#i blame charlie day for this because he is a fucking genius who turned this character into some kind of bewildering hearthrob

[sakebytheriver]

Glad to know I'm not the only one strangely obsessed with Charlie from it's always sunny <3

😭😭😭😭 I never truly understood what the words skrunkly scrimblo meant before this man, i had never had a poor little meow meow that was so poor and so little and so meow meow, yes i am attracted to him no I would never lay a finger on him because breathing the same air as him would expose me to at least 50 different diseases, i want to dissect him and then eat his brain with a spoon, i have not been so turned on as when i watched that Charlie Work episode and he gave that speech i felt the instant urge to run into his arms and make out with him like i was the love interest in the action movie and he was the strapping action man with a ripped shirt and glistening abs. He has changed my brain chemistry and now i am this, i apologize 😔

[chvrliesapcet]

ever since olivia rodrigo released her debut album, SOUR, i have been listening to it on repeat (totally not kidding). so, after seeing a girl on tiktok do something like this, but with the avengers, i was inspired to make this post. there you go:

the poets as olivia rodrigo’s songs.

trigger warning: mention of su*c*de and mental health issues.

brutal: all of them. they’re teenagers, insecure sometimes, trying their best, but sadly not living the teenage dream (what is it, that fucking teenage dream, anyway?). “if someone tells me one more time "enjoy your youth, " i’m gonna cry” and they can’t quit what they’re doing, because their parents would most likely be hurt. “and they'd all be so disappointed 'cause who am if, if not exploited?” they once recited the lyrics of this song as a poem, during one of their meetings, and they were all laughing their asses off. life at hell-ton is brutal, what can i say?

traitor: knox, of course. “god i wish that you had thought this through, before i went and fell in love with you” or “guess you didn’t cheat, but you’re still a traitor” just hit different for him. he thinks about chris when he listens to this song, that’s for sure..! we can’t really blame chris for knox falling in love with her though,, sorry buddy.

drivers license: knox, again. poor boy listens to this song while riding his bike, crying his eyes out. “but today i drove through the suburbs, crying 'cause you weren't around” chris isn’t with that blonde girl, she is that blonde girl. knox has never felt this way for no one, and it’s hard for him to imagine that chris is, well, doing okay without him. he thinks and talks about her all the time. “and all my friends are tired of hearing how much i miss you, but i kinda feel sorry for them 'cause they'll never know you the way that i do”

1 step forward, 3 steps back: todd. like many people (including me!) when he listens to this song, he doesn’t necessarily think of a past relationship (mostly because he has never dated anyone before neil). he thinks of his mental health struggles, such as his anxiety, instead. it’s hard, sometimes. he thinks he’s getting better, but then realizes he isn’t.. “got me fucked up in the head, boy. never doubted myself so much. like am i pretty, am i fun boy? i hate that i gave you power over that kinda stuff” need i say more? this song is as soft, but as sad, as he is.

deja vu: keating. this is.. kind of a joke, but only because i didn’t know who to pair this song with. john was an original member of the dead poets society, and knowing that now, other teenage boys are taking turns reading poetry, in the old indian cave, reminds him of his teenage years. “so when you gonna tell her that we did that, too? she thinks it's special, but it's all reused. that was our place, i found it first” olivia’s music isn’t the type of music he normally listens to, but after hearing students (the poets) talk about her album, during his class, he decided he’d give it a try. he likes it. he loves the lyrics, mostly.

good 4 u: CHARLIE. he loves screaming the lyrics to this song. especially the bridge and the last chorus. “LIKE A DAMN SOCIOPATH!” cameron has to beg him to turn the volume down,, he doesn’t listen to him, obviously, and instead turns the volume up. his argument? ‘this song is meant to be played loud!’ to which cameron responds ‘but not that loud! i’m trying to study!’ he thinks looking at his roommate directly in the eye when singing “baby, what the fuck is up with that?” exactly the way olivia does is funny. cameron just rolls his eyes every time, but it’s hard for him to hide the smile taking place on his lips.

enough for you: pitts. although he and stev/phen are both super, super smart, i think meeks is the ‘genius’ of the group. and that, can, sometimes, make pitts feel like he might not be good enough for his boyfriend, whom he loves very much. “and i knew how you took your coffee, and your favorite songs by heart. i read all of your self-help books so you'd think that i was smart” whenever he doubts himself, meeks is the first to reassure him and tell him he’s more than enough, but still.. “'cause all i ever wanted was to be enough for you” he listens to this song with his earphones, always, so no one knows he listens to it on repeat.

happier: meeks. ever since charlie got expelled, he can’t stop listening to this song. these two were pretty close, (“he flatters me, that’s why i help him with latin”) and stev/phen doesn’t like thinking about his friend being in a new school, and spending time with other people. “so find someone great but don't find no one better. i hope you're happy, but don't be happier” he wishes charlie would still be with them, at welton, even if he hated it. ���your friends aren't mine, you know, i know. you’ve moved on, found someone new” or “does she mean you forgot about me?” he’s being a bit overdramatic, considering charlie comes to see the poets at least once a week, and still attends the dps meetings.. but anyway.

jealousy, jealousy: cameron, because, yes, he’s smart and everything, but he’s still jealous of other people, and wishes he were different. he thinks he should be like the other guys. “all i see, is what i should be, happier, prettier, jealousy, jealousy” he also thinks that, maybe then, people would like him more </3. he knows no one really hates him, but feels like no one really likes him, either. and in his opinion, it’s because he’s.. him. “I'm so sick of myself, i’d rather be, rather be, anyone, anyone else” just like mr. k, this type of music isn’t what he usually listens to, but he relates to this song so much, he can’t help but listen to it at least once a day.

favorite crime: neil. just like todd, he doesn’t associate this song with a relationship he had in the past. actually, he thinks of his father (and his mom, a bit, too) and all of the things his dad forces him to do, even if it upsets him. “those things i did, just so i could call you mine. the things you did, well, i hope i was your favorite crime” i know we don’t usually talk about the canon ending, but i have to. mr. perry didn’t want his son to pursue his dreams, and planned neil’s life for him, which made him feel so miserable, he sadly committed su*c*de.. but then, his dad wasn’t blamed for it, to preserve his reputation. “and i watched as you fled the scene, doe-eyed as you buried me, one heart broke, four hands bloody” todd knows this was neil’s favorite song. he listens to it once in a while, in their room, alone, and cries.

hope ur ok: all of them. do they know how proud i am they were created? after all they’ve been through, especially their family problems, i’m glad they found each other. “she was tired 'cause she was brought into a world where family was merely blood” and even when life throws bad things at them, they always stay strong, and support each other through everything. they’re very brave. “well, i hope you know how proud i am you were created, with the courage to unlearn all of their hatred” i love them, my beautiful poets <33

[dippinginthe4door]

Undead Unhinged Song Backstories - Hear Me Now (unplugged version)

[on set]

Johnny 3 Tears: “Hear Me Now” is one of those songs I think, for all of us, when we wrote it – we were in New York actually, recording with these producers, uhm, it was a source – a big source of frustration. We were all pretty – I think when you're young, you know, you think life's gonna get easier, and when you realize it doesn't, I think that's something everybody has to cope with at some point. So I think it was us kind of reaching out, uhm, from a position of – of negativity or a place that maybe would be considered dark. But I think we were reaching towards that light, saying can – you know – “can anybody out there hear me,” and, uhm, I think every – every artist and every person thinks these things at one point or another, but I think “Hear Me Now” is really uplifting 'cause the message of the song is kind of no matter how dark it gets, or how bad it gets, there's, uh, always other people feeling and, uh, feeling those exact same things you are at that moment and, you know, uh, some unity, we're not, you know, alone.

Funny Man: Oh wow.

Danny: Shooting that video was incredible, man, it was crazy. They had the whole, like, Sunset Boulevard, uh, blocked off. There was, like, cops escorting us through, and we were on this huge trailer, and it was – it was like

Johnny 3 Tears: It was like a float

Funny Man: Was it Andy Milonakis following us in some convertible?

Johnny 3 Tears: Yeah, yeah

J-Dog: It was also a sh-

Johnny 3 Tears: That was – that was when they had, like, you know, the budgets were half a million dollars for music videos. That was – that was so fun.

J-Dog: It was also a shitshow, like, it was pouring rain. The second the float pulled out, like, a tree knocked out all the electricity on the float. We sat in the rain for an hour, we got – they're like “you can't drink on set!” and we were like “fuck you,” and we just had, like, bottles of alcohol the whole time.

Johnny 3 Tears: And then the video – so the dude Jonas Åkerlund, who did it, who's a really, really talented dude, he was really upset with the video. So he told the label, uhm, you know, “it didn't go the way we wanted” – the video turned out good anyway. But the label blamed it on our alcoholism that the video didn't go well.

J-Dog: Didn't he say it was the worst video he ever directed?

[Everyone agrees, some inaudible mumbling]

Johnny 3 Tears: I'm not even – after the camera stopped, he literally, in front of us, went “that was the worst video I've ever made.”

J-Dog: I think on [interruption through laughter] I think on Fuse

Johnny 3 Tears: It was like

Danny: It was pouring rain though, all night

J-Dog: It was popular somewhere

Johnny 3 Tears: Yeah, I – I still had fun.

Charlie Scene: In Canada it was popular.

Johnny 3 Tears: Yeah. Canada. Number one hit.

Charlie Scene: Yeah, in [inaudible]

Johnny 3 Tears: I think it was just one territory of Canada, like Montréal or Québec

J-Dog: Nah, it was Moose Jaw.

Johnny 3 Tears: Oh, okay, yeah.

   [from the pre-show video]

[off set]

J-Dog: “Hear Me Now”, we recorded most of that in New York, the Chelsea area. That was a lot of fun. I remember, like, going to the local liquor store and drinking bottles of wine, like five a day. The liquor store dude, like, became to know us, he was like “ey, my guys!” Like, “look – move that shelf to the side, there's cheaper wine back there, my friend!” And we just, like, I don't even – I for – flew out there, drunk, I think I didn't pack a toothbrush, my lips were just, like, purple. Like, I just looked like Grimace from McDonald's, like, I was just purple everywhere from drinking so much wine out of the bottle. That was a fun one. And then we came back, and I recorded all the verse vocals in my apartment in Hollywood. Uhm, I know I did mine, I don't know if I did Johnny's, but my neighbor came over to complain like “someone's in your house, just like, your apartment, just yelling the same thing over and over. Like, I don't know who that is.” I was just like “ah, that's the guy upstairs. He drives me crazy.” But we were recording, like, vocals, and obviously doing multiple takes. I was like “yeah, that's Reggie upstairs, man, he does that. It's weird.”

  Charlie Scene: “Hear Me Now” was one that we worked on, I remember, in New York. We flew to New York to work with S*A*M and Sluggo, and, yeah. We wrote like five son – four songs, I think, on that trip, “Hear Me Now” was one of them. Very cool song. I remember we had to change it 'cause it sounded too much like Kelly Clarkson – she had a song out that was very similar, I don't listen to much, uh, Kelly Clarkson.

  Danny: “Hear Me Now”, that was – that was a really cool song that we recorded for the album “American Tragedy”. That one means a lot to me just because “American Tragedy” was the first album that I got to record with the band, and really start working with the band. And we went out to New York City, to work with a couple of different producers out there,  S*A*M and Sluggo. And, uhm, we started working on a couple of different songs, and “Hear Me Now” was one of them, and that's when I really started to realize that all the guys in the band were such talented, uhm, songwriters and lyricists, and, uh, it was just a rally cool experience to be in New York City. You know, you're taking a break from the studio, you walk out, and you're on this, like, scaffolding on this building, in the middle of New York City. Pretty fucking cool, you know.

And, uh, “Hear Me Now” is just, uh, one of those songs that everybody – everybody wants to be heard. Everybody wants to be acknowledged, and I think that, to me, that's what “Hear Me Now” is tryna say. I think we were pulling from personal experiences of what we've all been through, where you just wanna be heard sometimes.

  Johnny 3 Tears: “Hear Me Now”, I think, is – it's a song – it's funny 'cause, you know, you don't think about these songs 'cause you play them all the time. But you don't think about them. I haven't thought about this song in a decade. So, it's like, it's a trip even digging through those memories of when we wrote it, but -  and it's funny, you play it every night mindlessly, not really realizing what you're even saying eventually.

Uhm, but it's a song about, uh, desperation. I've always thought about this, and on this subject matter, if people said what they thought about, most people would think you're probably fucking nuts. 'Cause if you went around, you know – it's almost unacceptable to be weak. It's almost unacceptable to show that, uh, you, you have some cracks, or some chinks in your armor, and “Hear Me Now” is about that because it's -it's funny in music you can say anything to anybody, and everybody just considers it music. It's art. But if you actually just said it, without a musical backdrop, they'd think you're fucking nuts, or you – you have something - “oh, I gotta get away from this guy, he's fucking crazy.” But you put up with some guitar and all of a sudden you're a genius, it's fucking bizarre. “Hear Me Now” is exactly what we're thinking, with some music behind it. Uhm, and it's crazy to me. And you wonder why people go batshit crazy out of the blue – they didn't go batshit crazy out of the blue. They were always fucking crazy 'cause they couldn't tell anybody.

So, “Hear Me Now” is that moment of desperation where you just gotta yell it at the top of your lungs that “I'm no good. I'm not good, this isn't good, and something's gotta change.”

Undead Unhinged Song Backstories - Masterlist

[luninosity]

One more @whumptober2020 fic for today!

For theme 19 - Broken Hearts - specific prompts: grief & mourning loved one; and theme 29 - I Think I Need A Doctor - specific prompt: reluctant bed rest.

Back to Jason and Colby, for this one! And the anniversary of Jason having lost someone significant - and some more hurt!Colby. He’ll be fine, though! I promise!

#

“Resting,” Jason said, meaningfully. “You. Bed.” He had a hand on Colby’s shoulder, a reminder. The bed perked up under Colby: doing its job.

 Colby sighed. “I’m really doing all right.”

 “You are, but you’re also recovering.”

 “It’s not as if it’s even terribly—”

 “You were,” Jason said, as calmly as he could under the circumstances, “in a fucking explosion. And got knocked out.” The stunt had gone wrong. Explosives too early and too strong. Something not measured right on the part of the demolitions crew. Colby hadn’t been far enough away. He’d hit unforgiving ground hard.

 Jason, not in that scene, had been watching from behind monitors. Had run, heart in his throat. Colby had been waking up already, but slowly, dazed and bewildered about how he’d landed on the ground, when Jason’d flung himself down beside blue eyes.

 Concussion, the doctors’d said. Not too bad, but needing rest and care. No strenuous activity for at least a couple of days, assuming nothing got worse. Nothing seemed to be, though Jason’s heart wasn’t convinced of that.

 “They didn’t say no working on the novel, specifically…” Colby tried, plaintive.

 “No exerting yourself physically or mentally, and you know it.” He touched Colby’s temple. The lights were low; they’d been too bright, earlier. “No screens. So no laptop. Your next genius collaboration with George can wait. How’re you feeling?”

 “Tired. Bored. I can’t even look up banana bread recipes?”

 “Not yet.” He ran his hand over Colby’s head, gentle. “I can do some baking. If you want bread.”

 “Maybe later.” Colby shut both eyes, leaning back into pillows and Jason’s touch. “I’m not very hungry, at the moment.”

 Jason’s chest tightened. “Something not feeling right? Nausea, headaches, like that?”

 “Just a bit…”

 “Want me to call someone?”

 “They said it was normal, and it should go away on its own, and—”

 “And if it doesn’t,” Jason said levelly, “then I will. Okay?”

 “If it gets worse, you can.” Colby opened his eyes again. “I wish I could remember more. It’s disconcerting. One minute I’m being Cam, running out of the warehouse, perfectly in character…and then I woke up lying on the ground with far too many faces hovering around me. I don’t even recall that very clearly; I know you were there, and Evan, but it’s all sort of foggy from there to a hospital room. It’s such an odd feeling, knowing there’s something missing.”

 “That’s normal too,” Jason said, reminding them both, and reached over to get the cup of water. “Here. Stay hydrated, at least.” He hated the small quiver in Colby’s voice. He hated that Colby’d had to be hurt again, to face tests and strange-if-professional hands on him again, to have a gap in memory.

 And today, today, of all days…

 He couldn’t think of that. He’d been trying not to think of that for a while now. He’d known what anniversary it was. Evan did too, and they’d looked at each other that morning, running through stunt choreography one more time; Jason had guessed they’d probably want to talk, or drink, later. He hadn’t mentioned it to Colby then. He’d planned to.

 And then the world had imploded, and now they were here. In a luxurious hotel suite in Vancouver, not in a hospital, but with Colby very much injured. Jason’s lungs didn’t feel like they’d taken a full breath ever since the explosion. Or earlier. This day, and now this…Colby, and—

 An older body hovered, when he rubbed his spare hand over his face. A friend. A good friend, the best, really, because Charlie had been the sort of person who’d happily teach a younger colleague how to do a kick or a fall or a vault across rooftops, sharing knowledge without jealousy; Charlie had been the sort of person who’d come over, bringing food and cheerful competent company, when Jason’s father’d been so badly injured decades ago; and Charlie had been kind to both his own younger brother and to Jason and to everyone, and then—

 He tried to breathe some more, through the hurt. Through the anniversary. He knew Evan was hurting too.

 It’d been most of the day, now. Late afternoon. He wished he could do more about the edges of sun slanting in around curtains. Colby needed dimness. Quiet. Soothing.

 They’d been filming at dawn, first light; he’d been able to bring Colby home after a few hours. Colby had slept, on and off; sleep was good for healing, though Jason’d been told to wake him every two hours to check on his awareness. Colby seemed fine so far, if mildly distressed by the amnesia surrounding the impact.

 Colby shifted a fraction; Jason realized he’d been holding the water and its straw in place way too long, and hastily set it down. “Sorry.”

 “It’s fine. Are you at least allowed to read to me?”

 “Probably? Nothing that’s work, though.” He picked up Colby’s hand, played with slim calligrapher’s fingers, surreptitiously tested Colby’s pulse. Seemed fine. “New Alex Castle novel? Rival steampunk magicians falling in love?”

 “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. It’s in my bag, from yesterday—”

 “I’ll get it. Don’t move.”

 When he came back Colby was setting down a phone, looking suddenly guilty. Jason said, “Don’t tell me you were doing work,” but kept his tone very light: Colby even these days instinctively flinched from disapproval, a legacy of older emotional wounds. “I love you, babe, but no, okay?”

 “I, ah. I wasn’t attempting to work. I promise.” Colby sounded nervous but not afraid; he met Jason’s eyes. “Just checking something. Entirely quick. Finished, I swear.”

 “I already texted Jill and Andy, but if you want—”

 “No, it’s fine, they know I’m fine.” That was an exaggeration. Colby’s two best friends had heard about the accident via industry connections and Andy’s husband’s fingers on the pulse of the internet. They’d been worried; they still were.

 Colby added, “Very well, not entirely fine as such, you don’t have to say it. Come sit with me?”

 “Of course.” He settled down next to his heart, in bed; the padded headboard took some weight and offered some reassurance. He waved the paperback, with its swirling blue magical cover. “Tell me where to start.”

 “Oh, we can start from the beginning, I was only a chapter or so in. But, before that…” Colby bit a lip, watched Jason’s face. “Er…may I ask you about something?”

 “You don’t need to ask me whether you can ask—” He took a breath, let it go. He knew about those “Please. Please ask. Anything you want, cream puff.”

 The occasional nickname made Colby giggle, though his eyes remained anxious. “I only wanted to…if I can, ah…you see, I do know what day it is, what anniversary, and…and I know this likely isn’t how you wanted to spend it…”

 Jason had opened his mouth. No words emerged. He set the book down without thinking. It landed safely next to Colby’s leg.

 That anniversary. Today. Charlie’s body, sprawled at the side of a diving tank, lifeless and limp, because a stunt had gone wrong then too—because it’d gone wrong right before Jason’d arrived, coming to meet him and grab lunch and talk about respective movies—because Jason hadn’t been two minutes earlier, hadn’t known, maybe couldn’t’ve done anything that everyone else hadn’t done, but he’d never know, he couldn’t go back and make himself drive faster or walk faster or—

 Because he’d been there, he’d known before Evan had. Before any of Charlie’s family had. He hadn’t been the one to call them—too blinded by shock—but he’d always thought he should have. As a friend.

 Years ago—decades ago, really, now. Still vicious, that memory. Under the surface most of the time, a part of him, familiar and well-worn; but every once in a while it bit hard. On a certain day.

 He knew Evan didn’t blame him. Evan never had. And they’d become closer friends, slowly, through the aftermath: stumbling among emotions, catching each other.

 And Evan, who was working as the choreographer for this film’s fight scenes, had been at Jason’s side today, waiting for Colby in the hospital. Right there to lean on. Holding his hand.

 Colby did know the story, of course—had known that story for a long time, almost since the beginning. But Jason hadn’t remembered the exact date ever coming up. He was pretty sure he hadn’t said, back when they’d talked about it, though he really had meant to say something to Colby that afternoon.

 He looked at Colby. Colby, injured and tired but hopeful, looked back, eyes all big and sweet.

 Jason swallowed. Found words, scraping them together out of love. “I don’t want to be anywhere else. Not right now.”

 “I do know you wouldn’t leave me alone. Not even temporarily.” Colby reached over. Collected Jason’s limp hand. Jason’s hand was larger overall, though Colby’s grip was surprisingly strong. Protective. “I thought perhaps…you might want to talk. And I’m here, of course. I’m always here if you want me. But if—”

 “I said I’m not going anywhere.”

 “No. But—”

 This time a text interrupted. Jason’s phone. He eyeballed it, annoyed. Colby said, “It’s Evan. He’s outside, and I’m guessing he didn’t want to knock? Making noise?”

 Jason paused. Took this in.

 “I thought, you see, if I’d never convince you to go anywhere…and if you wouldn’t mind me being here…if I asked him to come by…and he said yes, of course…” Colby nibbled his lip again. That spot was turning pink. “Er…was that all right?”

 Jason reached over. Set a finger on Colby’s mouth. “That’s not exactly no stress.” His voice came out very soft, mostly from amazement. Colby, in pain and dizzy and unhappy about gaps in memory, was still trying to take care of him.

 “I want you to be all right as well,” Colby said, when Jason lifted the finger. “I need that. Please let me be here. For both of you, really; Evan’s my friend too, now, I think? Not the way he’s been yours, but at least a bit?”

 “He is. And you’re—Colby, you…” He gave up. Shook his head. Leaned in for a kiss: tender, cautious, shaky with love and aching emotions, stretched and knotted up and given a beating today. Colby kissed him back, not tentative at all; Jason murmured his name again, and couldn’t resist just a little more tasting of him, a swipe of tongue, a nuzzle after.

 He said, “I love you so damn much. You know that, right? I just—I love you.”

 “I know. And I love you just as much.” Colby waved a hand, adorably and grandly imperious but not seriously so. “You may want to go and let him in.”

 “You don’t move,” Jason said, and got up, rediscovering some equilibrium in the process.

 Evan was leaning against the wall, texting, when Jason opened the door. He looked up, all fluid Krav Maga instructor’s grace and the same brown eyes and straight nose he and Charlie had shared; they’d always looked alike, even moved alike, though Evan had always been younger and just shorter enough for jokes about it. He said, “Hey,” and lowered the phone.

 “Hey,” Jason said. “So…you and Colby were planning things, huh? Also, say hi to James for me.”

 “I will. He’ll call me later.” Evan’s boyfriend was busy filming an old-fashioned detective thriller in Norway, though they talked constantly and sent each other pictures of ice cream shops and historical monuments. Jason cautiously approved of James, who seemed to’ve handled the whole revelation of Evan’s asexuality with pure and reaffirmed adoration, and who also looked at Colby Kent with the awe of someone in the presence of an acting genius.

 “He worries, too,” Evan said, “he knows what today is,” and Jason nodded, because that meant Evan had told James, which meant Evan trusted James that much, which was another point in favor. Evan also held up a bottle. “Sparkling water? Elderflower-blueberry flavored? I thought about actual alcohol, but it’s not like I drink much, and Colby can’t, right now, anyway. How’s he doing? He said he was fine when he texted, but, y’know.”

 “Perfect.” It was. Jason held the door for him. “Colby’s…okay. We’re keeping an eye on him. But he’s recovering. Like they said.”

 He heard the words as they hit the afternoon, in his own voice. They were, he realized with surprise, true.

 Colby was hurt, but was recovering. Getting better. And that was okay.

 They’d all be okay, he thought. Together.

 Evan peeked into the bedroom. Waved at Colby. “So you found a way to get out of your next training session with me, then.”

 Colby laughed. “As if I’d want to. Come in, please. Jason offered to bake us banana bread later.”

 “Did I?” Jason said. “Fine, I did.” Their suite had a kitchen. They’d done some shopping. He was pretty sure they had all those ingredients. “Here, I’ll pour that.”

 “Oh, that sounds delicious, thank you—”

 “I know you like interesting flavors,” Evan said, grinning; and took the other chair. “Jason, my parents say thanks for the donation to that charity, by the way, and also they’d love to say hi to you sometime. Kittens, this year?”

 “Good,” Jason said, “it got there, then.” He did try to, every year. In Charlie’s name. Different charities, but all things he’d liked. Kittens had been one of them; Charlie and Evan’s family had always had cats. “I’ll give them a call. Or we can, maybe.” He glanced at Colby. “Everyone.”

 “Maybe, yeah.” Evan accepted a glass when Jason handed it over. “So. To family, then?”

 “Yeah.” Jason sat back down on the bed, arm around Colby, who leaned against him, bright-eyed and alive and real. “To family.” They clinked glasses; Jason kissed the side of Colby’s head, after. Colby’s blood relatives were uniformly dreadful; Colby was part of his family, now. The family they’d found and chosen and built, together.

 “So,” Evan said, to Colby, “did Jason ever tell you the story about the time he and my brother snuck a classic Chevy off the set of an astronaut movie, picked me up, and took us all to the beach for the day? It was awesome until we were about to leave, and the car got a flat tire, and of course they were these fancy historical replica tires, so there’s us frantically calling everyone we knew to find a replacement, and not calling anyone who knew Jason’s dad, so it was harder than you’d think, because Luca knows everyone who knows anything about classic cars and the movie industry…”

 “I remember Charlie saying he was going to pretend he didn’t know us,” Jason said. “He wouldn’t’ve, and we knew it, so it was a joke…”

 Evan pointed at him, and quoted, with full dramatic effect, “Neither of you is my brother! I am an only child!”

 “Oh, no.” Colby was laughing. So was Jason, because it’d been spot on. “What’d you do?”

 “Gave up and called Jason’s dad. Who’d known since the first phone call, because he’d been on a call with that garage owner at the exact same time.” Evan swung both shoeless feet up to rest on Colby’s bed. “It’s a good thing your dad’s very cool. I mean, he wasn’t thrilled, but he figured we’d suffered enough, with the panicking and all. He handled it.”

 “For years,” Jason said, “for years, after that, any time the three of us were together, and one of us did something embarrassing…”

 Colby’s eyebrows went up, amused. “ ‘I am an only child’?”

 “Exactly.” Evan nudged Colby’s foot with his. “Exactly that. Did Jason tell you the Pumpkin Cat story? I wasn’t there when they found her, just when Charlie brought her home, so Jason should start it.”

 “Pumpkin Cat?” Colby inquired.

 “Yeah. It’s a cute story.” Jason cuddled Colby a little more, liking the warmth, loving the shape of him, the presence. The lights were low and tranquil, and the bedroom tucked its walls around them, and Colby was slowly sipping sparkling water, awake and alert. They’d be back at work in a few days, and Colby would be all right; tension unwound, eased by berry-flavored water and words.

 He knew Colby’d be all right. They all would.

 He said, “We were working on this terrible low-budget horror movie, about a haunted scarecrow with a pumpkin head that comes alive and murders people…”

 “That sounds…improbable.”

 “Don’t even ask about where the cursed cornstalk spear fits in. Anyway, we walk onto set one day, right past the prop head, this giant fake pumpkin, and the pumpkin squeaks at us in this tiny little kitten voice, and Charlie runs over to look, and there’s this tiny orange baby stuck in the light-up mechanism, and he just dives right in to get her out, right as the director walks in, so all the guy sees is Charlie halfway into a pumpkin head we’ve been told is a delicate piece of prop equipment, so he stops right there to yell at us…”

 “At which point,” Evan said, “my brother, being my brother…”

 “Jumped up, held out a kitten, and said, ‘look, I found your ghost!’” Jason finished. “And everyone cracked up, because nobody ever could stay mad at him.”

 “And that’s how we got Pumpkin Cat,” Evan said. “Cat number three, when Charlie brought her home. Cat number four, by the way, was Jason’s fault.”

 “He sounds so lovely,” Colby said. “Like someone I’d’ve liked to meet.”

 “He’d’ve liked you,” Jason said, and Evan said it too, at the same time; they glanced at each other, and at Colby, who got a little more shyly happy and offered, “It’s an honor? And how was your family’s fourth cat Jason’s fault?”

 “So motorcycles are nice and warm in the winter,” Jason said, “and cats like to be warm, and my mom’s allergic, so we couldn’t keep him…” and reached for more sparkling water for a refill for Colby’s glass.

[hey-have-you-heard]

Hey have you heard these 50 songs from 2019

I really enjoyed this last year so going to give it another go for ‘19. I put quite a lot of thought into what actually a ‘song of the year’ for me when I was first constructing and then heavily editing the playlist that came to be my Top 50 of 2019. I think the most important thing is that above all it’s a track that I’m glad exists, sometimes this is because of the songwriting or composition, sometimes the performance, sometimes the lyrical importance and sometimes just because it sparks joy.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6bFJOjL8b8Zc2s5r1oJbsk?si=UJdqSXOTR3SQ8D3IwcmV2g

Explanations for each tracks inclusion below the fold…

100 gecs - 800db cloud 100 gecs channel a mix of Crystal Castles and Sleigh Bells with a Death Grips level appreciation for noise. It’s an absolute rush and that outro is just absurd.

Natalie Evans - Always Be Natalie Evans soft melody and sing song vocals are sublimely sweet on this heartfelt track of lost love, longing and nostalgia.

Petrol Girls - Big Mouth “If you fight back or disagree you’re the one with the fucking problem” this hits home, hard. Big Mouth is a rallying cry to speak out against oppression and discrimination, to raise you’re voice and be heard, not to be controlled.

Charli XCX ft. Lizzo - Blame it on your Love Charli has a midas touch when it comes to pop, combine that with Lizzo who has just about been the most fun thing in music this year and you’ve got a 10/10 banger.

Poppy - BLOODMONEY Poppy’s music just keeps going further down the rabbit hole. Originally playing with blending elements of nu-metal with bubblegum pop, she now seems to have transcended genre altogether to create whatever BLOODMONEY is, it’s absolutely ridiculous and I love it.

Body Hound - Bloom Get on that GROOVE! So proggy it hurts, this track from Body Hound is a technical wonderland of metamorphosing rhythms, gargantuan riffs, and just the tastiest of chord progressions.

Can the Sub_Bass speak - Algiers Word of warning, this is not an easy listen. A freefall tumble through genre and tone accompanies a stream of consciousness monologue full of racism, prejudice and political and artistic critique.

Elohim - Buckets Buckets is an onslaught of trap influences, emotional outbursts and aggressive distortion. I’m a big fan of this sound.

VUKOVI - C.L.A.U.D.I.A I know very little about VUKOVI as a band, but that riff is absolutely massive and this track has been a constant throughout my year on that basis alone.

Show Me The Body - Camp Orchestra Apparently more hardcore bands should use Banjos, because this is a damn good sound. Slowly building from a single bass line this track builds into a powerful demolishing force.

clipping. - Club Down Having thoroughly proven themselves able to do afro-futurist scifi on the Hugo nominated Splendor and Misery, clipping. now turn their considerable talents to horror core and unsurprisingly nail it. Daveed’s flows are tight as ever as he brings to life a decaying city backed by tortured screams.

Dream Nails - Corporate Realness YOU ARE NOT YOUR JOB. WORK IS NOT YOUR LIFE. YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU MUST DO IN ORDER TO SURVIVE. Dream Nails are great and exactly what we need right now.

ControlTop - Covert Contracts This track positively bristles with an anxious energy. A fitting sound for the subject of the information overload we find ourselves locked into everyday.

Cherry Glazerr - Daddi There’s an icy coolness to ‘Daddi’, a disconnected sarcasm that falls away to reveal the anger and torment in the chorus, it’s a masterful bit of emotional storytelling through musical tone.

The Physics House Band - Death Sequence I Listening to Physics House latest release, the Death Sequence EP feels like a physical journey. This opener is a perfect example of this, as you’re plunged straight into a heady and disorienting mix of rhythms and counter-melody’s, the Sax guiding you through the turbulence until you land in a placid midsection, before that bass riff drags you forward through rhythmic breakdowns into an absolutely absurd brain melting saxophony and then it just keeps on going from there…

Witching Waves - Disintegration I saw WW back in the early summer, they were a bassist down so it was just a guitar and drums duo. They started with this track and it was one of the most pure punk things I’ve experienced, drummer/vocalist Emma Wigham bashing the absolute shit out of her kit . A great no-nonsense lo-fi banger.

Lingua Ignota - DO YOU DOUBT ME TRAITOR Another, not particularly easy listen here. DO YOU DOUBT ME TRAITOR is a dark and angry brooding track, building in intensity to release the primal rage, fear and horror of the abused. Its deeply chilling and instantly arresting. This track and the entire CALIGULA album stands as an absolute must listen.

Carly Rae Jepsen ft. Electric Guest - Feels Right I love the instrumentation on this one, those chunky piano chords and screaming guitar lift the track out and make it the highlight of an already great album to me.

Orla Gartland - Figure it out Dialing back the intensity slightly, Orla chronicles the frustrations of having to deal with someone in your life who you’re done with. The choruses burst forth in beautifully fuzzy explosions of noise. That vocal flair at the start of the final chorus is chef kiss.

Battles - Fort Greene Park Battles are at their best when they keep things simple. This is evident on 2019′s Juicy B Crypts which features some incredibly cluttered moments, but this just makes Fort Greene Park stand out all the more. A delightfully spacious piece of math rock, from some of the best in the business.

Dogleg - Fox Boy howdy, do I love me some midwest emo. Catharsis in musical form, it just makes me want to mosh my troubles away like I’m 16 again.

Tørsö - Grab A Shovel Tørsö go hard, I can appreciate that. An absolutely brutal track about the destructive power of depression and self-loathing.

“Pijn & Conjurer playing Curse These Metal Hands” - High Spirits “We were like, are we Pijn and Conjurer, or are we Curse These Metal Hands? I think we’ve settled with ‘we are Pijn and Conjurer playing Curse These Metal Hands’ …whatever that means!“ what it means is one of the most joyously triumphant pieces of metal music I’ve ever heard. Some of the guitar lines in this absolutely soar.

Lizzo - Juice Lizzo has won 2019, her message of self love, acceptance and body positivity has won her both critical and cultural acclaim and permeates her music in a way that makes it impossible to not love.

COLOSSAL SQUID, AK Patterson - Kick Punch Colossal Squid is the name given to Three Trapped Tigers drummer, Adam Betts’ experimental project. After a solo album of percussive wizardry Betts has now teamed with vocalist AK Patterson to give us something else entirely.

Evan Greer - Liberty Is A Statue Evan Greer uses the a folk punk sound to deliver an essay on the damaging influences of cis-normativity and social inequality. Of course I like this one.

Taylor Swift - Lover I wasn’t on board with this song for a fair while, but then I kept listening to it and kept coming back to it because of a roughly 50 second section which ties the track and the whole album together. Yeah, this is on here purely for the bridge, which is just beautiful.

Dodie - Monster Monster is an incredibly well written and delivered study on how perception changes with resentment and it makes me cry.

The Y Axes - Moon Moon is a delightfully dreamy piece of pop that glitters with infectious melodies, it’s lyrics a blissful embracing of cosmic nihilism, need I say more?

Ezra Furman - My Teeth Hurt My teeth hurt is a song about tooth ache, about that pain you carry with you everywhere and can’t get rid of, that ruins your days and and is one hell of a mood. Yeah it’s about gender dysphoria.

Nervus - No Nations Speaking of things being a mood, this track hits the nail squarely on the head.

Cultdreams - Not My Generation "Everyone ignores me Unless I’m on a stage talking Because they put me on a pedestal And pretend I’m just performing“ Lucinda Livingstone calls out the misogyny in our culture with a singular ferocity.

Lil Nas X - Old Town Road If there’s one song that’s dominated 2019 this is it right here. Who ever had the idea of putting that NIN Ghosts sample to a trap beat and cowboying over the top of it is an absolute genius.

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Planet B It’s impossible to predict where King Gizzard’s sonic influences are going to take them next I doubt even they know half the time. Whatever they turn their hand to though they do it as if they mastered the sound decades ago Planet B is an all out thrash track with a strong environmental message.

Kesha - Rich, White, Straight Men Okay, I’m about to compare Kesha to John Lennon here but HEAR ME OUT… As ‘Imagine’ asked us to consider a world without conflict or capitalism, Kesha now posits that we should tear up our conceptions of our society based on its formation by a privileged group and imagine what kind of utopia could be built if we gave the underprivileged and minority groups a say.

Allie X - Rings A Bell The chorus here sounds like it could have been off Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories, and I’m all about that sound. Combined with Allie X’s dreamlike vocals make this a certified bop.

Poly-Math - Sensors in Everything Sensors in Everything is a beast of a track spanning over 14 minutes of absurdly dense prog. Having recently enlisted keyboardist Josh Gesner. Polymath make use of the new sounds and textures available to them, at times imitating a sort of Hammond sound not unlike John Lord to the chaotic maelstrom of noise.

Calva Louise - Sleeper Big hooks on this one. Sleeper has a confident swagger to it’s sound which stands apart for the bands previous work. It’s an absolutely huge track.

Slipknot - Solway Firth Slipknot didn’t disappoint after the tease of 2018′s “All Out Life”, following up with an album which blended old and new aspects of their sound to create one of their best to date. Solway Firth is a perfect example of this matching the punishing heaviness of Iowa with the melody driven sound of All Hope Is Gone.

Clt Drp - Speak To My Seeing Clt Drp perform live was one of my highlights of the year. The filthy guitar tones, powerhouse vocals tight as heck drumming and the _grooves. _Absolutely like nothing else I’ve seen. Just an incredible band that deserve so much more recognition.

Black Country, New Road - Sunglasses Black Country, New Road released two tracks this year and now I just want more. Dense wordy lyricism plays off against ever evolving instrumentation to present a raw cut of emotional storytelling.

Her Name Is Calla - Swan Her Name Is Calla are a band that have always been on the edge of my radar, my Dad is very fond of them and saw them live a couple of years ago, but never went back to relisten to any of their stuff, then they started an album with this. I was sold instantly.

black midi - Talking Heads Talking Heads (the band) are an obvious inspiration on this track. Both David Byrne’s vocal style and the Talking Heads penchant for sharp angular melodies are on show here. But given an extra ounce of chaos through Black Midi’s delivery.

Amanda Palmer - The Ride The ride is ten minutes of bundling up all your fears and anxieties of where we are and where we’re going and just, accepting them as part of the ride. Written off the back of a prompt from Amanda asking her fans what they were afraid of right now.

Kim Petras - There Will Be Blood Okay, let’s have some out of season spookiness. Love the squelchy synths on this, there’s a huge amount of energy on this track and with it’s commitment to the horror conceit it makes for a super fun bop.

Kate Nash - Trash Kate Nash’s sound is like bathing pure nostalgia,here she spins the toxic-relationship narrative central to her work to deliver a bigger story about humanity’s, quite literally toxic relationship to our planet.

American Football & Hayley Williams - Uncomfortably Numb The other side of the “midwest emo” coin. A melancholic song built on a soft bed of arpeggiated chords and clean harmonics, Uncomfortably Numb is a heartbreaking track of losing everything and of cycles persisting thorugh generations. Employing the clever metatextual trick of referencing Pink Floyd’s comfortably Numb to mirror the generational similarities.

Glenn Branca - Velvet and Pearls Disclaimer, Glenn Branca was a musical hero of mine, his approach to music and composition being solely responsible for influence a vast number of my favourite bands. Released posthumously, Velvet and Pearls is taken from a live performance by Branca’s ensemble and perfectly captures the sense of sonic disorientation, conjuring aural illusions through an assault of intricately crafted noise. It’s an exhilarating piece that should be played as loud as humanly possible.

Brutus - War The raw emotional strength of Stefanie Manneart’s vocals instantly made me pay attention when I first heard this track. Then the song exploded into a barrage of riffs and breakneck drumming.

Valiant Vermin - Warm Coke Another slice of throwback pop, Valiant Vermin proved with “Online Lover” how much of an ear she has for pop and has proven it once again with Warm Coke. Is a real good bop.

———

Welp there it is, 50(+1) songs, I had to limit myself to one track per artist in the main 50 because according to Spotify I listened to [checks notes] 1082 new artists this year. There are a small handful of tracks I wanted to highlight from the same artists though as they offer something quite different to the tracks in the playlists, so here they are quickly with 3 word descriptions.

Petrol Girls - Skye (dead dog, sad) Amanda Palmer - Voicemail for Jill (Talk about abortion) Ezra Furman - I Wanna be Your Girlfriend (Trans Torch Song) Battles ft Jon Anderson & Prairie WWWW - Sugar Foot (Batshit Prog Insanity) Poppy - Choke (Dark Minimalist Pop) Show Me The Body - Forks and Knives (Anxious nightmare punk) Lingua Ignota - CALIGULA (the whole album.)

———

Closing Statement

Cultdreams - Statement

There has been a shadow over the entertainment industry the latter half of this decade. Whether film, music, TV or video games, the late 2010′s are filled with stories of people coming forward to bravely tell their stories about being abused and manipulated by men in positions of power. The #metoo movement as it’s come to be known has been a powerful force in giving marginalised people a voice and the ability to call out oppressors and in starting the groundwork to root out the misogyny in the seats of power, but this is a battle far from won.

While there are thousands of stories out there I want to focus on one in particular.

In 2016 a number of women spoke out about various forms of abuse by a well-known musician in the punk scene. It’s now over three years later and this group of women are in the midst of a long fought claim of defamation from this musician. If this case goes through it sets a precedent for silencing marginalised voices in the industry. They have been fighting for so long and with no legal aid available for the case they have had to finance their defense from their own pockets.

This is where Solidarity Not Silence comes in. Solidarity not silence is a crowdfunding effort to help take the case to trial without the women bankrupting themselves entirely so that they don’t have to give in to this mans demands.  You can read more about Solidarity not Silence and make a donation (if you feel so inclined) here: https://www.crowdjustice.com/case/solidaritynotsilence/

You can also follow them on twitter here https://twitter.com/solnotsilence

[wayward-idiots]

Sometimes I yell into the void about things. This is the story I told in the tags of a post, about Jack Kline and Kevin Tran and two boys who didn’t much care for their birthrights, or becoming weapons, and how Kevin didn’t notice they were dating.

-

"Is that the Prophet?" Greg asks.

Greg's a pretty new demon and Val's already getting sick of looking at his dumb face. The demon mortality rate is finally settling back down now, after some concerning heights, but the downside is demons like Greg managed to live through the slaughter.

But Val looks and, holy shit, it's actually the Prophet.

It's Kevin Tran.

"And there are no Winchesters around," Greg adds.

Val's almost tempted to nab the kid. Sure, Crowley hasn't put out the word that he's interested in a pet prophet again, but someone's bound to be willing to give something in exchange for someone with that kind of power.

But.

"Don't say the name, moron."

"It's not like it summons them."

"It might." No one's quite sure about them.

"Who's that he's with?"

Val isn't sure. He's wearing a cardigan and talking expressively and he's definitely young, a trendy hairstyle and the curve of a boyish face is just visible as he gesticulates. But his back is to the demons, through the café windows. He's not one of them. His hair is neither long enough nor short enough, and he's much too small and young.

Whoever he is, he's got the Prophet's attention. They haven't been spotted yet.

Greg strolls – fucking strolls, he's not even good at lurking menacingly yet and he has the overconfidence of someone who needs to either have the power to back it up or the life squeezed out of him for playing at it – over to check out the Prophet's little friend.

Val follows.

Catches sight of the handsome, boyish face. He can't understand how he didn't see it before. The way his good mood rolls off him disguised the all-too-familiar power he exudes.

"Oh, no, nononono," says Val. "We're going. Let's go. Now, before he sees us—"

The Antichrist's eyes flicked over to them. The joy drains out of his face. The sunshine smile becomes a frown, and the Prophet looks up too, rapturous interest sliding away into confusion, briefly, and then hardening in recognition. They both stand up.

Val is still trying to remember how to make this useless meatsack move while so terrified that, if the meatsack had been alive, it might've actually regained control, when Greg, the absolute idiot, says, "Who?"

Greg is too new a demon to recognize that tugging, that innate loyalty, as reminiscent of the boy's father.

Lucifer himself had been even more magnetic, calling out to every demon in existence, but their Creator had been unmade before Greg's time – unmade by the very boy who is now leading the way out of the café with a jaunty little jingle of the bell on the door as he pushes it open and steps out to face them.

"Jack Kline," Val says, and considers that suicide would be a nice option right about now. That or lying prostrate at his feet. Maybe he could be persuaded not to tell his guardians to tell the King. Instead Val hunches low. "We, uh. Didn't mean to disturb you."

"What were you doing?" He asks. He mostly sounds curious, tinged with healthy suspicion, and more confusion than Val expected. His eyes are narrowed, but in confusion.

Val might actually live long enough to blame the whole thing on Greg when the King investigates.

The Prophet hovers just behind the Antichrist, wary.

"Making sure you weren't a Winchester."

"Oh," says the Antichrist. "I mean. My license does say Winchester. Jack Winchester Kline."

"They were trying to see if they could nab me," the Prophet says.

Accurately.

The narrow eyes become flinty.

Alarm bells are ringing in Val's head.

Hadn't the King put out some new order –

some warning –

"Don't interrupt date night! Oh god!"

"What?" Both the boys say.

"The King said not to interrupt your dates and we did, completely accidentally, our bad, we'll be leaving now, won't happen again, uh, Mr. Kline, Winchester, sir."

And Val slinks away, thinking Greg will either be sensible for once and do the cowardly thing, or become another demon-Winchester statistic.

Greg picks option A.

Val's a little proud. And will continue to be a little proud until it dawns that that means Greg will live to be annoying another day.

Go—Lu—Winchesters dammit.

-

Kevin shadows his eyes with his hand as he turns to Jack. "Did he just say Crowley ordered them not to bother us?"

"Will you feel better if I kill them anyway?"

Kevin gives this due consideration. He knows they were thinking about abducting him. But seeing Jack scared them off, and if word spreads that he's off limits because of Jack, it can only be a good thing. "Just scare 'em a little?"

"Okay," Jack shrugs. He turns back to the retreating demons, frowning, and in a moment his eyes flash gold. There's a distinct fizzle of answering power, and they vanish – Kevin's pretty sure both have been sent back to Hell, and the bodies returned wherever they came from, probably both dead, but at least they'll go back to their families for funerals and closure and all that completely fake bullshit.

"Your control is getting better," says Kevin, because thinking about all that will just make him want to open the can of worms that is trying to destroy all of Hell.

"It's easy when I'm angry," Jack admits.

Kevin glances at him. He's got a distinct little jaw-clench going. "Our coffee's getting cold," he says.

Jack brightens. "I can reheat it!" He likes the little non-violent, non-hellish things he can do with his powers, which is precisely why Kevin mentioned it. Gotta put that genius IQ to work, right?

It's not until they're sitting back down, rewarmed coffees in hand, that Kevin realizes, "Does that mean Crowley thinks we're dating?"

There's a pause. Jack swallows his mouthful of coffee. Stares at him. A little wide-eyed.

"Does that mean we're… not dating?" Jack asks.

Kevin stares at him.

And stares some more.

And drains his entire cup in one go and considers ordering an espresso shot because he might be on half-caf these days to avoid inflicting permanent damage with his caffeine intake after the near lethal amounts he ingested back in his fulltime tablet days.

And.

He hasn't dated since high school, which feels like lifetimes ago and can be measured in traumatic experiences in increments of ten. But also: how has he gotten to the point where he could wind up dating someone and not realize it?

Oh, god.

They've been to the movies, and not just in the home theater in the bunker. To the actual damn movies, without any of the others, even Charlie, who had winked at Kevin when they went to go see one separate from her and Dean nerding out. That had been two movies ago.

They have standing orders and usual booths and servers who recognize them and they went to the park to feed ducks special duck feeding food because bread was bad for them. Dean had denied this when Kevin opened the Amazon box, and then Sam had backed him up, and then Jack had been horrified humans ever gave ducks something so ill-suited to their digestive systems, and then Castiel backed him up, and Dean had spent an hour readjusting his worldview to accept that cartoons weren't always real. And then Sam had mentioned mice and cheese, rabbits and carrots, and then Kevin had brought up carrots and eyesight, and Dean had called them all nerds, and Jack had listened with absolute, angel-intense undivided attention as Kevin explained the history of British codebreaking and propaganda actually aimed at misleading the Germans. And then they'd gone to the park, like Kevin had planned a week in advance and ordered special duck food for.

Holy mother of –

Kevin's brain goes off into some seriously archaic, long-lost-to-human-memory languages to express the expletives he needed here.

And then he blinks, because Jack is starting to look crestfallen, and says, "I should really work on being a better boyfriend," he says, "'cause I didn't even notice."

"The ducks were nice," Jack defends his boyfriend abilities immediately.

Jack has powers. Jack knows what he means when he rubs his eyes and says "fuck Heaven" or "fuck destiny", Jack knows how it feels to worry about falling into the wrong hands, to be a weapon, to be terrified of what you are. Jack knows what it is to move past that and just become a person again. Albeit a weird one.

Kevin's dating his best friend.

And he hasn't even held his hand yet.

Kevin remedies that. Quickly.

Jack looks at him wonderingly as they hold hands a little awkwardly across the table, and the barista keeps smiling at them. Like seeing Kevin fumble for Jack's hand so suddenly and hastily made her entire freakin' week.

"I'm gonna take you to the zoo," Kevin says, thinking about the paper he wrote on the history of ethical zookeeping, and how excited Jack will be to hear about the progress humanity's made so quickly, and to look at the animals.

Jack smiles. "Can we go to one with penguins?"

[musesoftheminds]

Scandal Review 609

Hello scandalverse!

It has been some time since I have written a review and actually felt inspired enough to write one. Because Scandal was such a classic episode this week, I felt inspired to come back and write a review. Now I’m fired up and ready to go.

We start off with Huck looking pallor and that bitch Meg smiling sinisterly at him. Damn I hate this whore, and then here comes Mr. Irrevelant walking into the hotel where Jennifer was supposed to be but no longer is there.

Great job, jackass. You had one fucking job and you obviously aren’t qualified for that. Automatically I have a problem with this already. How in the hell does the NSA director not have anyone watching her? Yeah he might not trust anybody but hell someone is better than no one, so being the genius he is, he marches over to OPA yelling about what they did to his witness and that Jennifer is missing. Quickly Olivia concludes that Huck took Meg there to see her and that she could be the mole, within a second Quinn is running out cursing “that bitch better not touch a hair on Huck’s head”. Quinn is certainly fired up and pissed but is she pissed off as a concerned friend or more? Hmmm.

For the Olivia and Mr. Irrelevant shippers.

Y’all managed to conclude that Olivia demanding that Jake bring Huck back to her a “moment”.  You are right it was a moment where master ordered her dog to fetch and fetch he did but he couldn’t even do that right. But I’ll digress for the time being.

So we see Quinn and Charlie at the hotel, searching for any hidden clues as to what happened to Huck and just when all hopes seems to fail, Quinn uses the night light to find a large pile filled of blood in the carpet….yeah. This doesn’t look good for Huck. I am honestly scared for Huck which is exciting. For the first time in a long time, I had no idea where they were going, yes I believed that Huck would survive but I also saw the storyline opening with his death. Any who.

Clifford

At the White House, Olivia comes to Abby to inform her that one of their own is missing; Huck. Olivia does a good job masking her fear but it is palpable and she is clearly scared. Abby closes the door and for a second, I think she will tell Olivia the truth but she doesn’t, she lied directly to Olivia.

Abby, this was your chance to come clean and help but instead you choose to cover your own tracks and downplay the significance of Huck’s disappearance. Huck was dying and instead of saving him, you choose to let him drown literally and figuratively speaking. Olivia gave you information regarding Peus and Real Bitch and you still played dumb. Here’s the thing that strikes a cord with me, Olivia came to Abby for help something she hasn’t done in a while, and she is clearly setting her pride to the side in order to help Huck. And she needs Abby to get high clearance information regarding them because she doesn’t exactly have the best relationship with Fitz’s girlfriend, FBI director Webster, but did anyone catch the pause when Olivia said that Fitz has a girlfriend, how she literally had to break up the word in order to get it out…there are many issues Olivia has yet to deal with it and Fitz is one of the biggest ones.

Again I ask how anyone can see a permit end between Olivia and Fitz? Olivia can’t even acknowledge Fitz having a girlfriend because the idea of the one she loves moving on is something she hasn’t quite accepted or got over and let’s be honest here. Last Episode, Fitz was talking about Vermont while still dating Broad, that right there is a big red flag that this relationship isn’t as smooth sailing as we originally thought. Please believe me when I say that Olivia has been a constant fixture in Fitz’s and Angela’s entanglement and I still don’t trust Broad.

But hold the fucking phone, Jay! Why does Olivia need Abby to get high level security clearance from broad when she has her very own puppet Jake who is the director of the NSA? Did Olivia tell Abby because she wants to keep her up to date on Huck and have her help out with the family current issue or does she not trust Jake entirely? I’m thinking it a bit of both and rightfully so, I never trust a snake.

Finally when Olivia brings it home that ‘our Huck’ is missing she openly hugs Abby for helping. You can see the sense of relief on her face at having Abby’s help.

You evil, Gabby.

OPA Dream Sequence

We go back to Huck who is alive with crazy Bitch driving the car literally off the cliff. I’m going to be honest, I never actually expected her to push the car off the cliff, like seriously. WOW. This is what Scandal needs to be. This is the episode we all have been waiting for, the turning point where all of the characters’ lives will finally merge together. Stuck in the trunk with water coming in at unprecedented pace, Huck envisions his family.

The first one to great Huck, is Quinn who reminds him to pay attention. He is not in OPA.

WOW. Sweet baby Olivia in white. This dream sequence is a thing of beauty. His angel, his savior, comes in dressed in white to save him. Subconsciously Huck is figuring out how much time he has left before he loses conscious, with Olivia and Quinn needing him, he is quickly doing the math as how to come out of this alive. But this episode is organic for many reasons, one being that in Huck’s time of need he imagines the people closest to him, fighting with him:  Quinn, Charlie, and Olivia, and with time running out he brings to life his own version of Rowan, commanding him to find a way in instead of a way out.  The place Huck protected is being flooded and we see in vain the gladiators fighting for Huck in his vision and in reality. Even as he lays dying, Huck is imaging his family fighting for him that belief that they will notice him missing. Beautiful.

What I did find interesting was that Jake was not a part of this ‘family’ considering Huck went to him at one time to help him, very telling. But trapped inside the car filled with water, Death has arrived and Invaded Huck’s safe haven (meg) .  But as the time dwindles down Huck looks to Olivia, his only reason for living and Rowan to command him to fight with the tools he has been given. The end is imminent but even with death (meg) there he wants to live, that’s the thing about this episode that makes it so magical.

It’s the will to live that makes this episode contagious and electrifying, for the past 8 episodes we have seen all of these characters fall into corruption and deceit and it is now that we are rewarded with a sense of life despite one of the characters close to losing his own. Huck’s will to overcome and beat death shows that there is hope even in a hopeless place.

This sequence also illustrates the irreplaceable bond between Olivia and Huck but also the love everyone has for Huck. Huck said people can change but he never knew that he was the reason for the change.

Beautiful. Beautiful. If only Olivia could see herself the way Huck sees her, she’s still good at heart.

Abby calls Real Bitch and demands she tells her what happened and she does. Broken and defeated, Abby goes to her only friend she knows she has; Fitz. Fitz being the man that he is, openly lets Abby in. Fitz’s character growth is not something to be ignored people, he is the moral compass of Scandal. Still to this day, All roads lead to Fitz.

Marcus comes to help look for Huck, and immediately Olivia tries to push him away but he’s been around Olivia enough to know that he can’t walk away; not when one of his friends is out there fighting for his life. Olivia then request that Marcus sit with her and keep her company. YES! We all know the perfect word to describe their relationship would be ‘civil’. Olivia still wears the guilt of keeping Marcus and Mellie apart which is why she ask Marcus if she is a ‘good boss’? To which Marcus responds that he knows Olivia has his back just like she has Huck’s but as we all know  that isn’t the case; Olivia was quick to throw Marcus under the bus when it came to Mellie getting in the White House.  Oh Marcus, you just added to Olivia’s guilt, maybe just maybe she will see the lives she has played with isn’t her game to play. Which leads to the question, is Olivia really a good boss at one time she was the best but now not so much, and this much Olivia knows to be true, she has jeopardized everyone’s life around her without a care. But I do believe Olivia can come back from this. If she so chooses.

*sidenote: How did Marcus find out about Huck? Was it Mellie or Abby or maybe even Olivia?

Bad girls Club

Time changes and it’s now night time when Abby decides to come to OPA and tell Olivia the truth but she is too late and Olivia gladly greets her with not ONE! Not TWO! But THREE slaps.

Let me tell you this much; Abby is a white girl cause no way in hell would I let Olivia bitch slap me on my face, shit Olivia would have seen Jesus by the time I got through with her. But I gotta be honest, it was totally satisfying seeing Olivia slap Abby. But damn did Olivia turn cold as ice as she told Abby “what did I tell you? Do. Not. Cross. Me.” Not getting the answer she wants about Huck, Olivia slaps Abby’s already reddened cheek. DAMN!

Abby tells Olivia everything she knows but Olivia isn’t buying what Abby is selling her because she can’t understand why Abby would sell out her family. “What was your best outcome to sell out your family?” We know they were selling Abby a future bid at the White House but Abby never discloses that information to Olivia instead she actually points the finger back at Olivia and rightfully so considering Olivia has evidence to exonerate Cyrus but refuses to share since she would lose her own bid at the white house. Olivia has sold out her family countless times: Abby, Cyrus, Marcus, etc. but this time it’s Abby that plunged deep into the dark side but Olivia has been swimming there for some time so who is to actually blame for all this?

Because this is Olivia and she never likes to look at herself and her own actions she tells Abby “ You don’t think I could get a chair and work it out on you.” Olivia has turned into Rowan, the music, the clothes, her opinion on Abby “you are worthless” this is all Rowan oozing out of her.

Olivia and Abby have played with too many lives and it has now finally caught up with them that there are repercussions for their actions.  One is just more at fault then the other. But Abby brings up a good point about forgiveness, everyone has forgiven Olivia for the horrible things she has done to them – ruining Quinn’s life by Defiance, breaking up Abby and David, letting Rowan out when it would ruin her relationship with Fitz, breaking up Marcus and Mellie, for the people Olivia loves the most she most certainly has a hard way of showing it and yet they all forgave her. Abby has a valid point. She made a mistake and she is clearly paying for it, can olivia forgive her for what she has done? Olivia has a hard time looking at Abby because she is looking in a mirror. Ever since leaving OPA, Abby and Olivia’s relationship has been stale and at times they have been enemies both vying for Fitz’s attention and the power that comes with the White House. They have both thrown foul balls at one another.

This episode is the turning point for all of these characters and in particular Olivia and Abby, because of their selfish greed and personal gain they have jeopardized the life of someone they all love, which leads us to the final question of this act. Was it worth it?

Time Out

Ok…I honestly laughed my ass off when Abby started tiptoeing into OPA. Abby scared of Olivia and i would be too, shoot Abby knows Olivia is off her rocker. Lawd, Abby walking like she got a stick up her butt and with Quinn’s freaky ass she honestly might have one in the end.

End of bad girls club segment

-        I love scandal but let’s be honest, Huck should have been dead 6 hours ago especially with all the physical exertion, he would have bleed to death but it’s scandal and I’m happy to see him fighting the good fight so fight on my brother.

Crazy Bitch & Quinn

Dr. Jekyll Quinn over here torturing Crazy Bitch, showing her who the ultimate crazy bitch is. That’s you boo! Quinn torturing this girl and when she removes the tape to let her speak, she makes it clear that Quinn is mad that Huck never loved her .Oh shit. And with anger Quinn cuts crazy bitch’s throat.

Now why did Quinn get so mad at what Crazy Bitch said. Quinn…Quinn…Quinn.  After finding out that Quinn killed their only lead to finding Huck, Olivia and Quinn go in there office, the room is discouraged and defeated. Charlie goes into Olivia’s office and tells her that her family needs her and that she needs to fix it. Charlies mentions Olivia being a ‘white hat gladiator’ all the while her white hat is hanging on her coat rack ready to go if and when Olivia decides to put it back on.

Charlie

Charlie giving this speech to Olivia is different yet perfect. Charlie has no true ties to Olivia except through Quinn and he tells Olivia that because of her, he’s ready to be a husband and a dad and do good which is something he never thought he would say but because she is who she is, she makes the impossible possible.

Olivia has no idea how her life has impacted the others around her. Olivia has done her share of bad but when she is good she is the best and it’s this pep talk that reminds Olivia of who she truly is deep down inside, she knows who she is.

With her chin up, Olivia walks into the conference room and does what she does best, lead. Oh, this is homage to original scandal. The music. The infectious hope. The single storyline. ‘We are pulling off the impossible.’

This is TV magic. Oh I pledge allegiance to United States of Shona and to the Olitz for which it stands.

Are my ears hearing this well or did vulva lips just say that he gave Jennifer a phone after Quinn said that Jennifer and Huck are together. MOTHERFUCKER!

Jake is as incompetent as Trump! How does the NSA director forget that! How! I’m so sick of his irrelevant no logical thinking ass on my screen, you forget the phone you gave Jennifer? What the frickety frack bullshit is this?

Second, why Jake’s ass with Olivia as they search for Huck, Olivia is better off asking Stevie Wonder for directions then Jake’s trifling ass.

But as Quinn is filled with nerves she tries to leave only to be reminded that they are watching Abby because of what she did.

Nice knowing you, Clifford .

They find Huck and take him to the hospital, and while everyone is subdued, Quinn is pacing back and forth with nerves as they wait to hear Huck’s prognosis and fortunately they don’t have to wait long because the surgeon comes out and tells them that Huck is lucky to be alive due to his massive blood loss and that if he survives it will be a poor outcome.

This is not the news anyone was hoping to hear. The group is defeated and it’s shown on all of their faces that they are all tired mentally, physically and mostly emotionally. You can see Olivia looking for Abby but she quickly hardens at the thought. Hope that once felt possible is no longer within reach. This isn’t good.

Suddenly the room is being filled with secret service agents, and we all know who this is; Fitz!

Olitz

@dontfrget

Olivia has just received some of the worst news of her life, and just when all hope appears to be lost, here walks in her shining light. Please make note of how the florescent lights are purposely shinning on Fitz. This was done on purpose because you see while Huck sees Olivia as his angel surrounded in white, Olivia sees Fitz as her angel surrounded by light only this isn’t a dream. Fitz is actually showing up for Olivia and Abby.

Olivia is surprised by his visit but there is a deeper meaning to this magical moment that Olivia has not yet dealt with, love. Love is what propelled Fitz to come to the hospital and be here for not just Olivia and Abby but for her entire group. His presences alone, changed the mood in the room.

Can we take a moment to appreciate what real power looks like, this man didn’t sign a bill or order a nation into a war, all he did was walk in a room and you can feel the power he is exuberating with each step he makes. Fitz is the real deal.

*I love Fitz and my lady bits do too.

Away from everyone except Fitz, Olivia immediately lets out the breath she has been holding in. Fitz’s presence alone has immediately comforted Olivia that she feels comfortable enough to let her guard down even after all this time.

Oh this moment parallels to some of Olitz’s greatest moments- 2x19, 3x01, 5x18. Fitz knows Olivia is suffering and he goes to her and places his arms on her shoulder and she doesn’t flinch or shudder from the touch as she has done in the past. His gentle embrace allows her to finally vocalize what is happening, how she is feeling at this very moment where she is on the brink of losing her Huck. Olivia turns and their eyes met and everything else fades to periphery. Intense blue eyes captivated her, irrevocably drawing her towards him. Those eyes never left hers, a poignant anchor throughout this moment where she suddenly feels at peace.

@dontfrget pic

Her arms are wrapped around Fitz as a fortress, you can see Olivia falling apart and taking comfort in the one person she desperately needs. The level of trust Olivia has in Fitz is inspiring and tear-jerking as she finds solace in his arms as she has always done. The barricade Olivia once used to block Fitz from reaching her is gone, she welcomes him voluntarily and relishes in the comfort that only he can give her.

Shonda revives old olitz memories as a reminder of the love these two people share despite time and all the pain and wrong they have done for and to each other. These two people belong together and it has never been as clear as it is now.

‘752’ was a hallmark episode for Olitz, as it inspired them to change independently and collectively. This moment was brought back to resuscitate not just Olivia and Fitz but the audience that all hope is not lost for these two.

There is this painful void penetrating Olivia’s heart where Fitz once occupied. You can see Olivia hesitate removing herself from Fitz’s arms because in his arms it’s safe and warm and a reminder of all the things she lost long ago.

Fitz immediately ask how Olivia’s people are doing and if they need anything. This is growth. Fitz isn’t just worried about Olivia but has taken a point to ask about her family, he’s not only worried about Olivia’s well-being but theirs too. Olivia tells Fitz that they will be fine and will lean on one another but she purposely excludes herself from them, she’s not going to be okay if something happens to Huck, I don’t believe Olivia would recover from such a loss.

Fitz mentions Abby and Olivia’s voice drops with such anger at how Abby could betray everyone and how that wasn’t fair of Abby to put Fitz in a situation like that where he can commit treason. I love Olivia but you have placed Fitz between a rock and hard place countless times but I get it, you are upset and hurt.

Fitz tells Olivia to forgive Abby for what she has done.

And unlike Abby’s plea early, Olivia is actually listening to Fitz and taking in every word and syllable etched from his mouth but reminds Fitz that she doesn’t have to forgive Abby which Fitz retorts that Olivia forgave him. And the thing is, she has. Olivia did forgive Fitz for everything he has done to her and them, but claims it’s different with Abby, but Fitz doesn’t let up and tells Olivia that he forgives her.

@dontfrget pic

Automatically Olivia looks at Fitz slightly shocked and confused but the undertone of this message leaves me gasping for air. Her expression is focused and extraordinarily penetrating, her eyes burning with something she can't quite place but it leaves her faint and a little lightheaded. You can feel the sorrow between them, the intangible current that spoke to their final words and moments before their breakup.

This is the turning point for Olivia Pope. Olivia was the only person who managed to escape the White House, yet we have been seeing her clawing to get back in after she escaped. What does the White House hold to Olivia that is enticing, I believe I know the answer but I am hopeful we will be seeing it play out.

The oval is the biggest illusion of power. The oval does the exact opposite of power but makes you powerless. The levels of deception and personal gain that comes with standing near the throne is not something to pacify, and Olivia out of all people knows this. But as Fitz talks about the oval and Abby you can see that Fitz is not only telling Olivia to forgive Abby for her actions but also to forgive herself.

It’s time to let go, Olivia.

Huckleberry Quinn

Quinn is bedside as Huck lays in the bed and once again this moment brings back Olitz when Fitz got shot. Like Fitz, Huck wakes up to the sound of the women he loves. Fitz needed Olivia and Huck needed Quinn. But there is a raw human reaction that is palpable to all that is watching.

Just as much as Olivia and Fitz aren’t over, neither is Quinn and Huck. But as Huck and Quinn rejoice, like Jake seeing Olivia and Fitz in the hospital room, Charlie sees Quinn and Huck and without a word said he knows the truth.

Quinn is in love with Huck. The same way Olivia is in love with Fitz. You can’t change who love no matter how much you try.

-poor Charlie.

With Fitz’s words ringing in her ear, we see Olivia walking outside to sit next to Abby on the bench. No word is spoken but you can see a broken Abby without the hair and makeup and she looks pitful and hopelessly sad, but Olivia sits next to her and she reaches for her hand, and it’s here that Abby lets it all out. This is a cathartic moment for both of these two women.

Olivia and Abby now have to climb out of the hole they have found themselves in, but I have never been more optimistic of them coming out on top.

Ok guys, that’s it for me. This episode was amazing from beginning to end and I can’t wait to see how they go from here because now all of the main characters have come together and the storyline had finally merged into one. Yes! Thank you.

Hang tight gladiators, because I am fired up and ready to go.

Until Next Time,

Muse xOxO

[aion-rsa]

How Paul McGuigan Crafted the Visual Language of Sherlock

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When Sherlock debuted a decade ago on the BBC, it was unlike anything else on television. For one, the format was a bit odd: one season of three 90-minute episodes. For another, it didn’t look like anything else on TV: Text messages that appear as part of the mise-en-scène. Edits and scene transitions that move us elegantly and efficiently through space and time. All part of a visual language that brings us into the mind of one of the cleverest characters in all of pop culture as he does what he does best: solves mysteries. 

While TV is famously more of a writer’s than a director’s medium, the filmmaker behind the camera for a series pilot has an immense impact on the tone of the show. They are the creator who crafts the visual language for the series, the one whose style all subsequent series directors will aim to recreate and build on. For Sherlock, that filmmaker was McGuigan.

“If you go back and look at the first episode of Sherlock, the first 10 minutes, we threw everything at it,” Sherlock director Paul McGuigan tells Den of Geek via Zoom. “If there’s a visual kitchen sink, that went in there as well. All the stuff, the text coming up: ‘Wrong!’ ‘Wrong!’ ‘Wrong!’ We had all [Sherlock’s] point-of-view stuff. Everything just went flying about. I remember watching it and turning to my editor, Charlie [Phillips], and I was like, ‘Have we gone a bit too far?’ And he went, ‘Yeah, but that’s what we have to do.’”

McGuigan directed four of Sherlock’s first six episodes, including the series premiere, the Peabody Award-winning “A Study in Pink.” It was McGuigan who, in an effort to avoid having to film static shots of text messages on a phone screen, came up with the idea of using on-screen text that it interacts with the characters, setting, and props in unexpected yet logical ways. 

“I came up with this idea of: what if we put the text on the screen but we do it in such a way that it’s very deliberate? So that the audience understands that we’re not just in post, going, ‘Oh, let’s just put it up and do that,’” says McGuigan. He framed the shot so that Sherlock (or another character) was in one-third and the text was in two-thirds, and found interesting ways to integrate the text into the mise-en-scène, placing it over the wallpaper or on the mantel. The series’ representation of text messages is one of the easiest directorial decisions to point out and discuss, but it is only one aspect of a larger visual strategy that defines Sherlock as much as its iconic characters do. 

“The whole thing was really about how to get inside of Sherlock’s head,” says McGuigan of the show’s visual logic. “For me, it was really important for the audience to be in on it rather than be away from it … I think, as an audience member, when you’re watching it, you kind of lean into it a little bit more because what we’re really offering up is a way into Sherlock.”

The Game is On: From One Pilot to Another

As many Sherlock fans know, the BBC shot a different version of the Sherlock pilot before bringing McGuigan on board. The unaired episode was directed by How to Build a Girl’s Coky Giedroyc. It features the same main cast, but is only 60 minutes long. Visually, it employs a much more traditional TV style. While McGuigan says that executive producers Sue Vertue and Steven Moffat and the BBC “all loved the potential” of the unaired pilot, there was a general agreement that the story needed more time.

“It was a decent pilot,” says McGuigan, who was in Los Angeles when he got the call from Vertue and Moffat about potentially taking on the job. (Vertue, having seen McGuigan’s underrated crime thriller Lucky Number Slevin, suggested McGuigan.) “When I heard they wanted to spend more time with the characters, and being able for us to invest in the characters but also do the story-of-the-week kind of vibe, I was quite excited. Also, when you’re into 90 minutes of television, you’re pretty much in that world of making a movie.”

While Giedroyc had mostly done television prior to directing the unaired pilot, McGuigan had primarily made films (including science fiction thriller Push, which starred Chris Evans as a superhero two years before he would become Captain America). 

“If I had thought about it, I probably would have been really nervous about it but I was a bit more arrogant about it,” says McGuigan. “I was like, ‘Yeah, fuck it. This should look like a film.’ Somebody had said to me early on, ‘Don’t worry about it Paul, nobody is going to blame you. It’s television, nobody blames the director.’ I’m like, ‘Right, don’t ever say that to me ever again because to me that’s not the way I work.’ Everything has to be the highest quality. Everything has to be done in a way that you feel you’re making this and this is going to be your last opportunity to make something. So therefore I felt all the responsibility.”

That being said, working on a TV show has different challenges than working on a film: namely, time and money, which can often boil down to the same thing. While the typical Sherlock episode takes 22 days to shoot, the average Hollywood studio film takes 106 days to shoot—both are roughly the same length.

“I think BBC were quite nervous about having me direct it because I was known as a film director and they were a bit worried that I wouldn’t be able to do the days,” says McGuigan. “I was worried as well.”

Texts & Transitions: Crafting a Visual Language

McGuigan filmed the third and final episode of Sherlock’s first season (or series, in British terminology) before he filmed the first. By beginning with “The Great Game,” which sees Sherlock led on a wild goose chase around London by arch nemesis Moriarty, the creative team was able to better integrate McGuigan’s visual language into “A Study in Pink.” If you go back and watch both, you’ll realize that there are more examples of McGuigan’s texts-as-mise-en-scene in “A Study in Pink” than in “The Great Game.” This is because Moffat had a chance to write them into his script for the former after seeing what McGuigan was doing with Mark Gatiss’ script for the latter.

“[Steven Moffat] was really interested in that kind of visual sense of the world,” says McGuigan. “This was a new kind of concept to him. He really got a good grasp of it. Therefore, the scripts are very precise … [Moffat] really kind of got excited about what we were doing in the visual world as well. It’s always good to work with writers who are into that.”

While a few other TV shows and films had started to experiment with the representation of a text message as text on the screen image itself, Sherlock was arguably the first to do it so well, using the innovation as yet another way to get the viewer inside the characters’ heads. If someone is receiving a text, the whole text message appears all at once, whereas if someone is writing a text, the characters appear sequentially on the screen. This suggests that it’s not the mobile phone the viewer is gaining access to, but rather the character’s mind.

This filmmaking mechanic of bringing us into a character’s mind or perspective is especially powerful when it is used to give us insight into Sherlock’s genius, as it does during the show’s iconic “deduction scenes.” In these, McGuigan often uses the same floating texts (notably, in a different font than the text messages) to illustrate Sherlock’s observations of a crime scene or other situation. Regardless of whether text is used or not, close-up shots or images, sound cues, dynamic camera angles and movements work together to give the sense of a heightened reality, a filmic representation of Sherlock’s deductive process.

“I would wander about with my camera and I would take stills of everything because I knew I would use that as [Sherlock’s] point of view,” says McGuigan of one of the early steps of crafting these deduction scenes. “I would take hundreds and hundreds of stills everywhere. I was very involved. I’d be exhausted every day because I’d be so involved in doing everything. I think that that’s just because of the nature of who Sherlock is.”

It was worth the long days. Traditionally, viewers are offered insight into characters’ perspective through: 1) a shot of what the character is looking at, followed by 2) a shot of the character’s reaction. With the traditional visual language, viewers are still observers. In McGuigan’s hands, the audience is given a “turn” as Sherlock. McGuigan’s deduction scenes pair us with Sherlock’s perspective in a viewing experience largely unique to Sherlock. 

“Deductions become the set piece of the whole show,” McGuigan explains, “the way that we could feel his brain basically and we channel everything through him. Even though we’ve seen the same scene just by watching it ourselves but actually now we get the opportunity to work out with him his way of seeing the world and putting the pieces together.”

It’s a rare episode of Sherlock that doesn’t include at least one scene of Sherlock and John in a taxi, moving across contemporary London. Because of McGuigan’s initial directorial choices, these scenes are almost always filmed with the camera placed outside of the vehicle’s window, the cityscape’s reflections, day or night, looking as if they are superimposed atop the actors’ faces as they move across the glass.

“I wanted to bring London into it,” says McGuigan. “I loved the idea of reflections and I loved the idea of creating this atmosphere … We wanted you to feel it was a modern world out there and it was neon lights and it was reflections of shops and retail and business and London. That was important for us as well so you’re always aware that the world that he’s in is a modern world but without pushing the modernity too much. I think that would have alienated the audience a lot.” 

Getting these shots involved heading out of the studio and into the busy streets of Central London.

“We just drove around there at nighttime for hours and hours,” says McGuigan of the initial taxi scenes, which were filmed near Harrods. “Mental as hell and everyone looking at me like, ‘This is all your fault.’ I’m like, ‘Yeah, but it’s going to be great, it’s going to look great.’ It was really important to me because I wanted it to feel lush and I wanted it to feel enigmatic as well. It wasn’t just a shot of them in the taxi. It felt like there was still life going on around them. They still had to get to wherever they were going. They still had to work out whatever it was they were working on. They still had things going on.”

Visually conflating the first and third-person storytelling aligns viewers with Sherlock. It gives us more information in a shorter amount of time, which mimics how he experiences the world. Just as Sherlock the character processes information faster and more efficiently than the people around him, Sherlock the TV show offers viewers the opportunity to process visual information faster and more efficiently than most other TV shows, especially of that era.

It’s hard to imagine something like Sherlock coming out quite as well in the American TV system, which traditionally gives less creative control to its directors than in the U.K. system where  the director gets to “see the whole project all the way through,” says McGuigan. (“Steven is very generous about that,” adds McGuigan. “He kind of steps away from the edit a little bit and lets you kind of figure it out.”) This includes finalizing elements like music, which for Sherlock, involved working with composer David Arnold, something that was important for McGuigan.

“I do prefer working in [the U.K.] system because that’s the way you make a film,” says McGuigan. (A sentiment echoed by Doctor Who and Sherlock director Rachel Talalay when we talked to her in 2019.) “You’re very much the king. I mean that in a kind of not totalitarian way. I mean that in a more like everything comes through you, then you’re also an equal partner with the writer.”

McGuigan gives an example of how being able to see the edit through to its completion made a difference: the scene in “A Study in Pink” when Lestrade first comes to 221B Baker Street to ask for Sherlock’s help in solving the serial suicides that are plaguing London. After Sherlock agrees and Lestrade leaves the flat, Sherlock jumps in glee, excited to have another case to solve. Originally, this moment was scored with intense music, but during the editing process, McGuigan and Phillips realized that, tonally, it works better with a more upbeat accompaniment.

“I phoned David Arnold up and I said, ‘David, would you have a big happy kind of like, let’s get going thing?’” recalls McGuigan. “That was a big breakthrough for me because that allows you to be so controlled by the character. It all goes through the character first rather than me centering what the audience gets to see.”

Behind the Performance: Watson, Holmes, and Moriarty

In addition to behind-the-scenes collaborators including Moffat, Gatiss, Vertue, Phillips, production designer Arwel Jones, and DPs Steve Lawes and Fabian Jones, McGuigan credits Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman for much of the success of Sherlock. “When you get to work with someone like Martin and Benedict, you realize you’re playing at a very high level,” says McGuigan. 

“[Benedict] totally understood the character,” continues McGuigan. “He totally understood what he needed to do. I would get him to memorize 10-page dialogue scenes and I would say to him, ‘I’m probably not going to cut this so you’ve got to know every single word verbatim.’ Of course I did cut it, but I was kind of like, that would be my ideal. He did, god bless him, he learnt it.”

While Cumberbatch’s performance as Sherlock is wonderfully loud and kinetic in scope and quality, Freeman’s portrayal of John Watson is much quieter—no less important to a show that is technically called Sherlock, but very much has two leads.

“Interestingly enough, Martin was the first person who won an award for Sherlock,” says McGuigan. “I totally understand it because his job, his character’s job, was always the voice of reason for the audience.” This allowed the character of Sherlock to be “a real asshole,” says McGuigan.

“Everyone was really worried,” says McGuigan. “BBC were really worried about: is he too much of an asshole? My reply to that was: no, because you’ve got Watson saying, ‘You’re an asshole.’ The audience goes, ‘OK, at least somebody said it. Then I’m happy for him to be an asshole.’ So Watson was always the kind of moral compass for the audience.” 

McGuigan remembers Freeman, who was previously best known for his comedic turn as Tim in The Office, being worried about being too funny in his initial portrayal of John Watson.

“Martin and I would often talk about now you’re the soldier, you’re not being funny anymore,” says McGuigan, using the example of John’s first meeting with Mycroft in “A Study in Pink.” “Martin started kind of messing about and trying to be funny. I said, ‘No, no. This is the moment that you’re the soldier. This is the moment you go toe to toe with him. This is the moment the audience understands this is much more interesting than you just being the funny guy. You actually are very protective towards him and as this season goes on you’ll be much more.’”

Reflecting on Freeman’s contributions to the project, McGuigan says: “Of course Benedict got all the plaudits for it, and quite rightly so, he was just extraordinary. But I also had a very soft spot for what Martin was doing because, to me, Martin was carrying him on his shoulders. I thought that was interesting.”

While McGuigan wasn’t involved with the process of casting Sherlock and John, he did have a hand in casting the equally brilliant Andrew Scott, working with Scott in two of the four episodes he directed, “The Great Game” and “A Scandal in Belgravia.”

“I knew straight away,” says McGuigan of Scott’s casting as the notorious villain. “I had to convince other people just because it was such a different way of going. It worked out really well. I just thought he was so fresh and so brilliant and so did everyone in the room.”

Moriarty properly introduces himself in the final scene of “The Great Game,” by the pool where Moriarty murdered Carl Powers 20 years prior, the crime that first convinced a young Sherlock to pursue a career as a consulting detective. Moffat actually re-wrote the end of the episode to include more of Moriarty after casting Scott in the role. Gleeful, bratty, and “so changeable,” Scott’s Moriarty is a decidedly non-traditional take on a role that was previously written and performed as a distinguished older professor type.

“[Scott] was like, ‘Am I going over the top?’” McGuigan says of Scott’s days on “The Great Game” set. “And I was like, ‘Yeah, but I’ll edit. We can always edit.’ We had so much fun. I remember wandering back to the monitor after he did his first take and I remember everyone [in the crew] saying to me, ‘He’s amazing, he’s fucking amazing.’ That’s great when that happens, when the crew gets so involved in something. Because they’ve seen everything.”

McGuigan would go on to direct Season 2’s “A Scandal in Belgravia,” which he calls his favorite of his episodes, and “Hounds of the Baskerville,” which he describes as “probably the least successful of my episodes,” but declined to return for Season 3 when asked.

“As much as I really loved working with Mark and Steve and Sue—I mean they’re family to me, I went back and did Dracula for them—it was time for me just to go, ‘Right. OK. I’ve had my fun. I’ve enjoyed it and let’s see what other people do with it, you know?”

Sherlock’s Television Legacy

Today, we take the visually innovative TV show for granted. “I think that television has kind of burst out of itself,” says McGuigan. “It used to restrain itself so much because I think executives at BBC and other places, other networks, were so scared of doing something that broke a mold or was taking a chance on something, especially if you’re spending a lot of money.”

These days, it’s not uncommon to see a feature film director work in television, or for a TV show to have the creative freedom to experiment with its format and visual style, but not so long ago television was where a future film director might cut his teeth, but once they “made it” as a feature filmmaker, they would leave the world of television, and its visual limits, behind. 

“I think it’s because of the changing face of television,” says McGuigan. “That was the year or years where people like myself or writers who would normally restrict themselves to film were coming out and they were making television and it was okay to make telly…. Now it’s fun and it’s what everybody wants to do now. They want to have a successful TV show.”

When Sherlock launched in 2010, Breaking Bad had just wrapped up its second season on AMC and Game of Thrones was still nine months away from launching on HBO. Shows like True Detective, The Night Manager, and The Crown were still twinkles in their respective network and/or platform’s eye. McGuigan’s work on Sherlock helped to herald in a new era of more cinematically minded TV.

“There was an appetite to do something that raised its head above the water from everybody else,” says McGuigan. “We’re always trying to find new projects that we could allow ourselves to do something as interesting as Sherlock. A lot of things don’t necessarily meet that sense of the visual language and that visual world.”

Just as McGuigan is an indelible part of Sherlock’s legacy so too is Sherlock an indelible part of McGuigan’s. In reflecting on how Sherlock has changed his career, McGuigan says “because of Sherlock, I’ve had conversations with people like Steven Spielberg.” McGuigan credits his work on Sherlock with leading to his work with Shonda Rhimes, directing the Scandal pilot.

“Even to this day, when I walk into the room and somebody goes ‘Oh this is Paul,’ he goes, ‘Oh I’m a big fan of yours.’ ‘Because of what?’ ‘Because Sherlock,’” says McGuigan. “If I’m in a taxi or I meet anybody who’s not in the business and they ask, ‘So what do you do?’ And I go, ‘Well I work in television and film.’ I tell them I’m a director. ‘Anything I would have seen?’ I start with my movies, they’re like ‘No.’ Then I say Sherlock, ‘Oh fuckin hell.’ Immediately, they get it.”

Looking back, did McGuigan have any idea that Sherlock would be enough of a success that he would be talking about it 10 years later? Of course not.

“I would be lying if I thought everyone knew it was going to be a success,” says McGuigan. “I think [the BBC] were very nervous because we had done the pilot and didn’t feel it had worked. So we did take a lot of chances and we did have fun with it, but I guess, again, that comes through the character. The character is just so wild and beautifully crafted that we felt we had to keep up.”

“I don’t want to make it feel like everything was beautiful and rosy but everything in retrospect does feel that way,” continues McGuigan. “It does feel like we were involved in something that was quite special. Those don’t come around very often.”

The post How Paul McGuigan Crafted the Visual Language of Sherlock appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2Xw4TFy

[anavoliselenu]

blood epilogue

As I looked out of the small window in my room, I tried to decide what exactly I was going to do with my day. Considering that I was turning twenty today, I figured it should be something profound or exciting, but how much could you celebrate while in jail?

Well to be honest, I wasn't in jail; it was more of a daycare. I liked to call it "Martha Stewart" jail. You know, the kind of place where you're locked up but not really? It was a minimum-security facility located deep in the dark forests of southern Illinois. At least, I think I was still in Illinois. I hadn't brought myself to care in this past year. The only thing separating us from the real world was a fence. It wasn't very intimidating, either.

"You could go read," I spoke to myself, hoping that no one else was around. "No, you always read. That's all you do."

What would I have done if I weren't in jail? I'm sure Charlie would be making some awkward fatherly gesture, trying to show me that he cared and in turn, I would give him a big hug. That was the basic function of our relationship. Or maybe he would burn the eggs trying to make me my birthday breakfast. Renee would be planning an overzealous party that wouldn't ever come to fruition, because she'd get distracted halfway through and we'd end up having pizza, but that was okay too.

Last year, when I turned nineteen, was actually the first day of my lockup.

My trial had lasted around four months, and it was probably one of the worst experiences I had ever been through. There was so much I wanted to say but couldn't. I was put through the media circus, and no matter how much I tried to plead my innocence; there was nothing I could do. Jenks, the lawyer Carlisle gave me, was a genius. He was working his hardest, but I think there was already a preconceived notion that I was guilty. It wasn't like I was going to jail for murder; there were only small white-collar charges against me, but they still added up.

I was sentenced to spend two years in this place for illegal gambling and racketeering. I barely knew what that meant. During my trial, there were a whole lot of words thrown around that I didn't understand, and I just sat there after a while. It was painfully obvious during my arraignment that I wasn't going to get off. Jacob fucking Black was on a power trip from the time he arrested me, and I could have smacked the smirk off of his face. No one really believed that I was capable of all the crimes that I was up against, but I had a hard-ass judge who— I later found out— was trying to crack down on juvenile delinquency. Somehow he found me repulsive and decided to make me the example.

Two fucking years for gambling and racketeering. If I were older, I would have gotten more. Jenks actually had my sentence reduced, but I still had to serve my time.

I was walking a thin line during the trial, because how much could I really reveal without getting the Cullens in trouble? I should have said fuck them all and gotten myself off, but it wouldn't have worked anyway. Like I said, the judge and Black were out for my blood. Nothing I said could change their minds, but maybe I would have felt a hell of a lot better.

According to Emmett, it was all for Justin. That's who Jacob wanted, and I was the bargaining chip. They expected him to come for me and when he didn't, they were kind of at a loss of what to do. They figured they might as well prosecute me while I was available.

I was abandoned—by everyone. Literally everyone. Sure, Carlisle paid for Jenks and the whole family sat through my trial with stoic faces, but what help did that do me in here? Once Charlie heard about the shit I was in, like I suspected he would, he cursed me out over the phone, and even made a trip to Chicago to yell at me face-to-face. He tried to use his connections to get me off, but it didn't help. At least I had him there for a couple weeks.

There wasn't much he could do so Charlie went back to his life in Forks, and I was left here. I hadn't talked to my mother in about a year; I didn't know why. She just never called me, and I never called her.

My face was splashed across papers and there were even news segments about me, so I didn't blame my parents for being embarrassed. What they didn't understand was that I did nothing wrong. Of course, I had a criminal boyfriend and probably knew more than I should, but that couldn't be helped. Those charges against me were false, and I think everyone knew it.

Surprisingly, none of that mattered to me. Every single person I knew could abandon me, but the one person I wanted to see just wasn't there.

Justin had left. He left me here. I knew why—Carlisle explained it to me—but it still hurt. Why wouldn't he fight for me? Wasn't there something he could have done? Wasn't there a plan for something like this? How could he just leave me here? I wished that I had been smarter about everything. I felt like such a naive little girl and my self-sacrificing, stupid ass just let myself get martyred for the cause.

I hadn't talked to Justin or heard a peep from him in over a year, and my heart hurt every single day. I loved him; I couldn't get over that, but I wanted to hate him with a fiery passion. There were so many things that I could scream and just rip him a new asshole, but where was he?

"Selena, you have a bunch of gifts." Someone poked their head in my door.

"Oh?" I got up from my seat.

"You sure do. Happy Birthday." She handed me a couple of gift-wrapped presents. I didn't know her name, but she was a neighbor. I hadn't bothered to make friends this past year.

"Thank you." I sat on my bed and tried to see sent them. They were all slightly opened from being checked by the mail people. "I'm guessing they all passed inspection?"

"They sure did." She smiled. "Someone just told me to bring them up since I was already in the mail room."

"Well, thank you."

"No problem."

I looked around my bed at the presents, not wanting to open them, because I was already hating this day and a gift wouldn't make it any better.

Thankfully, I wasn't totally alone in all of this. Everyone visited me, and Esme even made a schedule so that I knew when they were coming. They had to visit in shifts, but five-minute segments were better than nothing. Every time I spoke with Carlisle, I asked how Justin was doing. He would never answer, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get a single word out of him. I don't even think he knew where Justin was. The firestorm hadn't cooled, though.

Black was still trying to find him, and I couldn't understand why Justin just couldn't come home. I wanted him here. As much as I hated and cried over him, I still wanted him here.

I was such an emotional mess.

I neatly arranged my gifts on the tiny desk in my small room and just lied on my bed, looking up at the ceiling.

Unconsciously, my hand drifted down and started rubbing circles over my now flat stomach. It had never gotten the chance to become swollen. A tear slipped down my cheek, and I wiped it away angrily. I promised myself that I wasn't going to cry anymore over this.

My baby was gone. I had never been given the opportunity to hold my little boy or girl; and it felt like a piece of me would forever be missing. That was two pieces gone now: Justin and our child.

It happened about a month after I was arrested. I just woke up one night with a shooting pain in my lower stomach and the next thing I knew, I was bleeding out. The doctors said I had lost the baby. I cried for days and wouldn't even eat, because I didn't feel like I should. No one could explain it to me. The doctor told me simply, "These things just happen".

Maybe it was stress or from me not taking care of myself? I didn't know, but it still hurt every time I even thought about my lost child. It was hard to love something that you had never met. Although, I was sure some women have had it worse than me, so I tried to put it in perspective. It had taken me a very long time and many late nights of thinking to finally understand that bad things just happen to good people.

When I was first arrested, the doctors gave me a physical, and once they found out I was pregnant, I begged them not to say anything. It was put in my file that I was carrying a child, and I figured Carlisle knew, but he never questioned me. The doctors were actually very nice about it and made sure to take good care of me, but none of that helped.

I lost the baby when I was three and a half months along. Besides the physicians, Justin and myself, no one knew I was pregnant. Sometimes I felt that it was better that way. Esme didn't have to cry over losing her first grandchild, and I didn't have to explain things to anyone.

Why didn't I tell my precious secret? I was embarrassed and ashamed. I felt like such a failure, and with all the things going on with me being put in jail, I didn't see the need to bother anyone else with more drama. I know it was stupid, but my mouth just wouldn't say the words. On some level, I realized that everyone deserved to know. I'm sure they would want to, but what could I tell them now? It was too late.

It didn't even matter now that I hadn't said anything, because the topic was moot. I hadn't even told Jenks when he was arguing my case.

I guessed Justin got his wish. We didn't have a child so now our argument didn't matter anymore. What would I have done anyway? Did I really expect to give birth and raise a baby while in jail? It still hurt, though. There wasn't a day that went by when I didn't think about my little boy or girl.

Over the past year, I had spent a lot of nights just thinking about what I would have done that last day if I hadn't gotten arrested. Now that I looked back on it, it was stupid of me to try and change Justin's mind about the baby. He didn't want it and I already knew that. My only other option was to just leave him. I would have gone back to the penthouse, kicked him in the balls, and got my stuff. That was easier said than done, but I would have left for my child.

I wiped my damp cheeks again.

"Stop it, Selena." I sat up in bed and shook my head to clear it.

The calendar on my wall was mocking me, and I guessed I should start counting down the days until I was free from this place. It wasn't that I was in hell or anything; it was just incredibly boring. There was literally nothing to do. I sat in jail with white-collar criminals who wouldn't hurt a fly, so no one felt the need to keep us under strict supervision. The woman across the hall from me was in here because she had embezzled money from her boss. She was also eighty, so who knew how much longer she was going to last.

The days were incredibly long and the nights were too short. I wanted to stay asleep and dream, but when the sun rose I would just sit here until I could sleep again. I would read and even tried art just for something to do. Besides that, I stayed to myself and barely uttered a word.

Just eight more months.

"Selena, I have more gifts for you." Someone knocked on my door. This time it was one of the guys from the mailroom.

"Really? What are they this time?"

"They're roses. I just wanted to see if you were going to keep these this time since it is your birthday and all."

"Who are they from?" I asked, even though I already knew.

"I don't know. There's never a card with these things. Do you want them?"

Roses. Damn it all to hell.

Even though I hadn't spoken to him in a year, Justin still found ways to contact me. His stupid fucking flowers were arriving from somewhere mysterious, never with a note or address. The flowers were always red roses and nothing else. They would just show up out of thin air. I usually didn't even want them. On the occasions that I was feeling fairly happy, I would just sniff the petals before throwing them away.

Did he think he could buy me off with flowers? Bullshit. Although, on some level, it did show that he was still thinking about me. If only I could get him out of my mind, then I could let my frustrations go. But he had this hold on me that was unbreakable. I still didn't have to like his gifts, though.

"How many are there?" I sighed.

"A hell of a lot," he chuckled.

"Can I just have one?"

"One bushel?"

"No, just one rose." I got off of the bed and went to the door. I plucked a flower out of the vase he was carrying.

"What do you want us to do with these?"

"You can keep them if you want." I smelled the rose, which was fragrant and completely overpowering, but comforting. I had to smile.

Was this his way of saying sorry? It might be. Was I ready to forgive him? Probably not.

I would get a bushel of roses about once a week, sometimes more. They all came ambiguously, but I knew they were from him. If I tried hard enough, I could even smell him on the petals. I was probably crazy, but it made sense to me.

It was massively ironic at how each of my birthdays for the past couple of years had revolved around Justin and me. The first time I ever met him was on my eighteenth; on my nineteenth, I was thrown in jail because of him, and here I sat on my twentieth, receiving roses from him.

Happy birthday, Selena.

The week passed like it always did, slow and unexciting.

The single rose was drying out on my windowsill since I planned on keeping it. I didn't know why, but I felt like I needed to have something to show me that he cared. If it wasn't his words, then it was his actions. Of course, going to jail for Justin wasn't equal to a rose, but it was a small gesture that meant a lot to me.

But I was still pissed. If I ever saw the man again, I would slap the shit out of him.

Honestly, I was trying not to think about what my future held after I got out of here. Charlie probably wouldn't let me come back, and it wasn't as if I had money to go to school. Renee was out as well. I wasn't actually even sure she knew what was going on. I hadn't talked to her, and I doubt Charlie explained things. I didn't want to ask Carlisle for anything, either. Every time he visited, he would apologize profusely for not being able to do more. I couldn't blame him. From the time I got arrested, his hands were tied behind his back. There was only so much he could do. He worked himself ragged trying to get my record expunged, but my future was set. He did what he had to do for his family. He included me in that rank; he told me all the time. I was thankful that I at least had him to help me through this.

Today was just like any other day. I was sitting on my bed with a tattered copy of Jane Eyre in my hands when there was a small knock on my door.

"Selena, you have company," a guard said.

I climbed off of the bed and shuffled through my room. I went into the hallway, trying to think if someone was supposed to visit today. I was led to the meeting rooms, which just held circular tables with chairs, and I sat to wait.

I sat there for about five minutes and was debating on whether I should stay or not.

"Hello, Selena," a deep voice said from behind me.

"Please tell me you're not here to pour salt in my wounds."

Embry Call sat opposite me and fixed his jacket. Something about his face was different. He looked… old and stressed. "I'm here for other reasons."

"I have nothing to say to you." I turned my head away from him.

Throughout my arrest and subsequent trial, I refused to speak to Jacob Black. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction on putting me in jail. Embry was the only one I would talk to, and we had created somewhat of a mutual hatred for each other. It didn't really matter through. Everyone came out on top except me. Black even got a fucking promotion.

"Selena, I know that you think I'm a dick, but I was doing my job," Embry said sternly.

"You're no better than any other criminal out there," I whispered lowly. "You're a dirty cop just like Jacob."

"Don't you dare compare me to Jacob," he spat. "I like the guy, but his police methods and questionable. I follow the letter of the law."

"Why are you here? Just leave me alone and let me do my time."

"I came with bad news." He sighed and pulled a bag out of his jacket pocket. He hesitated for a second before pushing it across the table towards me.

"What is this?"

"Open it," he instructed.

I glared at him for a second before snatching the small bag up and peeking inside. There was a small flash of silver as I pulled the gigantic watch out, and I immediately recognized it. This was the only watch Justin ever wore, and it was a small symbol of what I missed for over a year.

"How… how did you get this?" I stammered.

"Before I say anything, I need you to understand that I tried everything I could to help…"

"What are you talking about?"

"I got word that Justin was coming back into the country last week."

My heart started to beat furiously as all these unanswered questions popped into my head.

"Wait, where was he?" I asked. My voice was almost non-existent.

"I don't know. I was just informed that he was coming back… for you."

"For me?"

"From what I could gather, he wanted to break you out or something heroic like that. Who knows what's going through that man's mind half the time. He was probably still pissed about how things played out and Justin wanted to fight for you. That's the information I got."

"Well, where is he? What happened?"

Embry exhaled heavily. "There was… a complication when he got into the city. He'd He was ambushed."

"What do you mean? I'm confused."

"There was a shootout. Police were there, Aro's men were there, Shinobu's men were there; basically everyone within a fifty mile radius with a gun was waiting for him."

Now my heart was stampeding. "Please tell me he's all right," I said hopefully.

"Selena, you know Justin. Once he was threatened, he tried to bulldoze his way out and started firing. He wasn't really a match for everyone and… he didn't make it."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"He didn't make it," Embry repeated. "He took a couple bullets to the head and to the chest."

My mouth was completely dry, and my head was starting to throb like it was being pounded by a jackhammer.

"I… I don't understand. What does that mean?" I asked.

"He's dead, Selena," Embry said with finality. "Justin's dead."

Justin Bieber—my Justin Bieber—couldn't be dead. It wasn't plausible. Not once could I remember him being feeble. Not even when we dealt with his heart attack was he in a position of weakness. Now he was dead? I wouldn't believe it.

"No, that's not possible. You have the wrong guy. Justin can't die." My voice cracked. "You're wrong."

"I saw it with my own eyes. I was there."

"You killed him." I reached across the table and just hit Embry in the face.

He stilled my hand with a tight grasp. "I was trying to protect him. I was going to bring him in. You might not believe me, but I needed him alive."

"You and Jacob were working together this whole time. I don't believe you."

"I told you that I haven't worked with Jacob in a long time. Not since your trial."

"You're lying. I know you are."

"Selena, I came here to tell you before you heard it from someone else."

"I don't believe you." I shot up from my seat and ran out of the room before I could start crying in front of the liar, Embry Call.

I made it halfway back before I collapsed on the floor and slid down the wall as sobs racked my body.

As much as I wanted to question everything I was told, I knew it was true. I could sense it and there was no way to explain the feelings that were coursing through my body, but I suddenly felt like I wasn't even really here anymore.

It didn't matter that Justin and I weren't "together", I just needed him to be safe.

The earth felt like it had been shattered under my feet and I suddenly forgot how to breathe. Was he gone? Something inside of me said that he was and I didn't know how to deal with it. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, I wanted to break something and…could it really be true?

Justin was dead.

Just saying that didn't seem right. As much as I wanted to deny the truth, I felt something deep inside of me that was pulling at the last strand of my sanity.

I was over trying to stop the sobs and just let them consume me fully.

It wasn't long before I felt warm arms wrap around me. I wanted to push them off, but I didn't even have the strength to do that.

"I'm sorry, Selena. I never meant for you to go through this." Embry's voice was, for the first time since I had met him, comforting.

I think I passed out, but couldn't be sure. I just know that I woke up the next day in my bed.

All the lies were confirmed when I got the morning's paper. There was a massive front page story about how Justin Bieber had been found dead after an "isolated incident" outside of Chicago. There were interviews and pictures and police statements and autopsy reports and… it was all true.

"Selena Swan," there was a knock on my door, "it's time to check out. The ink on all the papers is dry."

"All packed and ready." I threw my backpack over my shoulder, which consisted of nothing more than a couple books. I reveled the feeling of jeans on my body after two years in an ugly, gray jumpsuit.

"We sure are going to miss you around here." The guard led me down the hall, away from the room that had been my sanctuary for my time here. "You were the only one who was actually nice."

"I'm going to miss you guys too," I lied.

"What are you going to do now that you're a free woman?"

"I honestly have no idea."

I didn't know what was available at the moment. I had no job prospects, and no money whatsoever. Thankfully, I wasn't completely down and out. I had gotten the chance to complete my upper education while in lockup. I filled my time with courses and finished a couple years of schooling easily within just two. I now had a degree in literature, which didn't really help me in the real world, but at least it was something. Still, I was fucked big time. I just wanted to make it outside, and then I would take it from there.

"Just make sure you stay away from that family. They're no good for you," he warned.

"I'll try," I lied again. The Cullens were the only family that I had left. I was still pissed at them somewhat, and I had a few things to say before everything was peaches and roses again. I didn't think we would ever truly get back there, though.

"Okay, well, this is where I leave you. Have fun." He waved to me and turned back around.

I went inside of a room with a singular table and sat in one of the two chairs to wait. This was usually the place where you came to get your stuff when they let you leave. When I was arrested, I didn't have anything, so I didn't particularly know what I was doing here. Couldn't they just let me go already?

I checked the watch on my wrist—Justin's massive watch—and a small smile crept onto my lips at the thought of him wearing it. I put my arm down when it started to become heavy from looking at the timepiece for too long.

I didn't cry anymore, over Justin or our child. I didn't have any more tears to give. The past year had been rough. I had literally cried myself dry, and I was surprised that my eyes hadn't fallen out. Now it didn't matter how I felt about him anymore; he was gone and would never hear it. I loved and I cared for Justin, although, I was still mad as hell. If only I had one last chance to at least talk to him. I never got that closure, which I desperately longed for.

He was gone, and he was never coming back.

Over the past eight months, things began to surface about Justin's death that made it sound like a bloodbath. It was all Aro's doing. He'd heard of Justin's return and took it upon himself to get vengeance for his sons. In the papers, Justin was revered and seen as more of a hero, which I was happy about. His name wasn't slandered, and I didn't have to read about all the bad things he had done. I gathered almost every article I could get my hands on, because I just wanted to read about him. It was the only way I could feel close to him again.

The flowers stopped coming—just another reminder that Justin was gone—and the family visits became fewer, but I still saw Esme from time to time. She looked nothing like her old self. I had never seen her in distress and after Justin died, she just looked sick. It was as if the life had been sucked out of her. Carlisle was almost the same way, but hid it well. The family was just now getting over everything, although, as I heard, their standing in the underground world hadn't diminished one bit. They were still feared and still on top, which I assume irked Aro immensely.

"Selena Swan, you just have one thing," a soft voice said from the door.

"I don't remember having anything when I came." I stood up.

She handed me a small manila envelope, and I opened it. I tipped it over, and a ring fell out. It was shining silver with a nice diamond on top. It was the same ring that Justin had brought me from Maine; the last thing I ever got from him.

"It's very pretty," she said.

"Thank you," I sighed, slipping the ring onto the fourth finger on my left hand. I was determined not to cry when I saw it there. "Can I leave now?"

"You sure can. Do you have a ride? You can't leave without a ride."

"I have one." I nodded and slipped past her. Carlisle had made sure to send someone over so that I didn't have to stay here any longer than necessary.

"Well then, we'll be seeing you."

"I hope not." I waved and strode out of the doors.

I stood on the stone steps of the minimum-security prison and took a deep breath. The July air was still hot, but not unpleasant. It wasn't as if I hadn't been outside during my stay, but this was a new type of freedom, which I would never take for granted again.

I walked down the long, winding road and towards the gates, which opened for me.

"Looks, like the criminal has sprung the coop," a deep voice said. He was leaning on the side of a black Mercedes with sunglasses. His strong shoulders made him look menacing, but I knew there was a heart of gold inside.

I ran and wrapped my arms around Alec's neck as I was lifted off of the ground. He now stood well above me and was probably over six feet.

"They sent you to get me?" I clung to him tighter.

"I volunteered," he chuckled lowly.

"I can't believe it. You haven't come to visit me in a year." I hit his arm when he put me down. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I was busy." He nursed the spot. "Ouch, that hurt."

"You deserve it." I examined him up and down. "Oh my God, look at you. You're massive."

He wasn't Emmett's size, but it was obvious that Alec had gone through and taken well to puberty. His muscles were extremely defined, and he looked like a man, not like the little boy I remember. His dark hair was short but still covered his deep blue eyes.

"And what's this?" I ran my hand over his stubbly jaw where small whiskers were peeking out.

"I know, cool, right?" He smirked. "And I shaved last night."

"You're all grown up. What happen to my little Alec?"

"Don't get teary-eyed on me. We have a long trip ahead." He picked my backpack up and threw it over his shoulder.

"Where are we going?" I went around to the passenger's side of the car.

"Don't start with the questions. Just let me drive."

"And you're driving?" I hadn't even realized as I sat in the plush leather of the seat. He was sixteen now, so I guess it was normal, but I never thought I'd see the day when he was behind the wheel of a car. "Who taught you?"

"Emmett tried, but I ended up teaching myself. He has no idea what he's talking about, by the way. I think he needs to take some kind of class." Alec started the car, and it roared to life.

"Where are we going?" I asked again, hoping he would tell me this time.

"I said I wasn't answering that." He easily pulled out of the driveway and maneuvered onto the road.

"How are things back home?"

Alec sighed, "Tough. Ma won't come out of her room most days. I really think she's sick. Carlisle doesn't know what to do, but she's starting to get better. Emmett's busy and Jasper's keeping an eye on me, so we all have our jobs. Ma obviously isn't herself anymore."

"It must be tough to lose a child," I said without even thinking about it. My chest started to contract and I had to push the pain out. I wasn't going to cry, not now. I couldn't think about that. I had trained myself to keep the hurt at bay.

"She's seeing a therapist and everything."

"How are you boys doing?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It was so weird at first; going from four to three. I think we're just getting over it. How are you doing?"

"I cried for months." I looked out of the window and remembered the horrible time I had with Justin's death. "I felt so weak. I wanted to tell him so many things, but I never got the chance."

"I see your ring." He pointed to my left hand. "He would want it there."

"No, he wouldn't." I shook my head.

"Justin loved you, Selena. As much shit as he talked about not wanting to get married and not having a family, I think he would have gone through with it for you."

Obviously, Alec didn't know about the major argument Justin and I had just before everything went downhill.

"I miss him," I thought out loud.

"We all miss him."

The ride was silent after that. I wanted to go to sleep, but figured I should soak up the bright sun. I watched the trees pass us by for about an hour until the car started to slow.

"Where are we?" I sat up in my seat.

"Private airport," Alec answered simply and turned the car onto the tarmac.

"Why?"

"Because we're leaving." He reached into the backseat and got my bag. "Let's go." He jumped out of the car.

"Wait, I can't leave. Aren't I on probation or something?" I quickly ran after him and had to shout over the whirl of a plane engine.

"I don't know. Do I look like a lawyer? Just get on the plane."

It was hard for me to just trust a Bieber after everything I had been put through, but what else was I going to do? It wasn't like I could run to Daddy and make my life miraculously go back to normal.

I glared at Alec inquisitively for a couple of seconds. "Are you kidnapping me?"

"Yes." He started to climb the descended steps. "I'm leaving you here if you don't hurry up."

I ground my teeth together and went up after him. The plane was nice and expensive, just like the Cullens wanted it. There was no one inside, but I could hear the voice of the pilot from up front. Alec went to tell him that we were ready to leave, and the stairs folded shut.

"I don't like this." I sat in a seat next to him.

"I promise everything's going to be all right. Oh, and by the way, we're not to be going home for a while."

"So you are kidnapping me. Where the hell are we going?"

"I can't tell you that, but if you want to stay here, now's the time to say so."

I debated on what to do, but just decided to stay put. It was a mixture of curiosity and lack of enthusiasm over my present situation in life. I theorized that he couldn't be taking me anywhere bad.

"This is very fishy." I sat back and crossed my arms as the plane took off.

I tried to stay awake so that I could scope out what exactly I was doing on this adventure, but my eyes wouldn't stay open after the third hour. The rumble from the plane engine put me to sleep quickly, and I dreamed about God knows what. Most of my dreams nowadays weren't memorable.

"Selena, time to wake up." I was softly nudged.

"No." I turned away.

"Selena, I mean it. The plane can't stay on the ground very long," Alec's deep voice filled my head, "and you need to change."

"Change?" I opened my eyes. His jeans and tee shirt from before were replaced with a light blue button up and white board shorts. "Are you going swimming?"

"No, but it's hot as hell out there. Go change." He pulled me from my seat and shoved me into the back of the plane.

I went into the bathroom and stripped out of my clothes, putting on the jean shorts and green tank top that were provided for me. I was still confused as hell when I came back out, trying to stumble into my sneakers.

"Where exactly are we?" I asked as the stairs came undone.

"Brazil." Alec smiled and went outside.

"Brazil?" I followed him. "Are you serious? We can't go to Brazil."

"Why not?" He shrugged. "It's awesome here."

"I can't believe this." I grumbled my way to a car that was waiting, and Alec took the driver's seat.

I saw signs that said 'Rio' when we were pulling out of the private airport and large buildings started to surround us on all sides as we went deeper into the city. I had no idea what the hell was going on, but Alec seemed confident and didn't question anything.

"How the hell did we get out of the country? Aren't they following you?" I asked, trying to take my mind off of the uneasiness that I was feeling. I should be excited since this was the first time I had ever been out of the county and to Brazil, no less, but I was too anxious.

"We're all good. We have clearance."

"What does that mean?"

"Stop asking questions." He rolled his eyes. "I forgot how annoying you were."

"Well, maybe I wouldn't be if I had some answers."

The car started going through the streets, and I noticed that the tall skyscrapers thinned as we reached the far eastern side of the city.

"Alright, time to get out." Alec shut off the car when we reached the docks.

"Now a boat?" At this point, I was just going with the flow.

"I don't want to hear it. Just get on." He left the car right where it was and walked through the rows of bobbing ships in the harbor. I followed with my mouth shut.

We reached a small boat at the edge, which was built for speed and not luxury since it only sat two. It looked kind of like a bullet. Alec helped me down, and then started the boat thunderously.

He masterfully took off, not even bothering to check a manual or directions, which made me curious as to how many times he had done this. I, for one, had never heard of him driving a speedboat, but he was doing well. I still gripped the side with white knuckles as he ripped through the waves. Like his brothers, Alec had a proclivity for going fast. I'm sure there was some sort of speed laws that he was breaking.

Even at our rapid pace, the boat trip still took about forty minutes. It was light enough to see the massive island where Alec was headed. Even though I was confused out of my mind, I had to admit that the scenery was gorgeous. The blue water surrounded us everywhere, and if we weren't going so fast, I bet I could see straight down to the bottom. The island in the distance was mountainous and green foliage covered every hillside.

"What exactly is that?" I asked him over the hum of the engine.

"Isle Esme."

"As in... an island for Esme?"

"Yup, Carlisle brought it for her years ago. He said they haven't been back for a while, though. It's just been sitting here."

I was at a loss of what to say. I had never been around people who had enough money to buy someone their own island. I didn't even think the Cullens were that rich, but I had obviously misjudged their wealth even after all these years.

We neared the island and I saw a dock, but Alec just slowed the boat in the water and let it coast slowly. It stopped on the beach, still in the water, but not that far from the sand.

"Alright, final leg of the trip. Everybody out." Alec took off his shoes and jumped over the side of the boat, landing in the water with a splash. The waves only came up to his knees since he was so tall.

"Are there jellyfish in there?" I looked into the water, remembering the now infamous trip to Miami two years ago. It was disgusting at the time, but it was pretty hilarious now. Jasper and I laughed about it on occasion.

"I'll carry you." Alec held out his arms.

"I can walk." I stood up in the boat and of course my clumsy ass almost fell overboard, but Alec caught me and lifted me up over his shoulder.

"That was easy." He started sloshing through the water, spraying it in my face.

"I'm not going to win this, am I?" I felt the blood rushing to my head from being upside down.

"Nope." He continued to walk through the waves, and suddenly, the water was replaced by sand.

He carried me all the way up the beach, and I couldn't really see where we were going because my head was bobbing against Alec's back. I think I stayed that way for about ten minutes, but it could have been longer.

"This is getting ridiculous. I need some answers." I slapped his butt. "Tell me where we're going."

"Calm down there, Selena. You can't tame the stallion once he's free."

"Wow, that sounded incredibly Emmett-like."

"Of course it did," he chuckled.

He finally set me down and my feet sank lightly into the sand. I noticed that we were in front of a massive beach house. It had giant windows and from the outside, it looked like there must have been at least three floors. I thought I was staring at a postcard with palm trees flanking the path that led up to the house.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Our new place."

"I don't understand."

"Did jail make you stupid?" he groaned. "I've kidnapped you and now we're going to be living here for a while. You don't have anything better to do." We started to walk up the path. "No one knows about this island besides Carlisle."

"What about Charlie? I have to call him at least."

"No can do, Selena-roo." He opened the door to the house, and we went in.

It was all very beachy—if that made sense—with plush white furniture, hardwood floors, open windows, and a rustic feel.

"Come on." He ushered me inside.

"I didn't even get a choice in this?"

"Not really. What else did you expect to do?"

"I… I don't know, but Brazil wasn't on my list for my permanent destination."

"Stop with the questions."

"What the hell is going on?" I stood still, crossing my arms. "I don't like this one bit."

"Too bad. You're here, and you'll like it." Alec took my hand and led me up the stairs quickly to the second floor. He pushed me into a room. "I'll be right back."

I noticed that I was in a colossal library. The stacks went up to the ceiling and there was even stairs to another floor. The room looked totally different from the rest of the house, and I thought I was in an antique castle or something.

"Wow." I looked around, open-mouthed and in amazement.

I wondered where exactly the hell I was. Brazil, for sure, but that was it. I didn't even really know if this was Carlisle's house, but it was obvious that someone was living here. I could tell just from walking through. And what was with Alec? He was taking this very well for a guy who just picked up and left his home. So many questions with no answers; that had become my life lately.

I went over to the dark, wooden desk in front of the open window and picked up the copy of Wuthering Heights. It was one of those old copies and probably a first edition. The computer was warm, so someone must have just been using it.

I turned the book over in my hands, trying to see who it belonged to, but there wasn't a name or anything like that.

"I never understood why you liked that book. It's so dark," a husky voice said from across the room.

I dropped the book from my hands and it landed with a thud by the time I turned around.

I was staring at a ghost; I must have been, because if I wasn't, then jail had made me go insane.

Justin was standing in the doorway, the perfect picture of masculine beauty. The white shirt on his body was unbuttoned all the way, showing off a tight set of muscles that were rolling underneath tanned skin. The bronze hair that I remembered was a little lighter now with more blonde in it and still wildly tamed, but his face was the same; strong, defined, chiseled and clean-cut.

"Hello, Selena," he said, and the grin that I had dreamed about creased his lips.

My body was shaking so badly that I couldn't see straight. I backed into the far wall. "Who the hell are you?"

He sauntered into the room further, and I wanted to jump out of the window every time he took another step. The man got so close to me that I could smell his scent, and I shut my eyes, wishing that I would wake up from this nightmare.

"You look exactly the same." I felt a warm hand cup my cheek. "I hoped you would."

"Stop doing this. You're not real; you can't be." I shook my head.

"Selena, open your eyes."

"No, you can't do this to me. You're dead." I shoved him hard in the chest, but I wanted to hold him. "You're not Justin!"

"I am."

"You're fucking dead. Just stay dead. I know how to deal with it now."

I opened my eyes, and the man had the nerve to still have that smirk on his face.

I couldn't control myself as my hand just slapped the shit out of him. Skin met skin and a loud sound echoed off of the walls. I needed that sound to make sure this wasn't my imagination. Maybe I was trying to see if he was real, or maybe I just need to get out some frustration, but I did it again. My frustrations would never be truly gone, but with each slap, they got better.

After the fifth hard slap to the face, the man's cheeks were red, and his hair was falling into his face.

"Justin's dead." My voice cracked.

"I'm right here, Selena." The man's deep voice was remorseful and sad, but firm.

"Justin Anthony Bieber, I swear to God if that's you, I'm going to shoot you myself."

"It's really me." He tentatively moved forward. "All I can say is that I'm sorry."

He opened his mouth to continue, but I had a few things I wanted to shout first.

"Is that all you have to say to me?" I pushed him. "You left me. You left me to rot for two years and all you have to say is that you're 'sorry'?"

"I…"

"No, you don't get to speak. How could you do that to me!" My throat was already hurting from the screaming and it was only going to get worse, "I thought you were supposed to fight for me or do something. I got no note, not one call, or anything!" I slapped him again, because I now had no control over my rage.

"I couldn't." Justin didn't stop my hand. "He wouldn't let me."

"He?"

"Carlisle."

"That's not an excuse. You sent me fucking flowers for a year and you think that's all I needed from you? I wanted to know where you were and how you were doing. I wanted you…there for me. No one told me anything. I took the fall for you, Justin, and then you left me in the cold! I lost everything because of you. I kept your fucking secrets and what did I get? Nothing!"

He didn't say anything, and I suspected that he was waiting for me to continue, but my breathing was coming too quickly to speak coherently.

"I didn't want to leave you. I swear, but things happened so fast that I couldn't stop them, and then I couldn't come back to get you when I realized you're weren't going to get off. I fought with him for a year to let me come back."

"So while you were sitting here in Brazil, you left me by myself in jail?" I asked the obvious, just to clarify, "I have no family, I don't have the education that I should. I lost…everything."

Of course I was somewhat overdramatizing, but the gist of it was there. If he thought that this "rise from the dead" solved everything, he was in for a world of hurt.

"Do you think it's been easy for me? I went crazy because there was nothing I could do." If I didn't believe this man was Justin before, I couldn't deny it when he ran his hand through his hair and tugged. "If there was anything I could have done, I would have."

I slapped him again, just because I could and debated on whether I should knee him in the balls. I didn't so that he could keep some manhood about him.

"Why are you alive?" I spat.

"It was all fake. That whole shootout was staged by Carlisle. Aro and Black were breathing down my neck, trying to find me, and I had to go further underground. I moved here from Switzerland. Carlisle found a decoy and paid him to take the fall for me." He explained quickly.

"He paid a man to get shot for you?"

"That's how it works, Selena; that's how it's always worked in situations like these. I wanted to tell you so badly, and I hoped that you didn't hate me for this, but it had to be done."

"I cried over you." I was determined not to let the tears fall. "No one told me a thing, and I was sick to my stomach for a full year because I thought you were dead; not that I care, because I'm still pissed at you. And what about your mother? Did you tell her?"

"No, no one knows except you, Carlisle, and Alec. Everyone else thinks I'm dead. That's the way it has to be."

I left his side and darted towards the large desk by the window. I started pulling out drawers haphazardly and shuffled papers around.

"What are you doing?" He asked me.

"Looking for a gun. I'm going to shoot you and then I'm going to go downstairs and shoot Alec and then I'm going to get on a plane to shoot Carlisle. You all deserve to fucking die."

My hands found the metal of a large pistol, and I cocked the thing easily. It was heavy, and I noticed it as the same gold one that Justin loved. I pointed it straight at his chest across the room.

"Are you going to kill me?" Justin raised his eyebrow.

"Yes," I said with determination.

"Selena, listen to me. I know you're hurt, but I brought you here to ask for your forgiveness."

"You think I can forgive you after everything you did?"

"I will beg you if that's what you want." His voice almost cracked. "I will crawl for forgiveness."

I pulled the trigger and even though my arm blasted backwards, I held the gun up straight. I had been to the shooting range enough times in the past—with Justin ironically— to know how to handle it.

He didn't flinch at the bullet and, of course, it didn't strike him like I wanted, but it got my point across. The wall behind him now had a huge hole in it.

"I'm sorry, Selena." Justin was walking towards me slowly, seemingly not afraid of the firearm I had in my hand.

"I don't care. I don't want to hear you apologies." I was shaking.

The barrel of the gun was now pressed up against the flesh of his chest as he made the final steps forward. For a second, I figured that a bullet wouldn't hurt him. The muscles were rock solid, so if even I did shoot him, it wouldn't have done any good.

Justin's hands took the gun away from me, breaking it apart easily and throwing it behind him.

"You're disgusting. Esme is at home and can barely move because she thinks she lost a son and you can't tell her that you're here, or me for that matter? After all the shit we've been through, I can't get a fucking phone call? Did you think I would rat you out?"

"Of course not. Everyone needs to think I'm dead; you're not even supposed to be here. I sent Alec for you before Carlisle got a chance to sweep you up."

"Alec." I became furious with him as well, "He knew you were here from the start and he couldn't say anything?"

"He's a good actor. I told him that he had to keep quiet until you got here."

"I fucking hate you. I almost can't even look at you."

Justin hung his head. "I needed to see you. I can't just sit here anymore and think about talking to you or seeing you or… kissing you. I need you here with me."

"What if I don't want to be here?" I felt a warm tear streak down my face.

"Selena, I'm sorry for everything I put you through and not just in this past year, but before that. I never meant for this to be your life and…"

"Just stop talking." I held my head, which was starting to hurt. "I can't take this anymore."

"Do you still you love me?"

"Is that what you have to ask me after two years?"

"Yes, that's all I need to know. You can go back to Forks or Chicago or wherever; I don't care as long as you answer that question." He took my hands out of my hair and held them. "Do you still love me?"

"I don't know." I was crying pretty badly by this point. "I can't answer that."

"Why not?"

"Because you hurt me so badly, Justin. I haven't talked to you in years, and then you just show up out of the blue? Do you know how… crazy this is? I can't handle it."

"I wanted to call you every single day and tell you that I was thinking about you, but I couldn't risk it. You have to understand that. I haven't touched another woman or even looked at anyone else in two fucking years; I can't get you out of my head."

I took my hands from his and tried to calm down. I needed to think about this and without the new Ghost Justin staring me in the face. Could this really be happening? Was Justin really here after all the tears I had cried over him? It had to be a trick.

"What have you been doing all this time?" I asked, just to talk about something.

He shrugged. "Sit on the beach and read mostly. It's a boring life. Everyone thinks Alec went to boarding school, but he followed me to Brazil when I came. Carlisle calls maybe once every two months. We can only talk for a second, but I always ask about you. No one else knows I'm alive."

"This is so implausible. I can't believe this. I lost everything because of you." I reiterated.

"I know that this isn't the ideal position to be in right now. You're a smart girl and I'm thankful that you stuck around this long, but you deserve so much better. I think you know that."

"You left me." I felt like I was a parrot, repeating myself every five seconds.

"And for that I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't make it all better."

"You're not supposed to be here. Carlisle's going to be pissed out of his mind, but I had to see you. I just need your forgiveness."

"So you didn't come back to Chicago a year ago? That wasn't you?"

"No," he shook his head, "I was right here the whole time."

"Can you ever go back?" I sniffled.

"One day. I'll probably have to return soon for something and all hell's going to break loose."

I didn't really know what to say. I wanted to scream and shout and cry, but just being this close to Justin was bringing back deep feelings that I had missed. As much as I hated him, I just wanted him to hold me. That sounded pathetic, but I didn't care.

"I see you kept the ring," Justin noticed my hand, "and you got the watch."

"Yeah." I nodded, "Is Embry working for you too?" I snorted at the possibility. I heard about who Seth really was and what his purpose was in my life. He basically just watched me for the entire semester we were in class together while playing the undercover cop. His role was "essential" as Carlisle put it. All the lying made me sick.

"No, I just told Carlisle to make sure you got it."

"I don't want it." I took the watch off and threw it on the desk. It landed with a loud thump.

"Do you still love me, Selena?"

"Stop asking me that." I turned away from him.

"Why? I need to know and I'll let you go, but just tell me what you're feeling."

"I don't know. I want to kill you, but I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I still fucking love you!" I shouted out everything I had to give. "I can't help it and I should have just dropped your ass the second I was put in jail, but that's not an option. I can't explain it."

"Carlisle calls it once-in-a-lifetime, Romeo and Juliet love." Justin took my hands again. "Selena, I know we have so much to talk about, but I need you. I have never admitted that about anyone before in my life. These past two years have put everything in perspective. I'll let you go if you want, but I'm asking you… begging you to stay here."

"No," I said with as much gusto as I had, "I can't. I've wasted too much of my life over you. I'm not doing it again. I love you, but I'm not putting myself through this shit."

"I'm sorry. I can't say it enough."

"I feel like you just except me to forgive you and I can't do that right now. I don't even know you anymore."

"I'm still the same Justin."

"No you're not."

"Yes, I am, Selena," he said forcefully, taking my hand and placing it on his chest, over his heart. I could feel the tattoo, which he had gotten for me, and his skin was warm.

"Why are you doing this to me? I could have just gone home and…"

"And done what?"

"Lived." I shrugged.

He dropped my hand and went to his desk. He picked up the phone and started dialing.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm calling a plane so you can go home and live. You can be gone within the hour."

My feet carried me over unconsciously, and I unplugged the phone from the wall.

"I'm giving you what you want. You won't ever hear from me again and I won't bother you." He didn't lift his head. "I'm sorry I brought you here."

I didn't know what to do. I had so many questions that he was going to answer, but suddenly I didn't want to hear it all. His excuses didn't mean anything to me. I wasn't ready to forgive him.

As much as I hated him with my head, my heart wouldn't shut up. Justin was here and I was here; finally together again. He was right. We had a bond that was unbreakable, and that was only intensified now.

Once again, my feet carried me towards him. I couldn't help myself.

"Forgiveness comes with time, Justin. You can't just show up and expect everything to go back to normal." I spoke calmly.

"I realize that. I'm asking you to give me a chance. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make this up to you. Anything you want, you can have."

"I don't know if I even care enough about you to give you that chance." I lied.

"I will walk through fire, Selena. What can I do? Tell me, and I'll do it."

"I don't know but you can't just keep me prisoner on this island. We haven't seen each other in forever and I have so much I want to say to you."

"Then say it," He almost begged, "Tell me everything."

"We need time for all of that. I need to hit you and scream at you and ignore you so that you know how it felt."

"We have all the time in the world, Selena. We're not going anywhere. At least…I'm not going anywhere; ever again. I'm here whether you chose to believe that or not."

This was so wrong and he was starting to convince me that I needed to be here…with him. On some level, I wanted to stay and make him suffer. I didn't know what that entailed, but I wanted to just burn his ass so that he was charcoal. Then on another level, I wanted to stay for me. Who gave a fuck about him? I deserved some happiness after all of this. The only problem: Justin was my happiness.

"Look at me," I said.

He raised his head slightly, but didn't say anything.

I couldn't help the smile that I tried to fight as I stared at him. He was still exceptionally attractive and looked younger, if that was possible. I could tell that his eyes were sad. The green had dulled somewhat, and I couldn't remember him looking so tortured.

"Your hair is lighter." I ran my hand through his soft tresses.

"It's all the sun." He exhaled. "Your hair is darker."

"I haven't noticed."

"You still look the same, though." His fingers traced the lines of my face.

"I should hate you right now; I still do, but… I love you." I wanted to kick myself for sounding like some fickle, romance novel, dumb heroine with no spine. Now I understood why there were so many of them. They all had great loves who had thrown their asses in jail. Well, maybe not, but it was the same concept.

I touched his face, running my hand along his cheek. I had to make sure that he was real.

"I was waiting for you." He kissed my palm, which shot an electric current trough my veins. For the first time in two years, I felt like I could breathe again.

"I don't like all this secrecy."

"I know we have a lot to discuss. I'll answer any question you want. No more lies."

"What about Charlie and Renee and… everyone else? They'll know I went missing if I stay here."

"I'll tell Carlisle in a couple of months. It doesn't really matter where you are, though; we just need to stay hidden. As of now, we've both fallen off the map."

"I feel like there's no resolution to any of this."

"That's why we need to talk," he said hopefully. "I have a lot to tell you."

"I have a lot to tell you too." I sighed, remembering the most important thing, "I lost the baby."

He breathed deeply. "I know."

"You know?"

"Well, I figured when I didn't hear of you showing that something had happened, so I made a few calls and talked to the doctors secretly. I actually hacked their records from Switzerland. It was incredibly easy to keep tabs on you electronically." He said mater-of-factually.

"I guess you got what you wanted then."

"Selena, don't say that. I was a dick and I know it, but if… that's what you wanted, then I would have dealt with it. Children have never been my goal in life, but with you it might not have been so bad. I couldn't see that then. I just needed time."

"Time that we didn't have." I pushed the tears back. "I just needed you there and you weren't."

"I'm sorry."

"You're so good with your emotion words now." I choked out a laugh, "What happened?"

"I've been practicing since the day I got here. I've had my speeches memorized for a long time." He pulled off his already unbuttoned white shirt, and I really wanted to let my fingers dance across his stomach. It was a wonder that I hadn't exploded yet.

"What are you doing?"

"I got this after I found out about the baby." Justin pointed to his right shoulder. I lightly touched the small set of angel wings that were done all in white and stood out against his newly tanned skin. "I wanted to at least send more flowers, but it was too late at that point."

I was too choked up to say anything.

"I had a standing order with the flower shop to deliver roses each time they got a new shipment." Justin wiped my face. "In case you were wondering."

"I was, actually," I said stupidly. "That was really sweet, with the tattoo and everything. Fuck those roses. They only made me madder every time I got them."

"I know how much you loved that baby, and even though I didn't agree with it, I understand."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"No, did you?"

I shook my head. "I didn't think Esme could take another shock."

"I figured I would let you say something, if you wanted."

"Do you still love me?" I asked, needing to know.

"How could you even ask me that question?" He rested his forehead on mine. "I don't think I've ever loved like this in my life. It actually hurts. You have my heart and my soul; I'm willing to give you anything else. Just…stay with me. I need you here."

I couldn't help myself as I rose on my toes and meshed my lips to his.

It was one of those explosive, eruptive, electrifying, epic kisses that should only be shown in movies. After two years apart, neither of us was holding back and flashes of memories started flooding back of a time when I was happy with Justin. Could we have that again? Everything was telling me yes. It was going to take years, tons of tears, and a lot of shouting on my part, but was I willing to even give him that chance?

What was I giving up by not staying? A shot at true love? A once and a lifetime spark? I was young, but I knew Justin and I had it. We had been through it all and the strength of my feelings was making it almost impossible for me to deny the possibility of staying.

Once we were both exhausted, we pulled away slightly. Justin's forehead was on mine again as his breath washed over my face. I had soft tears on my face and he wiped them away. I had made my decision and by the look in his eyes, I could tell that he knew what I was thinking.

"I love you, Selena. Always and forever."

[yvaquietdays]

No Excuses (but also some excuses)

Warning: the following post contains a lot of naval gazing...

I should probably apologise for the lateness of this blog post. Or maybe, on second thoughts, I shouldn’t apologise at all. I never intended this to be constant, bi-weekly affair. Just something I’d use as an outlet for any thoughts, opinions or feelings I had that I felt were worth sharing. In true me style however, updating this thing became a source of anxiety for me. What if I had nothing more to say? What if it’s already been said? What if people will expect more of the blog and I don’t deliver? What if my lack of studying in writing and literature becomes painfully apparent and the blog just becomes a viral embarrassment? Seriously. I know it’s irrational, you don’t have to remind me. But I did my best to quash those nervy b’s, to smash them into the ground with my sturdiest Doc Martens (which I’m excited to share have been worn in again now that the grass-scorching heat has dissipated and that gorgeous northern brew of rain and cloud cover has blessed the streets of London) with vigour, and perhaps a few beads of sweat from my upper lip. Sometimes they’re just whispers, in the back of your head, gently feeding the self doubt with seeds of dissent, until the crop grows more fully into something weedier, which is much harder to stamp out. It’s importantly quell those sneaky whispers regularly. Luckily, I kept doing just that; I only needed to update the blog when it was relevant, and if I didn’t feel like it, I didn’t have to. In the end if I have to apologise, it’s to myself (I am sorry if anyone was waiting on another post; I know I’m being pretty self absorbed here). I mean, I don’t think I kept any of you awake at night, clutching at your bed clothes, covered in tears and mud and ghosts, shrieking “WHEN WILL SHE UPDATE HER BLOG? I PRAYED TO THE HEAVENS AND I CALLED DOWN THE SPIRIT OF UNANNY AND STILL I AM LEFT HERE TO CRY ASUNDER?!” Or something along those lines. 

(I don’t know who Unanny is.)

So if I don’t feel like it, I don’t have to. That’s kind of been my modus operandi of late; if I’m not inspired, the universe just isn’t open for business. She ain’t sellin’. I try not beat myself up when I can’t execute an idea, or when I’m trying to write a draft for my novel and my neural pathways seem to be blocked up with desire for cheese and Harry Potter instead of lyrical wit and literary glory. I actively choose not to berate myself, but treat myself. I’ve been working steadily for the past year to nurse myself with kindness and to give myself more respect than before, to step forward in small steps of positivity rather than falling backwards into regret and self doubt. It’s constant, small work, rewiring your brain. But I think it’s been working. Some days I’m not certain, but for the most part, yes. 

See, I figured if I pushed myself when I wasn’t jiving with it, if I tried to scratch down the words or search the heavens for the melodies, to pull a sick “beat” out of my arse on Logic, it would certainly be insufferable. The worst kind of creativity. Just awful. If I try to force an idea, it won’t feel good, and that is in direct assault with my philosophy of kindness. I know what you’re thinking though, you have to fail in order to succeed, and I’d agree that is another trite but true platitude that I’ve been trying to adhere to. I’ve spent years avoiding true creativity or expression in the event that it will be the worst thing anyone (myself included) has ever heard, read or bore witness to in the history of all creative outputs, and that’s including Friday by Rebecca Black. Banger.

Eventually, I switched myself off from it, I turned away and kept myself in the dark, only trusting the light when someone had the good grace to give me a compliment. But there’s only so long you can rely on others for your self worth. And that time is finite, my friends. So I’ve been very focused on complimenting myself, on sitting in the light, in trying, failing, trying, failing. Life is a cycle, it all moves, life and death, we all get to start again. All of it. And I do believe that. I do. Just recently I’ve been working and writing and recording some things that have been purely experimental for me; I’ve so enjoyed fleshing out parts and lines, tearing my lyrics apart and compromising and hearing the bad sections and replacing them with better ones, only to change my mind about it being there in the first place, and all of this being a very good, very productive, very nourishing thing.

But when the goddess ain’t calling, I don’t call her and ask her why she isn’t picking up the phone. Instead, I'm just grateful in the moments of proper creativity; I write down my moments of inspiration, I note down the lyrics that flow unbidden into my brain, I find images that source the artistic ideas I want to follow up and I record melodies and song ideas into my phone. In those moments, however fleeting or short, I find comfort, and I thank myself for being such an incredible fucking genius.

OKAY RON. You’re right. I’m not a genius. 

My other motto in life is something an old friend said to me, and it has resonated with me ever since. Know what you’re good at, and know what you’re not. Know your skills and worth, but have the grace to admit your flaws and the things that have you stumped. Be strong enough to admit that you’re not perfect and when you can ask for help, you can usually take down anyone who looks at you condescendingly for not knowing just by saying that to them. You’re stronger and wiser for it, I think. There is nothing wrong with not having all the answers. And the guy (and it’s always a guy that laughs at me for asking...sigh), who thinks he is the pot of all knowing is usually stumped by your lack of shame or embarrassment. 

So the one thing I’m not good at is persisting. Whether that’s at picking up my guitar more, playing the piano, learning to use Logic or getting to grips with music production. Or maybe it’s just persisting in the face of my fears. I’m not sure, man. Is it the anxiety, or a genuine unease and lack of musical ability that stops me? I’m painfully aware that my knowledge of chords is slim, but I’m also horrendously aware that it’s because I don’t practise enough. So I’m not perfect, I’m not the best at this. I still have some ways to go in improving as an artist. I’m a lazy arsehole, and imma tell you all that. 

Frustratingly though - and this is kind of what I wanted to get on to - I keep seeing my former good vibe sentiment all over social media. You know, the one about being kinder to yourself, taking more time, forgiving yourself; “thank your inner diva!” And while I obviously think this a very commendable and instructive philosophy, I also believe it willfully ignores the hard, teeth baring work we have to do to undo all the negativity we’ve practised over the years. I’m a firm believer of the philosophy that we have to be kinder to ourselves to lessen the mental load, but we also have to graft and get our nails dirty, we have to be able to face our fears and we must not become complacent. This is my biggest fear (alongside being alone, failure, tiny clusters of small holes and little girl ghosts), that I’ll become a haven of positivity and light and a beacon for hope and transcendence in my downward dog pose, but I’ll also become a lazy fucker who’s convinced herself she doesn’t have to learn all the chords because the “universe hasn’t made me yet.” We have to tell ourselves when we’re being an insufferable twat, and fast. Pride is no longer fashionable to me. I know this makes me sound like a full tilt bozo, but it’s a genuine concern. In the last year I’ve fully inserted myself, bellend first, into yoga, mindfulness, meditation, exercise and being a zen queen. I’ve challenged myself mentally in ways I wouldn’t have even considered when I was younger, I’ve accepted blame and flaws about myself, I’ve done it all. But my pale white scrotum is still so very privileged and doesn’t want to do the hard work. It doesn’t want to fertilise the soil. I just want to plough into it ‘cos it feels good. But what if I wake up one day, with my pale scrotum in hand, ready to fertilise, and I’ve been left barren and empty? What if I’ve wasted it all trying to save it all up for that one good plough, but then the opportunity never comes? WHAT IF I MISS THE OPPORTUNITIES AND THEN ALL THE FIELDS HAVE BEEN FERTLISED BY SOMEONE ELSE?!?? Okay. So I have to do better. I have to play when I don’t feel like it. I have to learn musical theory so it is ingrained in my synapses. I have to fertilise the bloody soil with all the creative jizz I can muster; whether it’s good, nutritious, exciting stuff, or whether it’s weak and half-arsed. The field doesn’t mind. Any jizz is good jizz. I’m sure you’re wondering where I pulled that analogy out of but I’m sure you can all guess. Hint: you sit on it

The following excuses will not fly; • I don’t feel like it • I’m not inspired • I went for a run this morning and I’m tiiiired (whiney voice required) • I have to finish this Herbology class on my Hogwarts Mystery game • I worked for a whole four hours this morning • The onions made me cry • I’ve already written some lyrics this week (whiney voice also required with this one) • I have no money • I haven’t showered yet • The plants need watering, the towels need washing, need to buy food, all the chores etc. • Charlie Weasley wants to be my friend on Hogwarts Mystery game and I’ve always wanted to be a Weasley • I spent two hours looking at houseplants online and didn’t buy anything • I’ve been trawling the internet for pictures of James McAvoy and his girlfriend to see if he’s truly happy and wouldn’t rather be with me instead Ultimately the only acceptable excuse I will accept is that I’m menstruating. So I urge you all to do the same (persist, not menstruate). Please let me know that you’re guilty of this too. I’m tired of seeing all these bloody proactive “influencers” pouncing out and assaulting me with their life positivity and perfect, shiny, stylish lives. 

Ok. I’m looking forward to my next post a little more now. And talking about something else other than jizz and scrotums.

Let’s keep trying. xxx

[30-days-of-exciting-stuff-blog]

Day 4 - Litbaits

Since I started out last autumn, I sometimes freak out when I think about the number of working hours I have lost to silly, mostly avoidable things such as freaking interesting Youtube channels, less interesting Youtube material, intense texting, late electricians who have been 20 minutes away from my flat for 2 hours, feelings, hangovers, disturbing hair, ankle sprains (unless there are world-saving issues involved, don’t run with high heels), uncooked lunches (I’m definitely not paying four euros for disgusting sandwiches), buying toothpaste, French politics (presidential campaigns, especially presidential campaigns gone wild, are a bad time to start a PhD), late-night internet digging, and the list goes on and on. Nevertheless, it’s the first time I lose three fucking working hours in a row to a social media campaign.

If a few months for now these few hours turn out to be just the extra time I needed to submit a paper (or, Flying Spaghetti Monster forbids, it, my PhD) on time, blame it on a Dallas bookstore called The Wild Detectives and their genius campaign idea. On National Read a Book day (September 6th, for the record), the library used clickbaits to trick people into reading classic novels. With the slogan “you fell for the bait, now fall for the book”.

I usually hate clickbait. I entirely loathe it. In case you are not familiar with the term, it refers to sensationalist headlines that withhold just enough information for you to desperately want to click on the link; at the expense of the accuracy of the information, or the quality or the content. Clickbait doesn’t care about deceiving you, as long as a page view was generated (yay money). Clickbait doesn’t care about reducing journalism to noisily demanding attention. Clickbait kills kitten. Clickbait definitely isn’t something I expected to make my day at some point in my life.

Clickbait, in a nutshell. Except clickbait doesn’t even want you to keep paying attention. A fraction of a second is enough, as long as you click.

But in The Wild Detectives’ campaign, called Litbait, you don’t get “8 reasons why your relationship may be doomed, the 6th will surprise you” or “This 10-year-old boy made a discovery that will change his life”. You get “Teenage girl tricked boyfriend into killing himself” (Romeo and Juliet), “You’ll never guess what happened to this Kansas teen after this tornado destroys her home” (The Wizard of Oz), “This Italian politician makes Trump look like a saint” (The Prince), “Romanian discovers shocking fact about garlic” (Dracula), and my personal favourite “British guy dies after selfie gone wrong” (The Picture of Dorian Gray). And when you click, you are redirected to the whole. Freaking. Book.

Too bad he died, his mastery of Instagram filters looked impressive as well.

Of course when the campaigned gained slight media attention again, a few days ago, someone posted about it on a beloved forum thread and it rapidly turned into the most amazing game between fellow bookworms: Turn favourite reads into litbaits, and guess the book behind other people’s creations. And just like that, my afternoon was gone. Here are a few of them:

“What this ex-jailbird does when he meets a little girl will make you cry” “She enters a forbidden room. What she finds inside is terrifying” “This man travels to deliver a message of peace, things don’t go as expected” “You’ll never open your cupboard the same way again” “He buys a tablet of chocolate and his life changes forever, find out how !” “This librarian only eats bananas, find out why !” (I love this one) “Her method to get great legs will leave you voiceless”

Legs that make you feel like you’re constantly walking on knives, but still.

Did you get them ? Les Misérables, Bluebeard, the Bible, The Chronicles of Narnia, Charlie and the chocolate factory, Discworld, The Little Mermaid (the pun was totally intended for this one).

If my fellow people from the thread read this: I am amazed at your spirited litbaits and you give me hope for the future of humankind. As long as there will be books and fun people around, life will never get boring. Long live litbaits.

And also: No music (re)discovered today, so I’m kind of cheating here as I’ve been listening to this song quite often for a few months already. But I feel that my upcoming trip to Dublin is having a significant influence on me, because I find myself fangirling over Flogging Molly even more than usual. (Drunken Lullabies isn’t their only song) (Even though it’s eargasm material as well)