#i know labour have a whole host of issues

[waywardhufflepuff]

I turned 18 in 2009 and have voted in everything since. Before yesterday that included four general elections and a referendum that went the opposite way to how I voted. Finally after 15 years of being eligible to vote I've been on the winning side. Fuck the Tories. They've done more than enough damage. Now the hard work begins.

[tyran-the-tyranical]

Possible inspiration for Messmer

I don’t know if anyone’s come to this conclusion yet (tbh ppl probably have but ima continue anyway) , but I have a possible inspiration for Messmer: Méche and his three serpents.

There are a lot of different cultural myths that inspired Elden ring, and there’s a lot of Irish inspiration too, and I cannot read about Méche and not think Messmer was inspired by him. For instance:

“Berba — into it the three snakes which were in the heart of Méche, son of the Mórrígan, were cast, after he was killed by Mac Cecht in Mag Méchi.”

Okay, for starters, Méche is a (supposed) son of the Irish goddess of war called the Mórrígan. The issue with his birth is, as stated above, is that he was born with three snakes within his heart (or he had three hearts with a snake in each but same thing), and well doesn't Messmer also have three snakes? his two outer ones and the abyssal serpent within,

And don't get me started on the whole naming convention of Mórrígan/Méche and Marika/Messmer. But sadly for Méche this was a big no-no due to his snake's destructive nature, and as a result, they killed him and his snakes, but there's also a little more I want to delve into:

Berba (Poem 13)

The Barrow, enduring its silence,

that flows through the folk of old Ailbe;

a labour it is to learn the cause whence is called

Barrow, flower of all famous names.

No motion in it made

the ashes of Mechi the strongly smitten:

the stream made sodden and silent past recovery

the fell filth of the old serpent.

Three turns the serpent made;

it sought out the soldier to consume him;

it would have wasted by its nature all the kine

of the indolent hosts of ancient Erin.

Therefore Diancecht slew it:

there was rude reason for clean destroying it,

for preventing it for ever from wasting

above every resort, from consuming utterly.

Known to me is its grave where he cast it,

a tomb without walls or roof-tree;

its evil ashes,–no ornament to the region

found silent burial in noble Barrow.

(The Metrical Dindshenchas)

So, in this description, they describe how they 'buried' his ashes in the river Barrow, and they describe it as a sort of cleansing of his snakes due to the water being ' a tomb without walls or roof-tree.'  It kind of speaks about the water's purifying nature of the serpents' corruption. Why am I bringing this up?

Well, another major theme about Messmers' area in-game is that everything is randomly flooded; there's water everywhere around the keep (ok maybe not everywhere but u get what I mean) there are flooded areas of just water and I even think under there that there's something to do with a corpse of godwyn beneath one of the flooded areas but don't trust me 100% on that, anyway, the presence of water and especially flooding his keep and the places around it kinda calls back to Méche and his death, but idk it's probably just a coincidence since still water already has meaning in the main game with the whole scarlet rot thing and all, but I just thought it was interesting to mention.

[dramionediscussion]

Hi! So I haven't been following Dramione / Harry Potter fanfics community in a while and imagine my surprise that lots of post has been about the monetization of fanfics.

Initially I thought it was more of seller on Etsy selling their service of printing and book binding by request, so they are selling the printing and book binding service, not the actual fanfic works themselves, but then the more I read the more I realized it's actual sellers selling the fanfics in published hardcopy book form for profit without permission, which is just shocking, appalling, unethical, and really sad that this has caused numerous authors to pull the plug , so to speak , and pull out their fics as a way to protect their works. Not to mentioned with this gaining traction it increases the chances of original authors possible banning fanfictions all together since people are profiting from their work essentially.

Anyway, recently I have mostly been involved in smaller fandoms , or recently established fandoms, which much smaller community or smaller numbers of published fics, so I haven't heard much of this fanfic seller issues happening there.

Has this issue impacted other fandoms especially the big ones like Star Wars, Marvels, Supernaturals, etc? Also, aside from reporting the sellers, is there anything more proactive that we can do as readers, writers and community members? Has there been any actions towards raising this to The Organization of Transformative Works (the one heading AO3) for more concrete protection measures for everyone involves?

Thank you!

Hi!

Initially, authors said that the bookbinding profits were just from materials to make the physical book and the person's labour, but now that is not the case. Also, the binders would get permission or pay an artist to use their art in the books.

I don't know if this is affecting other fandoms, I haven't seen any Dramione author or fan say that they are seeing this elsewhere. If anyone knows, please leave a comment!

But people are saying in the Dramione tag that they have reached out to AO3, but haven't heard anything. I don't know how AO3 will stop this or help to be honest. They are just a host for the works. They give people the option to download fics. Some people on the tag were saying they were gonna try to contact AO3 and see if they can make downloading optional, so authors can choose if they want their fic to be downloadable.

But AO3 is a huge company, I don't see them caring unless this whole bookbinding thing starts getting the attention of JKR (who seems to be preoccupied with advocating for the removal of basic human rights).

BUT ALSO!!!

This is causing a lot of fans to start downloading their favourite fics before authors remove them. I am already seeing people sharing PDFs over on the Dramione subreddit. Many authors don't like this either. Download it for yourself, but do not share. So now they are gonna have to deal with this too.

-Lisa

[cathkaesque]

actually i would be interested in your thoughts on hierarchies and hierarchical organising. i'm a communist myself but i keep also not settling into one kind of idea about hierarchies since I do agree about non-hierarchical organising not getting work done, have heard this from some organisers i know, but also I still need to do more reading around this and we've also had discussions on this in our group, so i do want to know more if you want to talk about this. ty!

Hiya! I have a lot of thoughts about this. I've had good and bad experiences of both. I am extremely delirious at the moment so this might not make sense, but

I think you've seen my post I just made on non-heirarchical organising and I'm really not a fan of horizontalism as both a practice and an outlook. A lot of these approaches stem from a very 2000s anti-globalisation movement idea of being the change you wanted to see in the world and creating the conditions for revolution by creating microcosms of total democracy. The result is that these organisations tend to have really weird, byzantine structures that only people who are well versed in the lingo can negotiate effectively. There was also a weird fixation on not having meeting chairs in the free education campaign I was on the periphery of, and these meetings tended to be pretty chaotic. Strange things about hand signals as well. There have been big moments in the last few years where organisations using these practices have suddenly swelled in ranks and then not being able to capitalise on this. Going back to the free education movement, there was a huge mass meeting at the start of the semester at my university, I think it was in 2012, hosted by the students' union which had been partially captured by people from the free education movement. Everyone wanted to get on with talking about how to take the campaign against the fee rises forward...but first we had to come up with a structure that wouldn't involve heirarchies. The discussions were long and boring and dominated by people who were into that approach and it ended up killing the whole thing. I think this practice has lost a lot of its explicit ideological appeal since the collapse of the social movements that emerged from the 2000s. A part of that collapse can be linked to these practices.

The issue with more hierarchical organisations is that work tends to end up concentrated among a very small number of people, who then end up dominating the group and/or burning out under the workload. Only a small number of people get the experience of carrying out the tasks of organisation. My experience of the SP was of an extremely heirarchical organisation, where political perspectives and activity were very much set by the viewpoint of the centre of the party and then translated to branches via the full time party workers. There was no way for the membership to replace or remove the leadership of the party (something that became a big issue when the 50 year long general secretary Peter Taaffe starting developing dementia) and the only input they had into policy was amendments to the perspectives document, which was essentially a discussion of what we thought was going to happen the following year. The document was written entirely by the central leadership and amendments were often diluted. This structure was unable to take on new initiatives or ideas from below, and when presented with a problem that it wasn't expecting (the SP had always thought that there was no way for leftists to take over the Labour Party, and then that happened with Corbyn) it wasn't able to easily come up with new approaches that fitted with the time. Increasingly the active part of the party was really the full time apparatus, with the membership as their foot soldiers whose role was essentially to fundraise to keep said apparatus solvent.

That being said, it did provide a good source of political education. The practice of weekly lead offs (short 20 min lectures followed by discussion). I developed as an activist while in the organisation, became a competent public speaker. However, every lead off ended with a response from the speaker where they integrated the questions that were raised into the established party line. When that line fell apart, there were diminishing returns.

I also don't really think organising based on command and control systems is appropriate to neoliberal societies. I remember hearing, I think this was discussed in an account of the Hong Kong uprising, of widespread distrust of "the stage" - people did not trust or want to listen to established political organisations. The issue we have today is our culture is hyperindividualised and people (rightfully) are suspicious of those who want to exert control over them or give them orders. People's political perspectives are totally disoriented and heterogenous. A lot of these opinions are also, frankly, stupid. So any appropriate structure would have to both be able to take into account these and facilitate the construction of consensus among participants, and crucially political education and not political education in the form of wrote learned Marx Engels Lenin, memorising quotes and dogmas rather than engaging with the thought as a living methodology, and an investigation on how the world works. The focus of any political organisation should be building the political capacities of participants in the organisation.

Generally a lot of my ideas for what a good structure would look like come from Walter Citrine's ABCs of Chairmanship. An organisation is based on a membership - people who have agreed with a fundamental set of positions and agreed to contribute to the running of the organisation (i.e. paying dues on a sliding scale based on employment status). Members are organised into local branches; functionary positions in this branch should, if the organisation is small, rotated between active participants so everyone can learn how to undertake these tasks, or directly elected at a regular general meeting if the organisation is larger (i.e. 50+ members say). National policy should be set at a national conference, where branches propose motions to be debate and voted on by elected delegates. A motion is passed at a branch level . It's a very bog standard organisational approach - but I would kill for their to be a radical left organisation that was based on member democracy rather than democratic centralism or horizontal consensus.

I do feel that issues with structure are a feature of political stagnation and disorientation rather than something inherent to one approach or another. A consensus based or top down structure that is made up of people who are engaged in good work, with a good idea of what they are doing, and believe in what they're doing, will always be healthier and more dynamic than an organisation with the perfect structure which is inert.

But yeah, I'm totally delirious with covid, so this is a stream of thought, but hopefully something made sense in there.

[stackslip]

the thing is i've seen campaigns and arguments that people should vote out the board members in the next elections and put new policies in place but ngl i think the rot was there from the very beginning and not only is it going to be very difficult to throw out the whole clique who have been running the show (both for practical reasons--being involved from the start and knowing the otw inside and out--and bc most people don't know or care as long as ao3 is running) but even if you do--what next? the issue is that it's baked into the very structure of the org and how it functions. you can change the ToS and try to put new policies in place but how do you assure that they are enforced and that people with higher clout/longer history actually do anything? how do you get people to even agree on the new policies?

and re the racism and harassment--i've seen people propose solutions such as a diversity consultant and stricter policies around unlisting blatantly racist content, but like. how is a diversity consultant going to do anything when the vast majority of the people running and volunteering for the website are white and fundamentally resistant to change of any kind? if you encourage reporting, who's going to respond to these reports and how can you assure their fair judgement? if that work only goes to volunteers of color, how do you think seeing so much of that content and having to deal with it is going to affect their physical and mental health? will it be automated or manual, and how do you resolve conflicts on the outcome--whether it's the person checking the report deciding that this isn't racist or bad, or taking down the work of an author of color talking about their experience in a way that differs from a white moderator's expectations? and how would you even be able to check all these reports manually without delegating that kind of labour to people who are either unpaid or paid incredibly low?

re the csam--beyond the spam attacks, this is the same issue that happens with any website or forum or online space that allows pictures even with third party hosting! this isn't to exonerate ao3 in any way but this is so widespread and difficult to combat and again the same issues come up--delegating this kind of traumatizing work to unpaid volunteers or low paid workers, doing little to nothing to ensure their safety or breaks. this is the case for every big website! and like ok you can put new policies in place, again, but with the existing culture of bullying and harassment, and the sheer weight of the workload--even if you manage to vote out everyone on the board and legal, how are you going to take care of these issues when this is baked into the structure of the org AND without hurting or exploiting people who have to manually review every fucking report?

idk what the solution is. i think the otw is beyond repair. it says a lot that volunteers kept quiet about this culture for years, bc they believed in the mission of the otw and ao3's use, and because they feared retaliation from the org and its most rabid defenders, and because they worried about this being used to argue against the fundamental mission of ao3 that they personally did strongly believe in. rn things are coming out but i imagine many people are still remaining silent bc of these exact issues. i have no doubt the number of volunteers is going to fall drastically, and that this will increase their workload, and again even if you put new policies in place the very structure of the org and workload is going to lead to very similar situations and to the same kind of exploitation, and possibly lead to ao3's malfunctioning and having more and more issues. maybe it's time to think about creating new archives? not just as protest but bc relying on a single website was always going to be an issue, and maybe multiple separate archives, while not as convenient, will at least reduce the issues and abuse by having a much smaller org with a less strict hierarchy and less pressure on volunteers. idk man. it's all so fucked, and sad.

[hardynwa]

Tinubu's Vicory: Afenifere crisis reopens as Fasoranti disagrees with Adebanjo

The latent crisis in the apex Yoruba socio-cultural organisation, Afenifere, has become active again as two foremost leaders of the group have disagreed over the emergence of Bola Tinubu as the President-elect. Mr Tinubu of the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) was on 1 March declared the winner of the 25 February election by INEC. But Afenifere, under its acting leader, Ayo Adebanjo, rejected the declaration, saying Peter Obi of the Labour Party, who came third, actually won the election. Afenifere had endorsed Mr Obi for the election, saying it is the turn of the Igbo people of the Nigerian South-east to produce the president. However, the stand of the Adebanjo leadership appears not to enjoy the support of many leaders of Afenifere, including Reuben Fasoranti, who is the leader of the organisation. Mr Fasoranti had named Mr Adebanjo as the acting leader of the group in 2021 when he stepped down from the position on account of his advanced age. Dissatisfied with the endorsement of Mr Obi, Mr Fasoranti had last year hosted a reception for Mr Tinubu in which he blessed his presidential bid. The current exchanges followed a statement on Tuesday after a meeting presided over by Mr Adebanjo in Isanya Ogbo in Ogun State, in which Afenifere formally rejected the results of the presidential election. The statement countermanded a message by the spokesperson of Afenifere, Jare Ajayi, congratulating Mr Tinubu on his declaration as the President-elect. in Tuesday’s statement, signed by Mr Adebanjo and the group’s general secretary, Sola Ebiseni, Afenifere said it has evidence that Mr Obi won the election. “The results of the lawful votes at the presidential election available to the Afenifere through credible sources confirm that Peter Obi, the presidential candidate of the Labour Party, won the said election,” the group said in the statement. It also announced the suspension of Mr Ajayi and the National Organising Secretary, Abagun Omololu, for issuing the congratulatory message to Mr Tinubu. However, in a statement he issued in Akure a day later on Wednesday, Mr Fasoranti said Afenifere could not have asserted that someone other than the person declared by the body authorised to do so by the Nigerian Constitution is the winner of the presidential election. Mr Fasoranti noted that the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) had declared Mr Tinubu as the winner of the election. “Our National Publicity Secretary of Afenifere, Comrade Jare Ajayi, issued a congratulatory message to the President-elect after he had been issued a Certificate of Return by INEC. This was cited as an ‘uncouth activity’ by the Communique mentioned above which further stated that Abagun and Ajayi were ‘suspended sine die, pending further decisions after their appearance before and recommendations by the Disciplinary Committee’. “Meaning that the two were pronounced guilty and consequently sanctioned even before their appearance before a Disciplinary Committee. “This type of position is alien to us in Afenifere, which does not conduct itself as an agent of the state, let alone as an electoral umpire. We accept the results of the elections at all levels as declared by INEC until otherwise decided by competent courts in the land. “Presently, the whole world knows that Nigeria has a President-elect in the person of Asiwaju Ahmed Bola Tinubu, a true Yoruba son and nationalist. “We in Afenifere not only acknowledge this, but we also take delight in his in-coming Presidency and are confident that he will, by the grace of God, return Nigeria to the glorious position that all of us will be proud of. Which was why I also congratulated him in a personal letter I sent to him.” Mr Fasoranti also recalled that he had personally endorsed Mr Tinubu on 30 October 2022 in the presence of notable people from all parts of Yorubaland at his residence in Akure. “How can we then turn round and condemn the election of such a person? We never did,” he said. On the suspended officials, Mr Fasoranti said no report was made to him on any misconduct of the officials or any queries issued to them. He said Afenifere believes in justice and fairness and would not support an arbitrary removal of officials. “Afenifere believes in the rule of law and the fundamental rights of all, including the right to a fair hearing,” the statement further read. “For these and other reasons, the purported removal and suspension are null and void. The two officials should be commended rather than condemned for the selfless services they are rendering to Afenifere, the Yoruba race and Nigeria and humanity. They are hereby so commended.” Mr Adebanjo and the group’s General Secretary, Sola Ebiseni, backed Mr Obi who has also rejected the results declared by INEC. However, many other leaders of Afenifere were not with them in their campaign for Mr Obi. A source in Afenifere said efforts were made to reconcile the positions but Mr Adebanjo stuck to his position. “I don’t know why Adebanjo is not carrying Baba Fasoranti along,” the source, who asked not to be named, said. “Baba Fasoranti is still the leader of the group, he is not dead yet. Adebanjo is supposed to be acting on his behalf,” the source added. Read the full article

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Perfect Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 完美之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

More from this collection: Gavin l Kiro

[ Released in CN on 24 Dec 2020 ]

MC: Ha--ahh--

During the fourth hour of the meeting, I finally can’t help myself and release a long yawn. 

Before my mouth can shut in time, I meet the eyes of Victor, who is sitting in the middle of the long table. 

Victor: ...

Victor: That’s all for today’s meeting.

Everyone in the meeting room releases sighs of relief, leaving the room in groups. 

When we’re the only two people left in the meeting room, Victor lifts his head and sends me a straight look. Understanding it, I hurriedly head over to receive a lesson.

Victor: Were you working overnight on a program again?

MC: I promised to give it to you today. So of course I had to spend the night finishing it!

Victor: I remember saying that it wouldn’t be late even if you gave it to me tomorrow. 

But it’s Christmas tomorrow... I say this inwardly while pretending to look humble, nodding my head repeatedly. 

Victor: Don’t do what you can’t accomplish. 

MC: Yes yes yes, CEO’s criticisms are correct. Now, could I give you my report on...

Just as I’m prepared to verify the itinerary for tomorrow, an employee returns and interrupts.

Employee: CEO Victor, there’s a small issue regarding the program you mentioned during the meeting earlier...

Victor signals with his gaze that I should wait at the side for a while. I keep the schedule that I had taken a long time to prepare.

With nothing to do, I stare out the window. The setting sun is hanging low along the horizon, and the streetlights lining the roads have started lighting up in succession.

Mainly red and green coloured lights entwine around the trees flanking the roads, and lights in the shape of stars and snowflakes embellish the open land around the city.

MC: It’s Christmas tomorrow...

Ever since we spent a rather hurried Christmas the previous time due to work, I’ve been looking forward to the arrival of the subsequent Christmas.

Despite knowing that Victor doesn’t care about such festivals, I hope we can leave a perfect and ordinary Christmas in our memories. 

Which is why since a week ago, I’ve “bribed” Goldman, troubling him to help keep Victor’s time on Christmas free.

Victor: Why are you in a daze? 

Returning to my senses, I realise that Victor has already finished his discussion, and has his arms folded over his chest while looking at me. 

I once again open the schedule book Goldman left me, pointing at the line which reads “Spend Christmas together with MC”. 

MC: Cough cough. CEO Victor, Goldman has requested that I remind you about tomorrow’s schedule.

He sweeps a glance at the notebook, his expression blank as he turns to grab his coat off the back of the chair. After taking a few steps towards the door of the meeting room, he turns his head towards me with a frown.

Victor: Do you have plans tonight?

I shake my head in confusion, not comprehending why he’d ask such a question.

Victor: So why are you still in a silly daze? Don’t Christmas celebrations start from Christmas Eve? 

-

By the time we leave the shopping mall carrying heavy Christmas supplies, the open square next to it is already filled with crowds here to visit the Christmas market. 

Our car ambles past the restless streets. I can’t help but roll down the window and take a deep breath. It’s as though the romantic ambience of Christmas is being swept along with the cold air.

Victor: Opening the window while smiling in a silly manner. Don’t weep and wail when you breathe in a stomach full of cold air. 

The window of the car rolls up slowly. I pull a long face at the reflection of Victor in the glass.

Broadcast Host: ...it’s another year of Christmas. I trust that every citizen of Loveland City is looking forward to the arrival of this beautiful festival. 

Broadcast Host: This Christmas, the Loveland Financial Group will be giving citizens of Loveland City a big Christmas gift at 12am!

Broadcast Host: ...if you have any Christmas wishes, you could participate in our program by typing “LFG’s Perfect Night” in our social media account.

The voice of the broadcast host seems especially excited within the enclosed vehicle. 

This is a special Christmas broadcast by the Loveland City Government, sponsored by LFG. 

When I received this news a week ago, I tried extricating information furtively from Victor, but his response of “no comment” left me without room for argument.

MC: Victor, you really can’t disclose a little bit on what LFG’s big Christmas gift is?

Victor: LFG is just the sponsor. I’m not privy to the contents of the program.

Victor lowers his head as he flips through a report, looking uninterested in my question.

MC: ...how is it possible that you didn’t check the quality of the program? You even correct the punctuation marks in my proposals.

He doesn’t express an opinion, arching his brows. Refusing to give up, I squeeze my face on top of the report, trying to fill his entire field of vision.

MC: In that case, what does a perfect Christmas look like to you?

Victor: Do you think that I’m idle enough to think about this question while tossing and turning at night?

Sensing the hidden meaning in his words, my ears flush. With an awkward and polite smile, I return to sit at my side.

Through the reflection in the window, I see that he has once again lifted up the report, and I can’t help but mutter softly. 

MC: When someone asks you about your perfect Christmas, you should reciprocate and return the question...

Victor: Fireplace, Christmas feast, snow. A certain person has already posted her perfect Christmas on Moments twice.

MC: ...and you don’t know how to leave a ‘like’ even after seeing it.

Although my mouth is grumbling, the corners of my lips curl upwards involuntarily. I turn my gaze to the gloomy sky outside the window.

MC: It’s a shame that the weather forecast said it wouldn’t snow today...

Victor: Is snow that important?

MC: Of course! Just as how fried chicken is paired with beer, and how hamburgers are paired with Cola, Christmas must be paired with snow for it to be perfect.

Victor: At first glance, that does sound a little logical.

MC: It’s still very persuasive even if you give it a careful analysis! Also, everyone on Moments has been feeling regretful that there won’t be snow this Christmas...

Victor seems to be contemplative as he turns to look at the boundless night sky, the corners of his lips turning upwards with a small arc. 

-

Pushing open the door to Victor’s house, a bundle of heat waves rushes towards me.

With a sudden thought, I rush into the living room. Just as expected, the fireplace, which is normally “on strike”, is currently lit with a few tiny flames.

As though I've been set alight by these flames, my heart also becomes warm.

As compared to doing something trivial such as leaving a “like” on Moments, he always fulfils my wishes in a more direct manner. 

Pudding: Meow--

A ticklish sensation is at my calf. Lowering my head, I see that Pudding is rubbing the bottom of my trouser leg affectionately.

MC: Pudding, I’m wishing you a Merry Christmas too!

I carry it up, scratching it on the chin. All of a sudden, I start worrying.

MC: What if Pudding gets too close to the fireplace and gets hurt?

 Victor walks past me, both hands full with ingredients.

Victor: Do you think Pudding is as stupid as you are? 

Pudding: Meow meow meow!

Pudding seems to be responding in protest, struggling for a while before leaping out of my arms. 

MC: ...let me help too!

I roll up my sleeves, planning to give Victor a hand. 

Victor: If you want to eat soon, it’s better if you don’t cause trouble. 

My whole-hearted enthusiasm is doused by his cold water. I stand numbly in place.

Victor: If you really want to help, you could decorate the place with the trinkets you bought.

MC: Okay!

-

Folding my hands across my chest in satisfaction, I admire my work--

The small bells and coloured lights on the Christmas tree complement each other perfectly. The French windows in the living room are decorated with mistletoe wreaths - simple yet in good taste.

Snowman-shaped Christmas candles are on the dining table and coffee table, and a charmingly adorable Santa Claus doll leans against the arm of the sofa.

Most importantly, the Christmas present I’m giving to Victor is hidden in a certain corner of the living room.

MC: Pudding, what do you think?

Pudding circles and rubs against the legs of my trousers, letting out rumbling sounds. I remove a bow from a branch of the Christmas tree, tying it gently onto its neck.

MC: This is a Christmas present for you.

Just as I plan to call Victor over to check the fruits of my labour, a rich fragrance of cake drifts from the kitchen.

Without prior agreement, Pudding and I follow the fragrance and head towards the kitchen. Craning my head at the doorway to take a look inside, I find Victor half-squatting in front of the oven, looking very focused. 

He’s resting a hand casually on the marble kitchen counter, his slender fingers tapping on the surface rhythmically.

Ding-- Just like a magical sound, an even stronger fragrance assails the nostrils the moment the oven stops operating.

And this baking magician methodically “creates” a pair of brightly-coloured red mittens - the pair that I had pestered him to include in the shopping bag.

Despite how distasteful he felt towards the mittens in the mall, Victor still wears them as he pulls the baking tray out, carefully checking the colour and lustre of the cake.

MC: Pfft--

I can’t help but laugh aloud, and Victor immediately turns towards the sound.

Although he's been working in the kitchen for an hour, there isn’t a single oil stain on him. Not a single crease can be found on his shirt either. 

Even the stray hairs on his forehead remain as tidy as ever, falling naturally in front of his eyes.

It’s just that pairing the stern, cold appearance of Victor together with this pair of overly jubilant mittens seems a little out of place.

Pudding has long since given up resisting. It walks forward, pacing frantically in the vicinity of the oven.

Victor: Wipe the corners of your lips. Your drool is about to flow to the ground.

I subconsciously rub my mouth with my sleeve, but find that my the corners of my lips are dry.

MC: Liar... there’s no drool.

Amused, he taps Pudding’s head with the mitten.

Victor: I was referring to this greedy cat. Who asked you to take it as a personal attack?

Before I can salvage my pride, Pudding starts meowing, trying to tell Victor about my “crime”--

It shakes its neck. With a tactical retreat, it struggles free from the bow I gave it.

MC: I put it on so it could celebrate Christmas too. But the bow’s probably too heavy, so it doesn’t like it...

Victor stands up, then cuts a thin ribbon from the bag of ingredients on the counter. He bends down and ties it onto Pudding.

MC: That’s right, why didn’t I think of using...

Before I can finish my words, I watch as Victor picks up the bow that Pudding rejected, stretching out his arms and encircling me gently.

His upper body leans slightly on my side, and I feel his steady breaths on the crook of my neck.

MC: ...Victor?

Victor: Don’t move.

My body tenses up, and I don’t move an inch. The fragrance of cake from his arms encases me, and my heart rate involuntarily quickens.

A faint rustling sound drifts from behind me, followed by a weight on my ponytail.

Victor: Done. 

I reach out to touch the ponytail on my head, discovering an additional bow on it.

Victor: This way, both greedy cats have bows.

...Victor actually does such childish things too. Could this be what they call “loving the house and its crow”?

[Note] MC is making reference to an idioms, 爱屋及乌 (“ai wu ji wu”), which conveys how if you love a person, the love extends to even the crows on their roof. It means you love everything about something or somebody.

Of course, I lack the boldness to make such a thick-skinned comment. I simply keep touching the bow on my ponytail happily.

MC: Pretty?

Victor: Pretty. Just that you smile like a dummy. If you continue smiling like a fool, your Christmas feast will get cold.

[Note] I’M SCREAMING. MC is clearly asking about the ribbon, but her question is written in such a way that it’s ambiguous as to what she’s referring to. SO VICTOR SAYS SHE’S THE PRETTY ONE UIHRGEJKDV

The facts reveal that Victor underestimated my ability to eat.

Without giving the feast a chance to grow cold, I tuck into the meal while it’s still piping and fragrant. On the other hand, Victor doesn’t eat much.

MC: So full...

I look into the distance while holding my belly, leaning against the chair and sighing with emotion.

Victor: Why are you eating so quickly? No one’s snatching it from you.

MC: I couldn’t control myself since it was too fragrant...

Victor: In that case, what do you plan to do with this cake?

He points at the perfectly flawless cake at the far corner of the table. The tone he uses to ask this question is reminiscent of a CEO who is pressuring his employee to work overtime.

MC: I was too focused on eating the feast earlier and forgot there was still cake... But since girls have an extra tummy for dessert, I can do it!

While saying this, I’m reach for the cake. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Victor furrowing his brows.

Victor: Don’t force yourself if you’re full. The cake can be eaten later.

I retract my hands in embarrassment, then puff out my chest and clear my throat.

MC: Victor, in order to thank you for fulfilling my perfect Christmas, I’ve hidden a present for you in the living room. Search for it!

Victor’s gaze falls on the colourful decorations in the living room.

Victor: The present you’re referring to - is it how you didn’t make a mess out of the living room?

MC: ...of course not! Also, I put in a lot of effort while decorating, so of course I wouldn't make a mess out of the living room!

Seeing my flustered and exasperated state, Victor chuckles softly.

He stands up, walks to the Christmas tree, bending down to pick up a conspicuous box.

Victor: In that case, it’d be this box.

MC: ?!

MC: When did it get there? I distinctly remember hiding it.

Victor: When you were gorging yourself with food, Pudding carried it in its mouth and walked around in the living room for a long time.

MC: ...Pudding!!

Pudding: Meow--

The chief culprit licks its paw elegantly on the sofa, without feeling apologetic at all.

Victor sits down on the floor next to the Christmas tree, unwrapping the packaging of the box in an unhurried manner. I shift over to his side, filled with anticipation as I observe his expression--

Victor: ...

Victor: Are your designs too novel, or are your skills so poor that they have reached this level?

I lower my head to take a look. The painstakingly arranged handmade biscuits have gotten mixed with the shredded paper meant to be used as a cushion. Even I can’t tell how they looked like originally.

It’s all Pudding’s fault!

MC: H-hold on!

I snatch the box in a fluster, performing a “surgery” to separate the biscuits from the shredded paper. Victor purses his lips, revealing a faint smile.

MC: Done!

I once again present the box of handmade biscuits to him--

A Victor dressed in a Santa Claus outfit, a gingerbread-shaped me, and a few ordinarily-shaped biscuits meant as embellishments.

MC: How are they? I made them myself.

He reaches out to take the gingerbread biscuit, then holds it in front of my face.

Victor: Silly-looking - very similar to you.

Even though his assessment isn’t that nice to hear, the tender gleam in his eyes disclose his good mood.

MC: ...on account of the Christmas feast, I won’t bicker about this with you.

I hold up an ordinarily-shaped biscuit.

MC: Want to give it a try?

Before Victor can express an opinion, Pudding scurries out, grabbing the biscuit in my hand with its mouth.

MC: Pudding!

Just as I try it to release the biscuit from its mouth, Pudding nimbly leaps onto Victor’s shoulder. 

As though knowing that it has found a strong and powerful backing, it turns around unhurriedly, looking at me provocatively.

MC: Pudding, spit it out quickly. Cats can’t eat milk biscuits!

Victor observes the farce before him in slight interest, seemingly unperturbed by Pudding’s claws creasing his clothes, keeping himself out of the matter.

Pudding goes one step further to flaunt, affectionately rubbing the side of Victor’s face, seeking his protection.

Pudding: Meow--

Victor: I don’t participate in cat fights. 

Seeming to realise the reality that "God helps those who help themselves”, it turns around, leaping towards the sofa. I hastily chase after it.

The heavy curtains of a majestic human-cat chasing war are pulled open.

Pudding excitedly hops atop the sofa repeatedly for a while before turning to the dining table.

After numerous failed attempts of chasing it around, I change my tactics. Pretending to pass by Pudding unhurriedly, I suddenly pounce--

Pudding didn’t expect that I’d have such a card up my sleeve. It instinctively leaps into the air, finally planting itself squarely into the cake.

MC: ...

Victor: ...

I stand frozen in place, sensing two searing eyes at my back that seem to dig two holes into the back of my head.

MC: Erm... Victor... didn’t you keep the cake away...

After a period of silence from behind me, I’m at a loss on whether I should turn around to see Victor’s expression. All of a sudden, something flicks the back of my head.

Victor: Time for a bath, King of Causing Trouble.

He picks Pudding up with a hand, then walks to the bathroom with heavy steps.

...as expected, this Christmas can’t be spent perfectly just like before.

Although that's what I originally think, seeing Pudding lying in the wash basin with its eyes wide and with a piteous appearance makes me happy once again.

MC: Hahaha, Little Kitten, you have your day too~

Beside me, Victor’s movements are adept as he rubs the fur of the cat. Meanwhile, I playfully stack foam bubbles atop Pudding’s head.

MC: Look! A poop hairstyle!

Pudding obviously feels indignant, meowing complaints at Victor. Victor gives it comforting rubs on the belly.

Victor: Don’t fuss over things with a dummy.

I purse my lips in dissatisfaction. As though I‘ve lost all reason, I lift up a heap of foam bubbles and rub it onto Victor’s cheek.

MC: Santa Claus!

Victor pauses in his actions, lowering his head and arching his eyebrows while looking at me. 

Victor: Do you find this very interesting?

Reason returns to me, and I’m just about to reach out to wipe the foam bubbles away when he suddenly leans his face over, rubbing the foam bubbles onto my face.

Victor: Mrs Claus. 

-

An hour later, Victor and I finally put an end to this chaotic cat washing battle.

We are all taking a short break on the sofa in front of the fireplace. The wood in the fireplace crackles from time to time, and the warm yellow light from the fire casts our faces in occasional brightness and darkness. 

The sweet and refreshing scent of Pudding after its bath diffuses in the surroundings. The song “All you need is love” is playing from the broadcast, resonating in the living room. 

Feeling drowsy, I’m using Victor’s lap as a pillow. Occasionally, he uses a hand to comb through my hair.

MC: Victor... 

MC: Which movie is this song featured in? It sounds so familiar...

Victor: “Love Actually”. I remember someone mentioning liking that show. Looks like it was just a superficial fondness?

I turn, hugging Victor’s arm tightly before drifting entirely to sleep.

How nice, Victor still remembers that I like this movie. 

MC: If it were to snow this Christmas, it’d truly be perfect...

I mutter to myself, descending completely into dreamland.

-

Not knowing how long I've slept, I suddenly feel a weight on my face. Opening my eyes, I realise that half of Pudding’s body is sitting on my face. 

With a dark expression, I carry it away. When I sit up, I discover that a blanket has been draped over me, but Victor isn’t by my side.

The sliding door to the balcony, which was originally shut tight, is now pulled open halfway, and the curtains are drifting slightly.

Stepping closer to it, I find Victor standing at the outdoor balcony, lifting his head and thinking about something.

MC: Are you waiting for Santa Claus?

He turns around at the sound of the voice. Seeing the thin knitted shirt I'm wearing, he frowns. 

Victor: Why did you come out without wearing a jacket? 

I squeeze myself into his woollen coat, lifting my head and giving him a grin.

MC: I won’t be cold like this!

Victor: The turtledove occupies the magpie’s nest.

[Note] Victor’s use of the idiom, 鸠占鹊巢 (“jiu zhan que chao”), conveys the idea of seizing the territory of someone else.

Despite what he says, he tightens his grip around me slightly.

MC: Why did you come to the balcony? Aren’t you cold?

Victor: A dummy kept talking in her sleep, so I came out to get some peace and quiet.

MC: ...what did I say in my dream?

Victor: Wanting to have a snowball fight at one point, then wanting to build a snowman at another. Not even a moment of idleness the entire night. 

I suddenly recall that I did have a dream, and there seemed to be something snow-related in it. 

MC: What one thinks about in the daytime will be dreamt about at night... but...

I stick my face close to his chest, hearing the steady and powerful heartbeats drifting from it.

MC: Even if there isn’t snow this Christmas, I’m already very very contented. After all, I had a Christmas feast, baked next to a warm oven, and even saw Santa Claus!

I lift my head, deliberately giving him a teasing glance. He chuckles lightly.

Victor: And Mrs Claus.

That scene from the bathroom earlier is vivid in my mind. Embarrassed, I bury my face in his chest.

MC: Most importantly, I’m spending this Christmas with you. In my heart, this is the perfect Christmas.

My head remains buried in his chest, anticipating VIctor’s response. However, I suddenly feel something cold dripping on the roof of my head.

MC: ?!

I lift my head violently.

MC: Victor, are you crying...

It’s snowing.

The moment I lift my head, I see the entire sky filled with drifting snowflakes.

It’s actually snowing!

The sparkling, jade-like crystals rustle and land on Victor’s eyelashes, and very quickly turn into transparent water droplets.

I reach out to rub at his eyes gently, a moist and cold sensation on my fingertips.

MC: Victor! It’s snowing!

I happily unfurl my hands to welcome the snowflakes, showing them to Victor excitedly. However, I realise that his expression, which wears a slight smile as he looks at me, is not at all astonished by this unexpected snow.

Victor: Mm, it’s snowing.

An answer faintly surfaces in my heart. Before I can open to my mouth to probe further, the host’s voice from the broadcast drifts vaguely from the living room.

Broadcast Host: LFG... big Christmas gift... artificial snowfall... 

Just as expected!

It turns out that this snowfall was LFG’s Christmas surprise to the citizens of Loveland City. No wonder Victor looked like he was waiting for something on the balcony earlier...

I deliberately fold my arms across my chest, tilting my chin angrily.

MC: A certain CEO even pretended not to know anything about it...

Victor: I thought surprises meant that they wouldn’t be disclosed until the last second. Or does a certain dummy have an issue with this surprise?

Seeing him arching his brows, I immediately correct my posture obediently.

MC: No, no! On behalf of the citizens of Loveland City, I sincerely thank CEO Victor for the surprise!

He laughs in spite of himself, lowering his head and meeting my forehead.

Victor: Now, you can say that this is a perfect Christmas.

I hide in his arms as I look up at the sky. The snowfall is getting increasingly heavier. 

Even though I'm just wearing a thin woollen shirt, I don’t feel cold at all in his arms. 

It’s probably because the person before me has shielded me from all the piercing wind and snow, keeping them out of my world. 

MC: Come to think of it, do you really not have a perfect Christmas in your heart?

He once again tightens his grip on me, resting his chin on the top of my head.

Victor is silent for a very, very long time. It’s so long that I can hear the rustling sound of snowfall.

Victor: This moment right now. It’s perfect.

-

Phone calls: here

Texts: here

[inevitably-johnlocked]

I'm sorry if you already have a rec list for this but Tumblr sucks and I can't find anything so: do you have fics about their first time together? bonus if they're longer, and I'd love some good smut even if you don't get around to posting this I wanna say thank you for all the work you do, I wish every fandom had a you, you're a treasure! sending love from Italy xx

Hi Lovely from Italia!! :D <3 I’ve always wanted to go there, hee hee!

Ah, thank you for your lovely comments!! I am so happy you enjoy your time here! <3

Super excited because your ask gives me an excuse to clean out my First Kiss/Time List collection again with a Pt. 3 list! <3 I’m using any excuse right now because I’m SO FAR behind on Pt 1 lists so if I have a nice backlog I’m not as stressed hee hee.

ANYWAY, as per usual, my Lovelies, please add your own here!! <3

(NOTE to the Nonny who asked for “First Kiss”: wanted to post this list first, yours is coming soon!)

FIRST TIME Pt. 3

See also:

First Time || [MOBILE]

First Time Pt. 2

Virgin Sherlock 

Virgin Sherlock Pt. 2

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Insanity in the Middle by DotyTakeThisDown (E, 28,010 w., 8 Ch. || Equestrian Sports AU || Alternate First Meeting, POV John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Clueless Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Passionate Kisses, Hand Holding, Caught Making Out, Bed Sharing, Spooning, Blow Job) – John is a world-class eventing rider with a gold medal and several four-star wins to his credit, but he's never won at Rolex. Sherlock is an up-and-coming rider taking the sport by storm.

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (M, 52,748 w., 16 Ch. || Celebrity John AU || Alternate First Meeting, TV Host John, Supermodel Mary, Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Case Fic, First Kiss/Time, Meddling Mycroft, Drug Abuse, Doctor John, PDA, Deductions, POV Sherlock, Toplock, Sexual Tension, Angry/Rough Sex, Hopeful Ending, Asperger’s Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[whatevergreen]

"In March 2014, a year before he was elected leader of the Labour party, Jeremy Corbyn was invited onto the BBC’s ‘The Big Questions’ program to debate whether or not the west should go to war over Ukraine. Watching that debate today reveals to us all that Corbyn had an incredible insight into what could happen if the EU continued to bend to pressure from NATO and how the situation could potentially develop into a global economic disaster.

The show starts with LibDem MEP, Sir Graham Watson, saying that it’s our “moral duty to stand up to Russia” and telling us that “we must go in and defend the Ukraine.” He proposes sanctions but is also adamant that we should consider military action, which rather startles the host, Nicky Campbell, who questions the sanity of going to war with Russia. Campbell then turns to Corbyn for his thoughts…

“What my colleagues there were saying, it seems to me like a recipe for war and incredibly dangerous. I’m not supportive of Russian military action and I do think there has to be a peace process and there has to be a process of de-militarization of the Ukraine and sticking to the original non-nuclear agreement but I would also say this – the hypocrisy of the west is unbelievable on this! Where was the legality in the war in Iraq, where was the legality of so many other interventions made elsewhere and if one reads, very carefully, what all the Ukrainian forces are saying, yes there is a very nasty far-right force in Ukraine at the present time which is part of the government, there is also a more liberal grouping in the Ukraine, there is also a very large Russian grouping in the Ukraine who obviously have some loyalties toward Russia. Does Ukraine break up? That’s a matter for the Ukrainian people but the idea that we should move the whole thing, in rhetoric, towards some kind of military war against Russia seems to me an absolute disaster!”

Another panellist then suggests that we’re already in a pre-war situation because it’s not just about the threat to Crimea. He sees a threat to the Crimea as a threat to European security in general. Corbyn responds…

“I think the wider issue is that the EU has got very close to NATO. NATO has been pushing very hard to expand eastwards. Inevitably Russia is going to get very nervous if NATO sets up bases all around its borders, that in turn encourages Russian militarism. Can’t we go back to the point where Ukraine was a nuclear-free country that was not going to be a member of any alliance, either with Russia or with NATO and start to de-militarize and de-escalate the situation and allow a proper debate, much longer than a week, for people to decide their own future in Ukraine. It seems to me that there’s a terrible danger of a rush to a combination of an economic and a military war and goodness knows what the consequence of that will be… the UN, clearly if it takes a one-sided decision it’s going to get vetoed by somebody so, clearly, it cannot take that. Therefore it falls to the UN to try and bring the sides together and pursue a process of de-militarization but I’m quite alarmed by the way in which the NATO general secretary seems to be ramping up the ante all the time. It’s not his job to go around promoting wars, he’s meant to be answerable to a number of different governments. He appears to be behaving as though he’s some free agent that could say and do what he likes and develop this very very dangerous scenario. Ukraine has been the war ground of Europe for two centuries… millions have died in Ukraine from famine, from war, from occupation and from disasters.. let’s not visit that upon them again! Let’s try to de-escalate, de-militarize and bring about some kind of dialogue and peace process which will guarantee a peaceful future for those people and for Europe”

Watson then remarks that military interventions would have to be a last resort but he also asks what should be done if negotiations fail and Russia doesn’t pull back it’s troops. Corbyn’s response to this question…

“I’m not sure the Russian people, having lost so many in Afghanistan in the past want to see Russian lives lost in the Ukraine, any more than people in this country want to see us going into some ludicrous, futile, war which would have to end up with a political settlement. All wars end with a political settlement. Let’s start from the point of a political settlement, not start from the point of building up armed forces, moving fighter jets to Poland, mobilizing the fleet and all of these kinds of things… negotiate through.. and secondly.. the west has no moral authority whatsoever to lecture on this after the drone strikes, after Iraq, after so many other internal coups and conflicts around the world. Surely we should hand the thing back to the UN to try to bring about some kind of peace process and de-escalate the rhetoric, which is in danger of plunging us into a catastrophic war with nuclear implications”

I suddenly find myself wondering if the US arms industry might have had a hand in removing Corbyn from power. Imagine what a different place the world would have been today if Labour had won the 2017 general election and a Corbyn led government had sent mediators in to negotiate peace instead. I also can’t help but wonder if we’d have been able to avoid the current looming economic crisis (or at least lessened it), given that a Corbyn government would have invested heavily in renewable energy and started moving us away from gas and oil dependency – I’m sure the gas & oil companies are mightily relieved he isn’t running the government. I’m also convinced the US pharmaceutical giants are equally happy he isn’t running the show as he’d have made sure the NHS was off the table and he was also planning to create a publicly owned and funded pharmaceutical industry – imagine how much we could have saved by avoiding buying in pharmaceuticals from private companies (not just the Covid vaccine either).

In conclusion, I have to surmise that the people currently in public office, both here in the UK and over in the US and certainly in many European countries must be all bought and paid for and that includes most of the opposition parties as well."

Koser Saeed

Journalist, Researcher, Editor, Spotlight Newspaper

-

Follow the link at the top for the video

[flyonthewallmedstudent]

Watching House as a Physician.  Season 2 Episode 3. Infectious diseases & Respiratory.

Welcome to another episode of medicine done badly.  I’ve been watching House on Amazon prime.  Got the subscription during the pandemic, as like everyone else, I’ve garnered an online shopping habit now. 

Alright. In the opening scene a young roof worker falls off the roof presumably due to acute shortness of breath. i.e. trouble breathing. (why do we use the term shortness of breath? it’s the english version of the greek term dyspnoea - the actual preferred language of Western doctors. Fuck do I know why we like Greek and Latin so much. Moving on.) Then cut to Dr. Cuddy examining him in the back of the ambulance. 

This would never happen in real life. Yes you can be on the scene and handover to the paramedics or EMT when they arrive as a doctor. But they would take over. I personally wouldn’t have the balls to look after a patient in a different environment, different resources and field I’m not familiar with. You can have field Emergency docs - but requires different training. 

Also, ethically, you’re not meant to treat family or friends. Dr. Cuddy later in the episode gets a bit emotionally involved - this is why we don’t treat people close to us. We lose objectivity. We make mistakes. And you see later see Cuddy do some pretty bad ones. 

I feel like much of this episode is not really IM. THere’s less differential diagnoses being made. More side tracks into trauma, emergency, intensive care or vascular surgery. 

Anyhoo. Trauma and emergency would manage the fall and post fall traumatic injuries. And the trauma protocol was either not shown or completely off in this episode. Surgeons don’t seem to exist in House, at least not very much. Similarly, no other doctors exist except surgeons in Grey’s anatomy.  Also you can’t clear a C Spine clinically, which is what Dr. Cuddy does in the back of the ambulance. You’d need a CT first and clearance both radiological (by a radiologist) and a clinician. 

Aaaanddd, you can’t just listen to the chest and go no pneumothorax (air in lung or collapsed lung) - yes it’s reassuring, but again you’d need imaging to confirm this, given how serious a condition this is. It is realistic to consider in the setting of a fall, particularly if there are rib fractures that can puncture the lung.

Once the more critical injuries are managed, we would look after the IM side to things. 

So. Finally.. differential diagnoses.

Takes what seems and feels like days before they finally sit down and go through differentials. Really not much on that white board. Dark fingers, broken ribs, fever and lung infiltrates. Time line’s not clear on when he developed the fever.

Presenting complaint isn’t really addressed. It could be: - Dyspnoea, leading to the fall, he’s requiring O2 via nasal prongs, which suggests that he’s hypoxic (this is definitely odd in a young guy who’s normally very physical fit if he works as labourer). so much to unpack here, but they never get into this well.  Post fall, Cuddy notices his ring and pinky finger becoming dusky, which becomes very central in this episode. Very few things would cause this. pains me that they do no differentials on a white board for this alone. 

Then a lot of throwing around medical terms. 

PTT prolonged and Fibrinogen off. These are markers of your coagulation pathway and signs that you’re not forming the clots the way you should if you have an injury.  DIC is also thrown around. What is DIC? Disseminated intravascular coagulopathy. Certainly severe sepsis and trauma can cause this and lead to severe bleeding. It will throw off your coagulation pathways (things that stop bleeding). It’s not common. I’ve treated it once, while I was rotating in ICU, it is not standard ward medicine practice. Standard therapy is fresh frozen plasma (FFP) and even large metropolitan hospitals only have a limited supply. It’s a huge concern for surgery and post-op (as you patient will just not stop bleeding after you cut them open, and if not treated, potentially bleed to death). Cuddy mentions ARDS. Acute respiratory distress syndrome, it could be a complication, but it’s not a cause. Again, falls more into the realm of critical care (a la ICU). However, patient had SOB prior to the fall. Finally HOuse makes the observation. of “what if he was sick before he had his run in with gravity...” Everyone jumps to Pneumonia. And this is where it gets confusing.  If he was unwell, the minute he entered the emergency department with a fever and hypoxia, they would have worked him up for any garden variety pneumonia, bacterial or viral. Cultures would have been sent and imaging. Any young hypoxic patient would prompt a closer look at the chest. And no one waits that long to start antibiotics - “sepsis kills” is a slogan often used around hospitals. You have to initiate empirical therapy within 30 mins, to reduce mortality and morbiditiy. 

Ordering an Echocardiogram (USS of the Heart) also makes no sense in the context of a lung infection. I would order one, but not to look at the lungs.

Then there’s the most unrealistic thing about this series. Doctors breaking into patient homes.

It is however, a good way to showcase social history. It’d be boring to watch a doctor ask the patient outright about their living situation etc, but it’s far more interesting to see exactly how they live. We try as much as possible to illustrate to each other and ourselves what the living environment and working environment of our patients are like. 

In the context of infection, a good social history can point out exposure. As they exemplify by showing dead rodents and mould. This leads to 2 further differentials: Rat bite fever (caused by streptobacillus, something you’d see in the US, but probably not anywhere else), it’s an unrealistic differential in general. And the 2nd is aspergillosis.  Okay..  So aspergillus is a mould commonly found in our environment. In fact it’s everywhere around us. 

THere’s few times when it’s an issue.  It is a concern in respiratory syndromes like asthma or bronchiectasis. And also as an opportunistic infection in immunocompromised individuals. in the context of asthma, it’s not so much the aspergillus itself that causes issue, it’s our body’s over reaction. It’s a hypersensitivity issue that causes inflammation in the lungs or a pneumonitis. We even gave it a name. Allergic bronchopulmonary aspergillosis. It’s still badness, but it doesn’t happen that quickly. We also have specific tests for this, which were obviously not considered in this episode of medicine done badly. In the immunocompromised host (steroid therapy in transplant patients or those on chemo, etc.), you can get the invasive mould as an opportunistic infection.  I don’t really understand why they think it would be the case here. Also, killing the bug with heavy duty anti fungals will only give more issues rather than do anything. They start him on amphotericin. this is not standard practice.  And now it flips to why amphotericin is not standard practice or first line treatment for invasive aspergillosis. The patient has now become anuric (not making any urine). (First line drug by the way is voraconazole, superior efficacy in trials with a lower mortality rate and ADRs) Also, note that they have just jumped straight to dire renal failure from the amphotericin. No work up. That said, heavy drugs like amphotericin are often a cause, but  It’s often temporary with the appropriate supportive measures (stop insulting agents, give hydration, monitor fluid balance), reversible, even if you require temporary dialysis or haemofiltration. Anyways, would get into AKI another day, that’s a whole other post in and of itself.  Then his hand is apparently “dying.” There’s pain on light touch, but it’s not a cold, pulseless limb. Or discoloured. doesn’t add up. This now enters vascular surgeon territory. Again. It’s interesting that there’s never any referrals to any other teams. If he has good circulation, I would imagine they would try to save the hand and consider other differentials. 

The only time I can think of an emergency amputation in this situation is necrotising fascitiis. That’s the only thing that would occur that rapidly  AND necessitate losing tissue or limb.  With a young person who’s this ill, there’s often multiple subspecialties involved by this point. I’m also surprised he’s not in ICU.

Then there’s a buncha filler scenes of the cast of house getting emotional. Ho my god, they’ve taken the hand of a young 20 something physical labourer. Indeed, this is badness. Unlike House, we actually are trained to always consider how a patient’s illness impacts their activities of daily living and livelihood. 

I find the general population assumes that we practice medicine in a vacuum, we merely treat the clinical illness and ignore everything else. They imagine that we all must be like house. 

Actually we try to put things in perspective as much as possible and knowing our limitations in this area, we often enlist the help of friends - physiotherapists, occupational therapists and social workers. They never exist on TV or on the movies. Ever. Unless it’s to portray how terrible it is to be a social worker.  From time to time in this episode, Cuddy laments that being chief of medicine is too administrative and she hasn’t been a doctor in years. That also doesn’t happen in real life. If you’re chief you’re still a doctor. You have admin shit to do deal with yes, but you still practice. It’s like being chief resident, in all the TV shows with one of these, you still seem them working as residents, be it scrubs or grey’s anatomy. 

Back to the differential. They finally get to endocarditis. Culture negative to be precise. That indeed would explain the bilateral dusky fingers that led to unnecessary amputation. Septic emboli. 

Going to stop here, more out of exhaustion now. I’ve created quite a lengthy post. Happy to reblog thoughts on culture negative endocarditis on request later. This is a worthy topic to study up on for students or residents. At least review Duke’s criteria and think about your clinical features like Roth Spots and Janeway lesions or Ouch Osler’s nodes. 

The ending is also a far fetched connection to make, but is one that we would consider. In fact, we would ask in detail every time from day one - have you had any exposure to animals. It’s very rare to see someone so young be that sick out of the blue when you’re immunocompetent and have no underlying predisposing conditions. If there’s no focal source, then we would even ask about injectable recreational drugs, exotic travels, sexual health. 

Most of the time, patients that sick are honest to their doctors. 

But what about..

Frankly, much as we lie as humans, when our lives our on the line, we’re generally pretty honest (sometimes too honest) with the people we want to save us. 

Any patient who is young and comes to hospital requiring inpatient admission, they’d be investigated by subspecialties with expertise in certain areas such as infectious disease. The dept of infectious disease would either be home team, or all over this patient as they special in the realm of both common and rare infectious diseases, culture negative endocarditis would have been considered before a hand amputation.

The term, “department of diagnostic medicine is laughable,” particularly when they consider it the only department in the world in the show. 

In actuality, it’s a department that is universal and exists everywhere. it’s Internal medicine. Dr. Vivek Murthy, the next surgeon general (and also the last one under Obama) is an internal medicine physician. Ken Jeong of Community and the Hangover fame is also a physician of internal medicine. 

Beginning to get the sense that most episodes are going to end with a diagnosis that is either infectious disease, rheumatology or haematology. But generally those tend to be most interesting and give the most plot twists or meaty differentials V.s. a stroke or acute myocardial infarction is fairly straightforward to diagnose. 

This is a very twisty episode in all the wrong directions. 

Dyspnoea is a very common presenting complaint. There’s a properly done approach to this in the podcast by the Curbsiders by the way. 

[bonesthebeloved]

It’s a fine (taped) line

Summary: In which Roman isn't doing well after the events of SVS Redux and Remus finds him in their room next to a bunchof balled up tape that had separated them for years and years. Characters: Roman and Remus (Janus mention)

Triggers/ Squicks: crying/ breakdown. Mention of weapons and (mild)violence, intrusive thoughts, sea monster, swimming in natural water, eyes. (if I missed anything/ you’d like me to tag anything let me know.)

Words:2881 (I didn’t spell check this. We die like men.)

He was afraid

It hadn't been quite as long as he'd liked since the last time he'd been afraid like this. Not even a full week.

Afraid like a shiver that ran deep until you were sure you could hear your skeleton rattle. Afraid like laboured quite breathing and wide eyes staring into unseeing darkness and even more unseeing void.

Afraid like standing on the plank with a sword poking in your back and hungry sharks beneath you.

Afraid like he was now, standing in a well lit room accompanied by two other sides and Thomas himself. In the middle of the day with the doors safely locked and his Katana at his side.

He shouldn't be afraid.

Uncertain. Angry, yes. Maybe even hurt. But afraid should not apply to this situation. After all there was no threat.

Yet he felt it. And he knew his voice would be shaking even before he'd opened his mouth to speak. And he knew his hands would be shaking even before he lifted them to cover his mouth. And he knew that and he knew that and he knew-

He didn't know anything anymore.

"You are!" came a shout. Almost sounding desperate enough to be genuine . Almost sounding certain enough to be true.

But Roman was afraid. And he was shaking when he looked over for confirmation to the side that had cracked his trust beyond repair because how else would he know if it really was genuine and certain enough. How else would he-

He'd never have guessed that a single nod would be the thing that would shatter the cracked funhouse mirror. Never would've guessed that the only thing standing between him and the hungry sharks below would be the incline of a head. The confirmation of a lie.

So he sunk out with a last scoff at their hosts expression. Seeing the tiniest of cracks forming would've concerned him to no end if he himself wasn't completely shattered at that moment.

And when he popped into his room he looked at where he was standing. The edge of the plank. Toes nearly touching the line of white tape seperating the two sides of the room. One messy, clothes on piles and crumpled up paper all over the floor. Bed unmade and in need of a change of sheets. Curtains still drawn and houseplants dying.

The other half belonged to Remus.

And there, on the edge of the plank, with noise coming from the bathroom attached to their room and Remus his pet rat squeaking happily while running around the bed, Roman bowed down and, getting a good grip on an edge of it, ripped the tape away from the floor, shattering the imaginary barrier and the line he'd set for himself.

When he had taken of all the tape, all of it a sticky, bawled up mess on the floor now, he dropped to his knees, slowly lowering his head to the floor aswell and leaning it against the carpet, closing his eyes.

And he cried. Not dramatic and loud wailing like would be expected. No, his crying was quiet. Almost deadly so as the tears dropped down his face and onto the carpet. As he gripped his hair to stop himself from hitting the floor. And he pulled his hair to stop himself from pouncing his fist on it.

And when the bathroom door opened he stopped, still pulling and still silent and facing away from whoever had just walked in.

The side stopped in their tracks too. Still by the bathroom. Hand probably still on the door handle, hair probably still wet, eyes probably trying to communicate with their brain about what it is their seeing.

Because Remus had walked in on his brother on the floor which was devoid of tape. The tape of which he’d tried to convince his brother was the spot an invisible lazer beam would kill the first person that walked over it.

Because Remus had walked in on his brother while he was crying.

Because Roman never cried infront of him. Not since they had been kids and they’d learned to hate eachother once drawings of nightterrors and bloody zombies became ‘bad’ instead of just ‘creative’.

Because Remus was hurrying over to his brother now, falling onto his knees with a loud smack and feeling the carpetburn set in already as he shuffled closer, a hand outstretched as both a warning and a question.

When Roman shrugged his shoulder away from the hand close to it Remus nodded silently and let it drop to his side. No touching then. Alright.

“That bad huh?” He grimaced at the words. Too loud in the now deadly quiet room.

Roman simply let a hollow laugh echoe through it and Remus swore they’d never had an echoe before but then again their room changed all the time.

Like how the glow in the dark stars had changed into swirling galaxy above his bed and how Roman tore down his posters every month to rearange them.

Like how the white tape that had been there for years was now suddenly gone.

“Wanna talk about it?”

A short silence that stretched out just long enough for Remus to take another breath to offer to distract his brother instead when suddenly:

“I’m not his hero anymore.”

Remus saw it now, the outlines of the shattered mirror his brother had become.

He didn't like it one bit.

"I'm sure that's just good ol' Double D's messing with your head of course your his he-" "Janus."

Remus was silent then, slowly sinking down to sit infront of his brother, careful not to cross the now nonexistent line theyd set for themselves so long ago.

"Pardon?"

"He's called Janus. He told us so you don't have to act like you don't know his name anymore Rem. He told us. The fucker told us."

"That's... Good right?"

Roman laughed, the sound hollow and joyless, before muttering the most quiet 'yeah right' and letting his head drop again, still sitting in the middle of the room that used to be seen as two. The room that now lacked the devider.

"He called me evil." And there it was. The issue that Roman was struggling with the most, laid out in the open raw and ugly in the dim light of the room.

"Did he now? What'd he say exactly. Because, if I know one thing, it's that Dee only says shit like that as a joke or when something seriously messed up was said to him and I'm assuming the later didn't happen so-"

"I laughed at his name." Roman said numbly, the monotone voice nearly as terrifying as the one full of pain from just seconds ago.

"Well of course you did! It's a stupid name! It sounds like he's a middle school libr-" "Librarian yeah. I said the same thing."

Remus opened his mouth to speak again, to return to his way of comforting his brother which was distraction by blatant mockery.

But then...

"And that's the problem Re. That's the whole damn problem."

"What is?"

"He called me evil Re."

"I mean yeah you've told me already what you hit your head or some-"

"He compared me to you."

Ah.

Right.

That.

'Well fuck you too Ro!' Remus said. Only he didn't say that because what kind of a brother would he be.

Because Roman, after all these years, still didn't get it. Still thought of him as evil and himself as good. Still stuck in the black and white, the good and evil narrative that they were taught since they were able to count to two.

And oh Remus wanted to slap his brother for that. Wanted to give him a good shake and ask him who the hell he thought he was.

But Roman was crying at the thought of being compared to him.

And while that idea made him sick to his stomach, Roman was still crying. And he was still his brother, even if it ment being hated so viscously that the mere thought of being like him caused a breakdown this severe.

Even if his own brother seemed to want him gone.

"Then he's even dumber then his name Ro."

Roman looked up at that, snot and tears mixing under his nose and on his hand as he wiped it away. Looking pathetic as ever but the little spark of hope the sentence had created was present. And that's all he needed.

"Have you seen yourself? Of course you're not evil! You're basically prince charming except gayer! Ha! Can you even imagine an evil Prince Eric? Of course you can't because it's ridiculous!"

A huff of air from Romans nose then. And it wasn't quite a laugh sure. But it was a start. And Remus could work with just a start.

What he couldn't work with though, was no response beside just that puff of air. The silence in the room seeming to press down on him. Threatening to squish him flat like a pancake. Squashing him so hard that his eyeballs popped out and-

Right. Sad brother. Focus Remus focus.

"Hey I've got an idea."

-

Twenty minutes later and they stood in the imagination, his brothers eyes still red rimmed and he himself repressing the urge to make a comment about how it matched his colour scheme and how he should really put some blood splatters here and there for another pop of colour.

"Why are we here again?" Roman said into the cold misty evening. Slowly feeling his shoes soak up the water, his socks getting a bit wet.

"To scream." Remus said, gesturing towards the giant lake infront of them. The fog hanging low over it giving it both a mythical and horror movie esque feeling. Though with Romans current mood, horror movie was probably more likely.

"... To scream?"

"Yeah! I saw a man do that in a movie once after his daughter got killed by a man with a butchers knife. It looked awesome there was blood all over the kitchen walls and her head was-" "Don't spoil the movie for me Rem."

'Don't spoil it for me' had become Roman’s go to way of nicely telling his brother to shut the fuck up. Remus saw right through it of course. His brother would never watch slasher films after all. They made him have nightmares. But he appreciated the vague form of effort none the less.

"Just scream at the damn lake Ro. I didn't take you out here just so you could complain."

Roman looked at him weirdly, though decided that 'fuck it' seemed to be the mood he was going for today, stepped forward towards the edge of the lake, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

His voice broke several times while he did so. The scream sounding more and more choked up the longer it went on for, so much so that Remus started to wonder if his brother was losing his voice when he finslly fell silent and the quiet came back to press down on them.

Remus came to stand next to his brother, looking at him, at the tears streaming down his face and at how his eyebrows seemed to be trying to recreate the Nike symbol.

At how he was slightly shaking and standing just a smudge too close to the water.

At how his expression changed from pained to surprised to shocked when Remus pushed him into the ice cold lake.

At how this might be how he made his brother atleast a bit happy again. After a while of cursing and splashing around he got used to it, standing till his waist in the water and looking at his brother until finally he too jumped in, water splashing everywhere as he did so.

Roman snapped his fingers, the both of them now in diving suits rather than their normal outfits.

He ignored Remus his complains about how he'd rather swim naked as he came up to him and dunked his head under the water again. A fight breaking lose that had water splashing everywhere and curious woodland creatures come out of the woods to watch the two rulers of their kingdom seemingly get along for once.

Remus noticed how, after a minute or so, the deer suddenly fled. Not thinking much of it as he summoned a huge water gun and blasted it straight into Romans face.

Roman noticed, a moment later, how all the rabbits and squirrels and mice and rats fled aswell. Looking around for a moment but getting distracted when Remus summoned Poseidon trident to make a wave.

The twins both noticed how the birds also fled when the water began to ripple in a way that wasn't caused by them. How the water underneath them suddenly got darker as a huge shadow swam circles in the lake.

The both looked at eachother with wide eyes as they swam to the edge, summoning their respective weapons.

"Remus?"

"Hm?"

"Did you maybe forget to mention something when we came here?"

"I-... Mightve forgotten about me trying to recreate the log Ness monster yes."

"Wait, you made Nessy?!"

As if on queue, the giant seacreature emerged from the surface, scales glittering as the sunlight hit them. Green and blue and purple making for quite a beautiful image weren't it for the razor sharp teeth and monstrous features that came along with it.

"This is one hell of a way to distract me Rem." Roman said, rolling his shoulders as he held out his sword.

"... You're welcome?" Remus said, eyes flicking from the rip off Nessy to his brother and back as the monster growled and came closer.

"Alright then. Let's do this." Roman said, voice low and dangerous, bending his knees slightly as if preparing to dash away.

"Let's kick some ass!" Remus said. Surprised but not put off by this new development in his plans to cheer up his brother. If screaming at a lake would always lead him to a monster fight then he'd have to do this more often!

-

They set foot in their room four hours later. Both of them completely soaked, Roman wearing a small satisfied smile while Remus just looked grumpy.

They both flopped down on their respective beds, Remus his rat looking up in shock before quickly darting over to go and Greet its owner who just huffed and reluctantly petted the thing.

"That was fun." Roman said into the now quiet air.

"For you maybe! I had to watch how you 'calmed down' Nessy instead of taking part in the bloody fight I'd been hoping for!"

"Nessy did nothing to us she didn't deserve to get hurt."

"She nearly bit my arm off!!"

"Yeah? Well that's your fault for trying to poke her with your mace."

A strangely comfortable silence fell over the room then. And Remus began to slowly realise something. The realisation not quite there yet but almost.

Almost.

"... Thank you Rem. That was... Nice."

Ah. He got it now.

"Yeah well, at least I don't have to watch you cry on the floor anymore hm dipshit?"

"With how things are going, I think you'll see that more often than not. Asshat."

They both laughed, quiet and only partly sarcastic.

And Remus smiled into the quite. Pulling his legs up so his brother wouldn't see it.

"Hey Ro?"

"Hmm? You're not evil okay? He just said that cuz you hurt him a bit."

"Hmm. I should apoligise shouldn't I?"

Remus smiled again at that. Sitting up after he realised that he didn't mind his brother seeing him happy. Enjoyed it even.

"Oh I'm sure he'll show up at the door with a basket of fruit and a heartfelt letter next thing in the morning." Roman sat up too then. A small, unsure smile on his face.

And Remus realised he didn't mind seing his brother happy, either.

Enjoyed it even.

"And if you want. I can punch a little sense into him if he doesn't, and we'll go and look for another lake to scream at, how bout that."

"That'd be nice Rem."

And then Roman did something neither of them had done in a very long time.

He got up from the bed, brushing off his wrinkled clothes and, one step at a time, inched closer to the now non-existent barrier.

"Ro what are you-"

And then Roman was infront of him. On his side. Leaning over him slightly with his arms outstretched the tiniest bit.

"You're not evil either Rem. You never were."

Remus hadn't hugged his brother in over ten years.

But now here Roman was, carefully wrapping his arms around him after getting a nod of approval. Carefully tightening them and laying his head on his brothers shoulder. Squeezing him a little bit as Remus returned the hug hesitantly.

And nothing had been resolved. Nothing had been talked out or solved and things might only get worse before they get better but they were hugging and that was something at least.

And they'd been living in the same room for as long as they'd existed. Always there, always together.

And yet...

"I missed you Roman."

"I missed you too, brother."

-

This has been in my drafts for month I hope it's alright-ish at least.

-

-

Tags: @purp-man @sapphire-knight @ragingdumpsterfiremess @chronophobica @lance-alt @mylifeisadeceit @itriedandimtired 

[theopinionoftheredheads]

It's suspiciously very quiet from CE this weekend, hope he won't drop any 'bombs' later. As a fan after July I kinda have trust issues with him, lol. Please Christopher be a good boy for a while, I need a break 😅

If he is back in Europe it’s for work. Everyone needs to move on ************** It’s September long weekend!!! I just have a felling we will get something from CE and LJ, just a gut feeling!!! ************** Mark with his friends in Croatia and Chris with his friends on the weekend getaway in US 😉 #covidiots ************** Do you think Chris will have a party again this year but on a smaller scale compared to the one last year ************** I’m thinking CE will probably throw a small gathering at his place for the labour day weekend. He threw a birthday party a couple of weeks ago so it wouldn’t surprise me if he does have one! ************** Wait what ? Annual party? Why? For what? ************** Anyone who follows Chris's friends now if he is having a party this weekend? ************** If Chris throws a party for labor day can we all agree to be chill about it. Not saying it will happen but threatening to ruin a man's whole career is a bit much. ************** Chris's friend Adam posted videos of the inside of some fancy house (or so he called it, though I've never seen a house with an exit sign in it) and said he was "tending bah" which I'm guessing means he's in MA. Maybe Chris is having a party? ************** Why are people freaking out? I thought Chris was with Adam lol. There is nothing indicating he'll be in the UK next week. ************** It doesn't matter where he is guys let's not start lol. ************** So apparently Chris and a big group of friends are hanging out this weekend. Adam posted a vid and you can hear Chris' voice in the background. Sigh. I feel an uproar coming on. ************** So Chris is with his friends and Adam golfing in Lexon Kemble in Boston for someone birthday hope they are staying safe ************** Chris’ friend Adam posted on IG of himself playing golf, u can hear someone in video sounds like Chris. Other pages are saying he’s somewhere with a big group celebrating someone’s bday. ************** Looks like CE is still not following social distancing protocols. By his friends IG he’s with a group at a big fancy Inn golf spot or something for a big group party. ************** So apparently Chris is playing golf with friends this weekend. So things are quiet but not that quiet. 😆 ************** Just saw on another blog Chis is golfing with friends this weekend, not sure if it's in Boston or NY, so at least we know his in the US. ************** Chris is in NY with friends and Lily is in London so I think it's save to say we are clear of any pap walks taking place, for this week anyway ************** Are we not allowed to discuss his whereabouts? Is that why no mention of his current status? Isnt this a CE gossip page? If his close friends are posting about it then what’s the big deal? He doesn’t seem to care if it’s known, this isnt like the tracking down a hotel door situation. ************** No chat about his friends IG story? Is that off limits now? Just want to be clear on what’s allowed. Thought those topics were ok here. ************** Surprised no one has mentioned Adam's video yet. Guess he's trying to let us know how CE spent his Labor weekend. ************** Chris was playing golf with his friends this weekend (here say) so not with LJ ************** Lily was in English countryside doing a photoshoot this weekend and Chris was in Lenox, MA with his friends group so that's it just go to sleep in peace now, ladies, everything is under control 😆 ************** So let me get this right, Chris is in the US golfing with friends, and not only is LJ filming one movie and promoting another, she somehow found time to get on a plane to come to the US? 🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️ ************** Are we not discussing his weekend getaway with friends? Is that off the table? It’s on public sm so why not? **************

For those wondering what Chris was doing during Labour Day weekend, he was celebrating a friend’s birthday. No annual big party hosted by him at his house. They all went to Lenox, MA. There were some outside activities, like golfing and there was a big dinner as you could see on Adam’s stories from the weekend. It was mostly the same group of people as the party Chris hosted in August and there weren’t more than 25 people so there is no need to call him out. If he or his friends didn’t feel safe around each other, they wouldn’t be going somewhere together. 

We decided to not post immediately since his exact location was easy to find and it was unclear if he was still in that location. 

Hopefully all your questions were answered. 

Red & Ginger 

[d2kvirus]

Dickheads of the Month: September 2020

As it seems that there are people who say or do things that are remarkably dickheaded yet somehow people try to make excuses for them or pretend it never happened, here is a collection of some of the dickheaded actions we saw in the month of September 2020 to make sure that they are never forgotten.

Remember how proven liar Boris Johnson said he had a world-beating oven-ready Britait deal, which was also the basis of his election slogan campaign of “Get Britait done” and the lack of support for the deal is the reason he sacked 21 of his own MPs?  Just asking, because he tore the whole thing up and said it was unworkable - which also led to Brandon Lewis saying in Parliament, so it is now forever enshrined in the Hansard, that De Pfeffel merely broke international law “in a very specific and limited way” - you know, sort of like how the Manson Family broke the law in a very specific and limited way

The bold vision of a new BBC shared by Tim Davie was revealed when he threatened comedy shows with the axe if they kept making jokes about Britait, the Tory Party or Donald Trump on his first day on the job, because as we all know the best form of comedy comes from punching down rather than up, which is why Little Britain definitely hasn’t aged appallingly

Master of decorum Donald Trump couldn’t even wait a few short hours after Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s death before he started rallying the foot soldiers about cramming somebody more fitting with what he wanted into the Supreme Court

Mayor of Amity Island governor of Florida Ron DeSantis continued his bid to be recognised for having the worst response to the Covid pandemic in the congress of having the worst possible response to the Covid pandemic by deciding that, actually, the state of Florida needs to lessen its Covid restrictions at a time when cases of Covid have begun to rise alarmingly in the state

It’s no surprise that proven liar Boris Johnson lied in Parliament by referring to Serco’s failing test & trace app as “NHS Test & Trace” - however the biggest issue is that the BBC had been using the exact same phrase for at least two weeks before that

Nobody was surprised to hear smirking cretin Priti Patel personally using the term “activist lawyers” that the Home Office (headed by P. Patel) had previously used to dehumanise and demean people upholding those pesky immigration laws that the Tory Party really don’t like getting in the way

Tax dodging orange goblin Donald Trump was asked a simple question: Do you think that white supremacists are a problem?  We are still waiting for an answer to that question...

Okay, so now the Conservative Party are cracking down on people breaking lockdown, with threats of a £10,000 fine - rather than circling the wagons around them and throwing out one cock and bull excuse after another like they did when Dominic Cummings broke lockdown to nip off to Durham after testing positive for Covid on what just so happened to be his wife’s birthday

You know that Matt Hancock is good at his job when, having been sent out in front of the cameras to defend The Tory Party appointing ex-Australian PM and all-around arsehole Tony Abbott as a trade advisor in spite his history of misogynistic, homophobic and “Let’s kill the elderly so we can survive Covid” comments the best he could do was say he was a good negotiator...which promptly led to all manner of comments about Harold Shipman being a good GP and Fred West laying one hell of a patio 

According to Jacob Rees Mogg the public having a legitimate complaint about it being damn near impossible to have a Covid test is nothing more than “endless carping” and not, say, legitimate criticism of a woefully underprepared government trying to coast by on the bare minimum who have the gall to try and blame the public for their long list of catestrophic fuckups

It was no surprise to hear proven liar Boris Johnson hand-wringing about “the freedom of the press” after Extinction Rebellion finally realised that being annoying idiots is far more likely to gain support if you’re being annoying idiots with a purpose - just as it was no surprise to hear that proven liar Boris Johnson had no opinion whatsoever of Tim Davie telling BBC newsreaders to fall in line with the corporation (read: Tory) line or they’d be sacked

Once again there was a chance for Keir Starmer to show that his talk of being “true Opposition” is more than a soundbite and, once again, he wimped out on it when ordering Labour MPs to abstain from voting on the Overseas Operations (Service Personnel and Veterans) Bill for fear of being accused of being “anti-British” by voting for a bill created to stop prosecution of British troops for using torture instead of voting against it - and then sacking Nadia Whittome, Beth Winter, and Olivia Blake from their junior ministerial positions when they were three of the 18 Labour MPs who voted against it

It clearly never occurred to Marsha Blackburn when she was browbeating people about the Constitution of the US never being rewritten that the Constitution of the US has been rewritten several times already.  There’s a reason they’re called “Amendments” and not “Footnotes” you know...

Smirking cretin Priti Patel proudly stated that, if she saw her neighbours, she’d gladly call the police due to them breaking the law.  This was around 14 hours after she’d voted to break international law in the Commons, or a few short years after she broke ministerial code by nipping over to Israel to have undisclosed meetings with israeli officials, which begs the question about whether her neighbours are just as willing, doesn’t it?

Judging by Alan Sugar tweeting out conspiracy theories about Covid being created in a Wuhan lab, I think it's safe to say that no Apprentice game show host is capable of not acting like a complete arse on Twitter.  Luckily for the UK, Sugar isn’t Prime Minister - he’s merely a member of the House of Lords...

It’s been a while since WWE acted like totalitarian dicks to the wrestlers employed independently contracted to them but they managed to find one by telling every single one of their employees independent contractors that they could no longer use Twitch or Cameo as it was decided this was being “detrimental” to the company...you know, the bunch of carnies who sign billion dollar deals with our journalist-murdering, woman-oppressing, Yemeni-slaughtering, 9/11-planning “allies” Saudi Arabia, don’t have any for of healthcare for their employees independent contractors, continued a pay per view even though one of their employees independent contractors died due to a stunt going wrong that was linked to the company cheaping out on a safety harness, and apparently not knowing that the term “independent contractor” doesn’t mean the company can sign them to five year deals but sack them at any point - and then prevent them from working anywhere else for 90 days

We had confirmation of Alison Pearson possessing a terrifying combination of pig ignorance and outright sociopathy when she began a Telegraph article with the following: “My son has Covid-19.  Good.”

Sour grapes from Lisa Nandy over people forgetting she was in the Labour leadership race judging by how she apparently didn’t listen to a party pledge to tax corporations and instead spout off a bunch of nonsensical gibberish that sounded uncannily like Britain First rhetoric under the belief that sounding like Britain First is guaranteed to win back working class Northern voters

Litigious TERF JK Rowling revealed her latest book is about a man who murders people while dressed as a woman, which definitely hasn’t drawn any form of comment whatsoever...

You would like to believe that reports of Limestone Games not only effectively stealing the game Aeon Must Die! from the actual dev team who were forced out of the company by a culture of abuse and harassment by a shady cabal who took over the studio would have eld to the game’s release being postponed, especially after it emerged that assets used in the game’s trailer were infringing on various copyrights - but instead Focus Home Entertainment responded by twiddling their thumbs and doing nothing

I’m sure there’s no connection between Alan Sugar demanding people go back to work as if the number of Covid cases has been rising to an alarming degree and how Alan Sugar is bemoaning that his commercial property portfolio is not making him “enough” money due to people staying at home.  None whatsoever...

The fact that those moron parents in California started a wildfire after setting off fireworks for their baby’s gender reveal party that led to over 20,000 people having to evacuate their homes is dickheaded enough - but the fact that it’s not the first case of this happening, as a similar incident happened in Arizona back in 2018, makes them look even more dickheaded

If you want to say you put Britain before anything else, like Andrea Jenkyns did in her latest Twitter tsunami of childishness and spite, it doesn't look good when you say you're pro-Trump before pre-De Pfeffel as it defeats your own argument almost as fast as being Andrea Jenkyns - or, you know, failing to spell the word “British” correctly when accusing people of being anti-British

It would have been wise if West Ham announced that manager David Moyes and two players had tested positive for Covid before their match with Hull - not after the match had kicked off, leading to Moyes legging it out of the stadium

Whatever it is in the mind of DeAnna Lorraine that snapped and had her babbling insane nonsense that The Masked Singer is part of a covert plot to have people wearing masks probably can’t be repaired, and appears to have also caused her to accuse anyone who thinks she does sound insane of being acolytes of George Soros

Professional victim Laurence Fox somehow believed that posting a chat log of a conversation between himself and Rebecca Front and then howling about being “cancelled” - and then a few hours later had to very publicly backtrack, no doubt because his agent had several dozen words with him

I have no idea why David Cameron convinced himself that showing himself helping out in the Chipping Norton food bank was a good idea, considering he’s the reason why food banks exist in the first place

How nice of Manchester Metropolitan University to tell the students who were confined to accomodation so unable to go out and buy food, who were paying £9000 tuition fees for face-to-face tutoring that was done via Zoom that makes such good value of the hundreds of pounds of rent they have to pay per month when they could have had those same lectures from home, that they’re not allowed to protest about this situation and had to take any signs posted on their windows critical of the government down immediately

In normal circumstances Mason Greenwood and Phil Foden sneaking girls into the England team hotel would look pretty stupid, especially in Foden’s case considering the odds of his live-in girlfriend not finding out about this are practically nil, but during a global pandemic it looked so incredibly boneheaded it’s lucky they play for the Manchester clubs otherwise the front pages would be calling them ignorant traitors or some such bullshit

Nothing sums up Premier League referees quite like them clearly not understanding the current definition of the handball rule, but rather than actually look it up they make it up as they go alone leading to more penalties being awarded for handball in the first four rounds of Premier League fixtures than in entire seasons - not helped by Premier League referees also operating VAR, where they seem to have a policy of “If you ignore my cock up, I’ll ignore yours”

And finally, inventing yet another terror atrocity, is Donald Trump and his batshit insane proclamations about cans of soup being a much bigger threat to American lives than, say, and AR-15.  But then again, it’s not like his support base has a habit of throwing cans of soup at crowds of people

[marypsue]

bet u can’t guess which popular web show inspired this piece of totally original fiction

...

It starts with static.

“Zane,” Kevin says, shaking his head, interrupting the really good bit Zane was in the middle of doing. Well, okay, maybe it was less a ‘really good bit’ and more ‘dancing around like a Looney Toon’, but still. Bryan was laughing.

“Oh, dammit,” Zane sighs, reaching up to the collar of his shirt. “Mic out again?”

“Yeah. I’m getting nothing but crackling. And this awful growl I’m pretty sure is your jacket rubbing against the mic. Are you warm enough without it?”

Zane stands still through Kevin and DJ fiddling with his mic and his coat and his shirt, and when he starts recording again, Kevin gives him a big grin and a thumbs up. But they’ve barely gotten to the part of the intro where Bryan says “…as part of our ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?” before it’s back to a thumbs down.

“Don’t you dare try to tell me this is a ghost,” Zane grumbles, as Kevin adjusts his mic for the third time since they arrived on location.

Bryan just does that thing with his eyebrows and smiles directly into the camera Clark’s still rolling like he’s Jim on the Office. Zane’s not sure why anyone’s still filming. This is going to be a lot of useless B-roll.

“It’s not a ghost, Bryan,” he repeats, just in case his co-host is getting cocky.

“Well, maybe not,” Bryan concedes. “But it could be.”

“Which is more likely, that it’s really windy and the equipment is malfunctioning, or that it’s a ghost?”

“Well, I think they’re equally -”

“Equally likely, yeah, I’ve never heard you say that before.”

...

The house is old, and drafty, and Zane’s mic goes out a grand total of twice more before somebody gets the bright idea to try swapping it out with Bryan’s. It takes nearly twenty minutes to get everything set up and recalibrated, but at the end of it, Zane’s recording is coming through crystal clear again.

They get five minutes into filming before Kevin cuts them off again.

“Seriously?” Zane asks, as Kevin fiddles with the cord leading to the battery pack hooked to his waistband.

“Yeah, I thought that mic was just broken, but – hang on, let me try and replace these batteries.”

“So it’s not the microphone,” Bryan says, with a smug smile that’s just starting to turn glassy with fear. “And it’s not the wind…”

“Still doesn’t mean it’s a ghost,” Zane says, because, well, it doesn’t. “I could have picked up a big static charge from that rug in the entryway, Kevin could’ve forgotten to plug in the charger…”

“Or it could be a ghost.” When Zane doesn’t dignify that with a response, Bryan’s smile gets smugger. “Can you definitively say it isn’t a ghost?”

Zane sighs, and goes to see if Kevin’s having any luck with the battery pack.

...

In the end, they get all of Bryan’s dialogue, about fifteen minutes of usable clips from Zane, two weird rumbling growls that spook Bryan very badly but mostly sound like heavy trucks passing by to Zane, and a whole lot of static. Even Bryan’s mic gets overtaken once or twice, drowned out in the crackle.

“Sounds like we’re talking through the spirit box,” Zane comments, his ears ringing in the sudden silence as he puts his headphones aside.

Bryan laughs at that, one huff of air that’s almost more of a sigh. “Guess that’d make us the ghosts.”

“Sounds like fun!” Zane says. “Hanging around historical sites, scaring the pants off of you and your little…freaky friends with spooky creaks and moans, not having to labour under capitalism…livin’ the dream, baby.”

“Well,” Bryan says, with that crooked grin that means he’s about to lay down a truly awful pun. “More like. Dying the dream.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Zane says, putting his headphones back on.

...

At first, the stuff Zane records in the studio is fine, so they chalk it up to wind interference on location (Zane) or the spirits lingering in the old house (Bryan) and move on. And it’s fine.

But then an entire in-studio episode about alien abductions gets eaten by static, and Bryan loses his shit.

“There’s even video distortion!” he complains to Zane, waving a hand at the offending frame. Zane peers at it, but can’t really tell what it is that’s got Bryan’s knickers in a knot. “Zane, I’m serious. I think you really did it this time. I think you pissed a spirit off enough that it latched onto you and followed us home.”

“Oh. Well, that’s all right,” Zane says. “I’ve been meaning to find something to keep the cat entertained at the apartment all day while Tara and I are out.”

Bryan looks a strange mix of ‘exasperated’ and ‘trying not to laugh’. “I’m serious!” he repeats, in the face of all the evidence. “I told you not to lie down on that pentagram and dare the demon to rip out your heart. Or taunt that other demon and tell it you were taking its bridge! Or talk to demons at all! Maybe we should call that exorcist we consulted again, or -”

“Or clean the camera lens,” Zane says. “Honestly, Bryan, I think you need more sleep. I don’t see anything wrong with this picture.”

“You wouldn’t,” Bryan mutters, turning back to his monitor.

...

The satellite radio in Zane’s car keeps dropping out the whole way home from the office, and he’s not even anywhere near any high-voltage power lines or anything. He makes a mental note to call Sirius customer support, which he knows he’ll forget by the time he gets home, and switches to the CD player.

Every CD he’s got in his glove compartment skips.

...

“Maybe you got magnetized somehow,” DJ suggests, when all their footage starts turning wavy and glitchy as soon as the camera cuts to Zane. “Did you get a new phone? New computer? Tara decide that what the apartment really needs to pull it all together is a big ol’ cartoonish electromagnet?”

Zane snorts hot tea out of his nose.

...

“Even Scully took it seriously when the shadow government gave her cancer, man,” Bryan says, when he sees the glitchy footage.

“There – okay, there are two issues with that line of logic,” Zane says. “First, cancer. That’s detectable by current medical science. It’s not exactly a matter of belief. Second, Dana Scully is a fictional character.”

“So you won’t get an exorcism?” Bryan says, sounding defeated.

“Bryan, my dear, I think you already know the answer to that one.”

...

The cat follows Zane around the apartment all night that night, staring up at him with big round eyes and skittering backwards with its ears flat against its head whenever he tries to pet it. Zane feeds it three Dreamies, but the cat is not appeased. All night long, it paws and paws and paws at the bedroom door.

...

All the fluorescent lights in the office start flickering uneasily about once every half hour. Everyone keeps their eyes up and their fingers poised over Ctrl+S.

...

The overhead light in the apartment kitchen starts flickering, too, and keeps flickering even after Zane changes the bulb. Tara complains it’s giving her a migraine, and ends up going back to bed, looking pale and miserable. Zane calls in that he’ll be working from home, brings her tea and Advil before setting up on the couch with his laptop.

He’s barely got the video editing program loaded before Tara sticks her head out around the bedroom door, bathrobe wrapped around her, eyes squeezed almost shut. “What is that smell?”

“Smell?”

“You seriously don’t smell that? It’s like something rotten.” Tara sniffs, then sneezes. “Eggs,” she decides. “Rotten eggs.”

Zane spends the next three hours on and off the phone with the landlord, trying to get an electrician to come look at their kitchen light fixture and someone to come see if there’s a natural gas leak. According to the landlord, there’s no natural gas in the building, and there won’t be an electrician until Thursday at the earliest. The landlord advises cooking by flashlight and taking the garbage out.

...

Zane’s working on the script for the next episode of his history show when something that must be the pipes lets out a faint, metallic knock. Three times in a row, and then silence.

Zane listens, because that’s a new apartment sound, but it doesn’t happen again, so he turns back to his laptop.

...

When he goes in to check on Tara, the cat’s curled up on his pillow, beside Tara’s head. It looks up when Zane inches the door open, its eyes catching the ambient light from the hall and turning into two eerie discs of green.

“Shh,” Zane says, to the cat.

The cat looks at Zane, and slowly, slowly, rises to its tiptoes. Its back arches, ears flat against its head, all its little needle teeth on display as a hiss builds in the back of its throat.

“Toby, you ass, it’s me,” Zane whispers into the dark room, but the cat just hisses louder. Zane tries taking a cautious step into the room, and the cat spits at him, shuffling back and a little sideways so that it’s directly between him and Tara.

“Okay, you little…lunatic man,” Zane mutters, backing slowly out into the hall and easing the door shut behind him. “I’ll let her sleep.”

...

When Zane regales Bryan with the tale of his maybe-possibly-gas leak, Bryan gets that huge glassy-eyed smile and lets out the same nervous laugh that he gets when something noisy and potentially inexplicable happens while they’re filming on location.

“You know what that is, right?” he asks, through his teeth. If Clark were here filming, Zane’s sure Bryan would be looking over his shoulder every few seconds to mug horror into the camera.

“Natural gas,” Zane says. “Which is what I’m worried about, since that can actually hurt you. Or it could be a septic tank. Or a literal rotten egg. But I’m sure you’re going to say it’s sulfur, because you think it’s a demon.”

Bryan shakes his head.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, man,” he says, still smiling like someone’s holding a gun to his head and saying they’ll shoot if he looks anything but ecstatic.

“All right,” Zane says, shrugging one shoulder. “You warned me. I think we’ve got a bigger issue, though. How’re we going to get this week’s episode out of all this glitchy junk?”

Bryan, to his credit, manages to do a full ten minutes’ worth of actual work before breaking down and asking, “Are you sure you don’t want my bottle of holy water?”

...

“Hey guys, Bryan here. You may have noticed that my usual cohost isn’t, uh, isn’t here with me today. That’s because today’s episode of Unresolved is a very…special episode. You see, it concerns…the Unexplained Electromagnetism of Zane Mattey.”

...

By this time, Zane’s come to expect the admonishments in the comments that he shouldn’t be ignoring such obvious evidence of the paranormal (he isn’t, because it’s not), that he shouldn’t be antagonising the spirit world (he isn’t, because it doesn’t exist), that he should be praying for forgiveness and protection (he won’t, because he doesn’t need it). This episode, however, introduces a new and very funny subset of hardcore believer comments.

“They think I’m the demon,” he says, as Bryan scrolls through the comment section, a thankless job if ever there was one.

Bryan does not seem nearly as amused by this as Zane thought he would be. He looks up at Zane, like he’s never seen the guy before in his life, and asks, apparently in all seriousness, “Are you?”

“Wh- no? Demons aren’t real, Bryan. Besides, if I were a demon, wouldn’t we have had technical issues from the start?”

“Not if you got possessed at our last on-location.” Bryan’s staring a little too hard, and it’s making this less funny. “Zane, why won’t you take my bottle of holy water? I know, I know, you don’t believe in this stuff -”

“Because it’s not real -”

“But it’d be no skin off your nose, and it would make me, your friend, feel better.”

Zane shrugs one shoulder, like he doesn’t care, though he’s starting to get annoyed. He’s not a demon. He’s not possessed. Demons – like ghosts – don’t exist.

But…Bryan’s right. Bryan does believe, and this is seriously freaking him out. It’ll cost Zane nothing to give his best friend a little peace of mind. “Okay. Fine. I’ll take your holy water bottle. Got a…holy hand grenade or two you can toss in there with it?”

Bryan just gives him that hard stare, and shakes his head.

...

Tara’s looking a lot better when Zane gets home. The cat, curled up in her lap, takes one look at Zane and catapults itself under the couch.

“Ow,” Tara says, rubbing her thighs where the cat dug his claws in. “Oh, babe, I think the landlord must have been right, that egg smell’s gone since you took the trash out. I haven’t noticed it all day. Did you figure out what was going on with your recording gear?”

...

Zane puts the bottle of holy water on the nightstand. It doesn’t start spontaneously boiling or glowing or anything in the middle of the night, so he leaves it there and forgets about it.

...

Somebody does knock at the apartment door in the middle of the night, though, three times. Zane gets up, but by the time he gets to the door, they’re gone.

...

“Hey, uh, we’re always so happy and grateful to see stuff you guys’ve made for the show, but – um. Don’t vandalise stuff with our names. We’ve seen the pictures on uh – on the ‘gram where you’ve written ‘Bryan and Zane’s bridge’ on the Old Alton Bridge, and, uh…don’t do that. Not even for demon reasons – okay, not just for demon reasons, we don’t need the Goatman any more pissed at us than he already is – but – that’s just rude, folks. Don’t go and vandalise the bridge.

“You can, uh, totally keep changing the Wikipedia page, though. That’s hilarious.”

...

Thankfully, the A/V interference slacks off enough that Zane can get back to filming before he gets replaced as host of Unresolved and demoted to writing listicles about the 8 ways to tell if your houseplants are trying to unionise.

“Man, I wish people wouldn’t joke about you being a demon,” Bryan says, scrolling through the comments on their video on el Chupacabra. He’s looking for anything good they can follow up on for the Autopsy segment, but it’s all people pointing out the weird growling feedback under all of Zane’s dialogue. “That shit’s not funny.”

“Well,” Zane says, looking over Bryan’s shoulder as he scrolls. The ‘Zane is a demon’ thing seems to have taken off like a lit cigarette stubbed out in a box full of fireworks. Some of these fans have some incredibly…creative takes on the topography of Heaven and Hell, some of which have clearly had entirely too much thought put into them for how completely out to lunch they are, and others which he’s pretty sure have been lifted wholesale from the show Supernatural. Zane wonders, idly, where it’s all coming from. “It’s a little funny.”

Bryan tears his gaze away from the monitor to give Zane a disbelieving look, and Zane shrugs.

“Think about it. Me, the skeptic, secretly being the thing I claim doesn’t exist? You, the believer, never realising the thing you’ve been searching for evidence of has been right under your own nose the whole time? Comedy gold right there.”

Bryan’s eyes narrow, but he looks like he’s trying not to smile.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, turning back to the screen, only to immediately turn back around and fix Zane with a serious look that’s completely ruined by the big smile that overtakes it. “But you’re not a demon, right?”

“Is that even a serious question?” When Bryan just raises both eyebrows and grins wider, Zane shakes his head. “Of course I’m not a – Bryan, if demons existed, which is already a big if, and if I were one, which is an even bigger, more insurmountable if…I’d be pretty shit at my job, wouldn’t I? All I do is try to prove demons are real on camera in front of hundreds of thousands of viewers. And if you ask all -” He gestures to the comment section. “These people, they’d say I’ve succeeded. Not to mention, I’m not sure encouraging your ridiculous conspiracy theories and enabling your…ghost habit counts as tempting anyone to sin.���

“You are always tricking me into talking to the demons,” Bryan says thoughtfully, still grinning. “Taking me to haunted, evil places…”

“You dragged me to that spider-infested hellhole in Mexico,” Zane points out. “And ninety percent of the other places we’ve gone.”

“Taunting them, riling them up, trying to convince our viewers that nothing bad will happen to them if they invite demons to come kill them -”

“Well, they haven’t yet, have they?”

“Inviting evil spirits to follow us home?”

“Again. They haven’t yet, have they?” When Bryan doesn’t answer, Zane crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “The most that’s ever happened at a location is a flashlight flickering on and off because its wiring makes the human back look well-designed. Because demons, like ghosts, do not exist. You’re safe.”

Bryan stares at Zane a moment longer, and Zane can’t resist the urge to add, “Besides, I didn’t want to be a ghost hunter. That was all your idea. If anything, you’re the foul tempter here.”

“Only because I wanted to prove to you -” Bryan breaks off, shaking his head and giggling under his breath, and Zane shrugs again.

“Either way, the idea of me being a demon is preposterous. It’s – it’s just silly.”

Bryan nods, like he agrees, and then has to ruin it by stopping and asking, “But you’re not one, right?”

“For the love of – No, Bryan. I am not a demon.”

“Okay,” Bryan says, spinning his office chair back to face the monitor. “Just checking.”

He scrolls in blissful silence for all of thirty seconds before spinning back to face Zane. “But if you were a demon, you’d tell me, right?”

“Bryan,” Zane sighs. “Yes. If it makes you feel better, I promise I will tell you if I ever happen to be a demon. Now can we please do our job?”

...

The alarm clock on the bedside table is casting a sinister red glow over the pillow when Zane blinks awake. The numbers on its face read 3:00. Zane tries to focus on what had woken him, but it’s gone. If he concentrates, he thinks he can remember knocking, like someone was at the front door, but he’s not sure if that was real or part of the dream.

For some reason, he finds himself thinking of the first batch of ghost-hunting trips he and Bryan had taken. It was something Bryan had said at their last stop, the so-called demon house where their flashlight had so spectacularly malfunctioned. 3 AM. The devil’s hour.

Unbelievable. All this demon crap is actually starting to worm its way into Zane’s brain. Next he’ll be consulting the damn spirit box to find out what colour shoes to wear with blue pants or some such hornswoggle. Zane sits up, careful not to disturb Tara or the covers she’s hoarding, and grabs the bottle of water off the bedside table, twisting off the cap. One quick sip to wash the sleep-stank out of his mouth, then back to –

Zane doesn’t get a chance to finish that thought.

He yelps out loud, and spits furiously back into the bottle, scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. The inside of his mouth feels like he just took a big slurp of a sandpaper-ghost pepper smoothie. Maybe laced with vinegar. And broken glass.

His first, bizarre thought is that the water bottle must be full of acid, even though the flimsy plastic hasn’t corroded at all and there’s absolutely no logical reason why anyone, Zane himself included, would have put acid in a bottle of water and left it on his bedside table.

Still. Even if it isn’t acid, it burns and he needs to rinse it out of his mouth now. Zane stumbles out of bed, tripping over the covers and dropping the water bottle on the rug. He staggers into the bathroom, flicking on the light and beelining for the sink.

Zane splashes his face, takes a huge mouthful of tapwater and gargles it before spitting into the sink. He rinses and repeats until the burning fades to a mild sting, like he’s just eaten a good jalapeno.

Zane takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. He gives his face one last splash before straightening up, breathing a sigh of relief.

It sticks in his throat at the sight of his reflection.

The angry red blisters on his lips and at the corners of his mouth are already starting to close before Zane’s eyes. Eyes which seem to be glowing.

Zane carefully does not freak out. He blinks a couple of times, in case he’s got – maybe sleep, or something, trapped in his eye. When the vision doesn’t go away, he leans in closer to the mirror, pulling down on the lower lid of his right eye with one finger, trying to see if the bright red colour goes all the way back. Oh, sure, it looks like it’s glowing red in the dim light from the bathroom light fixture behind him at three in the morning, but what’s more likely: that Bryan was somehow right about demons (or Zane’s been the victim of a B&E by a mad poisoner and special-effects artist), or that Zane’s burst a couple of important blood vessels in his eyes and the whole sclera is flooded? Technically, there aren’t any pain receptors in the eyeball itself, so theoretically it could happen without Zane noticing, probably –

His bared eyeball itches, drying out, and Zane blinks again without thinking. When he opens his eyes again, they’re back to their usual brown and white. He blinks another few times for good measure, but his eyes stay normal. And the blisters around his mouth are gone, too, the pain nothing but a memory.

“Oh,” Zane says, rather anticlimactically, to his reflection. “Dreaming. Okay.”

He gives a couple more blinks, to make sure the illusion doesn’t come back, then dries off his face and flicks the light off, heading back to bed.

...

“Oh, what the hell is that?”

Zane blinks awake. There’s sunlight hitting his face and Tara is standing by his side of the bed, scowling down at something on the carpet.

Zane rolls over to look at it. It takes him a moment to work out what he’s seeing. It looks like a blob of clear, melted plastic, streaked with blue and white through its bubbled, warped surface.

It almost looks like the remains of a water bottle, if whatever it was holding boiled inside it.

Zane looks up at the bedside table. The clock glows a red 7:28. The bottle of water he’d left sitting beside it is no longer there.

“No idea,” he says, finally. “Better chuck it before Toby gets into it, though.”

Tara nods, starting to bend down, but stops with her head about level with Zane’s, wrinkling up her nose. “Do you smell – there that rotten-egg smell is again!”

“I’ll call the landlord,” Zane says.

...

They’re shooting the raw footage for an episode on the Fresno Nightcrawler (Nightcrawlers? It sounds like there were at least two of them) at work. Bryan’s prepped his usual batch of malarkey – though, Zane will say, it’s always well-researched and thoroughly entertaining malarkey – and Zane tries to counter it with his usual witty barbs and intelligent retorts. But Bryan calls cut just as they’re starting to get to the good part – that is, the part where Bryan has to try to offer a rational explanation for disembodied walking pants.

“Nuh uh,” Bryan says, shaking his head. “This isn’t working. Dude, what’s gotten into you today? You didn’t even give me shit for that denim pun.”

“Denim pun?” Zane asks, blinking.

“See? That’s exactly what I mean,” Bryan says. “How – how did you not catch that? Even I knew that one was terrible!”

“Oh, yeah,” Zane says. “Sorry.”

Bryan gives him a squint. “Are you all right?”

“Hm? Oh, fine.”

Bryan squints harder.

“A little distracted,” Zane admits. “Didn’t sleep too well last night.”

Bryan squints even harder. “Still got my holy water?”

“Don’t start,” Zane says, rolling his eyes.

...

Zane’s just starting to prep dinner – something from a mail-order meal box that he’s never heard of but that sounds tasty and has chicken in it – when he hears the knocks. There’s one, a little hesitant, followed quickly by two more, sounding louder and more confident.

Zane pauses in the middle of chopping cabbage, but he can’t hear anything else. Even the cat isn’t tearing around causing havoc. Probably it’s under the couch, which is its new favourite place to hide, and to hiss and claw at unprotected ankles from whenever Zane gets too close.

Zane shrugs, and turns back to the meal prep, but he’s barely picked up the knife before the knocks come again. Three times. Loud and clear as a bell. Actually, a little like a bell – there’s a slight metallic quality to the noise that Zane can’t quite pin down.

He puts the knife down.

There’s nobody visible on the other side of the peephole in the apartment door. Zane undoes the deadbolt and swings the door open anyway, hoping he can just stick his head out and see if whoever thinks it’s funny to come knock on his shit at all hours is still visible as they book it away down the hall.

But that’s not quite what happens. Instead, Zane takes one step out of the apartment before realising the hall light must’ve gone out. It’s pitch-dark out here, like the light from the apartment isn’t even falling through the door, and cold as balls. A little chill breeze wafts across his face and skitters down the back of his neck, raising goosebumps up his arms. It smells of green and water, and that’s when Zane realises he isn’t in his apartment building anymore. The sheer sense of vast, open space around him, the sparkle of stars overhead, the soft rustle of the breeze through the leaves, the creak of the old wooden slats under his feet –

“Oh my god.”

Zane’s thoughts exactly, but he wasn’t the one who said it.  

The girl who’d spoken is standing frozen, staring with wide eyes directly at the spot where Zane’s standing. Her friend starts to turn at the sound of the first girl’s voice, but then freezes in place as well, apparently at the sight of Zane. One of her hands is curled into a fist, the knuckles poised to rap on – Zane blinks – the paint-peeling girder of the truss supporting the short bridge they’re all standing on.

“Oh fuck,” the second girl says, seeming to read Zane’s mind. “Oh shit, oh fuck. Oh my god.”

“Hey, are we -” Zane starts to ask, taking a step forward, and the first girl lets out a shriek in operatic high C, a shriek that startles a few winged shadows out of the tops of the trees on the riverbank. The echoes haven’t even started to die away when she and her friend both turn and book it. Their flashlight beams bounce away down the bridge as they both run, the wild swinging lights illuminating snatches of truss, tree, boards, bats, flying red and gold hair. Almost before Zane knows it, the thunder of their footsteps on the wooden bridge turn into the slap of running feet against bare dirt. Somewhere in the dark on the other side of the bridge, there’s one, two slams of a car door, the grumble of an engine kicking to life, and headlights briefly throw the bridge into sharp, bright relief before veering wildly off into the night.

Zane is left standing at the end of the bridge, blinking away purple afterimages and trying to make sense of what the hell just happened.

...

Bryan’s voice sounds groggy when he picks up his phone, like he was asleep or more than halfway there when it rang. “H’lo?”

“Bryan, can you come get me?”

“Wh- yeah, sure.” The clunking and clattering in the background is probably Bryan fumbling for his glasses. “Where are you?”

Zane looks around him, at the quiet, dark trees. “Um, Texas.”

There’s a single loud thump from the other end of the line, and then quiet.

“Bryan?” Zane asks.

Bryan sounds completely awake now. “What the fuck are you doing in Texas?”

“Believe me,” Zane says, “I’m wondering the same thing.”

He’s standing in the middle of the bridge. It’s colder out here, out of the shelter of the trees, but he just feels more comfortable there. Safer. The Uber’s going to take half an hour to get out here, and the rustling in the bushes was really starting to get to him. He hasn’t forgotten what Bryan said about cults and sacrifices in this area, or the rustling they heard when they were out here for their on-location shoot. And ghosts and demons might not be real, but the people who believe in them sure are, and when those people also have big knives and very little compunction about what they use them on, it’s only common sense to steer clear.

“Oh my god,” Bryan sighs into the phone, and Zane has to admit that being able to hear his best friend’s voice is also very reassuring. “Only you. How did you get yourself out there, that you can’t get yourself back?”

“Bryan,” Zane says. “Please. I don’t have my wallet, I’m just lucky I had the Uber app to get me back to civilisation, there are no AirBNBs for miles -”

“What? Where are you?”

Zane bites his bottom lip. There’s no way to do this without Bryan freaking out and jumping to ridiculous conclusions, but Tara had assumed it was a joke and hung up on him, and Zane doesn’t know who else he can call about something like this in the middle of the night. “So. You remember that little – little road trip we took out to a nice hiking trail in Denton County?”

There’s a moment of ominous silence.

“You’re standing on the Goatman’s Bridge, aren’t you,” Bryan says.

“I’m standing on the Goatman’s Bridge,” Zane agrees, because what else is he going to say?

There’s a long, slightly muffled sigh from the other end of the phone, like Bryan is dragging a hand down his face.

“That’s a twenty hour drive, Zane,” he says, at last.

Zane shrugs, before remembering that Bryan can’t see him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

...

Bryan doesn’t say anything when he pulls up in front of the bus station, just flashes the headlights twice and pokes his head out the driver’s side window. Zane gratefully flops into the passenger seat and turns up the heat as far as it will go.

They manage to make it back to the highway before either of them says anything. Bryan keeps his eyes fixed on the road, not looking over at Zane, not acknowledging his presence. The radio hisses and pops static at them until Zane reaches over and turns it off.

“Thanks for coming all the way out here,” he says, mostly to fill the sucking silence. “I tried to get the bus, but they wouldn’t take ApplePay.”

Bryan does not ask what the fuck Zane was doing twenty hours from home, standing on a reputedly haunted bridge in a totally different state from his apartment, which is a small mercy. His knuckles do go white on the steering wheel as he says, “You never answered my question. How did you get out here without your wallet in the first place?”

“Not sure,” Zane says, because it’s the truth. And then, because he’s had several hours in the dark with only his thoughts and possibly a serial murder cult for company, and because he’d much rather think about what could have happened to him than what might still happen to him, “I probably wandered out here in a fugue state.”

Bryan slams on the brakes so hard that for a moment, Zane thinks they’ve hit something in the road. He grabs at the handle on the door for support as the SUV veers sharply right and comes to a rolling halt on the shoulder of a dirt road, half-in and half-out of the woods.

Bryan’s breathing hard, and he slaps Zane’s hand away when Zane reaches over to see if he’s okay. “What the fuck!” he yells, and slams the flats of both hands against the steering wheel.

The blare of the horn startles them both, and for a moment, the inside of the SUV is silent.

“Fugue state!?” Bryan finally shouts, at the windshield.

“It’s the only logical -”

“No! Fuck your logic! Your eyes were fucking glowing!”

“Mass hysteria,” Zane says, feeling a little more confident about this one. At least it’s a subject he’s a little more familiar with the mechanics of.

“Mass fucking hysteria?!?”

“All of those fans -” Zane starts, but Bryan holds up a hand with the palm facing Zane and shakes his head.

“No, goddamnit, you don’t get to fucking – Unresolved your way out of this one! I know what I saw, and it wasn’t mass fucking hysteria!”

“Well, we already talked about this, I don’t think you exactly get up in the morning thinking, uh, ‘hm, I have some empty space in my calendar, think I’ll schedule in a little mass hysteria for Tuesday’ -”

“Fuck you, Zane!” Bryan finally turns to face Zane, and – oh. Oh, he looks bad. He looks very upset. Zane may have miscalculated here. “This isn’t a – a stupid bit! This is our real, actual lives here!”

Zane lets all that sit in the air between them for a moment, lets that settle into the dust covering the dashboard. Bryan’s breathing hard, but he doesn’t say anything else, waiting to see what Zane’s got to say for himself.

“I know,” Zane says, finally, testing the response on his tongue and finding it to be true. “Do you think that just ‘cause I don’t think this is anything to do with – spirits, or demons, that I’m not scared too? I found myself in another state tonight.” There’s some kind of joke to be made here about fugue states and Texas state, but this isn’t really the time to go trying to tease it out. “With no idea how I got here and no way to get food or shelter or home. I’m not – being…flip, or sarcastic, or trying to dismiss you. I actually think I must have found my way out here in a fugue state, maybe I hitchhiked, I don’t know! I can’t remember anything between opening my apartment door and stepping onto the bridge! I don’t have any other way to explain that!”

He plunges forward, before Bryan can do that thing he does and grin like Zane not knowing the rational explanation means there isn’t one. “And I’ve had at least one hallucination, and that means – it all adds up to something wrong in my brain. Maybe mental, maybe physical. Do you think I’m not taking this seriously? I’m scared as hell! I’m fucking terrified! And I’m not going to accuse you of not taking it seriously because you think it’s demons, but right now, that commitment’s being seriously tested!”

Bryan’s silent for a moment, and Zane flinches, internally. So the 180 from ‘joke about it to make it smaller and less frightening’ to ‘you want serious, we can do serious’ might have been a bit too much mood whiplash.

He really hopes he hasn’t insulted Bryan. Bryan’s one of his best friends, and even their ongoing disagreement about what constitutes demonstrable scientific evidence of life after death hasn’t put a damper on that friendship. But Zane knows how the frustration of not being able to convince someone of your own convictions can add up and boil over, and he really doesn’t want this to be the final straw between them.

Also, he really needs Bryan to drive him home.

But when Bryan does open his mouth, what he says isn’t anything Zane’s expecting. “What hallucination?”

“What?”

“You said you’d had at least one hallucination. What was it.”

Zane shrugs one shoulder. “Knocking, all over my apartment. And something I thought was a very vivid dream after I accidentally drank your holy water.”

“You drank my -”

“Accidentally! Look, I’ll get you some more.”

But Bryan’s already moved on, if the way he’s frowning is any indication. “So what was that hallucination?”

Zane suddenly feels like he imagines people with stage fright must feel when they’re put on the spot to sing karaoke.

“That it burned my mouth,” he finally admits. “And my eyes glowed. But we can’t test that now, because you’ve heard about it and you’re obviously part of this mass -”

“If you say ‘mass hysteria’ one more time, I’m going to use your travel tea mug for black coffee,” Bryan threatens.

“You wouldn’t. I’d never get the taste out!”

“Oh, don’t test me. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Bryan wags a finger in the air between them. “And – hang on. I saw your eyes glowing before you told me about this. So that’s two independent sightings of the same phenomenon -”

“Don’t start,” Zane groans.

Bryan shrugs, with that too-innocent face he likes to wear when he doesn’t have anything concrete but he wants to make Zane look like the fool for not believing that the ghost of an alien possessed the family cat.

“I’m going to the doctor as soon as we get back,” Zane says, warningly. “You’re not going to talk me out of it.”

Bryan shrugs again, a normal shrug this time without any trace of smugness. “Wasn’t even gonna try. Believe me, if it turns out you have a brain tumour or a – cog out of alignment, I want them to catch it right away. But – would you please at least consider also consulting the exorcist?”

Zane bites his bottom lip. On the one hand, it should be harmless, but on the other – “I don’t want to encourage the delusion. I was there for that Exorcism of Anneliese Whatserpickle episode. I have the bee sting scars to prove it.”

Bryan snorts, but he doesn’t argue. “Just…think about it. Please?”

Zane looks out the window. Somewhere out in those woods, the Old Alton Bridge is sitting, waiting for carts and horses and feet that will no longer cross it. He thinks, briefly, about how stupid he’d thought a demon named Steve was. The mere idea of a demon named Zane is objectively even stupider.

But –

The memory of the girl’s raised fist, ready to knock on the bridge, comes sharply back to him. Three knocks, he’d been hearing, on the pipes and the apartment door.

Zane and Bryan had each knocked on the bridge three times, when they were shooting on location, because it was supposed to summon the Goatman. Steve. The demon who owned the bridge.

The bridge Zane himself had loudly declared he’d stolen by the end of the episode. The bridge that thousands – maybe even hundreds of thousands – of people had agreed that yes, he owned, and they’d alter both bridge and documentation to prove it.

He glances over at Bryan, sees him staring straight out into the dark woods with his jaw set, and feels a little cold zap of fear followed by something soft. The girl who’d been about to knock had looked like that, just before she’d turned and run. She’d seen something when she looked at Zane that had scared her badly enough to run like hell.

But so had Bryan. Bryan, who’s so easy to get worked up, who hates everything to do with demons, who for all that he would love to have evidence of ghosts on camera, would really rather be left alone by them completely. Bryan, who had willingly dropped everything and driven all the way to Texas, back to a bridge that he fully believes is haunted by something powerful and evil that he and Zane had personally pissed off, without even a camera crew for backup or an excuse. Bryan, who sincerely believes in all this demon stuff, had seen his best friend turned worst nightmare advance out of the darkness towards him, complete with glowing red eyes.

And he hadn’t run. He’d stayed, and waited, and worried. About Zane. For Zane.

Zane shakes his head. He still doesn’t really believe that what’s going on is demons, but – if Bryan does, and it’d make Bryan feel better –

“Okay,” he says, and Bryan’s jaw unclenches, just a little. “Yeah. Let’s give the Father a call, too.”

“Okay,” Bryan says. “Good. You know, I’m gonna hold you to that.”

He jerks the key in the ignition, and the SUV rumbles back to life. Bryan shifts into reverse, and glances back over his shoulder, but pauses, looking up to meet Zane’s eyes.

“So,” he starts, with the beginnings of a shit-eating grin stealing across his face, “does this mean we can say that the existence of demons has now been officially -”

“If you even think about saying ‘Resolved’, I will punt you like a football,” Zane warns.

Bryan just grins, and turns the SUV around.

[eryiss]

Fraxus Week Day 5: Hope/ Despair/Complicated/Easy

Summary: Sitting in his bed, Laxus beside him, Freed's mind starts to wonder. He thinks back to the first time he met the man he would fall in love with, and the hope that came with that meeting. A complicated type of hope, but hope none the less.

This is my fifth admission for Fraxus Week event for twenty-nineteen hosted by the tumbler user @fuckyeahfraxus. This one is a little bit angsty, and an exploration of a character's backstory. It's based off the prompt 'Hope/Despair/Complicated/Easy.'

You can read it on Fanfiction, Archive of our Own, or under the cut. I hope you all enjoy it!

Day 5: A Complicated Type of Hope

Freed slowly, carefully placed the novel he had finished reading down on his bedside table. He reached for the lamp beside him, flicking it off and slowly letting his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness of the room. He removed the small band that was keeping his hair tied up, yawning slightly as he looked towards the man who was sleeping soundly next to him.

Laxus had been asleep for about an hour, his back facing the ceiling and a large pillow wrapped up in his arms. The bed covers were only halfway up his torso, something Freed carefully remedied so his husband wouldn't wake up cold in the middle of the night. The sensation of the fabric running against his skin must have been recognised by the sleeping man, as he shuffled slightly, let out a small sound with no distinguishable meaning to it, and nuzzled his face further into the pillow before settling again.

It was a cute sight, to say the least.

As he looked over his sleeping husband through the darkness, Freed thought back to the book he had been reading. It was called 'Hope' and told the fictional story of someone living a hellish life and their slow accent to happiness. It somewhat made Freed think back to his life before Fairy Tail, and how Laxus had become something of a beacon of hope to him.

The memories made him smile as he slowly readjusted himself so that he could lie beside his husband, yawning again.

-~~~-

The first time Freed had seen Fairy Tail, he had been fifteen years old.

It was in the second month of him being enrolled in the Rune Army's cadet scheme. The program was advertised as a way to teach young men responsibility as well as setting them up for a successful career in the Rune Army, allowing them to begin active duty the day they turned eighteen. Even in the short time Freed had been involved, he realised that the program was a thinly veiled way that the army could get their grunt-work done for free while pretending that they were teaching their recruits discipline.

Freed hadn't had any say in joining the program. It seemed that the moment his parents realised he had magic that would be appealing to the army, he was being told to pack his bags so that he could be shipped to the army base where he would live. He had no doubts as to why his parents wanted him there; he was an inconvenience to them, and this allowed them to be rid of him in a way that was socially acceptable

He wasn't angry at them. He'd long since been aware of his parents' feelings about him.

Even after spending only two months as a cadet, Freed had decided that he would leave the moment he could. Until then, he knew he had to go along with whatever the power-mad generals wanted without much objection. Despite their ages, if the cadets were seen to be disobedient, they were punished in the same way real troops were. Physical labour that, for their age, was dangerously strenuous.

"In line, now!" Was yelled to the cadets, who all straightened themselves and stood to attention.

The general who had addressed them was known only as Takin. Though Freed didn't know for sure, he had assumed that their leader was resentful of being in charge of cadets rather than official troops and thought it useful to take out his anger on the teenagers who he was in charge of. He was relentless, thoughtless, and saw respect and fear as interchangeable.

Looking impassive, Takin walked through the four rows of young cadets. There was twenty of them altogether, all standing to attention in uniform, wearing buzzcut hair styles and stoic expressions. None of them wanted to stand out, as getting attention from their general was not a good thing.

They weren't in their barracks as they normally would be. In an attempt to make the cadet scheme look more legitimate to the public, they would often be involved public celebrations or parades. Takin had stated that they would take twenty of the most respectable – which meant most obedient – cadets to the Magnolia harvest festival. They were to be part of the carnival procession, simply marching in line as they did every day, and as a reward of some kind they would be given a short amount of time to roam free throughout the city before they returned.

The whole thing was a publicity stunt, but Freed was craving any sense of freedom so wouldn't complain.

"You will walk in time," Takin demanded. "You will not speak. If you see your families, you will not address or look at them. You represent me and if I end up looking bad because of you, you will be reprimanded the minute we return to the barracks. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir!" A chorus of well rehearsed yells followed his questions.

Takin continued his pep talk, as he called them, for a few more minutes. As Freed's eyes were set straight forward on his commander, he couldn't see if anyone had taken issue with the way the young men were being treated. Although Freed considered himself old enough and mature enough to take the verbal onslaught, he knew that some of the assembled teenagers couldn't deal with the constant abuse from their leader.

It wasn't long after the supposed pep talk that the carnival had begun. Freed hadn't gotten a good gage as to where in the possession they were, but he had figured out that the float in front of their designated space had someone dressed up as a turkey that danced. The juxtaposition of the that compared to the regimented group of teenagers was almost funny.

Freed didn't laugh, though.

Doing so would make him stand out which would lead to reprimanding.

When they made their way to the main part of Magnolia, walking in complete unison with their boot slamming against the cobbles simultaneously, they were presented with people cheering and laughing and applauding. The sun was warm and almost comforting, and if he were allowed to then Freed may have smiled.

They continued to walk, and that was when he saw the guildhall. Illuminated by the rising morning sun, a large and grand looking building appeared ahead of them. The insignia of the Fairy Tail guild was presented at the forefront of the building, so it didn't take the rune mage long to realise what exactly it was.

From what he'd been told about guilds, both from his parents and from the generals in charge of him, guilds were something of a necessary evil. His parents had shown them as vigilantes who were getting in the way of 'real' law officials who should be stopped, and the army had portrayed them as lower rungs on the ladder of authority. The image these stories had led him to believe they were full of miscreates and undesirable people; nothing more than troublemakers who needed to stop interfering with things that didn't concern them.

But as he glanced towards the group assembled before the guild – only for a second as not to be seen – he saw a group of happy people. Children and adults alike smiling, a heavy mixture of all people. Not anything like he had been told.

As he continued, he saw people were carrying small flags that contained the Fairy Tail logo. They weren't seen as troublemakers by the people living here, they were almost celebrated. It seemed as though Freed had been mislead about what place in society Wizard Guild's held; it wasn't surprising, given who he had got this information from.

He couldn't dwell on it for too long, however, as the further away he got from the guildhall the less traces of their influence could be seen. He put his focus back onto marching and walked the rest of the way through the carnival route; all the while ignoring the pain, he felt in his feet because of the ill-fitting boots.

"Right," Takin began as they assembled at the end of the route. "You have two hours. Be here on time, and remember you still represent me. Behave, and if I hear you disrespect me then you'll be on latrine duty."

It said something about Takin that, when hearing this threat, Freed wondered why he was being lenient.

After being dismissed, most members of the troop began to walk towards their families who had come to watch them. Obviously not having anyone to talk to, Freed had decided to look around the unfamiliar town. He had accrued a small amount of money from doing extra work around the barracks, so could perhaps afford something. Shining Takin's shoes for a week was particularly humiliating, but hopefully worth it.

He walked past all the meaningless things without a word; why waste money on candy-apples and shoddily made stalls when he could do something more permanent. He didn't know when the next time he would be let out like this would be, so he was intending to make the most of his money while he had the chance.

It was when he saw a bookshop that he realised the best use of his money. It was small and perhaps a little dingy, but it was open and that was all Freed required. He walked in without thinking.

Browsing through the unorganised selection of books in silence, only vaguely aware of the old man who owned the shop watching him, Freed tried to find something that interested him. When he had lived in his parent's manor, he had always preferred reading something factual. But now, presented with a reality that he had little control over, he found himself craving some escapism. He ended up finding this in a dusty corner, with a leather-bound book containing a blurb that explained the fantasy elements of the story. When he took it to the shopkeeper, he was forced to spend basically all the money he had gotten; not as much as he thought, apparently.

As he took the book from the man, he felt a small fizzing on the back of his hand. He winced slightly as a thought was pushed into his head, something which should have become familiar now but hadn't. This was how the army gave instructions, with a rune on the back of his hand that took the words of his commander and imprinted them in his mind.

Their time alone had been shortened to an hour. He would have to leave soon to get back in time.

Fantastic.

He thanked the shopkeeper and left immediately, turning towards the dark and wet alleyway he had walked through to get to the bookstore. He held the book as he walked, glancing up to see another person enter the alleyway from the other side. He shifted slightly to the side to not fully take the confined space and continued walking.

It was the cadet's expectation that, just like he had, the man on the other side of the alley would shift slightly so they could walk past each other without issue. This turned out to be untrue, as the older man shoved their shoulders against each other roughly as he passed.

"Fuckin' watch where you're going," He even had the arrogance to say.

Freed felt his chest tighten slightly in perhaps anger. He admitted it was a small thing, but it felt as though he was reaching the final straw. He already had to deal with dismissive parents, a borderline abusive general who was in control of him, and a lack of any freedom. And now he was expected to deal with an asshole blaming him for something that wasn't his fault.

No. No way in hell.

He spun on his heel to see the retreating figure of the man. He was taller than Freed, with unkept blonde hair and a body that was relatively muscular. When he had been approaching him, Freed had seen the other man had a scar covering his eye and was probably older than the rune mage by a few years.

"Hey," He shouted slightly, knowing his voice was carried loud enough for the other man to hear.

The blonde ignored him completely, and Freed snapped. It was all too much, and being ignored while still feeling that stupid, invasive fuzzing from the rune on his hand had driven him to a point where it felt all his senses were overloading. It was all too much.

"I am talking to you!" He yelled, but something was different.

His voice was different, mutated into an otherworldly snarl. It hadn't been his intention to sound like that, and he felt as though it could have only happened with some kind of magical interference. He chose to ignore this, stalking forward towards the other man, who seemed to have definitely heard him this time, as he turned.

"The hell do you want?" The blonde almost spat as he spoke, voice gravely and seemingly annoyed. "Thought you little army pricks were kept on a leash."

Freed didn't think through his actions. He dropped the book to the floor and slammed his fist into the taller mans jawline, sadistically loving the small crack he felt reverberate through his bones. Part of his mind imagined doing that to the people who had pushed him to this point of anger; to his parents and to his generals. To punch Takin, bring him to the floor and hurt him, was something Freed was craving.

The power fantasy went as fast as it came, and Freed saw that his punch had been more powerful than he had expected. The blonde's head had been slammed against the wall by the force of the punch and was rubbing his head in pain. Freed hadn't punched someone that hard before and looked down at his hands for any kind of explanation.

He was met with one. His right hand was not his own, but a monster's.

"Shit," He whispered, looking down at his hand with wide eyes. "No. Fuck, why are you doing this now."

This wasn't the first time this had happened. Freed had always known that he had some kind of connection to a demon of some kind, something he had tried to rid himself of many times. It had been nearly a year since he had undergone any kind of transformation, which he had accredited to the runes that he had written on himself. The demon was the reason he had learnt rune magic before, and it had been worthwhile to keep the creature hidden. But now it seemed that the emotional state he had been in had overthrown his writings and the demon was coming back again.

He was quick to act, knowing how to deal with it for a short time at least. He pulled out the dagger that was part of his uniform, placed the demonic hand on the wall and slammed the weapon down, impaling himself with it though not feeling a thing. He knew that the demo would retreat if put through enough pain.

As he did this, he was unaware of the blonde looking at him with wide eyes.

The rune mage watched as the demonic claw slowly reverted back into his normal hand, melting the blade as it did and ruining the sleeve of his uniform. He couldn't explain to Takin what had happened, so would have to lie about what had happened. He would be reprimanded without a doubt the moment he returned, and the rune mage felt a sickness grow in his stomach as he came to terms with this fact.

"The fuck was that?" The blonde demanded, and Freed snapped his head towards him.

"Nothing," He said with rigidity, and went to walk away. A hand landed on his shoulder and turned him around.

"Nothing?" The blonde quoted with an incredulous tone. "You just fucking stabbed yourself and you called it nothing?"

"That wasn't part of me," Freed insisted, voice harsh as he shook the stranger's hand off him. "I have to go."

Again, he went to walk down the alley again, but heard footsteps jogging to keep up with him. When he was turned around for the second time, he saw that the blonde had picked up the book that he had dropped when dealing with the claw he had grown. He snatched the book from the blonde's hands immediately and went to walk away, but the blonde was grabbing his arm and not allowing him to leave. He tried to shrug the man off but the grip simply got tighter and his chances of leaving on his own terms lessened slightly.

"What did you mean by it wasn't part of you?" The blonde demanded. "It looks like take-over magic or something? Pretty fucking powerful too," He rubbed his jaw to highlight his claim.

"It isn't magic. It's a curse," Freed spoke adamantly.

"Who the fuck told you that?" The blonde laughed a little at the idea, and Freed bristled. "Because whoever it was, they were bullshitting you. You weren't being taken over by some random monster or anything. You swung that punch, you wanted to do it. Not some demon. Just a spell or something"

Freed didn't say anything immediately. This wasn't an opinion he had heard before. Everyone who had seen this demonic side of him had called it a curse. This included his parents and the doctors that had been taken to the household when Freed had been there.

"That isn't my magic," Freed denied. "I am well versed in enchantments and runes. Not demons."

The blonde seemed to ignore him. "Why the hell are you part of the fucking army with a takeover spell like that? You can't wanna be some faceless foot soldier, right?"

"I wasn't exactly involved in the decision," Freed muttered harshly, mainly speaking to himself.

"Then fucking leave," The blonde spoke as if it were obvious. "If you don't wanna be there and they're not gonna let you use any of your actual magic, what's the point in being there. The guild's always taking in runaways and fuckups, half the people there are orphans or whatever. That ain't gonna stop anytime soon, but if you joined at least you'll be a runaway with a bit of power inside of you."

Not knowing what to say to the invitation – if it could even be called that – Freed made a final effort to shrug himself free of the mans grasp. He succeeded this time and started to walk away for the final time; he knew that the time he had to get back to Takin was slipping away from him. This time, the blonde didn't follow him.

"Hey," The blonde shouted again. "If you join the guild, I want you on my team. Name's Laxus."

Freed paused for a moment. Laxus. What he was offering was something that Freed had never had. He thought back to the faces of the guildmembers he had marched past and almost yearned for it. They were all individual, happy, and seemed to be acting as a family despite having no relation. And a stranger was offering him that based on a power that he hated.

After a moment, he looked over and spoke. "Freed."

That was all he said before he continued walking.

-~~~-

The memory of his first meeting with the man who was to be his husband made Freed laugh. Some people had a story that was grand and romantic that would make anyone who listened to cry; the two of them had a confrontation with each other in an alleyway wherein Freed had punched Laxus with a magic he refused to admit was his own.

Although it had been a chance meeting, Freed felt it to be one of the most important moments in his life. Not only had he met his husband that day, but he had also been given the first taste of independence in his life. It had been a turning point, and the offer of joining a guild had been something that hadn't left his mind since the moment it entered. It had given him hope that he wasn't destined to follow the demands of other people; be it a general of his cadets troop or his parents.

In many ways, he owed that to Laxus. He owed his hope to Laxus.

The decision to leave the cadets when he was sixteen had been hard. It wasn't as if he could leave without difficulty. His previous obedience meant the generals had been careful not to give him any hope of another life, and he knew that his parents would rather have him there than at home, so returning to the manor wasn't an option. He would have never seriously considered leaving if it hadn't been for Laxus, most likely, as the blonde had offered him some kind of security.

And although his time in Fairy Tail hadn't gone exactly as he had planned – Laxus having become more involved in his own plans by the time had managed to escape from the cadets – Freed did find something of a real family in the guildhall. This was only possible because of his husband, he had concluded.

He had asked some point later in their relationship why Laxus had offered him a place in the guild. Apparently, it had bene over a year since Laxus had been hit in any capacity, and he was impressed by the ease in which Freed had managed it.

It was funny to think that the man who had calculated people's worth by their usefulness had become the same man drooling into his pillow beside him.

Freed's life had never been particularly logical. His formative years had been governed by guardians who were equally dismissive of him as well as being overbearing. And then Laxus had entered his life, acting as a figurehead for individuality and being himself. No more controlling figures dominating his life, simply being in control of his own destiny. Laxus offered him a sense of hope that his life had lacked up until that point; a complicated kind of hope that made Freed become the man who would eventually run the Raijinshuu and marry Laxus Dreyar.

"Night Laxus," He whispered, pressing his lips against Laxus' head.

The blonde let out a small groan. "Night Freed."

[writsgrimmyblog]

On the Fourth Wall and Transformative Works in RPF Fandoms

The fourth wall is a massively complicated area, which engages debates around fan labour, the power dynamics between TPTB and fandoms, the power dynamics between celebrities and celebrity oriented fandoms and the silencing/shaming of transformative works, specifically erotic fanart and fanfiction. 

Derived from the abstract notion of the fourth wall in the theater (i.e. the three walls of the stage and the ‘invisible’ wall between action on stage and the audience) discussions of the ‘fourth wall’ have extended into film, television and take on its own definition as part of fandom parlance, with its increasingly more illusory and permeable construct in today’s social media driven world. 

Fandoms are under more scrutiny than ever as non-fandom people pick up on intra-fandom activities and ships, and the fourth wall disintegrates as a result. It’s not just fans that break the fourth wall. It’s frequently dismantled by celebrities, the media, talk show hosts, TPTB and so on. There are a lot of convincing articles that suggest the fourth wall actually should come down, because clinging on to its last bricks heightens the sense that we should be ashamed of creating fanfiction, fanart, vidding and so on, particularly stuff with an erotic and/or ship focused slant. However, I think the conversation, when it comes to RPF, is different. 

Here’s why.

Celebrities who have no real understanding of fandom space, often get weirded out when they find they are the subject of RPF fanfic. In a hot button moment in my early days of being active in this (Radio One RPF) fandom, I expressed views on that which I have since refined. Honestly, I do think a bemused response is understandable from people with zero knowledge of the role of fandoms in pop culture or the creative freedoms those spaces have historically provided to participants operating within them. Where I sit now is that I wish celebrities who benefit enormously from a large fandom with a significant transformative element might invest a little time to work out what these spaces are all about, and certainly not disingenuously exploit those spaces for humour and/or financial gain, but I get the understandable moment of not being sure what’s going on and reacting in a way that doesn’t jive well with fandom. By way of early caveat I’m also stripping out debates around any kind of harassment (ship related, stalking and so on) from this post, because if I haven’t been abundantly clear about it before, I think that is NOT okay. This post focuses on the celebrity response to RPF - real person fiction - and specifically erotic works of fanfiction. It does not deal with how celebrities might respond to attempts to establish any kind of ‘real person fact’, because that’s a whole different ballgame. FWIW, on that, I’m with V. Arrow’s excellent essay on RPF in Anne Jamison’s ‘Fic: Why Fanfiction is Taking Over the World.

Some celebrities have been confronted with the information that the fictional characters they play are the subject of transformative works, and even that breaking of the fourth wall has historically not gone great for fandoms. With the exception of some fandom darlings like Tom Felton in Harry Potter fandom, it has frequently been met with the dreaded ‘no homo’ response or convention circuit engagement which makes fandom at large feel ashamed for seeing slashy potential in subtext. As much as people want to hold creators to account for capitalising on large slash ships without offering any meaningful endgame, there are also large portions of those fandoms that wish those questions wouldn’t get asked in public forums in the first place, because of the spectacular potential they have to go wrong. See, Jensen Ackles on bisexual Dean Winchester, William Shatner on Kirk/Spock, Benedict Cumberbatch on Johnlock, the Phelps twins on Weasleycest and countless others. 

The difference with analysing how these conversations play out in the case of the examples above and RPF, is that the former engages debates around text/subtext, queer readings of texts, authorial control over narrative, queerbaiting in media and so on. There are undoubtedly all kinds of blurred lines which include debating the utility of shutting down slash ship questions in fan-driven forums when shows actively play with those ships in canon, the issues with framing shipping as activism and so on, but these are all big topics in and of themselves. The tl;dr is that celebs can get weird about transformative fandom activity, even if such fandom activity is centered on the fictional characters they portray. When it comes to transformative works in an RPF context, you might argue the image a celebrity cultivates as a fiction in and of itself and to an extent there is an artificiality in terms of what gets presented to the world at large, but fundamentally, a lot of the language we use to talk about fictional narratives doesn’t easily translate in the context of real people, because they’re not fictional characters. They are real people, living real lives. 

That’s not to say I think people creating transformative works in RPF fandoms should feel more squeamish about doing so, but I do think the conversation around the sanctity of the fourth wall is different in RPF fandoms. For a start, for some people part of being in an RPF fandom is actually all about breaking the fourth wall. Interacting with your faves in a publicly visible way is part of celebrity fandom. However, I question the extent to which it is appropriate/helpful to extend that celebrity/fan interaction to the workings of transformative fandom and the slashing, femslashing, shipping and headcanoning associated with it. Let’s be very real about the fact that if celebrities are responding negatively to what fandom does with its interpretation of the fictional characters they depict (and oh boy I have thoughts on that which I will shelve for another day), the potential for a celebrity to find erotic works of fiction about themselves or their friends weird must surely be heightened.

This is ultimately why, in my view, @ ing celebs about fictional ships and headcanons rarely, if ever, ends well, with the possible exception of celebrities who are fannish themselves - i.e. the ones who can speak back to fandom in their own language. It most frequently ends up in a situation where not only the person sending the original message - but the fandom at large - is led to feel like your fave disapproves of something you put a lot of unpaid labour into producing and feel proud of, and it’s a pretty awful feeling. I’m staunchly in defense of RPF and I will bring out all the receipts which back up my perspective if required, but I have no desire for any of the stars of my RPF fiction to ever become aware of the fiction I’m writing about them in real life. I don’t want their approval, I certainly don’t invite their censorship, and I ultimately produce transformative works for the people that are here for it, i.e. the people in fandom who want to read the stuff I write.

When it comes to debates about the fourth wall with fictional narratives, there’s an element of holding the fiction to account, of exploring how shipping finds its way into the narrative but the actual (invariably queer) ship doesn’t. That is all part of a broader campaign for diversity in media, which in and of itself is loaded with the complications of vitriolic ship wars, skewed perceptions of fan/creator control, investing in commercially viable content where the queerness resides within subtext and is hyped within fandom space as opposed to less commercialised and already diverse queer content and so on.

With RPF and the fourth wall, you strip away a lot of those issues around diversity in media because - aside from debates about problematic faves - your faves just are. The fiction that exists is the facade of celebrity, but it has a real person behind it all and the possibility of ‘changing the narrative’ doesn’t hold weight in the same way as it does with fiction. For many celebrities their ‘celebrity’ image is very much part of showing the world their authentic selves. 

When the transformative side of RPF fandom intersects with the actual celebrities in question, I always come back to who benefits from the works produced within these communities. Aside from the arguments about the financial benefits a large ship can wield, primarily, transformative works offer a space of great creativity, solace and freedom for the participants within those fandoms. That’s the thing I feel most strongly about protecting. When celebrities are confronted with transformative works featuring even the characters they represent on screen, let alone fiction or theories about themselves or their friends, their response to that has the potential to upset the fandom at large, and that just makes everyone feel like shit. I would dearly love to see the fourth wall as an impenetrable construct in these spaces for that reason, but it’s not always to be. This post is a slight subtweet to something that happened in the particular fandom I’m in today, but it has, I hope, broader application. 

I struggle to see the upside of showing RPF celebrities transformative works featuring them, but, if you have counter perspectives, please do share. I’d love to know your thoughts.