beat poetry. I tore through the novels of Jack Kerouac, reading his blend of truthful fiction at the same rate as his prose. Carrying around a battered and dog eared copy of Howl one day while in Newbury Comics is how a conversation started with the clerk filing CDs. She recommended Jawbreaker’s Bivouac, Crimpshrine’s Quit Talkin Claude, and Leonard Cohen’s New Skin For the Old Ceremony. A pretty solid haul.

Beats spoke to me, but they never felt that they were of my time. Schwarzenbach’s lyrics however, contained an urgency and quality that made Jawbreaker songs feel like they were happening to me in the moment. And he made it clear that he/we were drawing from the same well. And because I believe in desperate acts, the kind that make you look stupid, I desperately tried to start a band like Jawbreaker from there on. That took a few years, though. I had to wait until I was in college. Until then Jawbreaker was a constant soundtrack, with “P.S. New York is Burning” copied onto countless mixtapes and the band’s albums passed around like samizdat. To be accurate, I spent too much time hanging out with my very small circle of friends, drinking coffee, with just cigarettes to fill the gaps in our empty days.

The band I formed in college was in retrospect a little too overt influenced by Jawbreaker. We were punks, sure, but with the local scene enamored with The Overcast and The Ducky Boys, I often felt like I should apologize from the stage, saying something like “Sorry we ain’t hard enough to piss your parents off.” But again, Blake’s lyrics felt like he was writing my soundtrack. His being open with the struggles and politics of the East Bay punk scene was writ large what has happening in my very tiny little world (is there anything smaller with bigger stakes than your hometown punk scene?)

Hell is definitely sitting in a van with seven punks for countless hours on the road. Unwashed and unkempt, four in the band and the rest “road crew;” the smells, the boredom, and the lack of space would crack anyone. And it was the greatest time of my life. Booking a tour pre-internet was no joke (Book Your Own Fucking Life, RIP) [Ed note: BYOFL does seem to exist in web form] and a cross country tour when you have two seven inches out, one of them a split, is the kind of undertaking left only to young and foolish punks. Of course, we didn’t make it far. We broke down at the top of Massachusetts. Shows were off, it was pretty heavy. Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life. Like Sal Paradise we kept trying until we were able to cross this vast continent. Driving seven hundred miles to play to fifteen angry men is disheartening - except! - when you can turn on Jawbreaker’s “Tour Song.” In the van after load out, listening to 24 Hour Revenge Therapy I could realize that there was nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.

Out in Berkley, having finally made it to the storied Gilman Street venue [a place the subject of this essay series played many times] for a show, was the beginning of the end for my band - although at the time it didn’t seem that way. The drummer, a prolific zine pen pal and all around social mover of the group, was able to bring in more people than a relatively unknown touring band would normally. It was people from bands and labels, the good ones, plenty of stunning children, so before I went on I felt the swell of making it. Here I was, about to go on the stage and witness the scene that I had so romanticized. The set was over quickly and, after, I stood outside in the East Bay industrial park drinking a beer and feeling the chill of fall. It was one of the rare moments of contentment and I didn’t grasp that the moment was fleeting; more temporary than I could imagine.

Of the end that was about to befall my band, it had eerie parallels with the crack up and break up Jawbreaker. Their signing to a major label caused major rifts in scene politics and it felt like one had to take a side. We weren’t offered the storied million bucks that Jawbreaker was but we were offered more than we had from the large indie label that was taking bets in the post-Green Day landscape. I guess I’m not the gambling type, since it didn’t quite make sense to me to take the deal, but I was a minority in the band. Even at that level moving units and tracking charts seemed like a fool’s errand. However, the scene chafed and I grew so goddamned tired of fighting against the chains. I was able to play guitar a little better, and piano a little better too, so why not make better music?

My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them. All the talk of musicianship and the tensions of (very minor) success is really just a cover. I was drinking too much at that point. After our LP was released to far less impact than we expected I had a moment in one of the rare times we sprung for a hotel room. I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was - I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I quit the band that night.

Truth is, now, years later, all I really need is hot good coffee, and a good, good book. Jawbreaker is reuniting, and I get it. Sometimes the past needs to be reckoned with in the present. Or maybe they just want to make some bank. The politics, optics, and aesthetics are debates I’ve left behind. I won’t go to the show because it will be familiar faces and still none to recognize. But I haven’t completely given up on nostalgia; I’ll still put on Jawbreaker records and bounce around with a foolish grin on my face. After all, it’s not that bad. I still have pictures. I look back.

[bewarethewolfarmy]

(While I totes don’t do anything else, enjoy the paper I wrote for my history class about fanfiction XD

A Poet In Whom Live All The Poets of the Past

In Virginia Woolf's “Letter to a Young Poet” she advises a young poet on being a poet; she says how all poets before and after exist within in, and that they help to move his pen, to write. In this he is ancient, and in this all creativity is a spring from which poets, all writers, drive from. So then what would her opinion of fan fiction be, the writing of stories, and poems, based on others' works? Why then does the common consensus seem to be that the drawing off of others works seem to come off as a bad thing? Fan fiction is not a bad thing innately, yet it is believed to be. Whether it is arguments about its legality, it's usefulness, or it's actual content, fan fiction has the misfortune of being given a reputation for being “bad.” Yet it has always existed; whether Pride and Prejudice and Zombies or a theater company's production of Shakespeare, the world builds it's tales on the backs of old. The continuation of it by writers today should not be an issue worth arguing but it is and so it shall be. Fan fiction does little harm and indeed instead it helps writers. It fosters ability and language skills and despite fears of copyright infringement and the content of their stories, it does not harm those whom they are based on nor readers and writers of the stories thus it should be applauded and treated with the respect it deserves as a writing style

First though there is an important question to answer: what is the subject known as fanfiction? From the perspective of a writer of fanfiction the definition would be “a piece of written prose or poetry which borrows from and is influenced by a previous work or individual”; fanfiction is something that is born from not both media such as movies and tv shows but also from real life people, thus the existence of the controversial but still fanfiction genre known as RPF or Real Person Fiction. In a more professional side, on page 20 of the online edition of the Oxford Dictionary of Science Fiction “fan fiction” is defined as “amateur science fiction and fantasy fiction; fiction that uses characters or a fictional universe originally created by a professional author or for a television show, movie, etc. Also a work of such fiction” emphasizing an existence in primarily science fiction and fantasy; “fan fiction” in this form has been in use since at least 1939 where it appeared in Le Zombie, though it's shorthand name “fanfic” according to Oxford did not appear in published form until 1976 almost forty years later, undermining the popular belief that fanfiction itself is a new form. Before the age of internet, fans would publish their works in anthologies and fan-made publications known commonly as fanzines; dating back to the 1930s with the creation of The Comet in May of 1930, the existence of fanzines, primarily for fans to share among each other, allowed for the propagation of mostly non fiction letters and discussions. But the existence of fanzines such as Spockanalia, the first documented Star Trek fanzine, allowed for the spreading of fan written stories, making for some of the earliest examples of what we call fanfiction today. As the World Wide Web took hold, the sharing of fanfiction became easier, with the advent of specialized sites used for housing fanfics of specific media, ranging from Lumos for the Harry Potter community to Anne's Story Page for Titanic. Nowadays the primary sources of fanfiction in the general community are down to a handful of major sites: Archive of Our Archive, abbreviated as AO3, and Fanfiction.net, FF.net, are of the current main sites but many writers of fanfiction also use sites such as Mediaminer.org and the social platforming sites Tumblr and Facebook to post their works as well. On those dedicated sites such as AO3 and FF.net, the stories are always separated out the same as any published work, by genres such as romance or humor, as well as by their specific fandom, such as Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings.

As a form born in the shadows then, to people who were simply writing what interested them using stories they knew, what is benefit in making it respected and more mainstream? Well, one is the creative aspect. The creation of new stories is not a spontaneous thing; before a human may learn how to form their own sentences, they have to mimic the words spoken around them by others. It is only by taking those pieces that they can begin to form something else; similarly a writer using old media to create something else is a stepping stone to creating their own works. Authors such as Meg Cabot, RJ Anderson, Cassandra Clare, and E. L. James have all admitted to having written fanfiction in the past; Neil Gaiman, author of American Gods and The Graveyard Book, notes on his official Tumblr that “...it’s a good place to write while you’ve still got training wheels on - someone else’s character or worlds...” and in an article on The Bustle, Emma Lord says of fanfiction that “Fan fiction, for many people, is just a gateway drug to all other fiction writing.” This also counts as an educational use, helping students of creative writing and English in general to feel more comfortable in writing outside of a strictly academic environment, as explored in both “Going Public” an article by Jayne Lammers and Valerie Marsh, and “Literacy Engagement Through Online and Offline Communities Outside School: English Language Learners’ Development as Readers and Writers” by Guofang Li. Marsh and Lammers' subject “Laurie” says how “ 'the problem with [school] writing… is it wasn't storytelling at all. It was just regurgitation of facts or it was analysis of stories that were already there' “ and Li writes of a subject “Yina” that “ when I first interviewed Yina at the beginning of fifth grade, she expressed frustration and lack of confidence in English” (p. 314, Li) but how after two years, in which Yina has involved herself in fanfiction and fandom in general that “Yina’s volumes of sophisticated writing of different genres suggest that she had become an accomplished writer in English” (p. 314, Li). Lammers and Marsh's paper also goes into the societal use of fanfiction, noting how “Reviews both compliment Laura's writing and also provide confirmation that Laura reached a fellow audience member—an experience Laura describes as 'meaningful.'...she derives a level of satisfaction from knowing her work was read by a social other—someone who shares her passion for Wicked”. In Angela Thomas' paper “Fan fiction online: Engagement, critical response and affective play through writing”, she states “The range of practices...is quite astonishing: collaborative writing of fan fiction, the teaching of...the intricate details and specialised knowledge of the field....and dealing with management issues related to a 200 member community. For a group of predominantly 13–17 year olds, the level of writing, discussion and negotiation involved in these practices is remarkably sophisticated.” (p. 229, Thomas).

What then are the arguments against fanfiction? The major one is that of copyright; many authors, including Anne Rice, Orson Scott Card and Diana Gabaldon, have famously spoken out against fanfiction, feeling it is “illegal” and “infringes upon their copyright.” The problem with that is difficulty of arguing for copyright; to copyright something an expectation must be met that  “the material is original, fixed in a tangible medium of expression, and owes its origin to an author.” (p. 201, Chatelain), which is difficult to prove with writing being inspired by other works often. In the case of The Wind Done Gone, a published work by Alice Randall based on and parodying Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell , though lower courts allowed for the blocking of the publishing of the book, the federal appeals court ultimately overturned the ruling and the estate of Mitchell ended up dropping the case and settling outside of court. In addition the existence of the Fair Use Doctrine, Section 107 of the Copyright Law, allows for the use of copyrighted work under certain circumstances, notably nonprofit. But fanfiction writers are not often looking for money when they write; as mentioned in previous paragraphs fanfiction is more a stepping stone, hobby or educational tool than anything else. As Emma Lord mentioned in another article “6 Things Everyone Who Enjoys Fan Fiction Has Heard Before, And Is Totally Over”, “people who write fan fiction don't do it for the money. We do it for the community, and for the chance to connect with writers and readers...”.

Another argument is the content of fanfiction. It is often denounced as lazy writing, often by authors such as George R R Martin who dislikes the useage of the word to what is done now with fanfiction. The discussion of fanfiction in public is something that the writers then dread; “And even though I was only 11, I still had the common sense to keep my mouth shut about it” says Emma Lord in “6 Things”. “ The idea of children using existing characters in their fiction writing was definitely considered bad practice” (p. 229, Thomas) is one point on it, “Anonymity affords Laura the opportunity to take risks with her writing in the fanfiction context without fear of failure or personal judgment” (Lammers and Marsh) is another. In addition is the stigma of it all being about smut, stories in which the main focus is on sex; the issue with this is the statistics. As of May 12th 2017 there are 143,086 fanfictions under the Harry Potter tag on AO3; of them 41,636 are rated “Teen and Up”, 39,765 are “General” in other words safe for children to read, 27,683 are “Explicit”, 25,272 are “Mature” and 8,762 are “Not Rated”; the majority of fics, 55.5%, are notably not Mature or Explicit which would include sex or other graphic materials. Over 84% of the fanfictions for Power Rangers is Teen or General and it is almost 59% for Angel: the Series fanfictions. While this can fluctuate between sites and between fandoms, Twilight for instance only has 40%, it is arguable that fanfiction is much more than public opinion might state.

So again, would Virgina Woolf mind fanfiction? One might say no, that by drawing upon the works of our writing ancestors, we are simply fulfilling the state of being the poet within whom lives all others. In addition there is an argument that can be made that perhaps putting effort into protecting fanfiction is unnecessary; with the protection of the Fair Use Doctrine, and many authors either condoning or simply turning their eyes from fanfiction of their work, fanfiction can appear be not be in danger. But it is not so simple as to say that fanfiction should be protected. It needs also to be embraced, in recognition as the tool for writing and for writers themselves that it is; whether because it helps a person learning a new language, or assists in socializing, or even just allows a would-be writer to grow without judgement, fan fiction writing should be given at least the respect of other writing conventions.

Bibliography:

Chatelain, Michelle. "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Copyright Law: Fan Fiction, Derivative Works, and the Fair Use Doctrine." Tulane Journal of Technology & Intellectual Property, vol. 15, Fall2012, pp. 199-217. EBSCOhost, offcampus.lib.washington.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=84608741&site=ehost-live.

This paper explores the legal standing of fanfiction. The author starts off with an explanation of fanfiction but then goes on to explain how fanfiction is protected under the Fair Use Doctrine. The part that interested me the most was near the beginning where she discusses copyright and talks about phonebooks which allowed for a reasonable introduction into how fanfiction fits into copyright laws. It also makes mention of the fact that fanfiction and parody are what is called “transformative works” as well as the existence of the Organization for Transformative Works which runs Archive of Our Own and acts to protect fanfiction writers from legal battles.

Christian, Kaelyn. "Fan Fiction and the Fair Use Doctrine." Serials Librarian, vol. 65, no. 3-4, Nov. 2013, pp. 277-285. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1080/0361526X.2013.838726.

Similar to the previous one, this article also explores the connection between the Fair Use doctrine and fanfiction. This one though is the one that goes into the The Wind Done Gone case and what happened, giving us one of the few examples of actual published fanfiction going up against it's source material and why fanfiction is still legal. The fact that the Wind Done Gone was allowed to be published despite it's nature as a fanfiction of Gone with the Wind is important to writing.

Gaiman, Neil. "Neil Gaiman's opinion on fanfiction." Neil Gaiman. Tumblr, 24 Apr. 2012. Web. 13 May 2017.

This is the Tumblr blog for Neil Gaiman, author of the Graveyard Book and the Sandman series. As a well-known and well-liked author, his work have been subjected to interpretation and fanfiction as well as fanart. Thus his opinion on fanfiction is important; the fact he acknowledges it as something that should be best used to grow and not simply an end result of writing works to show why fanfiction is not harmful and is indeed beneficial. I like the humorous way he talks about it as well and the fact that while writing is his livelihood and he has every right to react like some others, being more defensive over his work, he treats his fans with the respect and trust enough to let them write and respect his livelihood at the same time.

Lammers J.C. & Marsh V.L. (2015). Going Public: An Adolescent's Networked Writing on Fanfiction.net. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 59(3), 277–285. doi: 10.1002/jaal.416

I originally choose this article with my outline for the paper so it was the first article I found connected to fanfiction. It goes into the social and educational uses of fanfiction, specifically on how it helped the paper's subject “Laura” with writing. I like that it goes into how important anonymity can be to a fanfiction writer and how vital it is to have the community aspect of fanfiction writing for growth of self confidence. It pairs well with the Guofang Li paper to create an image of fanfiction that goes beyond its hobby status and to a practice that is worth encouraging in young writers so they can better stretch their creative wings.

Li, Guofang. "Literacy Engagement through Online and Offline Communities outside School: English Language Learners' Development as Readers and Writers." Theory into Practice, vol. 51, no. 4, Oct. 2012, pp. 312-318. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1080/00405841.2012.726061.

I choose this article because of its engagement with English as a Second Language students. My thoughts were that ESL students might find fanfiction useful for the development of language skills and the social connection; the article verified my beliefs I think. Like the Marsh paper, this one also focused on subjects, specifically “Yina”, and their development over time which helped to show how writing over time had assisted her instead of simply conjecture. Paired with the Marsh and Lammers writing, it explores how teachers can better help students to be able to feel comfortable writing as well as better develop their skills both in writing and social aspects.

Lord, Emma. "6 Things Everyone Who Enjoys Fan Fiction Has Heard Before, And Is Totally Over." Bustle. Bustle, 17 Nov. 2014. Web. 13 May 2017.

This is an article off of Bustle that I found while looking up information on how fanfiction is generally viewed. Written by a fanfic writer herself, it explores some of the common misconceptions and ideas of fanfiction that the public has. It is not entirely scientific but for a subject that is largely based on societal opinions and uses, and since it is written by someone who is indeed a part of the thing I'm discussing, it helps to clarify opinions on the matter. Most notably the idea that we as writers are not in it for money and we are not simply writing smut, nor are devoid of original ideas just because we choose to write based on others works.

Lord, Emma. "13 Things Fan Fiction Writers Are Very Tired Of Explaining." Bustle. Bustle, 08 Apr. 2016. Web. 13 May 2017.

An article by the same person who did “6 Things”, this one elaborates on the ideas of the first one, going more into what fanfiction writers themselves are like, not simply what our work is like. One notable thing is that she points out that people make fun of fanfiction with the belief that we're not the same as other people or other writers and won't be hurt by the insults. This being a misconception I've experienced myself with my friends I feel it is important to remember considering it's attachment to the idea that if you write fanfiction, you don't talk about it to others unless you know they are trustworthy. Another thing that did not get into the paper proper but that I see is the idea that fanfiction is based on our own feelings when it isn't always true; smut can be written by asexuals and abuse can be written by people who are entirely against abuse. Emma Lord notes that all writers involve some part of their desires in their stories but it is not the main reasoning behind writing.

Martin, George R R. "Someone Is Angry On the Internet." Not A Blog. N.p., 7 May 2010. Web. 13 May 2017.

I needed an argument against fanfiction and I knew that some authors dislike it: looking up who I found this, the writer of A Song of Ice and Fire's official blog. It's an interesting piece where he talks about how bad fanfiction is and why it shouldn't be done, based on how he thinks fanfiction has become something terrible based on what he used to write and how it apparently hurt others. The biggest issue I have with it is that it does make erroneous claims, such as that H. P. Lovecraft died poor because he allowed fanfiction and that the fanfiction GRRM himself admits to writing which didn't use the same characters from media but did use ideas and assumingly settings was better than fanfiction that uses characters from media. Still he does a good job of at least attempting a civil tone about the whole situation I think.

Ohnotheydidnt, and Goofusgallant. "Book Post: How authors feel about fan-fiction." Book Post: How authors feel about fan-fiction - Oh No They Didn't! N.p., 19 Apr. 2012. Web. 13 May 2017.

This is primarily a list and short summary of a group of authors thoughts on fanfiction. It includes JD Salinger who never dealt with fanfiction proper but did get angry over a proposed sequel of his book The Catcher in the Rye, as well as those more in favor like JK Rowling. One thing I found important that they included was the fact about some writers seeing it only about the money; while Anne Rice and GRRM mention how they are protective of their works because of wanting to be the only ones to use them, Orson Scott Card according to the post flatly says that it's about the money for him which is a valid reason. It's also funny Charlie Stross' opinion who supposedly compared himself to a dragon when it comes to fanfiction.

Prucher, Jeff. Brave New Words : The Oxford Dictionary of Science Fiction. Oxford ; New York: Oxford UP, 2007. Online.

This was included for the definition of fanfiction and because it's an official dictionary. I was actually surprised to find an Oxford Dictionary of Science Fiction, and one that included “fan fic” and “fan fiction” as actual definitions. It makes sense the definition is based on sci-fi and fantasy stories considering its placement but the definition is better I feel than some other places that emphasize the internet as a portion of how fanfiction exists, as well as actually gives examples of when fanfiction was used as a term in previous publications.

Rice, Anne. "IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM ANNE ON "FAN FICTION"." Anne Rice the Official Site. N.p., n.d. Web. 13 May 2017.

As with the GRRM post, this was included primarily as a comparison against fanfiction. The important portion of the post, on Anne Rice's official page, is small, not much more than a few lines, but it is infamous within the fanfiction community for cementing the idea that she is against what we do. She's civil about it but there is little in the post on what exactly drives her to be upset over fan writings outside of her work being copyrighted.

Thomas, Angela. "Fan Fiction Online: Engagement, Critical Response and Affective Play through Writing." Australian Journal of Language & Literacy, vol. 29, no. 3, Oct. 2006, pp. 226-239. EBSCOhost, offcampus.lib.washington.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=22317451&site=ehost-live.

This one I liked for going not only into how fanfiction helps writing and how writers learn from reviews and connect through them, but also how fanfiction communities grow. The example of Middle Earth Insanity is just one of many where a group of writers and fans worked together to make a coherent community where they could all talk and enjoy themselves without worry of being judged or having to look through multiple other works to see what they most wanted. It also includes the existence of fanfictions close relative, “roleplaying” where multiple writers work together to create one story, and multiple fascets of how to write. Like other articles on fanfiction it focuses on one subject, Tina this time, and what her thoughts and experiences are but the act of having a literacy study helps in a subject that is about writing.

Woolf, Virginia. Letter to a Young Poet. N.p.: Private, 1932. Fadedpages.com. Web. 12 May 2017. <http://www.fadedpage.com/showbook.php?pid=20120709>.

This is the online version of the letter which I took the title of this paper from. I had heard about it during a lecture in my literature class and that line specifically made me think of fanfiction and how it is the work of those building off of others. I thought it fascinating to think of fanfiction writers as simply having within them the souls of those who wrote before and will write after so I wanted to include it; in addition as I put in my own definition of fanfiction, while the most common form is prose, there is still many fanfictions that are written in the form of poetry and I myself use the hybrid form of prose poetry, or poetic prose, to write. I think thinking of not only authors but poets in terms of how fan made works exist and evolve is important to the narrative.

[tastywordgasms]

🍷NEW RELEASE🍷

Reflecting Roni 

Beauty in the Darkness book 3 By Brooke Lee Genre: Erotic Suspense Release Date: May 27, 2017

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~Blurb~

Mistakes Bad Choices Too trusting

These are all words that describe the old me.

The mistakes I made over a decade ago still haunt my subconscious. I’ve tried to keep my past buried, but every time I see the darkness in my best friend Shelby’s eyes, my heart breaks all over again.

Sexy Successful Self-confident

These are words that describe me today.

Looking in the mirror, I see a sexy, confident and successful woman reflected back at me. I’ve found a man that not only fulfills my carnal desires, but one who is quickly filling the empty space in my heart. With both Kyle and Shelby by my side, my life is nearly perfect. Perfect until one of the biggest mistakes of my life strolls back into town, bringing with him all of the darkness from my past.

I am Roni Monroe and this is my story.

 What others are saying about Reflecting Roni

Tanya Rae’s 5 Star Review

I really should have known you had it in you to write really good books! I have known Brooke Lee for a little while now and she is so good at a lot of things so I knew that she would be able to write stories that would draw you in and not let go until you finish reading the story oh and did I mention that this book is hawt! And, the heat starts almost from the beginning. I think some writers must have an inate ability to put words on paper and make a good story from them. Brooke Lee is one of those authors.

I loved Reflecting Roni! This is Book # 3 in the Beauty in the Darkness series. There is Romance. Mixed in with erotica and suspense!

Reflecting Roni is of course Roni’s story. Roni is Shelby’s BEST FRIEND and she was in Book 1 I am ShelbyJames. Roni and Shelby are still best friends and I may be a little jealous of their relationship. Everyone needs friends like these 2 women. They laugh together, are protective of each other and they cry together. I loved this book and hope others will too.

I give Reflecting Roni 5 stars. I can’t wait to see what Brooke Lee has up her sleeve next. I know I will be anxiously waiting for it.

Lita T’s 5 Star Review

Reflecting Roni (Beauty in the Darkness Book 3) by Brooke Lee Roni and Shelby have been soul mates and friends for a very long time. The have had some bad times and some good times. They have even had some kinky times together. If you have not read book one I am Shelby please do but if not it is ok. I was blown away at the first book but this book took it to another level. Roni has always had issues when it came to relationships and when a guy from her past shows up we learn what not only Roni endured at the hands of this guy but what happened to Shelby as well. This was a story that took me through the paces emotionally. I laughed, I cried, I got mad as heck and I even got a little hot a bothered heck I got hot and bothered a lot. I was drawn into this story and felt a connection to the characters. We have all made mistakes in our younger days that have had an emotional effect on our older selves. The mix of the author telling the story with some deep poetry thrown in added another layer to an already good story and the sex was hot as hell to boot. I voluntarily read an Advanced Copy of this book. It gets 5 stars. I look forward to the next book by this author. She has a real ability to tell not only a good story of substance but a story with some hot sex.

Brooke Lee Author Bio Growing up, Brooke’s mother instilled a deep respect for the English language and a love of words. She taught Brooke to read and write and shared her appreciation for poetry. As a teen, poetry became an outlet for Brooke’s innermost thoughts and deepest, often times darkest feelings. In school, teachers always told her “write what you know”, so that is what she did. At the not so tender age of forty-three, she started to write her first novel, I Am ShelbyJames (Beauty in the Darkness) and it is what she knows—emotions. In her spare time—when she’s not writing—you can find Brooke cuddled on the couch with her husband of 20+ years, their fur babies, and a good (often naughty) eBook—unless of course she’s having cocktails with her Bestie at one of their favorite haunts.

Other books in the Beauty in the Darkness Series:

         I Am ShelbyJames       I am The Muse Poet       a Taste of Chloe

Brooke Lee Links:

BrookeLee-Author.com Amazon Author Page Goodreads Facebook brookeISH Reader Group on FB Twitter

Cover design by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

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✦♡🍷♡✦Reflecting Roni is LIVE!✦♡🍷♡✦ 🍷NEW RELEASE🍷 Reflecting Roni  Beauty in the Darkness book 3 By Brooke Lee Genre: Erotic Suspense…