#have been entirely around what skulduggery presented her with

[cirillafionaelenriannon]

skulduggery pleasant genuinely would have just existed as a better story if derek landy had let it become a tragedy i dont think ive ever wanted to want someone become the villain in their own story as much as i wanted it reading skulduggery pleasant.  like the set up was impeccable. of a 12 year old suddenly engaged in a world of magic alongside a 400 year old 'reformed' skeleton. they do detective work & deal with really gruesome & fucked up cases, and they save the world over and over.

i think the seed for the destruction valkyrie could have gone down should have been implemented more thoroughly when skulduggery was taken to the faceless ones dimension for a year, and comes back cruel, and delusional and ungrateful. when valkyries entire identity has already become warped around him as he exists as the gateway between her and magic. the intensity of their relationship doesnt establish itself Until just about when valkyrie becomes darquesse for the first time and then the real depths of how far they’d go for eachother becomes apparent. i think the catalyst for valkyries downfall would have been in all the times she turns into darquesse and causes some kind of destruction, because a core part of valkyries personality and life is that she likes power and she revels in violences. she isn’t an inherently violent person but the lifestyle she lives has turned her into someone who engages clearly in violence, and the people around her are disgusted by it, but the one person who she’s modelled herself after who is just as violent as she is, turns his head away from the violence she impresses upon people, because he knows he’s just as violent. what could have been a story in watching valkyrie slowly slip into the same suit skulduggery found himself in after the tremendous loss he faced. which i think would have been far more interesting lol. 

like the progression of the story following valkyrie turning into darquesse and skulduggery turning into lord vile & them destroying part of dublin, and the conversation they have about enjoying that power & that control, valkyrie almost killing a man, and then valkyrie actually, really killing that woman and experiencing someone elses death at her Own hands for the first time and being sickened by herself and Losing herself in it. the only thing valkyrie ever failed to lose was her humanity & that was what prevented her from becoming what skulduggery did. because all of the power & all of the enjoyment she got from it wasn’t enough in the face of still loving someone completely, and if derek landy had killed alice and left her dead i think what could have sprouted from that was valkyrie finally slipping away and letting darquesse take over. or otherwise we could have gotten a story more on valkyrie admitting enjoyment from violence & engaging with it even more, and revelling in the power that came with it and slipping of her own accord into darquesse, and i think this would have been assisted by skulduggery encouraging all of that in her. 

and it would have been a better story then whatever is happening in phase 2. Like being able to read about someone with good intentions finding how much they strive to have power over people to be the thing stopping them from being a good person, completely unable to resist this pull despite knowing the immorality of their actions, the question of who valkyrie cain exists as outside of Power and control, her despising being a ‘normal’ girl yet resenting everyone who IS normal. throughout the story it’s told how much she is like darquesse, and its seen with an example of another character who knows their true name and how that characters strongest characteristics are exemplified in who he is at full power and the same is said with valkyrie where darquesse craves intelligence, power, and death. she kills to learn & valkyrie is obsessed with magic & she is obsessed with skulduggery & she lives her entire life revolving around him like he’s earth and she’s the moon, and darquesse is the sun that’s going to explode them all. 

literally how perfect would the story have been if it were about skulduggery corrupting valkyries entire life & contorting her into his monstrous mirror image And watching her turn into the person he used to be and in his inevitable inability to save her taking her hand and turning into lord vile at her side Nobody to block the gaze of the sun any longer burning him and the whole world up completely 

thats all peace and love

[queen-scribbles]

Top of the List

@pillarspromptsweekly fill #85: Spring. Adi gets this one, along with her best buds, because it’s been too long since I wrote them together.

There were many things Adela loved about spring. Better weather, birds singing, baby animals. It was also the time of year a lot of academics emerged from fours months ensconced in their toasty warm studies with new papers and treatises on a plethora of topics(not that she’d had time to track any of them down this year). But more than anything, she loved the flowers.

And this year--like last--she was getting to see a whole array of new ones. The Deadfire Archipelago had an even greater variety than the Dyrwood, given the wildly different climates on the various islands. There were some on Tikawara almost as big as Adela herself, and then ones not much bigger than a fingernail. All of them were fascinating, and beautiful in their own way, and after a little trial and error, Adela and Xoti had mostly figured out how to determine which ones were safe to touch.

“Adi, look at these!” Xoti crowed as she returned from scouting with a handful of pale pink blossoms. They looked like peonies, except fewer petals. “Ain’t they pretty?”

“Very,” she agreed with an enthusiastic grin. “Where’d you find them?”

“Over that way.” Xoti waved her free hand toward a hill that sat to the west of their campsite. “There’s a whole... I guess you’d call it a glen, with all kinds’a flowers I ain’t seen before. It’s beautiful, and it looked pretty safe.”

“Maybe we can go back after dinner,” Adela said, at the same moment Aloth asked, “How certain are you it’s safe?”

“Adi, that’s what I was thinkin’--stew smells really good, by the way--an’ Aloth, whaddya mean?” Xoti planted her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow at the wizard.

“This is an uninhabited, uncharted island,” Aloth said, fiddling with the pages of his grimoire. “I’m simply concerned that a single, cursory scouting trip is insufficient to deem the entire place safe.”

“He’s got a point.” Adela gave the stew one last stirring to make sure none was sticking to the bottom and swung it away from the firepit. “I want to go enjoy flowers as much as you do, Xo, but we haven’t seen nearly enough of this island to be sure it’s completely safe.”

“We’re gonna be together, ain’t we?” Xoti countered. “We ain’t exactly helpless.” She nudged the hilt of her sickle, setting it rocking against her leg. “Hel, if you’re really worried, I bet Rekke would come with us.”

The redhead started at his name, looking up from the patterns he’d been tracing in the dirt. “I... go with you?”

“Only if you want to,” Adela assured him hastily. “We’re gonna explore after dinner, go see a place Xoti found with lots of plants and flowers.”

“Ta, I will come,” Rekke nodded, brushing his hair back from his face.

“Great! See, we’ll be fine,” Xoti grinned at Aloth. “You an’ Pallegina can hold down the camp, right? ‘Less you’d rather come with us, too.”

“Oh, no.” Aloth shook his head, smile tugging at his lips as he darted a look toward Adela. “I know what she’s like when you give her access to large quantities of flowers.”

And to Xoti’s immense frustration, neither he nor Adela would elaborate the entire time they were eating dinner. Pallegina pled ignorance when the priest tried to ask her. “I wasn’t present for this... incident, whatever it may be.”

Adela finally took pity on her as the two of them, plus Rekke, headed for the glen Xoti had found. “Flower crowns.”

“Huh?” Xoti looked at her, confused by the lack of context.

“On the way to Defiance Bay the first time, back in the Dyrwood. It was spring, and I was excited there were flowers, so I made flower crowns. First one for me, then Kana, then just decided to do one for everyone.” She shrugged.  “They’re fun to make, and we’d set camp early, so I had a lot of time to kill. To Aloth’s credit, he did wear the one I made him for a good hour before it ‘mysteriously’ disappeared. Kana and Sagani, on the other hand, loved theirs so much they were still wearing them when we reached the city the next day, even though they were starting to fall apart.”

“Yeah, I gotta say, Aloth don’t really strike me as the flower crown type,” Xoti commented, leading the way through a patch of trees.

“He’s not,” Adela confirmed. “But we didn’t know each other well yet, and he didn’t want to rock the boat, and I was too caught up having fun to notice he wasn’t terribly thrilled. If I made him one now he’d prob’ly wear it to humor me ‘cause we’re friends. But I won’t do that to him.” She grinned. “Not when I have you two.”

Xoti laughed. “We’ll definitely be more enthusiastic about ‘em, won’t we?” She elbowed Rekke playfully in the ribs.

“Hm? Oh, ta,” he nodded, attention seeming more drawn by their surroundings than the conversation. All the same, he offered a smile. “I would be happy to wear a crown of flowers for you.”

“Are you alright?” Adela checked. “You seem distracted.”

“Oh, y-yes.” Seeing she wasn’t convinced by the stuttered reassurance, Rekke raked one hand through his hair and tried again. “These trees, there are ones like them near Lipasalis, ta? I am just a little homesick.”

She glanced at the trees, short, scrubby things with gnarled and twisted branches and a peeling layer of bark. “That’s what your trees look like?”

“Some of them. Others are tall, and big around. But the ones closest to the city look like this.” He reached out and trailed his fingers along the bark as they passed. It flaked like parchment under his touch.

“Well, c’mon, we can swap stories and distract ya,” Xoti said with a wink, tugging on his arm. “We’re almost there.” And she promptly launched in to what Adela figured was a greatly embellished version of the Dawnstars’ first few days in the Deadfire. Embellished or no, the story had both her and Rekke laughing no more than three minutes in, and filled the rest of their walk to the glen Xoti had found.

Adela could see why her friend had been so excited; it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Edged in scraggly(if slightly taller) trees, the small glen held at least five different kinds of flowers that she could see. One even sprouted from a hanging vine, trailing from tree to tree in a brilliant yellow boundary line.

“Wow,” was all she could say at first, followed a few moments later by, “I sort of want to live here now.”

Xoti giggled. “Knew you’d like it. D’you recognize any of these flowers? “Cause I sure don’t.”

“A couple look almost familiar,” Adela said, locating the patch of pink blooms Xoti had brought back to camp. “Maybe they’re local offshoots?”

Xoti almost reverently trailed her fingers across small orange blossoms, similar to marigolds. The stems were different, and the middle tiers of petals darkened to red, but otherwise they matched the cheerful yellow flowers Adela knew from Ixamitl. “Think they’re safe to pick?”

“Probably,” Adela said slowly. The ones she almost-recognized all looked like harmless plants from either back home or in the Dyrwood. “Only one way to know for sure, though, which you’ve already tested.”

Xoti rolled her eyes at the teasing. “So we know the pink ones are safe. Should we find out about a couple more?”

Adela grinned. “I’m always ready to take a few risks when flowers are involved.” She studied the orange ones Xoti had touched. “Bet these would make a really pretty flower crown.” And there were certainly enough of them to pick a couple dozen without feeling bad. “This color would look good against your hair, Xo.”

Xoti smiled and pushed back her hood. “Aw, thanks, Adi. If you’re gonna do that, I’m makin’ you one, too.”

Adela giggled. “Deal. We should prob’ly find something to talk about that Rekke will like, too.” She flashed him a smile. “So you don’t get bored listening to us.”

He chuckled, idly gathering his hair to tie it back from his face. “I know this was a... risk, ta? I do not mind, it helps me practice my Aedyran.”

“Still...” she curled the tail of her braid around her thumb. “Being left out’s not a fun feeling.”

Rekke nodded. “True.”

“So, Adi,” Xoti began as she walked further into the flowery glen. “I guess it’s safe to assume your favorite part of spring’s the flowers?”

“You got me,” Adela conceded, kneeling to pick the orange marigolds. The sturdier stems must help with drawing more water in the dry months, she guessed. And maybe it got windy here? “Spring’s my favorite, and there’s a lot I like, but the flowers are definitely top of the list. How ‘bout you?”

For all their sturdy stalks, the flowers came up easily, and she’d picked half a dozen before Xoti answered. “Aw, that’s easy,” she laughed. “I grew up on a farm, Adi. Baby animals galore. Whaddya think my favorite part is?”

“Hmm, I’m going to guess planting vegetables?” Adela deadpanned, then laughed when Xoti chucked a pebble at her. “Oh, so it is the baby animals. See, I figured that was too obvious.”

“I’m not a master of skulduggery and secrecy like some people,” Xoti retorted sweetly. “How ‘bout you, Rekke? What do you like best about spring?”

He mulled it over for a minute while Xoti and Adela finished collecting flowers and got themselves comfortably seated to start braiding. “Here I would say the weather. There is rain, but not so much. And it is.... softer? than in winter, when it comes.”

“Mm, that’s a good one. Summer can be bad, too, to hear Tuliak tell it,” Adela commented, biting her lip in concentration as she wove the flower stems together.

Rekke wrinkled his nose and muttered something in Seki she didn’t catch. “Back home, there is a nut, very sweet, that can only be picked the first couple weeks of spring. It tastes very good, by itself or...” he frowned and rubbed his thumbs across his fingers as the word escaped him. “...broken small?”

“Crushed?” Adela supplied, and he nodded.

“Ta. Crushed on food. We cannot buy later in the year, because of the cost, so we only have it in spring in my house.”

“Do ya ever put it on chocolate things?” Xoti asked, looking at Rekke rather than the crown she was braiding.

“Oh yes. It is very good with chocolate,” he grinned.

“What isn’t?” Adela laughed.

Their conversation shifted to food from there, talking about favorite dishes, bemoaning less enjoyed ones. Xoti and Adela finished the crowns they were making each other. The orange and red blossoms looked as pretty against Xoti’s dark hair as Adela had predicted, and the crinkly blue cornflowers she’d chosen were equally complementary to Adela’s blonde waves. Once the two of them had gleefully exchanged their own circlet, they set to work together making Rekke one of small, deep purple flowers. They reminded Adela of yarrow, aside from being  the wrong color.

Rekke was very appreciative, smiling wide as he ducked his head so Xoti could put the crown on him. The three of them sat and talked for another hour or so, enjoying the scenery(and the break from being shipbound), before heading back to camp.

Aloth and Pallegina were both sitting out near the campfire as they approached. The wizard was engrossed in his book, but Pallegina looked up from sharpening her estoc at the sound of their footsteps. She raised an eyebrow at their new accessories, golden eyes flickering with amusement.

“I take it you enjoyed yourselves,” she commented.

“Immensely,” Adela said with a cheerful smile.

Aloth looked up at the sound of her voice and a wry grin pulled at his lips. “I knew it.”

“You do have experience with my foibles and passions,” she laughed as she plunked down next to him and peeked at his book. It was something about Deadfire wildlife, the more mundane varieties. “I was tempted to make you one, but refrained.”

“How shall I ever survive?” he deadpanned, still smirking slightly.

“I can share mine if you like,” Adela offered with a mock innocent smile.

“No, no, I’ll manage.” Aloth reached over and straightened the circlet as it slipped toward her eye. “It’s even cornflowers.”

“Hey, Xoti made it, that actually isn’t my choice.”

“I picked that ‘cause I know you like ‘em,” Xoti chipped in.

“So it was sort of my choice, then,” Adela corrected herself with a laugh. “They are my favorite.” For several reasons. She tugged one of the extras she’d picked from her pocket and tucked it in the tie holding back Aloth’s hair.

He shot her a flat look but left it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said sweetly. She reached for her pack and dug for a book of her own. The light was hanging around longer than before--another great thing about spring--and she wanted to take advantage of that.

The five of them settled in for the evening all absorbed in their own doings, but every so often Adela and Xoti would catch each other adjusting their flower crowns and they’d share a grin.

Yes, there were many things to like about spring.

[bubblemoon66]

Doesn’t She Know (It’s the End of the World)

Fandom: Skulduggery Pleasant Rating: T Warnings: Major Character Death Pairing: Valkyrie Cain/Skulduggery Pleasant Genre: Angst, Suspense Wordcount: 3715 Summary: According to the clock on the Bentley's dashboard, it was 06:23. About 37 minutes before the world had been scheduled to end. Notes: Written for the Skulduggery Pleasant Fic Exchange 2018. Based on a prompt by @edwardssallow Title inspired by the Skeeter Davis song.

You can also read this fanfiction on AO3, FF.net and Wattpad.

It was a clear, crisp spring morning. All blue skies, not a wisp of cloud in sight.  And the promise of a sunny afternoon to follow, if the meteorologists were right and the sensitives were wrong.

According to the clock on the Bentley's dashboard, it was 06:23. About 37 minutes before the world had been scheduled to end. 

Valkyrie Cain was worried, but not as worried as most people would be under the circumstances. Her life so far had been one series of apocalyptic disasters after another. She hadn't grown used to them exactly, Armageddon wasn't something you could get used to, but she had learnt to deal with them in her own way. Denial, mostly. With a dash of fatalistic humour and a superiority complex thrown in for good measure. The way Valkyrie saw it she could either accept that the world was going to an end on her watch or not. And life was much much easier to bear when she chose the second option.

The Bentley, Valkyrie and Skulduggery Pleasant were currently speeding through the Tipperary countryside. It would have made for a nice drive had they not been going twice the speed limit around a hairpin bend in a rural lane. Unfortunately, that's what they were doing. Valkyrie's stomach twisted as they whipped around another corner. Overgrown hedges scraped the car's bodywork. Tires screeched. There was a smell of burning rubber and hot metal. 

There was tension in the car, but nobody wanted to acknowledge it. Is was there though, regardless of what they wanted. It was in the set of Skulduggery's jaw and the pit of Valkyrie's stomach. It was in the space between them, displayed on the dashboard in fluorescent red light. 

06:24. 06:25. 06:26. 

"I don't suppose there's time to stop for a coffee?" Valkyrie asked lightly, once the tension had become too much, even for them.  Of course, she knew there wasn't time. They both knew, but that wasn't the point. 

"After," said Skulduggery, in a tone as light and fake as her own.  "I'll take you to that cafe by the river. And we can sit and talk under the awnings while you sip one of those overpriced frothy concoctions you've developed an obsession with."

"It's called a caffelatte and you know it. You've bought me enough of them. And it's too cold to sit outside."  

 "It'll warm up. The day's only just beginning."

 06:27. 06:28. 06:29.

The alarm clock in her parent's bedroom would be going off any second now. If she closed her eyes, she could hear its shrill shriek. She wondered if she should phone them, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. A call this early in the morning would only worry them. And they worried about her enough as it was. 

"How close are we?" Valkyrie asked.

"Eight miles,"

"Do you think they have a coffee machine there?"

"Do you think of anything besides where to get your next caffeine fix?"

"Not in the AM," was her reply. She stole another glance at the clock.  06:30. Thirty minutes to go. "It's kind of inconsiderate scheduling an apocalypse for seven in the morning." 

"Genocidal maniacs aren't exactly known for their consideration," 

"If I was planning the end of the world, I think I'd leave time for a lie in and a full Irish breakfast." 

"Not everyone has your vision, dear."

06:31. 06:32. Seven miles. Six miles.

"They must have a coffee machine. Or at least a kettle. I mean, I just can't see anyone destroying the world before their morning cuppa. Unless they're destroying it because they don't have their morning cuppa, I guess I could understand that."

 Skulduggery tilted his head, in that way of his when he was amused.  Good. That had been her intention. 

"If you're desperate for caffeine there's chocolate in the glove compartment,"

Valkyrie checked. There was chocolate in the glove compartment. A pack of four full-sized mars bars to be precise, her favourite.

"You spoil me," she said. 

"I know,"

Valkyrie closed the door to the compartment without touching the chocolate. Nerves wracked her insides and made the concept of eating anything impossible. 

"Not hungry?" Skulduggery asked gently. He must have known how she was feeling, but that wasn't the point of his question. 

"I stopped eating chocolate for breakfast. Unless it's inside of a pastry or drizzled over waffles." 

"Since when?" 

"Since I hit thirty," 

"I saw you eat an entire box of chocolate dipped strawberries in bed Valentines day morning." 

"Doesn't count. The fruit negates the chocolate. It's practically diet food."

Skulduggery laughed. "You know, I would love to live in a world governed by your logic. Just for a day, to see what it's like."

A small smile crept across Valkyrie's lips, "That would be fun."

06:34. 06:35. Five miles. Four miles. 

In the distance, she spotted the water tower on the hillside. It was tall, built from ancient grey stones eaten away by time. 

The smile fell from her face, "We're nearly there."

Figures stood guard around the base of the tower. At this distance, they looked human. But she knew from the sensitives' reports they were nothing more than empty shells reanimated with hot air and magic. Hollow Men. Unpleasant to deal with, but not the worst thing they had faced, not by a longshot. 

06:35. 06:37. The tower loomed closer. 

Her family would be sitting down to breakfast around now, still in their pyjamas. Alice would be on her phone no doubt, texting one of her friends to arrange a meetup before college. Her mother would be in the middle of buttering a round of toast. While her father fiddled with the radio antenna until someone reminded him that he had to turn it on at the wall before it would relay them the morning news.  

06:38. 06:39. The Bentley raced up the dirt tracks scored into the hillside. Mud flew through the air. The engine roared. Hollow Men turned to look at them; their movements, clumsy and slow.

"Ready?" Skulduggery asked.

"Always," she said. 

They flung the car doors open in sync. Fire and white lightning flying from their hands. The hillside lit up like a Christmas tree aflame. Heat and light consumed the leathery skins, igniting the gas inside with a pop. 

It took them a minute, or perhaps two, to clear the ground between the car and the base of the tower. 

There was a door, made from solid oak and cast iron. As ancient as the stone walls, but far steadier looking. There were sigils carved into the wood. She couldn't read them, but she could guess they were there to keep out intruders. 

"Can we deactivate these?" she asked. 

Skulduggery traced the pattern of a sigil with a gloved fingertip, then shook his head. "Not in time. We're going to have to go through the walls." 

She nodded. 

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Valkyrie closed her eyes. There was a rumble. They melted through the stone together. It was cold and rough. Her skin felt raw like she had been caught in the path of a sandblaster. It was an impressive piece of earth-magic, even if it was unpleasant. 

A moment later, they stumbled out of the wall.

Valkyrie opened her eyes. She wasn't sure what the inside of a water tower was supposed to look like, but she suspected it wasn't this.

"Woah," she said. 

"Woah, indeed,"

"I know we're a bit short on time, but do you mind if I take a moment to state the obvious?"

"Go ahead,"

"It's bigger on the inside,"

"I know. I can see that,"

Valkyrie took a deep breath. Taking in the impossibility of it all. The corrugated metal beams supporting the high ceilings, the fluorescent tube lighting stretching down long corridors, the steel grates fixed to every couple of metres - all of it the wrong shape and size to fit inside the tower. She took it all in. And then exhaled.

"We're going to have split up, aren't we?" 

Skulduggery glanced at the watch on his wrist, a 440th birthday present from her. "I'm afraid so." 

"You take the corridor on the left. I'll take the right."

He nodded. "Call me the second you find anything," he said, before shooting off down the left-hand corridor, propelled by the air and magic. 

Valkyrie ran. Boots pounded against the metal floor, echoing like thunder. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, blood roaring.

She ran and ran and ran. The corridor seemed to go on forever. Beam after beam after beam. Vent after vent after the vent. 

Later, when all this was over, she would take time to marvel over it. Maybe she'd even take her family on a day trip up here. Her dad would appreciate the weird sci-fi-ness of it all. Her mum would just be glad that Valkyrie wasn't shutting them out from her life again.

Valkyrie's legs began to ache. Her lungs burned. She was slowing. How far had she run? How much longer did this corridor go on for? How much time did they have left? Why the hell hadn't she passed any doors? What was the point of a corridor if it didn't lead anywhere?  

Valkyrie stopped running. 

There wasn't a point. That was the point.   

She ran her fingers over the corrugated walls. They were cool and rough to the touch. It felt solid. It felt real. She knelt down to inspect one of the grates. It was too dark to see what underneath. She took a few steps forwards and inspected the next grate. And then next. They were identical, down to every last nut and bolt. The way she had come looked identical to the way she was going. And she now, she realised, she was going nowhere. 

Her phone rang. She answered. 

"Have you noticed anything odd about this place?" Skulduggery asked through the receiver. 

"It's not real,"  she said. 

"Yes, I noticed that too. It's a bit of a problem."

"Any idea of how we get out of the weird magic-simulation-thing?"

"None, at all. You?"

"Nope,"

They stood there in silence. Painfully aware of the seconds ticking by. 

"Maybe we could try hitting it really really hard," suggested Valkyrie. "That's worked for us in the past."

"I suppose it's worth a shot," There was a muffled metallic clang from the other end of the receiver. "I don't think it worked."

"Damn,"

"Could you use your aura-vision to see what's going on?"

Valkyrie considered, "I could try."

Doubt plagued her mind, but she ignored it; screwed her eyes shut and concentrated. When she opened her eyes the scene had changed. She saw two worlds overlapping. Another impossibility she couldn't understand. She didn't have time to understand. Later, she'd think about it later.

The reality that she had been experiencing glowed in a nauseating shade of green. Somewhere behind it were stone walls and an ancient door in pale yellow. And in a beautiful vibrant red, was the outline of a man, stood maybe four metres to her left. 

 "I can see you," she said, rather breathlessly into the receiver. 

"Can you reach me?"

"I think so. Hang on."

She put the phone back in her pocket and took a tentative step through the two realities nestling on top of one another. Her stomach somersaulted and bile rose up in her throat. When nothing worse happened, she took another step and another. Until she back where she belonged, by Skulduggery's side. And he was holding her like a drowning man. 

"I think I might be sick," she said, as the world which may or may not have existed spun. 

"Please don't be. I don't want to save the world covered in vomit. Can you see a way out of here?"

"There's a door. The one we couldn't get through earlier."

"Anything else?"

Valkyrie looked around. "There's a maintenance ladder fixed to one of the walls. The tower walls. Not the ones you can see. It's about ten steps in front of us, directly across from the door."

"Can you take me to it?"

She nodded, taking his hand. They moved through time and space together. 

Valkyrie did not know exactly what Skulduggery saw when they moved. She liked to think it was something really impressive. Like her melting through a steel wall, hair billowing behind her like it did in the movies. 

As soon as she touched the ladder, Valkyrie's normal vision snapped back into place. The world came with it. They were stood now, in a room that made sense. Next to a rusted ladder fastened to crumbling stone. 

Valkyrie knees buckled.

"Steady," said Skulduggery, catching her. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just need a minute."

"I'm not sure we have another minute to spare."

Hands shaking, Valkyrie took the phone out of her pocket. 06:55. Shit. 

"We need to go up," she said. "Now."

A familiar arm snaked around her waist. "Hold on."

She held on. They hurtled upwards, as fast as a bullet. There was a hole in the ceiling where the ladder was, they shot through it. 

The upper part of the tower was wider than the base. It was just as ramshackle, but gloomier. The light from the high windows barely reaching the floor. Skulduggery set them down. He clicked his fingers and a flame appeared. 

A man lunged. He through a stream of energy at Skulduggery, who dodged, the bolt missing them by a hairbreadth. The wall behind them exploded into a cloud of mortar. The man crashed into Valkyrie. He dragged her to the floor. Legs straddling her waist. His hands started to glow again, lighting up with power. She kneed him in the groin and rolled. They landed in a shaft of light, coming from the newly made hole in the wall. She was on top now, forcing him to the floor, pinning his arms above his head with one arm, so he couldn't aim. 

"Where's the doomsday clock, Eschat?"

Eschat grinned. A feral thing. Broken yellowed teeth and rotting gums. "Not telling," he sang in a shrill voice. 

Valkyrie punched him in the face. Fist shattering cartilage. Blood trickled from his broken nose. 

"Still not telling," he said. Then he started giggling. 

 It wasn't right for a grown man to giggle like that, thought Valkyrie. Especially an old man with rotten teeth, uncut nails and long matted hair. It was just asking for trouble. 

She punched him in the face again. He spat out blood this time. 

"Eschat," she growled. "You know who we are. You know what we do. And you know what we'll do to you if you don't tell us where the clock is right now."

"Doesn't matter," he sang. "Doesn't matter. We're all going to die in a minute anyway."

Valkyrie spared a glance at Skulduggery. He was moving quickly around the room. Darting from wall to wall. Searching through the rubble of the wall.

"Have you found anything?" she called. 

"No. Not yet," he said, back towards them. 

"Keep looking. It's here. It has to be."

"You'll never find it," said Eschat. 

Skulduggery paused and turned to look at them, "Try his pocket."

The shit-eating grin faded from Eschat's face. 

Valkyrie rummaged through his clothing. It wasn't an easy thing to do, not when you were trying to pin someone's arms to the floor. She tried his jacket first and found nothing but gum wrappers in the outer pockets. She moved to the inner pockets. Nothing in the right one. But there, in the left - her hand closed around a small metal object. A pocket watch. She could feel the patterns engraved into the casing, could feel their power. 

 "Got it," she said, wriggling it free, pulling it towards her. 

That was when Eschat struck. Freeing one of his still-glowing arms, he went for her head.  She had to throw herself off him to avoid having her face melted off.  The shot went wild, blowing a hole in the ceiling. The watch went flying from her grasp. Dust and chunks of stone rained down on them. Blinding her. Covering Skulduggery. 

"Shit!" she gasped before her lungs seized up. She coughed violently, uncontrollably as mortar filled them. 

 Eschat was throwing more streams of energy. The movements were wild, erratic. If he had been aiming, it might have been easier to dodge. But he wasn't, he was throwing blindly. Tearing down the building one blast at a time. 

Valkyrie scrambled to her hands and knees, still coughing. Sifting desperately through the rubble. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Skulduggery burst through a cloud of dust, hands ignited. He crashed into Eschat and the two went flying to the other side of the room. 

More streams of energy flew through the air. The floor in front of her exploded. She clambered back, scrabbling across the stone before it crumbled away. Blood trickled from a dozen cuts where debris had hit her. She didn't have the time to care.

Keep moving.  Keep moving. Keep moving.  

Her hand brushed something cold, metallic. Relief struck Valkyrie like a train. She grabbed the watch, flicked open the case. 

15 seconds. 

She realised that she no idea how to stop it. 

10 seconds. 

The sense of relief was torn from her. It couldn't end like this. She needed-

5 seconds. 

An idea. Her only shot. 

Valkyrie dropped the watch, balled up her first, and brought it down. Hard. 

Three things happened as the clock struck seven. Firstly, the pocket watch alarm went off. Secondly, Valkyrie's fist connected with the metal casing. And finally, Eschat Imera let loose a final stream of energy that brought the tower crashing down. 

Valkyrie's world collapsed. There was a boom. Stone rained down. Blue skies rushed by. The ground quickly approaching. Her hand reached for something to grab, tightening around the only thing it could - the remains of the pocket watch - as she fell. 

Valkyrie never hit the ground. She slammed into one of the ladder rails. The rusted metal had been bent and snapped in half as the tower collapsed, leaving a sharp point at one end. That edge was what stopped her. It slammed into her back piercing the skin; piercing the tissue and the muscles. Rail emerging bloodied and sinew covered from her chest. 

"Oh," was all she could think of to say as she hung there suspended in the air. Weightless for a moment, before the metal gave way and she fell again. 

Skulduggery caught her this time. Grabbing her arm, pulling her close. Her shoulder had to be dislocated after a grab like that, but it didn't hurt. 

They floated gently to the ground, light as a feather. She buried her head in Skulduggery's shirt. They touched the earth. Her legs buckled, only Skulduggery's arm around her waist kept her upright.

"Valkyrie," he said. "I'm sorry."

She looked up at him and then down at her chest; saw the way the bloodied metal had skewered her and knew she was going to die. 

 She pressed the watch into Skulduggery's gloved hand. "Did we win?"

Skulduggery didn't say anything. He took the watch. Looked at it and dropped in the dirt. His expression unreadable. 

"Tell me this wasn't in vain," she said. 

"It wasn't in vain,"

"I saved the world?"

"A hundred times over,"

She sighed, "It's not as painful as I thought it would be."

"You're in shock,"

Skulduggery set on her on the ground. Gently. Gently. He knelt next to her, placing her head in his lap. She reached up to stroke his cheekbone. The movement was more difficult than she had anticipated. Her arm felt heavy, clumsy. Like it no longer belonged to her. 

 "Do you want to call your parents?" Skulduggery asked. 

"No," she whispered, letting her arm fall. "It'll only make them sad. I just want to talk to you."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"We could start with how much you love me,"

"You already know how much I love you. You don't need me to tell you."

She smiled faintly. "Then tell me something I don't know."

"I used to breed wolfhounds,"

"Did you really?"

"Of course, it's not something I'd lie about,"

"Did you have a favourite?"

"Ol. Great big brute, but soft as butter. He liked to sit on my feet everytime I stood still for more than a second."

"You used to complain when Xena did that,"

"Only to wind you up,"

Valkyrie's vision was beginning to fade. The edges were growing darker. She closed her eyes. Breathed in as deeply as she could. 

"Can you hear that?" she asked. 

"Hear what?"

"That ticking noise,"

"I can't hear any ticking noise,"

Valkyrie opened her eyes again. She struggled to turn her head towards the sound. Her eyes fell on the small silver disk lying in the dirt. 

"It's coming from the pocket watch,"

Skulduggery tilted her chin back towards him.  "You're imaging things, dearest."

She stared up into empty eyesockets. "Are you lying to me?"

"It's not something I'd lie about," he repeated. 

Valkyrie closed her eyes again. 

"Stay with me," he said. "For just a little longer."

"Until the end?" she murmured.

Skulduggery didn't say anything. He moved, shifting her weight slightly. There was a pressure on her mouth. Teeth pressing against lips. Bone meeting flesh. Neither too hard or too soft, but over too quickly. 

"I wish you'd kissed me sooner," she breathed.

"And I wish we stopped for coffee," he said. "And sat under the awnings and talked."

"Don't be daft. It's too cold."

"It's not that cold out."

"I'm cold."

He kissed her again. She felt like they were back in the sky, drifting, weightless. She wished this moment could have lasted forever, but it couldn't.

"Will you be okay?" she asked. Only able to speak in the faintest whisper now.

"I'll be fine."

Now she knew he was lying. She opened her mouth, tried to speak. Tried to tell him as much. 

The earth trembled. With a great effort, Valkyrie willed her eyes back open. Skulduggery looked back at her. There was a flash of white light.  And then, there was nothing.   

[mollymauk-teafleak]

The night we shared for the first time + hamliza (bc who else) please?

Here it is, the AU you’ve all been waiting for! 

Best Friends and a Baby AU!

(Also, seeing as it’s my birthday, if you fancy giving me an amazing, completely free of charge present you could always leave a comment on this or any of my fics on Ao3! And for the more affluent, I have a ko-fi)

Forthe second time in as many weeks, Alexander Hamilton found himself on aspectacularly, singularly uncomfortable chair, looking at his best friend withan utterly staggered expression in his wide, brown eyes and straining his earsthrough the ambient chatter around him in the vain hope that he’d just misheardand she didn’t just say what he thought she’d said. It was a pretty damnspecific situation to be in but it was one that he was starting to find eerilyfamiliar; one he assumed with a sinking heart he wasn’t through with.

“I’msorry, it’s how much?” he stressed, his hands shifting restlessly in thedeep pockets of the hoodie he wore, a nervous, fidgeting tic he’d been doingsince he took his seat in the waiting room and hadn’t stopped or even slowed.

Elizasighed deeply, tiredly and pulled the stiff pamphlet the doctor had just givenher out from under her arm and pushed it across the seat between them towardsAlex, the relevant page open so she wouldn’t have to say it again and tastethat sour disappointment.

“Fuckinghell,” Alex winced at the sight of the figures almost apologetically printed onthe page, a breakdown of all the medications needed and the consultanciesrequired and the procedures involved, each with its own piece of stone to addto the enormous boulder of a sum at the very bottom line.

“Yeah.That about sums it up,” Eliza allowed with a forced shrug, “And I’d have totake time off work too. For yet more hospital appointments.”

“Oh,”Alex grunted, biting his lower lip and freeing one hand from his cavernoussweater to play with his hair, a sure sign that he’d shifted onto a whole otherplane of anxiety. He knew how much Eliza despised hospitals, it was a miracleand a testament to how much she wanted this that she was even here today, “That…that sucks.”

‘Sucks’felt like it fell a few thousand miles short of what this situation was. Alex’sstomach felt like it had detached from whatever biological skulduggery held itin place and was bouncing loose inside his stomach, the sensation someone wouldprobably have if they’d been riding one of those proper skull-shattering,skeleton-rearranging roller coasters for two weeks straight. Which was prettymuch exactly what Alex had been experiencing, albeit in more of an emotionalthan literal sense.

Hecouldn’t deny that the overwhelming emotion he’d felt when it had become clearthat his best friend didn’t intend for this to be one of their usual lunchdates where they spouted bile about their colleagues who were driving them upthe wall (mostly Alex) or entertained with stories of what ridiculous RichPeople Shit their family had pulled this week (exclusively Eliza), the emotionthat ruled his mind in that instant was fear. He refused to feel guilty forthat and knew Eliza wouldn’t expect it of him. How else was he supposed toreact when the girl whose right-hand man he’d been since the very first day ofcollege, when he’d made an admittedly shaky but impactful first impression bywalking into her and spilling black coffee down the both of them, took hishands across their usual table at their favourite place to eat in the city andasked him in that firm but quiet voice of her’s if he’d mind having a baby withher. She genuinely did phrase it like that, of course she did.

She’dclarified a little better after Alex had recovered from choking on his soda andspending ten minutes hacking and spluttering loud enough to turn most otherheads in the cafe towards them. Her eyes had grown anxious and her cheeks hadturned pink as she’d insisted that she wasn’t asking anything of him but asperm donation, she’d thought about this so carefully and agonised over it formonths, she couldn’t think of anyone better than him, she trusted him, if hedidn’t want to be involved with…what it produced, no obligation at all, ofcourse she’d understand…

Allwhile Alex felt like someone had whipped away the classy hardwood floorsunderneath his feet and left him spiralling through empty space. Memories he’dhoped to never feel invading his brain again were piling up faster than hecould tip them back down into the darker recesses of his mind, giving him thesensation of swarms of spiders clambering and skittering over him, gettingunder his skin. The word father didn’t have amazing connotations forAlex, it never had, but he’d been able to avoid it for a long time while he wasat college and law school, only getting the slightest roiling stomachs andsweaty palms and lips chewed until they bled when his friends would talk abouttheir children, Lafayette and Martha and even John would talk of his daughteroften and fondly. Of course, the panic would only last until he actually metthe little sprogs, they were all cute and funny and liked how their Tio Alexkept marker pens in his pockets so they could colour in his tattoos; theanxiety never held up long after that but there would still be that twinge deepin his stomach at the word alone. He wasn’t sure that was ever going away butat least it was small enough to cope with.

Andthere he was in the middle of the cafe, trying to hide a goddamn riot behind agrin that was turning into a grimace and eyes that were far too shiny to beconsidered normal. And somewhere in the middle of it all, while his back wasturned and his brain occupied with damage control, with putting out as manysmall fires on the inside of his skull as he could before it could turn into aconflagration, a ‘yes’ slipped past his gritted teeth.

Bothhim and Eliza had been utterly stunned by that, nothing passing between thembut a shared look of slack, wide eyed surprise. Alex hadn’t even been awarethat there was a ‘yes’ lurking somewhere, battling its way through his anxiety,through beating winds and raging storms to climb off his tongue ahead of thefrantic screech that oh fuck, he just remembered he’s parked by a meter and heleft his iron on at home and he doesn’t speak English and he only has two moreseconds to live, please excuse him…

Butit had worked so hard to get there…so he supposed that was his answer?

Sohere Alex was, being confronted with the damnable highway robbery that was theAmerican medical system and trying to platonically make a baby with his bestfriend. What exactly his game plan was in the moment his…stuff mixed up withEliza’s…stuff and made…more stuff and he was technically no longer neededaccording to the laws of biology, of that he wasn’t exactly sure. He could tellEliza was wondering but she hadn’t pressed, she’d only began to cry and leaptacross the table to give him one of her patented, full body, vice tight hugsthat showed how much unexpected strength was in those delicate arms of her’s.Alex didn’t really think he deserved so much thanks, that he’d earned that lookof awe and adoration in her eyes when she looked at him ever since that fatefullunch date, just for saying yes to jacking off into a specimen cup. That’s allhe’d said a firm yes to. In the few weeks since that day, he’d been franticallycombing his mind for another scrap of certainty to present itself and tell himwhat his brain wanted but it seemed to have completely dried up after the firsttime. Which was pretty fucking rich of his brain, to get him into thissituation and then bail entirely, leaving him with just a terrifying, panicstreaked blankness.

Buthe was here. He loved Eliza, he wanted to help and he’d hold to his promise.Besides, it was only himself he was terrified over, he knew without a singleshred of doubt that Eliza would be a fantastic mother, so wonderful and perfectfor the job that it would be kind of criminal to deprive a child of being bornbelonging to her. Maybe that love and assurance would be enough to cancel outhis contribution…

“Howis it so expensive?” Alex exclaimed, reading the paper again like he could willit to be more palatable, “I mean…isn’t it just like a fancy turkey baster?”

Elizascrewed up her face, making her nose that could only be described in that clichédbut sweet way as ‘button’ crinkle adorably, “Ew, Alex.”

“I’mpretty sure that’s what it is,” Alex crossed his arms defensively, “I did do myreading.”

Hehad, in fact. Alexander Hamilton didn’t do anything without researching itfully first.

Elizaran her fingers through her hair, twisting it into curtains around her facelike she always did when she was stressed, “Well…I guess we can’t do thisright now.”

Alexwinced. He’d love to offer to cover the cost of the procedure, hell even halfof it would do, but college and law school had left him with a crippling amountof debt and not an awful lot else. He’d arrived on his very first day with nextto nothing and had somehow come out the other side with even less.

“Couldyou ask your parents?” he suggested, not liking the idea even as it came out ofhis mouth but he just wanted to do something to take that devastated look offher face.

Elizalooked down at her hands, retreating even more into the sanctuary of her hair,“Um…I would but…they aren’t really fans of the idea.”

Thatjarred him. Not only was Eliza making this huge decision, and entrusting awhole huge chunk of her future happiness to him, she was doing it without thesupport of her parents. Alex wouldn’t be surprised if this was the first timein the twenty-six years she’d been alive that such a thing had happened.

“Oh…”Another thought closed up his throat and made his fingers tense into fists,“Are they…not fans of the whole idea or of the fact that it’s gonna be mybaby?”

Eliza’seyes widened, ‘Oh! Oh, no, no it’s not that, I promise. They’ve not liked itfrom the start, I told them I was thinking about it a while ago and well…thereaction wasn’t great. They just don’t get it.” Her voice grew so faint and sadat the end, her eyes dropping, her tone resigned but as if she’d still hopedfor better in spite of the evidence.

“I’m sorry, Bets…” Alex murmured in as soft a voice as he could evermanage, reaching across and taking her hand, gently moving it from pulling ather hair to clasping it in his lap with both of his own. If there was anyonewho understood general parental shittiness, it was him.

“Hey,it’s okay,” Eliza said, smiling with her usual quiet bravery, “I don’t mind.This is just a setback, right? We can come back to this in… I don’t know, ayear or so. Less if I let my car finally die and start roller-skating aroundNew York. Hey, maybe I’ll have an even more stable job and this will turn outto be for the best?”

“Morelike you’ll find a much better sperm source,” Alex lifted an eyebrow, smilingcrookedly.

“Hey…”Eliza socked him lightly on the arm, “Stop that. I don’t want anyone else, youknow that.”

Alexchuckled, appreciating the lengths she’d go to in defending him from himself,in silent awe of her which, in fairness, was how he spent most of his timearound Eliza. But he knew that face. He’d seen that face at 2am when they’dbeen sharing a cab back from the bar and she’d stuck her head out of the windowto see the lights rushing by and feel the wind in her hair. He’d seen that faceat half past eight, with thirty minutes to go before their final exam, blearyeyed with wild bird nest hair and a look of fierce, caffeine fuelleddetermination the likes of which he’d never seen. He’d seen it illuminated fromwithin like there was some kind of power source behind her eyes that otherpeople didn’t seem to have, a kind of sun that worked on pure joy and wonder,so bright that it could even warm someone like him. He’d seen that face nearlyevery day of his life for the past six years and he knew how to read it.

Andright now, he could see plain as day that Eliza was devastated.

She’dlooked so excited, that joy there again, as she’d taken him through all thethinking and daydreaming she’d done about this, how she’d known the time wasright now that she’d gotten herself a low paying but at least steady job, doingsome kind of clerk or data stuff type for one of the orphanages in town. It hadthe right hours, she could advance in time and with the time she’d beenspending with Dosia’s two boys and Martha’s little Frances and the gaggle ofkids Laf had been producing since the scarily young age of eighteen, she justwas so certain that this was what she wanted. And a year was a hell of a longtime to wait for something you wanted that badly.

Maybeit was that thought, that desperate need to offer her some kind of help, orelse pure and simple stupidity, the rise of his chronic and terminal foot inmouth disease, that made Alex say what he then said next. Or maybe it wassomething else entirely. Maybe, and this was a pretty shaky maybe, it was hisown want for this crazy, insane thing to happen. Maybe it was the fact that, asterrified and confused as this whole thing had made Alex at the start, rightnow? The thought of having to let go of the idea was more than he could bear.

So,he said it.

“Well,why don’t we just do things the old-fashioned way?” he tilted his head, tonelight and airy but there was no solid evidence that he was joking, “You andme?”

Elizalooked at him, a snarky comeback loaded and ready to go on her tongue but whenshe saw his face, her face became a mask of comic surprise.

“Theold-fashioned way?” she asked in a voice that was half scandalised, halfastounded, “As in…like…that.”

“Sex,Eliza, yes,” Alex filled in the gap for her, “You and me. Having sex. To make ababy. That is how it’s worked for thousands of years so…”

Elizagaped at him, reminding Alex of something his mama used to say, about closingyour mouth before you started catching flies. Absurdly calm, enough to reachover and delicately bringing her lower jaw up to close her lips, Alex smiledbemusedly. There didn’t seem to be any flies in here but you could never be toocareful.

“Imean…” he clarified, “This is something people do, right? They hook up forreasons other than, y’know, that they’re in a relationship. Platonic like. I’mnot gonna lie and say I don’t find you attractive, certainly enough to get thejob done. I may be setting myself up for a Mike Tyson blow to the ego here butI think I know you well enough, Bets, to say that you feel the same about me.”

“Butit’s…” Eliza found some words, if fragmented and scattered, “I… I do and I…I know what you’re talking about but…I do love you, Alex…but it’sweird!”

Alexpursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, “As weird as asking your friend todonate sperm?”

Elizaflushed a little, “Okay, smarty pants. Now we’re even.”

Hechuckled, noting that she still hadn’t taken her hand back from his own, shehadn’t moved away from him, “It is weird. But it makes a lot of sense, doesn’tit? We’re both single and young and pretty damn good looking and, mostimportantly, we care a whole damn lot about each other. And you’d get a baby,free of charge with no hospital fuckery required.”

Elizapercolated the logic in her head for awhile, Alex did always have a gift forselling his utterly madcap, bonkers ideas in a way that made them seem like thebest option for everyone involved. And she’d never seen him be wrong yet…notcompletely anyway.

And,if she was being completely honest with herself? At the thought of a night withAlex, freshman Eliza had perked up considerably and was currently bouncing onthe balls of her feet. Her crush on him had been intense, with it being hervery first and all, but it had settled with age as they both grew and maturedand the whole thing that once very possible could have been just neverhappened. Alex was the best friend she’d ever known outside of her family,someone who understood her completely inside and out and somehow still wantedto know more.

She’dalways love him and she was dizzyingly excited at the possibility of being amother. Ever since Alex had said yes, she’d been daydreaming of a tiny littlething who curled into her chest looking for love and safety that she was sowilling to give in staggering amounts, something beautiful that she could lookat with pride and know they would always belong to her and her to them. Herlittle piece of the universe. And yes, with Alex’s wry smile and thirst tolearn and to persevere through anything. The slight weirdness of having sexwith her best friend would be well worth that price.

Andwith half the stuff she and Alex had been through together, what was seeingeach other naked? What was a little roll in the sheets between friends?

“Okay,”Eliza had to laugh a little as she said it, feeling like a character in asitcom about to cut to commercial, “Just to get me pregnant.”

Herlaugh was infectious, soon Alex was giggling helplessly too. It was hard notto.

“Hey,it’s not even that weird, right?” he snorted, muffling his laughter in hissleeve so they didn’t get any more suspicious glances from the nurses andpatients around them, “Just think of it as me loaning you ten dollars. Except,y’know, instead of money, picture my penis…”

Elizalaughed even harder then, so hard tears began building in her eyes, “I thinkI’d rather not.”

“Well,yes, it’s a terrible metaphor,” he chuckled, “But in my defense, this situationis pretty damn rare.”

Thatwas certainly true. Rare and wild and risky. But that was kind of how Alex andEliza had always operated.

Elizashifted a little closer, only looking cuter red in the face and glittery in theeye from laughter, her hands knotting together with Alex’s, “You really are thebest friend ever, Hamilton.”

“Hey,let’s reserve all accolades until you’ve seen my moves, okay?” Alex chuckled,grinning that way he did that made the corners of his eyes crinkle up. But hestill kissed her cheek as they got up to leave, “And you’re my best friend evertoo. Which is exactly why you get the privilege of seeing me naked.”

“Oh,shut up, Hamilton,” Eliza grinned, “I take it back. Now, come on and knock meup.”

Alexscrewed up his face, trying not to dissolve into hysterics again, “Your placeor mine?”

Theanswer to that question was obviously Eliza’s place. Alex had a little cornerof the heights where you could touch both walls at once by stretching out yourarms and the whole thing rattled whenever the elevated train rushed past, insuch a way that all the furniture was rearranged when it was gone. That and itwas inhabited by Alex himself, who’d turned it into a nightmarish hoarder’snest. Not exactly the most sexy of locations, there were no pornographic filmsset amongst stacks of books threatening to fall over and boxes full of halfeaten pizza and groaning folders of case files fit to burst.

So,Eliza’s it was.

Bothof them let out twin sighs of relief once Eliza had put a glass of wine in eachof their hands, it made things feel a little easier. There was a thick pull oftension in the air, one that threatened the whole madcap operation until theycaught each other’s eye in the middle of a slightly stilted conversation on howAlex’s last few job interviews had been going (Eliza had been coaching him forevery single one). Then they both just bust out laughing.

“Idon’t think the whole ignoring the elephant in the room thing is working?” Alexgrinned, rubbing the back of his neck, “Want to just call it what it is and dothe damn thing?”

Elizasnorted, nearly getting rose right up her nose, “And would ‘the damn thing’ inthis case be me?”

Thatmade Alex laugh out loud, the tension in the pit of his stomach uncoiling andslithering away to hide, the way it always seemed to when Eliza was around,“Good thing this isn’t a date or I’d be out on my ass, huh?”

“Coursenot, I’d give you at least two more strikes,” she chuckles, “Though, to befair, if this was a date I wouldn’t be inviting you to my bedroom this early.Which I am about to do, heads up.”

“Thanks,”he smirked, clambering to his feet. He didn’t need Eliza to show him where herbedroom was, he’d slept over a good handful of times, after parties where Elizadeemed him too tipsy to get himself home.

Ithad to be said, the room was quintessentially Eliza. She couldn’t do much aboutthe faded carpet in the living room or the squat, leather sofas or the kitchencupboards that were the colour of phlegm, in Alex’s own words. But the bedroom,tucked away in the corner of the apartment with a window that looked out onto afire escape where she could perch on an evening and watch the sun sink belowthe New York skyline, leaving the stars free to come out, like a million eyesopening cautiously, only gleaming as bright as they could through the thick pollutionas soon as they saw the coast was clear. The room itself was a dusty blue, asoothing colour that seemed to wrap itself around you and keep you safe, thepalate broken only by the many, many photos of her loved ones on the wall (manyof them included Alex) and the rainbow of books and the bursts of green asflowering plants and succulents gathered like old friends embracing on everyspare surface. The quilt on her bed was the same one Alex remembered from herdorm room and every other place she’d lived since, the one she, of course, hadmade herself.

Thewhole scene was just so familiar to him as he stepped inside, trotting atEliza’s heels, so warm and safe and forgiving that he relaxed in spite of thefact that this was a step closer to go time. It was just that this room, maybein different locations but the same room in essence, had seen the absoluteworst of him- crying, having a panic attack, blind drunk, angry- and yet stillwelcomed him back.

Alot like Eliza herself.

“Okay,”Eliza spoke decisively, as if the awkwardness could be wrestled intononexistence by a firm word and a pair of crossed arms, “Kiss me. That’ll letme know if I actually want to do this or not.”

Alextilted his head a little, rolling the sleeves of his sweater up his arms, “ButI kiss you all the time?”

Andhe did, it was true, pecks on the cheek and forehead to make her smile when shewas feeling blue or in joyous awe after she yet again saved his ass with aperfectly timed up of coffee or one of her wonderfully simple solutions thatsomehow utterly fixed problems that he’d been chewing over for days.

“No,I mean…” Eliza searched for words, looking a little exasperated, “Kiss me likeyou’d kiss someone you really wanted to have sex with. Kiss me like…likesomeone you were dying to see naked, like you’re going to explode if you don’tget with them right this minute.”

Alexgave a little snort of disbelief but he stepped forward all the same andwithout another thought in his head, he brought his best friend close to him byway of firm hands on her shoulders and a swift, sure movement, pressing herlips to his, thinking of passion and love and want. He let his lips part alittle after a few moments, after she relaxed in his hold, tilting his head toclose just that little bit of unnecessary distance and was gratified to findher mirroring him. How long the kiss lasted, neither of them were really surebut it ended with both of them a little reluctant to let it go, leaving theundeniable answer as ‘not long enough’.

“So…”Alex murmured, a rasp in his voice.

“Yeah,”Eliza’s eyes were wide and her pupils seemed so big that Alex could fall intothem, “Yeah, I want to do this.”

Hesmiled that crooked smile of his though, underneath it, he was thinking thatthe kiss didn’t really feel all that different from any other time he’d kissedher, which was…disconcerting.

Theydecided to shed their clothes at the same time, in the interests of fairness.

Elizadiscovered that Alex had a lot more tattoos than she’d ever imagined, one’s hehad mentioned to her but she’d never seen with her own eyes, diminishing their expansiveness.Constellations scattered across his lower stomach, she’d seen them poking upabove the line of his pants when he stretched but she’d never realised how farthey reached, how detailed and beautiful in their simplicity they were. A papersailboat trekked bravely across his upper thigh, waves crashing around it, afeathered quill penned a long, looping line of ink up the length of one leg,smatterings of English, French and Spanish were carefully etched onto variousparts of him, curling around clocks and birds and flowers and a Puerto Ricanflag. He was a work of art.

Alexdiscovered a kind of roundness, a fullness, to Eliza around her hips, thighsand stomach. There were curves and slopes and valleys usually hidden underneathher clothes, a smattering of stretch marks he hadn’t known existed, a fewfreckles that moved up the inside of a thigh to places he couldn’t see fromhere but found himself desperately wanting to follow them. His fingers itchedto touch that softness, follow the curves and squeeze and stroke and kiss.

Itwas amazing what new things you could learn from someone with one glance andthe absence of clothes.

Elizahad read up on good positions for conceiving, where gravity could hopefullyplay its part, bringing all the right elements close enough together for thespark to catch and a baby to start forming, like the way dust and gas collectedinto stars under the same force. A pillow under her hips and sprawled backagainst the cushions, she felt a little silly but all Alex could think of wasthe intoxicating darkness of her hair against the sheer white pillows, the wayshe could look up at him as he moved to take his place between her knees, thesoftness now right there under him and nothing to stop him reaching out andcaressing it.

Noone needed to make any kind of verbal request now, their lips met entirely oftheir own accord, though it was Alex who started the gentle nipping at Eliza’slower lip, already a little drunk on kissing her full, slightly swollen,beautifully dusky pink lips, the spine tingling but not unwelcome sensation ofhis tongue sliding over her’s. Though it only took a few seconds before Elizawas responding in kind, her hands coming up to tangle in his thick, dark massof hair and keep him good and close.

Alexalmost made a total idiot out of himself and stopped to request a condom beforehe remembered the whole goddamn point of this and just went for it, needing toshuffle her over a little, raise his own hips, fumble just a tiny amount andthen he was there, with a low sighfrom himself and a short gasp of surprise from Eliza. He almost stopped, terrifiedhe’d caused some hurt, moved to fast, moved without permission, taken too muchtoo soon. But then Eliza’s legs were thrown around his hips, her feet pressinginto his lower back and pushing him, if anything, deeper.

Herteeth grazed his earlobe and she murmured in a tone that was nothing short ofbegging, “Please.”

Alexwasn’t about to make her ask twice. He didn’t think, he didn’t ask for anylogic or reason, he just chased this wild desire in his chest and the plea inhis friend’s voice. He rocked her, heavy and rhythmic, into the softness of themattress, never taking his eyes off her, not wanting to miss a second of theway she bit her lip and her eyes rolled back when he hit home and her pupils swelledand her face took on the achingly beautiful blush of fresh rose petals. It goteven better when his thumb, apparently of its own volition, slipped down andpressed none too lightly against her clit; that made her cry out loud, herexpression rapturous, panting as she climbed higher and higher under hm.

Assoon as he saw her getting there, the only thing he wanted to do in the wholedamn world was get her there faster, harder, better, the pace of his lithe hipsincreasing until the bed springs began to make themselves heard and Eliza’ssweet little gasps became louder and higher, melding into one wordless cry.Alex wasn’t even really aware that the low, wanton growl was his own, the onethat pitched so perfectly with the noises she was making. He just lost sight ofhimself in the pull of her muscles, the feeling of her fingers tugging at hishair, the beautiful heat where their bodies joined and his thumb rubbed.

Asdistracted as he was by what he was doing to her, what she was giving him inreturn, his own climax caught him by such surprise that Alex felt the wholeroom, the whole damn world, tip dizzily around him as his hips jerkederratically and he spent himself inside her. Though he didn’t miss Eliza cominga second or two behind him, writhing so uncontrollably that he was a littleworried for a moment, until the tension let them both go and they were leftexhausted and a little bit shaken.

Alexand Eliza both held their breath, waiting for the awkwardness to comebarrelling back with a vengeance, braced for it, Alex actually mapping outwhere he’d left his clothes so he could scramble back into them as swiftly aspossible and bolt for the door. But it never seemed to find them, like they’dsuccessfully held their breaths and stilled their bodies and it had just passedthem by.

Theyuntangled themselves as painlessly as they could, leaving Alex to roll onto hisback by Eliza’s side, both just catching their breath. At some point theirhands found each other and joined, subtly and gently, without either of themreally being aware of it. It was a long time before either of them saidanything.

“I…well,hopefully that worked,” Eliza found her voice first, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Yeah…”Alex began, short of breath, gazing straight ahead just like she was, like theyboth recognized that that was a safe place for their eyes to rest. Who knewwhat might happen if they went wandering? “Though…what are the chances that yougot pregnant back there?”

Elizablinked, her free hand fluttering unconsciously to her stomach, resting therelightly, “I’m not sure. Low, I guess, relatively speaking.”

Alexspoke as casually as he could, “Well then, it would make sense, wouldn’t it,if, y’know, as long as you were still ovulating, we…we kept doing that?”

Therewas a slight mutual wince as they both froze, waiting to see of what he’d justsaid had crossed the line, upset the painfully delicate balance they stood onhere. But there was no thunder, no sudden swarm of locusts, the earth didn’topen up underneath the bed. Nothing happened.

“Imean, it’s only logical,” Eliza murmured, “Yeah, why not?”

Evenas they (eventually) dressed and gathered themselves back together, it stillfelt like something important hadn’t been said, there was the feeling of a gapgoing unfilled, a missing step. It was still there as Alex stood on Eliza’sstoop, lingering as they said goodbye, both of them feeling this glaringabsence.

“Hey…”Eliza called out as Alex’s sneakers touched down on the sidewalk, reaching in asudden, frantic rush to fix the problem. But as Alex turned back, looking ather quizzically with his wide, brown eyes, she didn’t know what to say.

So,what she said was, “You know you’re my favourite person ever, right?”

Alexcracked a smile, chuckling gently, “Yeah. You’re my favourite too.”

Itwasn’t quite right. But it would do for now.

[lassieposting]

I know you've already done a post for this (I think?) but have you got any more headcanons for Skulduggery's wife? 😯 xxxx

i have so many headcanons for skulduggery’s wife im so pleased about this ask

- her magic is healing, she can rapidly speed up the regeneration of injured tissue. when she meets skul, she’s still learning, but when they’re married she always fixes any injuries he comes home with from the war. 

- there’s almost a century between her and skuldug - he was somewhere between 85 and 100 when they met, while she was somewhere between 19-24. in mage society, this kind of age gap isn’t at all unusual. 

- their child was a miracle baby. she’d been pregnant several times during their marriage, but always miscarried or had a stillbirth. skulduggery tried his best to always be present when she was due to have the child, but if he was sent away to fight there wasn’t much he could do about it, and she’d always send him a letter to tell him that there was no baby to come home to.  

- he was away at the front when she gave birth to their child, and she wrote to him to tell him that he had a son. but she had a tough pregnancy and birth, and he was given leave to come home for a while and look after her.

- she has her own surname (ive not decided on what it is yet) but for all intents and purposes she took skulduggery’s surname when they married. that’s not common in the mage world, but she had quite a few mortal friends, and they would have looked oddly at her if she had a different surname to her husband bc that just wasn’t done in mortal society at the time. 

- her mother died giving birth to her, so demelza never knew her, and suffering the same fate was a massive fear for her the entire time she was married

- skulduggery never technically asked permission to court her and only formally met her father after he’d asked her to marry him, kenspeckle was Not Impressed

- she was ginger. i actually imagine this character, also called demelza and probably where i got the name from tbh. skulduggery was also ginger. their kid was like. ginger²

- secretly really hoped her son didn’t inherit skulduggery’s ears. 

- really fond of skulduggery’s eyes

- was absolutely positively not a warrior. she’d probably never been in a fight in her life prior to the one with china and she devoted her life to healing the injured soldiers brought back from the war. but she fought like an animal to protect her child

- was really in awe of skulduggery when he was first brought in because he was a Big Scary General. vehemently denies it any time he brings it up

- she’s tiny. like. 5′3. she has to stand on a stool to clip skulduggery around the ear for swearing in the house. and he can lift her up and swing her round when he gets home like she weighs nothing shes the tiniest lil thing

- she was really fond of ghastly. like, she loved all the dead men, but she was especially close to ghastly. ghastly was godfather to their child and the closest thing skulduggery had to family (and a good influence on him), so she encouraged him to come round and visit a lot

- would get really upset about how thin and exhausted all the dead men were whenever they came home from the war, and had them all over to feed them. skulduggery was always grouchy about it, bc he wanted to spend the first couple of days boning down and he wasn’t getting enough attention

- god just. she loved him so much. 

[babybluebanshee]

On Stormer and Curvy Barbie

So I read the Jem: the Misfits comics. And the second issue got me thinking about growing up as a fat kid.

Long post. Strap in, kiddos. Auntie has a lot on her ample chest.

I’ve always been fat. I’ll admit it. I haven’t been under 100 lbs. since I was twelve. I have flabby tits. My upper arms are all jiggly. I have love handles. My thick thighs save lives.

From the ages of twelve to about eighteen, I fucking hated myself.

My favorite heroines weren’t fat. Wonder Woman was buff as fuck. Nancy Drew had always been described as pretty, strawberry blond, and, above all, thin. Sailor Moon could eat whatever she wanted and never lose her figure. Fat girls weren’t heroes.

I struggled in gym class, especially when we had to change in the seventh grade. The boys laughed from the other side of the gym when I did jumping jacks because my boobs bounced, and not in a sexy way. Once, when we played wiffle ball, I panicked when a ball came toward me and kicked it instead of catching it. An older, more athletic girl - who had the coach wrapped around her finger because she was the star volleyball player - screamed at me and called me a fat idiot. The coach didn’t do anything.

I didn’t care what she thought. It wasn’t any worse than what I already told myself.

My family knew I struggled with my weight and my self-image. My mom actually gave into my demand to buy exercise equipment at yard sales so I could try to lose weight. My aunt thought “oh honey you’ve lost weight” was the highest compliment she could pay me, all with a snide glance over at her own thin, beautiful daughter who could have been a dead-ringer for the previously mentioned Nancy Drew.

The only person who never seemed to care was my grandma. She died last week, and I still remember her defending me when my sister said something snotty about me having another cookie or an extra helping of mashed potatoes and pork loin. “She’s a growing girl,” she’d say. “How’s she supposed to grow into a beautiful woman if she starves herself?” Grandma Doris was pretty much the only thing that kept me from too much self-loathing. I’d rail against myself on really bad days, tell myself I was lazy and worthless and ugly, but she grounded me. “This is the body you were given,” she told me. “And I wouldn’t want you any other way.” It’s really funny, because as shitty as I’ve mentioned my eating habits were and pretty much always have been, I don’t think I ever ate healthier than when I was at her house. Fresh veggies from her garden, perfect cuts of meat with no fat, lots of juice - I never felt like I was being pressured to eat better with her. I just did because I wanted to.

I think I finally started overcoming my disgust with my body when I graduated high school, maybe a little sooner. I’m not really sure what happened to bring about the change in my attitude. I wish I could tell you, so other kids who grew up the same way could have something to look forward to, that inspirational epiphany that lets you blossom like the earth goddess you are. But I don’t think it was one thing. Anticlimactic, I know.

A lot of it, I think, had to do with me just getting fucking sick of fast food. My sister was working the night shift at the hospital while working on her nursing degree, so she was getting a lot of McDonald’s and Burger King. This is where those dreadful teenage eating habits came from. Thanks for nothing, Lacey. I love you, but you suck, you wonderful she-devil. Though I can’t really blame her entirely. My mindset was, at the time, that that was just what fat girls did. We are shittons of grease. Besides, it felt good. I was doing something when I ate, instead of just feeling bored and angry. Then one day I looked down at my cheeseburger and thought, “I don’t feel good doing this anymore.”

So I started searching for other ways to feel good. What I found was helpful.

I went to Europe, and met the future love of my life, though that would take a while to fully come to be. Community college happened, and I started finding other stuff to concentrate on. My love of literary analysis started rearing its ugly head. I discovered Skulduggery Pleasant. I read books like Size 12 Is Not Fat and Artichoke’s Heart (both amazing reads by the way). I changed my major three times. I went to a liberal arts college full of gays and hippies. I joined a feminist collective. The woman who started out as my best friend became the woman I love, who is also my best friend.

I started getting comfortable.

Throughout all this, I never really changed my eating or exercising habits. I mean, more salads and fresh fruit and treadmills and long walks happened, but that’s about it. No gym memberships or dieting. The last time I weighed myself (sometime last year), I was at 215 lbs. And I’ve started wearing tights and sleeveless dresses and tank tops and shorts. Things I haven’t worn since I was very small. Things I never thought I’d have the courage to wear ever again.

I still hear the mean comments. There are people who “worry” for my physical health. People who sneer whether they see me wear a pretty sundress that exposes my meringue arms or my nastiest, oldest sweats. You can’t please everyone. But that’s the beauty of this life. A wise man once said, “Those who mind, don’t matter, and those who matter, don’t mind.”

Which brings me to the two things that got me to write this long winded thing. When I first saw the curvy Barbie, I was in a Target with Shae. I nearly started crying. I had never seen a Barbie that looked like me. After all those years of feeling so ugly, my body was a Barbie.

And then I read the Jem comics. With Stormer being pressured to diet for “character development”. Watching her endure the same things I’d endured all my young life. Seeing her so plainly say that she wasn’t going to do any of this just to please a viewing public. It resonates with me, down to the very core of my being.

I don’t give a fuck what other people think of me, but nowadays, it’s not because I’m busy tearing myself down. It’s because I know I’m beautiful in whatever way I choose to present myself. I worked too hard for too long to get here for some dipshit that thinks rolls are gross to tell me otherwise.

It’s the same for everyone. If you grew up fat and want to change, that’s fine. Fat isn’t for everyone. If you want to change, though, do it for yourself. Do it because you have the power to be whoever you want, in whatever way you want.

And, to all my girls struggling with any of this now, never, for even one second, think that you are not a fabulous earth goddess that deserves fresh roses and gourmet chocolates every day. Your hips are mighty hips. You’re soft as the sea. You are as strong as a mountain. You are as beautiful as life itself.

[pardontheglueman]

Marching Through the Streets of Rhydyfelin

A response to The Wales Arts Review’s Roundtable discussion

Pop Music: Searching for the young soul rebels- why has pop given up on politics.

For an unreconstructed Socialist, who is also a passionate believer in the power of protest music, this opening discussion promised to be the ideal way to launch The Wales Arts Review’s much anticipated Millennium Centre symposium. The inclusion of Rhian E Jones (Critic and author of Clampdown: Pop-Cultural Wars on Class and Gender), Richard Parfitt (Songwriter / Former member of 60ft Dolls and senior lecturer in Music and Performing Arts, Bath Spa University) and Gray Taylor (writer and member of Goldie Lookin’ Chain), on a panel to be chaired by our very own Craig Austin, promised a forensic examination of a key cultural question. We seemed in safe hands, what could go wrong?

Perhaps the writing was on the wall, even before the debate began. Following Adrian Masters and Adam Somerset’s warmly received introductory remarks, most of the critics present decided to take up the undoubtedly tempting option of attending the launch of The Wales Arts Review’s excellent ‘Fiction Map Of Wales’ anthology in an adjoining room. It was immediately noticeable how many younger critics had joined the exodus – further proof perhaps of youthful dis-engagement with politics, or pop, or both?  A quick glance around the Victor Salvi Function Room revealed that just three dozen or so hardy souls had remained behind to man the barricades.

I wasn’t altogether surprised. The evening before, I had cast my bread upon the listless waters of the internet, randomly pitching phrases into the all-powerful search engine like ‘Why pop isn’t political anymore?’ or ‘Why isn’t pop angry?’, to be met by and large, with barely a ripple upon the stagnant pond of political discourse. An inexact science for sure, but somewhat discouraging, nevertheless.There was the obligatory rallying call by Billy Bragg, but little else. A piece in Village Voice, from 2006, another American piece ‘Apocalypse Then: Why Rock isn’t angry any more’, dating from 2010, a short analysis by Smashing Pumpkin’s frontman Billy Corgan, headed ‘Billy Corgan thinks rock isn’t reaching teenagers anymore’ and, lastly, a blog by John Robb, ‘Why politics and music don’t mix anymore’, which provided a glimmer of hope, or, at least one heartfelt response to it did -

‘Well maybe some people just aren’t trying

We are

Hack attack

We just put it out today,

Suburban Mousewife

This seemed to warrant investigation. A quick search revealed a promising list of song titles that made explicit the radical, feminist protest music, I could expect to hear – ‘Botox Skin’, ‘Shopping’, ‘Gulags for Slags’, while their handful of youtube videos unveiled an all-girl, multi-racial, five-piece combo, playing a spiky brand of garage rock, behind a lead singer wielding a mean tambourine. It looked and sounded too good to be true, and indeed it was. A quick glance at their facebook page revealed the following message, dated 13th Feb 2013:

‘Big thanks to all you lovely people for your support. The band is on an extended break at the moment.’

An ill omen perhaps? The waste of a bloody excellent band name, certainly.

Suburban Mousewife

Disappointingly, the panel’s discussion never really got past first base, partly as a result of unavoidable time constraints, but mainly because the debate was strangely sidetracked into a cultural cul de sac which, to paraphrase Dylan, might best be termed Stuck inside of Newport, with the Bristol blues again. This amiable detour down memory lane was entertaining enough in its own right, but did little to address the wider political context the panel was supposed to be engaging with. Craig and Rhian tried bravely to steer the discussion away from the confines of South East Wales with a perceptive analysis of Ben Drew’s ‘Ill Manors,’ a genuinely threatening pop-protest song. Unfortunately, the forum never quite re-focused itself on the central proposition.

Incredibly, the whole debate passed by without any reference to the current political landscape. For the best part of twenty years, the mainstream political parties have been busy stealing each other’s clothes, cross-dressing their way to the mythical centre ground of British Politics. The Tories actually went into the last General Election with a manifesto commitment to ring-fence spending on the NHS, something which Labour, its creator and proud champion, steadfastly refused to do. Furthermore, the coalition between Britain’s then most right-wing and left-wing mainstream parties, desperately cobbled together after the last election, has increasingly served to apply a brake to radical dissent. It’s in this context of unprincipled allegiances and bipartisan accommodations, that the weak-kneed response of today’s musicians can best be understood. Equally, the genuine prospect of this now fragile consensus being smashed apart at the next election by UKIP, and how this just might kick-start a slumbering protest movement into action, went altogether unexplored. It’s entirely possible that the resurrection of Rock against Racism, (the historical significance of which was barely mentioned), may now be more than this 52 yr old pop fan’s ultimate fantasy. In a fevered post-election climate, where the race card will not only be played, but undoubtedly dealt from the bottom of the pack too, an imaginative grassroots resistance could take many forms. Rap against Racism, anyone?

Similarly, Two–Tone, another protest movement with its roots in the politics of race, was never mentioned at all, despite it arguably producing the greatest pop protest song of all time – The Special’s number 1 hit,’ Ghost Town’. Indeed, UB40, a band on the fringes of Two-Tone, charted regularly at the time, with the most radical sequence of songs ever to infiltrate the playlists of mainstream radio. Between March 1980 and August 1981 the band scored five top twenty hits with songs about Third world starvation; ‘Food For Thought’, Racism in America; ‘King’, Nuclear war; ‘Earth Dies Screaming’, Atheism; ‘Don’t Let It Pass You By’, and Mass Unemployment; ‘One In Ten’.

Plausible reasons for the decline of political pop were flagged up, but not followed up, (the immediacy of the internet as a first preference for those with a personal manifesto, and conventional record company insouciance, being amongst the most convincing explanations.)  At the same time, rather too much of the discussion was given over to boxing Ed Sheeran about the ears, not that he didn’t deserve it following his cringe-worthy attempts to gladhand David Cameron at a recent gig. Even here, though, the chance was missed to broaden the discussion, by asking tough questions about why the recent folk revival was so insipid and non-political in nature.

Even where the discussion briefly came to life - every one of the panelists made perceptive comments about the impact of Brit Pop, and particularly the best song to come out of it, Pulp’s ‘Common People’- the theme could not be sustained. In all fairness, I should acknowledge here, the herculean nature of this particular task. It was a time after all, when Tony Blair was ruthlessly triangulating dissident opinion out of existence, constructing New Labour’s big tent, in which there was room for everyone, except Socialists of course. This was an age when there wasn’t any politics in politics, never mind in popular music.

Pop Music may be a young person’s game, but in the year when Pete Seeger passed away, where was the discussion about the role of the elder statesman in popular culture? Billy Bragg, our Seeger, justly escapes censure, but with Springsteen and Young still energetically campaigning in the USA, what do we make of Weller and Costello’s extended leave of absence from the front?

Admittedly, not everything could have been covered in the allotted 50 minutes, though it was clearly a mistake to guillotine the Q&A at the end, where some of these issues might have been taken up. The critic who ignored Craig’s genuine apology, and rattled off her question about the dominance of ex-public school pupils in today’s chart, caused quite a stir. I too, would have liked the chance to ask whether anybody had actually heard of Suburban Mousewife, and if not, whose fault would that have been - the band’s, the mediums or ourselves (in our guise as both critic and consumer)?  Or, I might have posited my pet theory that The Mighty Sparrow’s 1983 Soca classic, ‘Capitalism Gone Mad’, a diatribe about the cost of living crisis in Trinidad, if re-released now, in an age of economic meltdown, might just be the spark that ignites a world-wide revolution. The first verse alone, is enough to persuade me to get the red flag down from the attic, dust it off and start waving it about the streets of Rhydyfelin-

‘You got to be a millionaire or some kind of petit-bourgeoisie

Any time you’re living here in this country

You got to be in skulduggery, or making money illicitly

To live like somebody in this country

It’s outrageous and insane, them crazy prices in the Port Of Spain

And like the merchants going out dey brain

And the working man, like he only toiling in vain.’

The Mighty Sparrow - Champion of the Oppressed

Finally, though the panel saw little cause for optimism, the radicalisation of Scottish Youth in the referendum campaign has apparently made little impression on our guests, there is every prospect of a generational re-engagement with politics. The next election could be something of a watershed for Wales. A crass marriage of convenience between UKIP and the Tories could see things turn ugly very quickly. The cheap shot mantra “English votes for English laws”, has the potential to disseminate the seeds of division throughout the UK, which in all probability, will be seriously destabilised by massive constitutional change and the endless re-packaging of austerity. More positively though, a space seems to be opening up on the left, that an enlightened Green Party are well positioned to occupy.

England might be on the verge of electing the most right-wing Government in its history, at the exact same time that the people of Scotland are voting into office its most left-wing Parliament. Trapped in the vacuum, between two opposing philosophies, Wales will have to forge a new identity for itself. The conditions will then exist for freshly radicalised, free-thinking artists, to do the same.  

[tekmodetech]

It’s the Jons 2017! | TechCrunch

Comfortable New 12 months! It’s been a transformational 12 months in tech. The golden period of startups ended. Sorry about that. The tech business lastly rolled over a giant rock it had ignored and/or leaned on for years, and uncovered the squirming morass of sexual harassment beneath. We witnessed main AI breakthroughs, a cryptocurrency megaboom, actually actually self-driving automobiles, and 18 SpaceX launches.

However the Jons aren’t about these form of accomplishments. The Jons, an annual award named (in an awe-inspiring match of humility) after myself, have fun tech’s extra doubtful achievers — and hoo boy oh boy have been there a number of these this 12 months. So let’s get to it! With little or no additional ado, I provide you with: the third annual Jon Awards for Doubtful Technical Achievement!

(The Jons 2015) (The Jons 2016)

THE WHOLE WORLD OWES THIS GUY AN APOLOGY BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN HE ISN’T A LUNATIC AWARD FOR REVEALING THE TRUTH WHICH IS ACTUALLY OUT THERE, WELL KINDA, BUT STILL I MEAN HOLY SHIT

To Tom DeLonge of Blink-182, whose apparently delusional disquisitions a couple of secret Deep State authorities group devoted to monitoring UFOs and harboring mysterious and presumably otherworldly alloys in warehouses, and many others. and many others. and many others., turned out to be, extremely, not less than half true, per the New York Occasions’s revelation that such a program did exist till 2012. However wait, there’s extra! That program’s principals at the moment are employed by — that’s proper — DeLonge himself. WTF. Does this imply UFOs are actual? In all probability not. Was this program pure pork? Very presumably. Is that this nonetheless probably the most glorious story of 2017? You betcha.

THE IF YOU DISRESPECT THE SACRAMENT OF LINEAR REGRESSION ONE MORE TIME I WILL GET OLD TESTAMENT ON YOU AWARD FOR TRULY GODLIKE SELF-REGARD

To Anthony Levandowski, former “Alphabet self-driving automotive impresario” turned “Otto CEO” turned “Uber self-driving automotive impresario” turned “man within the dock staring down an entire heap of legal trouble which in flip unearthed much more jaw-droppingly bad Uber behavior,” however imagine it or not that’s what this award is even about:

Two years ago, ‘Levandowski based a non secular group, Means of the Future, to “develop and promote the belief of a Godhead based mostly on Synthetic Intelligence.” And other people say tech is secular! I for one stay up for a novel authorized protection arguing that the secular authorities ought to recuse themselves fully from his case due to their lengthy problematic historical past of bewilderment and suppressing God’s prophets.

THE IF WE COULD PUT DRM ON AIR WE WOULD AND DON’T THINK WE AREN’T THINKING ABOUT IT AWARD FOR COMMODIFYING THE UNCOMMODIFIABLE

It was dangerous sufficient when Juicero utilized DRM to juice earlier than flaming out spectacularly. Worse but when DRM was accountable for the virtual genocide of Second Life’s puffins and rabbits. However Reefill actually took the cake, or, as Marie Antoinette may put it, ate the brioche: they need individuals to pay for the suitable to unlock tap water stations. I certain stay up for our air filters that should be fed quarters/satoshis each few hours in order that we don’t should breathe the uncooked polluted mutagenic biohazard air of our courageous new DRMed dystopian future.

THE WE’RE VERY EXCITED THAT OUR TERRIBLE ARTICLE HAS STARTED SUCH AN INTENSE CONVERSATION THOUGH ADMITTEDLY ON CLOSER INSPECTION IT DOES SEEM TO CONSIST OF EVERY EXPERT IN THE ENTIRE WORLD TELLING US WE DONE FUCKED UP AWARD FOR OVERSTANDING YOUR JOURNALISTIC GROUND

To The Guardian — for many years, considered one of my favourite, most-trusted, most-read information organizations, for whom I’ve written myself — for his or her colossal WhatsApp screwup, which, inexplicably and indefensibly, took them 5 months to accept and semi-sorta-kinda-retract, regardless of an ongoing refrain of fury and horror from principally each safety knowledgeable alive all through that interval. For disgrace.

THE THROW THEM UNDER THE BUS AWARD FOR THE BUCK STOPPING, UH, OVER THERE SOMEWHERE

To Equifax’s former CEO, Richard Smith, who blamed the huge safety breach that uncovered 143 million Social Safety numbers and many others. on one engineer not doing their job, relatively than on, oh, say, the individual accountable for a company construction so pathological that the safety of the corporate’s information — and information administration is that this multibillion-dollar firm’s one job — wound up being delegated to a single individual with no oversight or backup.

THE IF YOU LIKED IT YOU SHOULD HAVE PUT A BLOCKCHAIN ON IT AWARD FOR BEST CORPORATE REBRAND

To the Lengthy Island Iced Tea comnpany, an unprofitable micro-cap soft-drink producer which eleven days in the past abruptly rebranded itself Long Blockchain Corp and promptly noticed its inventory soar 500%. Now that’s a pivot!

THE DON’T CALL IT A COMEBACK AWARD FOR MOST TONE-DEAF ATTEMPT TO TURN DISGRACE INTO A BUSINESS MODEL

To former VC Justin Caldbeck, who retired in shame after an array of accusations of sexual harassment, after which, not 5 months later, tried to reinvent himself as a motivational speaker warning college students concerning the risks of “bro culture” whereas additionally sending more-or-less form emails to individuals “who’ve expressed public curiosity and a ardour for this house,” asking for recommendation concerning “the web site that I’m making which is meant to be a [information about sexual harassment] useful resource.”

THE IT SEEMS PRETTY WIFTY AT FIRST BUT ON CONSIDERATION MAYBE WE SHOULD HAVE THESE AROUND EVERY CORNER AWARD FOR MOST INNOVATIVE CONFERENCE FEATURE

To the MAPS Psychedelic Science convention I covered earlier this 12 months, and particularly its Therapeutic Oasis zone for these for whom, uhhhh, the stresses of, uhhhh, the subject material may need grow to be slightly an excessive amount of. However you realize what, the Ethereal blockchain convention just a few months later had a yoga and chill-out zone too. Is that this a pattern? Will future tech conferences embrace periods that consist largely of chanting in Haskell and new asanas named “The Drone,” “The Blockchain,” and “The Web Of Issues”? We are able to however hope.

THE YOU DO HAVE A HISTORY OF BEING A LITTLE UNCLEAR ON BASIC ECONOMIC CONCEPTS AWARD FOR SILLIEST MAJOR CRYPTOCURRENCY PROPOSAL

Observe that weasel world main in there, however, I imply, c’mon, in any other case we’d be right here all day: the federal government of Venezuela needs to challenge a Proof-of-Work cryptocurrency backed by 5 billion barrels of oil. That is apparently not a joke. It’s, nevertheless, very foolish. I’ll let “Marmot Man” Preston J. Byrne clarify exactly why:

That is absurd. The place an issuer will be recognized (say, a sovereign) and the factor being purchased and offered comes with authorized rights (say, dividends from oil manufacturing), you obviate the necessity for mining. For those who’re a rustic, the form of system you need to run is a permissioned system the place you management the validators, not an open system that may be hijacked by a bunch of nameless electrical energy thieves in China.”

THE MATH IS BAD AND MUST BE BANNED MMMKAY AWARD FOR FAILING TO UNDERSTAND THE LIMITS OF DEMOCRATIC POWER

To all of the clueless morons who maintain hoping to ban end-to-end encryption, most notably the present UK authorities. Repeat after me: encryption is math. What’s extra, many implementations of that math are open-source. You can not ban math. For those who drive some firms to take away math from their software program, individuals who need to use math will simply use totally different software program which does have math. All you’ll do is strip the advantages of math from the individuals for whom math is an ancillary relatively than major profit. Everybody will lose. Please cease being idiots.

(UK authorities readers: please substitute “math” with “maths” within the above paragraph to help comprehension. I’d assume this goes with out saying however, nicely, this doesn’t seem like the case in case you are a part of the UK authorities.)

THE HOKEY INTELLIGENCE AND TECHNICAL COMPETENCE ARE NO MATCH FOR IGNORANT BIGOTRY, KID AWARD FOR CONFUSING WANTING SOMETHING WITH BEING ABLE TO DO IT

To the alt-right’s “parallel Internet,” which has grow to be a land of: “ghost cities, with few lively customers and no apparent supervision. As expertise merchandise, many are second- or third-rate, with lengthy load instances, damaged hyperlinks and frequent error messages.” I’m shocked, shocked, that livid bigotry is inversely correlated with intelligence and technical competence.

THE PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN, THE FINE PRINT IN THE CONTRACT, OR THE CURIOUS BEHAVIOR OF THE WEREWOLF IN THE NIGHT-TIME AWARD FOR MYSTERIOUS FINANCIAL SHENANIGANS

To the … a number of entities … a few of whom appear to be associated indirectly to the Bitfinex change, and the Tether cryptocurrency, who’ve apparently been engaged in an entire galaxy of shady, sketchy, manipulative, and/or market-warping cryptofinancial habits over the past 12 months or so, as doggedly and faithfully documented by but one other nameless entity generally known as Bitfinexed, by way of the latter’s Medium posts and Twitter feed. Received a bunch of free time and an curiosity in monetary skulduggery? Then I encourage you to dive down that rabbit gap and marvel at what you discover.

THE FEET, LEGS, TORSO, ARMS, AND HEAD OF CLAY AWARD FOR THE FARTHEST FALL FROM GRACE TO FARCE

To Julian Assange, who over the past seven years has gone from a radical “we open governments” cipherpunk hero to a more-or-less Putin apologist and obvious misogynist obsessed with Hillary Clinton who’s now fundraising by selling CryptoKitties. The road between whimsical and pathetic is, I’m afraid, someplace again thataway.

THE CALLING ME A CONSPIRACY THEORIST MEANS YOU’RE PART OF THE CONSPIRACY AWARD FOR MOST SELF-AGGRANDIZINGLY DELUSIONAL WORLDVIEW

Collectively awarded to Eric Garland, Seth Abramson, and Louise Mensch, whose breathless, incoherent, interminable, and constantly flawed Twitter tweetstorms, which principally attempt to remix actuality with badly written Hollywood authorized/political thrillers, exemplify an entire new form of train-wreck political efficiency artwork knowledgeable by spectacular lack of self-awareness.

Mensch is probably probably the most unhinged of the three, however Garland is first amongst equals, as a result of a) he apparently believes there’s a million-dollar conspiracy to label him a conspiracy theorist and b) within the months and months and numerous, limitless tweets since he first rose to prominence together with his “Guys, it’s time for some recreation concept” tweet, he has nonetheless, as far as I can inform, by no means really mentioned any recreation concept. As such his award shall include a bonus shaggy-dog bobblehead.

THE REALLY IT DIDN’T EVEN SEEM LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME TO BE HONEST AWARD FOR THE MOST ILL-CHOSEN TATTOO

“Welcome to the future: Your tattoo has a EULA…”

Welcome to the long run: Your tattoo has a EULA that notes it’s topic to DMCA takedowns, won’t work (and features provided that you pay $30 activation+$10 per 12 months), topic to getting hacked, and the app firm owns all content material you add http://pic.twitter.com/UODaIq2hTk

— Jason Koebler (@jason_koebler) December 23, 2017

THE THAT’LL SHOW THEM AWARD FOR THE MOST INEFFECTIVE ACT OF TECHNO-POLITICAL DEFIANCE

To your entire parliament of the Republic of Chechnya, who stop Instagram en masse in solidarity with their chief, notoriously brutal thug Ramzan Kadyrov, after he was kicked off the platform. As a consequence of this daring transfer … no, cling on, turns on the market have been no penalties in any respect, until you rely widespread mockery resembling this.

THE WORM HAS TURNED AWARD FOR THE MOST INEFFECTIVE ACT OF TECHNO-POLITICAL ADVOCACY

To PotCoin, a cryptocurrency that focuses on marijuana transactions, who sponsored former NBA nice Dennis Rodman’s January journey to North Korea within the hope of, and I quote, ‘one thing that’s fairly constructive’ occurring. I imply, in equity, nothing disastrous occurred, nevertheless it appears to me that peace has not but returned to the Korean peninsula regardless of Rodman’s GOAT rebounding abilities. Perhaps subsequent time?

Congratulations, of a form, to the winners of the Jons! All recipients shall obtain a bobblehead of myself made up as a Blue Man, as per the picture on this submit, which can likely grow to be coveted and more and more useful collectibles. (And evidently someday subsequent 12 months they are going to grow to be redeemable for JonCoin.) And, in fact, all winners shall be remembered by posterity forevermore.

1Bobbleheads shall solely be distributed if and when obtainable and handy. The eventual existence of stated bobbleheads is just not assured or certainly even significantly probably. Not legitimate on days named after Norse or Roman gods.

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