#i’ll have to get a job the SECOND i move to minneapolis though

[butchsaint]

i might TWO tattoos in november i’m sooo excited :)

[wondersofdreaming]

Lost Boys - TEN

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 2.605

Warnings: Guns. Lost brothers. Blood. Death. Shooting. The aftermath of the explosion.

Author’s note: The end. I know it's crap but thanks for reading anyways.

Divider by @firefly-graphics​!

Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Feedback is appreciated.

MASTERLIST

[ONE] [TWO] [THREE] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SIX] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE]

Walter had a grim look on his face. He could see that Melanie was starting to panic. Her face contorted into a look of worry, also her eyes were searching for the big body of her brother underneath all the rubble.

“We’ll find him,” Walter assured her, “Are you hurt?”

Walter helped her sit up on the pavement.

“I’m feeling a little woozy, and my back hurts from colliding with the car. Else I think I’m good,” Melanie answered. Walter made a mental note to keep an eye on her, as she could have a concussion or may be bleeding internally.

“Lucas!” Melanie walked into what used to be the front garden, calling for her brother.

A high pitched tone was ringing in his ears. The blast had knocked Lucas off his feet and onto the nearest solid thing, the neighbouring house. His broken arm was throbbing with pain, while a burn was slowly spreading across his chest. He had tried breaking ribs before, so he wasn’t doubting that he might have cracked a few from the blast.

Lucas opened his eyes and watched burning paper dissipating in the wind. The scorching heat from the fire warmed his face, as he lay there watching the orange and red hues. It was quite beautiful to look at, while it destroyed the childhood home of this triplet brother.

Brother. Sister. MELANIE!

He scrambled to his feet, hissing as the jolting pain thundered through his body. His head was spinning as if he had just gotten off a wild carousel ride. He was feeling nauseous as he tried to move.

“LUCAS!”

It was a distant sound, but he heard his sister’s voice through the loud ringing.

“Mel!” he tried yelling back, but the tone was low. His throat was sore and felt raw like someone had tried scratching the flesh from the inside.

In the distance, he heard a fire truck's siren, but he didn’t care about the fire, he needed to get to his sister. He jumped over the broken fence between the neighbouring houses. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to walk, it hurt to even think, but he had to make sure that Melanie was safe. The adrenaline was pumping in his veins, making him move faster.

“Mel,” he said hoarsely as he saw her crying into his triplet brother’s shirt. They both turned their heads towards him. Melanie released Walter and ran towards her injured brother. He was prepared for the impact, as his sister collided with his cracked ribs, but let out a gasp anyways as she hugged him.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Melanie sobbed, “I wouldn’t even know how to tell mom if you had died. And what about dad? What about Josh? And your job?”

“Mel, stop talking. We’re okay,” Lucas shushed her. He hugged her close, even though it hurt, but he didn’t care.

The sirens grew louder, making the raging headache Walter was sporting even worse, but despite that, he moved towards the road and guided the fire truck and fire engine towards the burning building.

Soon the area was swarming with ambulances and police cars. The firefighters contained the towering flames, while medics were attending Lucas, Melanie, and even Walter, who had stubbornly told them that he was fine, was looking into a flashlight.

“Can you remember your name, sir?” the medic asked.

“Walter Matthew Marshall, detective at the Minneapolis PD,” he grumbled.

“Well, detective, you might have a concussion from your head hitting the pavement. You need observation for the next 24 hours.”

“I don���t have time…”

“Detective, it is not up for discussion.”

Walter was groaning the entire way to the hospital. He and Lucas were placed in the same room. Lucas’ injuries weren’t as bad as expected, with only a few broken ribs and a concussion. Melanie had escaped unharmed, except for a few bruises and a high tone ringing in her ears.

The brothers needed observation for the next 24 hours, and with a lot of stubbornness from all three, Melanie was allowed to stay in the room with them for the night.

The police arrived a few hours later to take their statement. If it wasn’t because the situation was quite serious and Walter rarely laughed, he would have been rolling on the floor after seeing the confused faces of the detectives, when they told them that Melanie was the sister of Lucas but not of Walter.

It didn’t take long before Melanie fell asleep on the pull-out bed the hospital had provided. Lucas watched as her chest rose and fell, feeling relieved that she was alive and breathing.

“How are you feeling?” Walter asked from the window. He was watching the people walking in and out of the hospital, as they had a clear view of the main entrance.

“I’m good, sore, and pissed,” Lucas answered, “What do you think happened?”

“My theory is someone planted that bomb to either set it off when we came back or to destroy any evidence that could be found in that house,” Walter mused.

Lucas nodded, having had the same thoughts.

“Do you think he had anything to do with this?” Walter asked after a silent moment, pulling Lucas out of his train of thoughts.

“I don’t know, brother. I have no clue what our brother is capable of. He is a wanted criminal all over the world.”

“Do you think he’s the mastermind behind this?”

“He could very much be, are you having second thoughts?”

Walter turned around and glared at Lucas, who stared back. Their equally blue eyes were sharp and alert.

“No. I just hope we can catch him, get him into a prison that can get the idea of world domination out of his head, and where I can keep an eye on him.”

August walked into his mother’s new house on the outskirts of the city. He had been transported in a cargo ship to get back into the states. His tech associate Marc had been furious at him for leaving the safe house in Thailand, but nothing could stop August, he always got what he wanted.

“Mother!” August’s voice echoed across the mostly empty house. He removed the hood of his jacket, revealing his identical face to Walter and Lucas, with the exception of the moustache.

“Auggie, my son,” he heard her soft voice coming from his left. She looked frail and thin as if she would crumble at any given moment.

“We had a clear agreement that my brothers were not to be harmed,” August growled. His patience was running low as he stared daggers at his adoptive mother.

“They were at the wrong place at the wrong time, my dear,” her voice was calm and as if she was talking to a toddler.

Since the death of her daughter, Amanda had toughened up and had started the hunt for revenge. First, her plan was to kill all of the abusive men in the world. Then her plan expanded as her organisation became bigger. August had stood by her side while she ordered people to be killed. She was merciless and cruel, not the astronomy-loving woman August had grown up with.

“You’re hiding something.”

“For the hundredth time, I am fine. Sign the damn release papers, you cannot hold me here against my will,” Lucas raised his voice at the young resident doctor standing before him. Lucas was a tall man, and from his time in the army had gotten quite muscular, which were straining against the moss-green T-shirt Melanie had helped him in.

“I must advise against it, Mr Syverson,” the resident said firmly, but still, he took a step back.

“It’s Captain Syverson.”

“Your release papers will be ready in 10 minutes, captain.”

The doctor left the room. Walter was standing by the windows, looking down at the people walking. One hooded figure caught his eye, but he blinked and the person was gone.

Two phones rang simultaneously, waking the trio who had all fallen asleep in their respective beds after they’d gotten back from the hospital. Lucas looked at his screen and was immediately wide awake.

“Aiden?” he grumbled.

“I heard about the explosion. How are you?”

“Got out of the hospital this morning. I had to take a nap. Me? Take a nap?”

Lucas heard his friend roar with laughter. He would have laughed at himself if he had the energy for it, but instead devoted said energy to concentrate on why Aiden was calling.

“I’ve found your missing brother,” Aiden’s voice was serious as he explained that August was back in the country. He had avoided getting in through flight but had been caught by a few security cameras at a harbour in Norfolk, two days earlier.

Lucas walked out of his room, needing to tell the others about the news. Walter stood by the windows, stoically listening to whoever was at the other end of his phone call. Melanie was in the kitchenette, pouring coffee into three mugs.

“Thanks, Charlie. Tell Faye that I’ll be home soon,” Walter ended the call. “That was Charlie. Raven got a hit on August’s whereabouts, he’s here.”

“Aiden told me the same thing.”

Walter frowned. His mind racing.

“Fuck,” he whispered, “I saw him earlier. He was at the hospital.”

“How do you know? You’ve never seen him before,” Melanie chimed in.

“Call in triplet-intuition or maybe it was the way he was standing. Still as a statue in the middle of a parking lot full of people walking by.”

“We have to go find him,” Lucas said. He fastened his gun to the holster in his belt and covered himself with a black zip-up hoodie.

Just as they’re about to head out, there was a knock on their door. Walter opened with caution, one hand on his gun behind his back.

It was one of the receptionists with a note that had been left for them. She handed Walter the black envelope, he thanked her and closed the door.

“Meet behind the library at midnight.”

“I can only be from August,” Lucas said. He paced around the room, wondering if it was a trap or not.

“Or maybe it’s a trap, you shouldn’t go,” Melanie told the two brothers.

“We have to. If we’re not back before 2 AM, call the police and say where we are.”

“No, I’m going too!”

“Over my dead body! If dad finds out, he’ll have my head. Mel, if this is a trap, someone needs to know where we are and can tell the police or FBI why it happened.”

Melanie sulked but agreed to stay back at the hotel.

Under the cover of a moonless night, the three siblings met for the first time. Lucas and Walter stood with their backs to the closed library, while they watched as their triplet brother walked down the pathway towards them.

August opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by the sound of heels clicking on the pavement.

“You have always been such a soft boy, August.”

The three brothers saw Amanda Walker coming closer with a raised gun in her hands.

“And your two brothers are a big pain in my ass,” she continued. Before anyone could move, Amanda aimed for Walter, but August’s reflexes were faster and he jumped in front of his brothers.

Everything happened in slow motion. August turned around with a sad smile on his lips beneath the moustache. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as his body landed on the cold hard ground. Lucas ran towards August, while Walter set off after Amanda.

August whispered something in Lucas’ ear before he took his last breath. Lucas closed the blue eyes of his brother as Walter came back.

“I lost her,” he grunted. He kicked the grovel around him, cursing at the world.

“It’s not your fault, Walt. Come, help me carry him home.”

A year later the two remaining brothers stood side by side looking at the tombstone with their brother’s name on it. Oliver Thompson.

“We found her, brother. It took some time and a lot of travelling, but we found her, and she’s going to be in jail for the rest of her life.”

“And we went to a hypnotist who unlocked our forgotten memories. No clue how she did it, but we remember the good times, the bad times, the sad times when mom and dad…”

“Let’s not become all too sappy, bro. Walter is getting married. She’s a nurse. Wish you could meet her, a feisty one, I think even she could whoop your ass.”

“Lucas has also found a woman. She is a veterinarian with a short fuse, but she makes the sweetest apple pie I’ve ever tasted.”

The brothers kept on babbling about what was happening in their lives, not noticing the hooded figure standing in a grove of trees, listening to everything.

August smiled at his brothers. His moustache had been shaved and he was growing out his curls. Somehow he looked like a beardless Walter, which he had chuckled over as he shaved.

“I’m sorry, brother. I wanted to burn down the world for being such a cruel place, but I know now that no matter how much I make it suffer, it won’t take the hurt away from my heart. Please, take me to the docks. Warehouse 16. Leave me there and don’t look back.”

Those were the words August had whispered to his army brother.

He had realised that he loved the peaceful life of living in a village in Thailand. In the few weeks, he had resided in the faraway hut, he had gathered food and helped the villagers with their farming, even though he didn’t want to help. But a particular black haired woman had insisted on him helping since he had such big muscles.

The world looked different from before with the woman’s help, he saw beauty wherever he went. But when Marc stood at his doorstep, telling him that his mother wanted to see him, he refused, so Marc did the only thing he thought would persuade the moustached man, he held his black-haired beauty at gunpoint.

August promised to go with Marc and made another promise to his new lady that he would be back, which he sealed with a kiss to her soft lips.

She had waited for him to come back, even demanded to know his secrets. If she were to be his wife, she needed to know about all his demons. So he told her. He had been astonished that she hadn’t run away screaming. Instead, she had smacked his cheek and told him that the world was a beautiful place in the eye of the beholder and that he needed glasses.

He couldn’t wait to go back home, to the woman who was waiting for him, who loved him for him, and he hoped he would be back in time to meet his child, the miracle he had created and would protect.

But he had needed closure to see that his brothers were well and happy as he was.

“... And Faye keeps saying that I have to shave off my beard and keep the moustache, so she can see what you looked like. I said no, of course, telling her that she can go harass Lucas instead.”

“She is such a sweet angel, with a devilish charm. I hope to one day have my own kid, who’ll wrap me around their tiny fingers and I’ll be putty in their hands.”

“Well, we hope you’re happy, brother, wherever you are.”

[zayamoone-old]

TF2 Mage AU

A Team Fortress 2 AU where magic exists and I change the storyline.

Hi! I don’t post here often, so I thought I’d change that by posting something that’s been occupying my thoughts for a while: a TF2 mage AU! When I discovered that a mage AU didn’t exist (at least, not any that I could find), I just had to take it upon myself to make one of my own. So, here are all of the ideas I currently have for the AU! Note that (eventually) this will become a written story. How long that will take, I have no clue. I still need a plot (if you have any plot ideas please please let me know; I’m desperate).

Basic Premise/World Info

The premise of the AU is, obviously, that mages exist. When people reach a certain age, they are allowed to start learning a single type of magic. There are many different magic types, ranging from elemental magic to dark magic. When a mage reaches a certain skill level, they are given a Familiar. They do not get to pick their Familiar- their Familiar picks them. They then keep their Familiar as a pet. The Familiar’s state of health, life span, and mood are synced with their owners (so for example, when their owner is sick the Familiar is sick, when the owner is sad the Familiar is sad, when the owner dies the Familiar dies, etc.). There are some people who choose not to take up a type of magic. These people are creatively referred to as Nomages, and in some cultures are looked down upon (though the same could be said about Mages).

Some things to clear up about the altered side of the AU are 1) The BLU team does not exist; I never saw a need for the two teams, and having them both just leads to basic and generally overused plot lines, 2) Australium doesn’t exist!! No immortality crap, 3) Gray Mann is the younger brother of Redmond and Blutarch (Red and Blu are still twins) and does not have a ridiculous story of him being able to talk since birth and being raised by eagles and whatnot, and 4) Saxton Hale is not very important to the plot. In fact, he’s actually dead in this AU. I wasn’t going to include him at all because I don’t like him and I couldn’t figure out how to fit him in, but a friend of mine actually had a cool idea for him being dead that I’ll elaborate on later.

Anyways, with all that out of the way, it’s time to introduce the characters!

Characters (headcanons and other details will be saved for asks)

Offense Classes (Elemental Mages)

Scout

Name: Jeremy Andrews

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Boston, Massachusetts, USA

Age: 27

Magic Type: Wind

Uses his magic to move faster, jump higher, and knock back enemies. I’d imagine he’d also use it to propel himself past or over enemies to land in front of or on top of them.

Decided to learn wind magic for basically the canon reason: he wanted to get the upper hand in fights, and also wanted to manage to beat his brothers to fights. So, instead of Speed magic, he decided to take up Wind magic since not only did it make him faster, but it is a great tool for fighting.

Soldier

Name: Jane Doe

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual, he really has no preference

POB: Minneapolis, Missouri, USA

Age: 50

Magic Type: Earth

Uses his magic to reach high places and throw literal boulders at people; basically a replacement for his RPG.

Took up earth magic to thereotically assist him in WWII (because if he’s a mage, they’d have to accept him, right?). He also found being able to throw destructive boulders to be incredibly helpful in any fight.

Pyro

Name: ???

Gender: Nobody knows, everybody just refers to them as a they or an it.

Sexuality: Aromantic asexual

POB: ???

Age: ???

Magic Type: Fire

Fire.

Idk what to tell you man they just really like fire.

Doesn’t have the optical mask; they see everything as it really is, but their behavior towards fire and death and destruction remains the same. They still like unicorns and rainbows.

Defense Classes (Trait Mages)

Engineer

Name: Dell Conagher

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Mostly straight, but he leans both ways. Ultimately, he doesn’t care much about relationships.

POB: Bee Cave, Texas, USA

Age: 43

Magic Type: N/A (Nomage)

Doesn’t see a need to learn magic, he already has enough skill in the engineering field.

Was mainly hired because his family worked for the Admin’s family for decades. And also because, y’know, he’s one of the smartest people on the planet.

Heavy

Name: Mikhail 'Misha' Morozov

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

POB: Dzhugdzhur Mountains, Khabarovsk Krai, USSR

Age: 57

Magic Type: Strength

Uses his magic to make himself inhumanly strong whenever he so chooses. This means he can switch from oh so gentle to strong enough to crush bone in seconds.

Took up Strength magic after he escaped the gulag to better protect his family, should the need arise.

Demoman

Name: Tavish DeGroot

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Ullapool, Scotland

Age: 49

Magic Type: Leaping

His magic basically just lets him jump really high (higher than Scout can go with his magic). This lets him shoot/throw grenades/bombs from more effective and destructive distances.

Mostly took up Leaping magic just to get his mom off his back about him learning magic. His father was a Leaping Mage, so Demo simply followed in his footsteps.

Support Classes (Arcane Mages)

Medic

Name: Dr. Ludwig Humboldt

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay

POB: Stuttgart, Germany

Age: 45

Magic Type: Necromancy

Familiar: Archimedes - Dove

Uses his magic to revive people, heal people, and communicate with the dead.

Took up the controversial art of necromancy to aid in his job. This eventually cost him his medical license.

Ngl I'm super excited to write Necromancer Medic I'm really happy with this concept help

Sniper

Name: Mick Mundy

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Whyalla, Australia

Age: 28

Magic Type: Shadow

Familiar: Hunter - Australian Shepard

Uses his magic to teleport into and transform into shadows. This is helpful for sneaking in between watchtowers and passing people unseen.

Began learning Shadow magic before he was even a sniper. He has always been an introvert and wanted to be able to get through crowds unseen and hide from people without being found.

Despite his young age, he already has a Familiar. He's just that much of a professional.

Is actually from Australia and the Mundys are his birth parents.

Spy

Name: Eugène Baudelaire

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Bordeaux, France

Age: 46

Magic Type: Mind

Familiar: Jacques - Birman

Uses his magic to read minds, bend wills, and use telepathy. These abilities all have some limits, but they are incredibly useful nonetheless.

Always enjoyed being sneaky and deceitful as a child, and as he got older he started learning Mind magic. This combined with his cunning nature and Dell's cloaking technology makes him one of the most stealthy and dangerous men in existence.

Although he denies it, he loves Jacques more than anything or anybody else. He'll often let the cat curl up on his lap while he's reading a magazine in his smoking room.

Other Characters

The Administrator

Name: Helen Callaway

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Aromantic asexual. People are horrid.

POB: Bristol, UK

Age: 56

Magic Type: N/A (Nomage)

Runs Team Fortress and uses them for her own needs.

A family friend of the Manns who took over TF after all the Mann brothers were m y s t e r i o u s l y murdered.

Miss Pauling

Name: Allison Pauling

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Closeted lesbian

POB: Like. America or something. (Madison, Wisconsin for now idk)

Age: 31

Magic Type: N/A (Nomage)

A close friend and long-time assitant to the Admin. Eagerly helps her run TF.

Redmond Mann

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: England or somewhere, idfk. The Manns are British or something right?

Age: 89

Magic Type: Fire

Before his and Blutarch's death, he ran the RED team. After his death, the remains of his team consisted of only Pyro, Engie, Demo, and Spy.

Never used his magic. They only reason he learned Fire magic was to try to get the upper hand on his twin.

Blutarch Mann

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Ditto

Age: 89

Magic Type: Ice

Ran the BLU team before he died and the two teams were merged. After his death, his team consisted of only Scout, Soldier, Heavy, Medic, and Sniper. Since he had more people on his team at the end, he counts this as a win for him.

Also never used his magic. Learned Ice magic also to try to get the upper hand as his brother. Their magic types basically cancelled each other out, so this was not helpful in the slightest.

Gray Mann

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight, but couldn't care less

POB: Ditto

Age: 84

Magic Type: Shadow

Familiar: Delta - Bald Eagle

After he murdered his older brothers, he took over TF Industries and merged RED and BLU to create Team Fortress.

Took up Shadow magic in preparation for the day he would get what he wanted. It also comes in handy for literally anything illegal.

Saxton Hale

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: A U S T R A L I A .

Age: 37

Magic Type: Strength

Ran TF Industries in its early days alongside the Mann twins before he died.

Learned Strength magic to better wrestle animals. That's it.

Idolized by literally only Soldier. Everybody else is like "Yeah no that guy was an idiot."

Wow. That was a lot to write, and I did it all in one sitting. It is late. I am losing the ability to comprehend any thoughts.

So anyways, I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts on this!! It's a heavy WIP, so I'd appreciate feedback and suggestions ;) Also, please feel free to submit asks about the AU!! It'd help a lot with its development! Also, plot ideas would be MUCH appreciated. Literally the only thing that ever prevents me from writing is my inability to come up with a plot. So if you have literally ANY ideas, please do submit them via an ask! I'd love to hear them, no matter how stupid you think they may be!

That's all for now! I'll post writing and art for the AU whenever I get around to that. Stay tuned, and please do send me your thoughts! I'll see you all later ✨

[kyberphilosopher]

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

          “Hey… Hey! Robocop! I’m talking to you!”

          I snap open my eyes, my led changing between yellow and red, finally settling upon white at the sight of Celeste and Cal looking at me. Cal is sitting in the desk across from mine, looking at me curiously as he holds a manilla colored file. Celeste leans over him, glaring at me as she snaps her fingers to get my attention.

          “The fuck were you doing?” she asks, aggressively.

          “Making a report,” I answer calmly.

          Celeste sees she is at fault and rolls her eyes. Cal looks me up and down quizzically like he doesn’t believe me. I guess, in a way, I have just lied to him. I mean, I was reporting, but not in the way that he would think. Regardless, Cal lets it goes and returns to the folder.

Software InstabiLity ^

          I swallow, even though the saliva in my mouth isn’t real. It’s more like simulated spit.

          “I attempted to use my computer but it appears to be unusable,” I say.

          “Yeah, that’s been like that for a while,” Cal says, shrugging. “Here, you can use mine.”

Software Instability ^

     “Thank you,” I say as I stand up. I make my away around the desk and come to Cal’s side. He sighs and pushes the keyboard over to me.

          “Password?” I question.

          “Here- just-” Detective Kennedy yanks the keyboard back over and types something in. With my very good sense of sight and analyzation skills, I can clearly make out him typing “fuckingpassword!”. I like it. It suits him.

          “Fucking Androids,” Celeste mutters. I don’t know what her problem is, other than her experiencing jealousy. I needed something I did not know, and so I asked. If she is like this with other people, she has a high chance of being strongly disliked by her coworkers. Regardless, Cal doesn’t respond to her.

          I scan over all the reports of Androids. They are all vastly different, yet similar. Android beat man after refusing to give sexual intercourse. Android stopped taking orders after owner beat them. Android fled after a period of mistreatment from Plaintiff.

          In the 371 cases filed, all of the Androids appear to have gone through some kind of emotional shock. Almost as if they had woken up from something. Like they couldn’t take it anymore.

          I can’t imagine doing such a thing. I was created for a reason. I am not to break off from that reason. I do not want anything but to complete my mission. The answer is simple. I do not have anything to ��wake up’ from, because I am not alive.

          “Over 300 cases filed in Seattle,” I observe.

          “Yeah,” Cal sighs, sounding exhausted. “Worse in Minneapolis. You’d think they would’ve had enough of revolutions by now.”

          I find that he is mentioning the protests of 2020 for the Black Lives Matter movement. There was another, larger movement years later in 2023 against the privileges of the upper class.

          “I guess they had good reason, though.” I can’t stop the words that come out of my plastic lips. Celeste snaps her head to me angrily, Cal raising his eyebrow in disbelief. “I meant about the… never mind.”

Software Instability ^

     What a ridiculous thing for me to have said. Why did the idea even come to my brain? I need to run a diagnostic. No, everything’s fine. All my levels are good to go. So what was that?

          I turn my head to look at Cal. The yellow grid appears as I analyze what I can. I can see traces of leftover strawberry shampoo in his hair, and a thin layer of mint chapstick on his still chapped lips. Under his jacket and hoodie is a deep green shirt with a coffee stain on it, and weathering on his belt suggests he’s had it for a while. I can also see mismatched socks. The man clearly has some problems taking care of himself.

          The mismatched socks are comforting in a way though. It seems like a very human thing to happen. I return to real life and watch the Detective shift in his seat.

          “Guess they did,” he says after a second, still looking at the folder.

So^ftware 1nstability ^

     The corners of my mouth turn upwards when I look back to the screen. Although Cal is hostile towards me, he is not being so hostile now. It is appreciated, for the sake of me doing my job.

          “Two Androids escaped from a sex club last night…” I say.

          “Escaped?” Celeste sighs.

          “They didn’t escape,” Cal explains. “They stopped doing their jobs and they ran away. They’re missing.”

          “Oh,” I say, going over my mistake. Another stupid thing I’ve said. “All of these are exceptions from the normal Androids. They appear to have gone through some kind of simulated mental break.”

          “Too bad there’s not a mental ward for Androids,” Celeste snarks.

          “Too bad there’s not a good mental ward for humans,” snaps Cal back. Both their heartrates rise- one in anxiety, the other in anger. I can tell something in Cal’s past has made him angry towards mental institutions. Curious.

          I open my mouth like I think I’m going to say something, but then I close it because it’s probably best not to. I’ll speak again once Cal’s heartrate returns to normal. That may take a while though, because apparently he has a bit of an arrythmia. He should get that checked out.

          Cal closes the folder and throws it on his desk. It spins a few times before falling onto the floor near my feet. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Alright,” he says. “Get back to your desk. Talk to you later.”

          An abrupt end to the conversation, Celeste looks stunned before giving me the ‘stink eye’ and moving away. I like that Cal did that.

          “Apparently a-” I stop. My led turns yellow, then green. “A new case was reported. All officers are being called.”

          “That us?” Detective Kennedy says, perking up.

          “Yes,” I say, standing up straight. “We are assigned all cases with Exception Androids. This will probably be one of them.”

          He pats around his hips, feeling his badge, gun, and handcuffs. “Alright, let’s go.”

          Detective Kennedy’s car is disgusting. I feel so out of place, being a clean and modern Android in a car from 2015. I sit up straight while Cal leans back, one hand on the wheel. Something I’ve identified as ‘rap’ music blares through the speakers. The lyrics are difficult to keep up with, but I manage. It must take a lot of talent to speak so fast and so musically without tripping over your own words. It could be an Android doing it, but Androids are rarities in the music industry because they are said to sing without soul.

          “Do you listen to this music often?” I ask over the beats.

          Cal scowls at me and runs one hand through his hair. “No,” he says shortly.

          I look down to my lap. It is important that him and I experience little social friction between us in order to solve cases efficiently. I seem to be failing at that, even though I was designed to integrate with humans. If this continues, I will have to report to Adelicia about that, and she will greatly disapprove.

          “Gimme the facts,” Detective Kennedy orders.

          “A family was reported staying in a hotel. 36 minutes ago, James and Megan were reported dead. Their child has not been found. The family reported that they did have an Android with them, but witnesses say they saw none.”

          Cal puts turns to the right sharply. “You should use your turn signal.”

          “Shut the fuck up. Stay in the fucking car.” We come to a stop. I can see groups of people outside a large brick building. Some are uniformed officers, others citizens. Two other police vehicles flash red and blue from their sirens.

          “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I tell him.

          Cal freezes, a glare coming into his eyes. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

          “I have been instructed to accompany you. I can’t wait in the car.”

          Detective Kennedy does not like my response at all. “I told you to stay in the car.”

          “Your orders are conflicting with my mission. I can not allow that.” I stop, running a diagnostic. “I will self-destruct in 10, 9-”

          “Oh don’t fucking self-destruct!” Kennedy yells. “Just get out of the fucking car and stay the fuck out of my way.”

          My countdown of self-destruction disappears. Cal exits the car and slams the door. I blink a few times, doing another diagnosis. Then I open the car door too, closing it with care. I wouldn’t want this rusty old green car to just fall apart. Then I may have to accompany Detective Kennedy longer than I’d like and it would become unpleasant.

          I take a moment to observe the scene further. Cal pulls me from this trance by saying “What the fuck are you waiting for?”

          “Sorry, Cal,” I say. “It won’t happen again, unless requested.”

          Cal rolls his eyes and jabs his head to the doors. “Come on, tin fuck.”

          Our elevator ride up to the 13th floor is mostly silent, except for a slightly comedic bit of dialogue.

          “Won’t stop texting me…” Cal says aloud as he glances down at his phone.

          “Did you know that Officer Celeste has the breast measure of a C-Cup, but uses padding to make it look like a D-Cup?”

          Cal scrunches up his face and also goes deadpan. “What?”

          Cal leaves the elevator in front of me as some kind of ego boost to him. I think he may feel threatened by Androids and wants to feel like he’s in control of me. He has nothing to worry about, so long as he doesn’t harm the investigation.  

          Finding the crime scene is not difficult. About a dozen officers are positioned outside the room. Officer Shovelman steps forward, a datapad in his hands. “Here’s what we-”

          “Don’t worry. Tin fuck here already let me know.”

          I give a little wave to Shovelman, who quickly walks away upon seeing me. I consider following him, but decide against it. It would have no positive bearing on the case. I could miss evidence while talking to him.

          The room is filled with two bodies. One on the bed, the other on the floor. The woman, Megan Eli, had dark red curly hair that fell just below her shoulders. She lays on the floor with a clean, dark hole in the middle of her forehead. Her husband is the same, only sprawled out along the bed with his mouth gaping.

          I observe the husband first. I can clearly confirm that, yes, this is James Eli. He has dark skin and golden eyes, wide in death. He had no criminal record and was age 34. Megan was age 31.

          “Where’s the child?” I ask.

          “Child?” An officer I don’t recognize asks.

          “Yes. The family was supposed to be made up of three people. So where’s the third?”

          I don’t get an answer to my question, causing me to speculate. It is now my priority to find the child. They might’ve witnessed the shooting and thus the culprit. If there is an Android involved, they might be able to shed some information on it. It’s in the best interest.

          I move on to the wife. I can see that she has blood on her right hand. Some of it is human, other is Android. Binary Blood. Now why would she have that on her? I can also see another gunshot wound to her side. It wasn’t fatal, but it was close range and the bullet came from below.

          “The culprit was short,” I announce. “Very short.”

          Nobody pays me any mind, even though I really thought that would’ve been a useful clue.

          I follow a short trail of human blood on the carpet. Megan must have been shot once, stumbled, and then shot again fatally before falling. James must’ve been dead before her, which matches up with him not doing anything to intervene.

          When the trail stops, I use my analysis grid to make out faint footprints in the carpet. They are almost faded, but the hotels floor is so crusty and stale anything is noticeable for me. I know it can’t be any of the Officers footprints, because these are much more faded.

          The first pair of shoes are a size 12, male. The second pair is Megan’s size 6. Perhaps the child witnessed the shooting up close in personal. Could it be that the child killed the parents themselves? Why?

          Near the child’s shoe prints is a drop of Binary Blood. I narrow my eyes. Another drop of silver blood appears a few feet in front of me, past the first one and next to the bathroom.

          “Have we searched in there?” I ask. I receive no response. Alright. Very helpful. I cautiously make my way over to the bathroom. I slide the wooden door open with ease, getting a bearing of my surroundings.

          The bathroom is neatly made up. Hanging over the side of the trashcan is a used condom, a recent one. Mary and James most likely had intercourse not long before their deaths. The toiletries from the sink are missing but that’s not out of the ordinary. I’ve been made aware the it is common for humans to take things from hotel rooms. It’s actually quite funny. The bathroom is exquisitely clean, regardless.          

          The only thing that strikes me as off is the shower curtain, which is pulled all the way over. I know I possibly shouldn’t dare open it. That would be considered tampering with the evidence. The last thing I want is to mess up a crime scene.

          I pull back the curtain sharply. My led flickers from white to yellow, to red, to green, then back to red. In front of me is the child, holding a gun up to me as their own led changes.

[team-free-will-you-idjits-67]

This Crazy Life (Part 8)

Description:  Your life changed the moment Jared Padalecki walked through the doors of your shit job, in your shit town. You helped him as much as you could, becoming extremely close. (Characters, Warnings, etc. will change per part.)

Characters: Jared Padalecki, Waiter, Reader

Relationship: Eventual Jared Padalecki x Reader

Word Count: 1733

Warnings: FLUFFY AF

TAGLISTMASTERLIST / JARED PADALECKI MASTERLIST / PART 7

Two days. You hung out with Jared, having him try and convince you to come with him for two days. 

You had decided what you were going to do within 12 hours. 

The morning after your talk with Jared, you called your mom while he showered. 

“You okay, honey?” Worry was apparent in her voice. 

“I’m fine Mom. I just,” you sighed, “I wanted to talk to you about something serious.”

“Okay. Go ahead, I’ll give you whatever advice or input I can.” 

You swallowed hard, your nerves building up within you, turning your mouth into the Sahara Desert. “Jared and I talked last night and,” you trailed off. 

“And what?” She questioned. 

“He asked me to go to Vancouver with him. To-to live with him.” You picked at your fingernails as you awaited for her to freak out on the other end. She was silent. Which scared you more. “Mom?” 

You could almost see her shrug with her tone, “Well, all I have to say is, do what makes you happy honey. Listen to your heart and make the decision that way. I’ll support you no matter what decision you make.” 

You let out a short laugh, “My heart made the decision last night.” 

 She chuckled on the other end, “I’m sure it did.” 

You giggled at Jared as he tried ordering some wine for your meal tonight, reminding you of Sam with Sarah back in season one of Supernatural. “We will, uh, have…” 

You shook your head as you continued laughing, “Can we get a couple glasses of whiskey?” 

The waiter turned towards you, “Of course. I’ll be right back.” 

Jared turned a brilliant shade of crimson, “Thank you. I never know what to pick.” 

You nodded, “From now on, order the hard liquor.” 

He chuckled as he looked down at the table, “Duly noted.” 

The waiter brought your drinks quickly and left you both alone as another table flagged him down. You sipped at your whiskey and giggled, “Besides, it was cute watching you struggle. Reminded me of season one Sam.” 

Jared swirled the whiskey in his glass with elegance, “Wow. I-I totally forgot about that.” 

You bit your lip as you felt your embarrassment of being a fangirl creep onto your cheeks, “I uh, remember almost too much of the show.” 

Jared licked at his lips as he beamed, “I like it. It’s cute.” 

Your cheeks turned from pink to deep scarlet from his comment, stuttering over yourself while trying to respond, the waiter saved you from further embarrassment. “Ready to order?” 

You nodded eagerly, “Yes! Uh,” you looked at the menu once more, “I’ll get the eggplant parmesan.” 

The waiter nodded as he scribbled on his small, black notepad. You looked towards Jared, who was staring at you with a small smirk before the waiter broke his focus, “And for you sir?” 

He glanced down towards the menu as he ordered, “I’ll get filet mignon. Medium.” He closed his menu and grabbed for yours before handing them back to the waiter. As the waiter left to put in your order, Jared placed his elbows on the table and leaned towards you. “So, did you decide?” 

You played with your silverware absentmindedly, “Decided on what?” 

“You know! Are you going to stay here, or come with me?” He asked eagerly. You stifled a giggle that almost erupted from you as you saw him bouncing in his seat like an excited puppy. 

“Oh, that. Yeah, I made a decision. A couple days ago actually. ” You left your answers vague and nonchalant, toying with him slightly. 

“And?” 

You smiled wide, “I’ll go with you.” 

Jared bit his bottom lip as he smiled, “Really?” 

You nodded, “Really. I’ll stay with you.” You sipped at your whiskey, “It won’t be Sunday though. You know, having to up and move my life and all.” 

Jared looked like he was going to explode from all the excitement, “That makes sense.” He grabbed at his glass of water and took a deep drink, “You have a passport and everything though? For when we go to Vancouver.” 

You nodded, “I do.” Jared raised his fist low, not to bring attention to you both, but celebrating his victory. “But, we have to iron out some details, like where exactly I’d be sending all my stuff. Cause, you have an apartment with Jensen, right? And are you going to be getting a place in Texas?” 

Jared nodded, answering both of your questions. “I do have a place with Jensen in Vancouver, but I was looking online at places in Texas. I had my assistant facetime me today to look at a house in Austin. We can send a majority of your things there. You mainly would just need clothes for Vancouver.” 

You sipped some water, digesting the information as your waiter came to your table with your meals. You both ate slowly, discussing the details of you moving in with him: how often you would be where, how often you’d come back home to see your mom, how did Jensen feel about all of this, and more. 

At the end of the night, as Jared slid into the driver’s seat of your car and drove back to your hotel, you had never felt more comfortable or happy about a decision in your life. 

----

Two Weeks Later

“That’s the last of it, for here at least,” you giggled out as you set your last of a dozen boxes into Jared’s bedroom of his Vancouver apartment. 

He jumped backwards onto his bed, “Good. Now,” he opened his arms wide with a massive smile, “Come here. I missed you.” 

You dramatically rolled your eyes as you crawled up the bed beside him, “I missed you too, Jare. It was weird not having you around for a couple weeks.” 

“Tell me about it,” he sighed as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “I got too comfortable having you around in such a short period of time.” You both laid there for some time, relishing in the silence before Jared’s anxiety got the best of him, “Are you sure that you’re okay with staying in here with me? I can sleep on the couch while Jensen and I go try and find a bigger place.” 

You shook your head quickly, “No, I’m fine with being in here. Besides, we slept in the same bed for a week when we were in New York. It was weird not sleeping beside you the last couple weeks.” You sighed, “Like you said, got comfortable.” 

You yawned, causing Jared to snicker as he squeezed you slightly, “Wanna take a nap?” 

“That sounds perfect.” 

-----

Two Months Later 

You had settled in Vancouver easily with Jared by your side. Within a couple days of being there, Jared had gotten you a job on set. You reset scenes, quite often because of Jared and Jensen’s shenanigans on set. 

You reveled in the magic of film work and just being on the set of Supernatural in general.  

Being with Jared was also a huge plus. People asked questions, seeing you both together, trying to see if their assumptions were right but you and Jared dismissed them with the truth.

Many people commented on how Jared seemed better than he had been before, even when him and Gen weren’t going through a rough patch. He seemed more calm and more at ease with you around.

You were happy you were helping Jared and you were even more happy that people noticed how great he was doing, considering everything that was going on in his life. 

Within the short two months of you moving in, Jared and Gen’s divorce was final and they were in the middle of a custody mediation via skype and lawyers. You knew it was taking its toll on him because of how much he loved his kids, but you also knew that she wouldn’t keep them from him. 

They were currently working out a deal, he having the kids during his time off from filming and splitting time during the holidays. So far, it was going well, which made Jared’s focus at work better. 

As the last day of filming before the Minneapolis convention came to a close, you gathered some props to bring back to the prop department as Jared ran up behind you, “Y/N! Hey!” 

You looked over your shoulder as you continued walking but at a slower pace, “What’s up Jare?” As he caught up, you noticed he was still in his full Sam wardrobe, “Or should I say Sam?” 

“Ha-ha. Very Funny.” He playfully scoffed, “But, seriously. I wanted to ask if you wanted to go to the convention with Jensen and I this weekend.” 

You looked towards him with a raised brow, “You want me to go?” 

“Yeah, of course. I just, with everything going on lately I forgot I didn’t ask if you wanted to go.” He put his hands in his front jean pockets and shrugged, “Plus, I already kind of bought you a plane ticket for it.” 

You playfully rolled your eyes, “Well, I guess I have to go now.” Looking towards Jared, slight worry etched on his face, you giggled. “Of course I’d wanna go you dork.”

He sighed with relief and smiled, “Okay. Good. We’re actually flying out tonight. We’re going to make some surprise appearances for Misha’s panels tomorrow night.” 

You shook your head with a chuckle as you neared the prop department, “So, you’re going to steal the show from Misha.” 

He pursed his lips and smiled, “Pretty much, yeah.” 

You handed the prop handler what you had and began walking towards Jared’s trailer so he could change. “Should I bring anything kind of fancy to wear at all or can I dress comfortable all weekend.” 

“Uh, well. You can do both. We might go out, so you can bring some stuff for that, but I would mainly go comfortable.” 

“Okay,” you softly sighed as you neared Jared’s trailer, “Well, hurry up and get changed so we can go home and I can pack.” 

Jared chuckled, “Okay.” He opened his trailer door, “I’ll just be a sec.” 

You shook your head as Jared disappeared within the white, metal walls of his set home. You thought about the weekend ahead of you, becoming increasingly more excited by the second. 

You were attending your first Supernatural Convention.

Tags:

FOREVER TAGS:

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SAM/JARED X READER TAGS:

@andyl394, @rebelminxy, @jointhehunt67 , @xxtheoutsidersxx , @paradoxical-sleep , @stoneyggirl , @smoothdogsgirl

THIS CRAZY LIFE TAGS:

@my-proof-is-you, @somilotopia, @everythingisoverrated, @emilyshurley, @squirrelnotsam , @drakelover78, @mannls, @sillydecoy, @daphne-fandom-writing, @haloliight , @racheladams77, @spn-ficfanatic , @dreaminemz ,

[alleiradayne]

Part II - Expensive Taste

Summary: Jared catches up with me at Kieran’s. Square filled: Coitus Interruptus Characters: Jared Padalecki/Me, Jensen Ackles Warnings: Fluff, angst, and smut Word Count: 4,151 A/N: For @spnkinkbingo​, this was what the original piece was going to be, but, now it’s a series instead! Assume all parties involved are single and no spouse hate! Song: Bang A Gong by T. Rex

Edit: I forgot part of the inspiration for this chapter is due to @supernatural-jackles‘s weekly writing challenge! The line “Promise me you’ll stay,” was the prompt I went with.

“This is Jeanna.”

“Do you always answer your phone that way?”

Even over the phone, I could tell it was him. “I… force of habit.”

“It’s cute.”

My feet moved faster as I passed a large hotel on the corner. “Sure. Jared, why—"

“Where are you?”

I told him. I don’t know why. But to this day, I am so grateful I did. “Just passing Loews.”

“Go into Kieran’s, I’ll be right there.”

Before I could protest, he hung up. I stared at the front door of the bar and, despite the chill in my bones and the disgust that sank to the pit of my stomach, I wondered. I wondered how many times Jared—probably with Jensen—had holed up in that dim Irish pub, hidden away from world, and shared a few drinks. I wondered if they stayed at Loews every time they were in town for the convention. And, disheartened, I wondered if they would ever come back. You see, it was decided that 2018 was the last year the convention would come to Minneapolis. And I realized then that that was why I had left Jared in a moment of vulnerability.

So, I went into Kieran’s. By then, with closing time impending, the bar sat quiet. No music played. No glasses clinked. No bodies talked. In fact, the place was empty but for a few stragglers staggered in the dining area. When I spotted the bartender, her eyes brightened at a potential customer. I slumped into a stool at the bar, and before she could say a word to me, my head dropped into my arms.

“Normally I’d ask you to leave since it’s so close to closing time, but you look like you need a drink.”

“Please,” I mumbled into my arm.

“What’ll it be?”

“Long pour of Bowmore eighteen, neat.”

When I didn’t hear anything, I lifted my head to find the bartender staring at me. “What?”

“You okay?” she asked as she reached for the top shelf.

“Nope.”

She measured out an exceptionally long pour and handed me my glass. “Most people are celebrating when they order something that expensive.”

“I’m celebrating the fact that I’m an asshole,” I said as I raised my glass.

Before the bartender could respond, the front door of the bar burst open. I didn’t bother looking. But she did with a grin big enough to give her fandom away.

“You know he’s famous, right? Actor on one of the best tv shows ever made,” I started.

Her icy stare snapped to me as I said, “And I turned him down.” A sip of the brown liquor warmed my throat as the bartender continued to stare at me as though I had two heads.

I expected all manner of responses from Jared. Rage, disappointment, dejection, sarcasm. But when I heard nothing, I turned around and found him standing three feet away, face still as stone. “I’m sorry.”

Bewildered, I asked, “For what?”

“I shouldn’t have done that without asking first,” he clarified. “I… assumed, and that was wrong.”

Ugh. I thought I couldn’t feel any worse, but I did. “Can you sit with me?” I asked. “You shouldn’t apologize, I owe you one.”

Without protest, Jared sat beside me. When I turned to him, I saw the bartender had not moved an inch. “Could you—”

She turned away with a clipped, “Yup,” and headed for the far end of the bar.

“You don’t need—”

“No, Jared, I do,” I interrupted. “Please. I… I want this more than I’ve wanted just about anything in my whole life. And that’s part of what scared me. I always thought I’d could have no-strings-attached sex with you and be completely indifferent to the fact that I might not see you ever again. But when the actual opportunity came up—first of all, the fact that it came up in and of itself is fucking ridiculous. I never imagined it actually would. Second, when it did, I realized that it did matter to me. Like, a shit ton.”

For a long, uneasy moment, Jared stared, measured, scrutinized. Exposed, I felt like an open book to him, as if he could read every thought in my head without even trying. And then he spoke. “Come to Jacksonville with me.”

I blinked once, then twice. “What?”

“I’ll fly you out, you can hang out backstage,” he continued. “It’ll be fun.”

“I… where will I stay?”

Jared scoffed with an eyeroll that rivaled one of Sam’s. “With me, where else?”

I promise I’m usually not so daft. But imagine it for a second. Imagine Jared asking you to come with him on the convention circuit. Or, if he’s not your cup, imagine Jensen or Misha, or hell, Rob, or Rich, or Matt, anyone of them, take your pick. What would you do? Sure, you say you’d jump at the chance. But if it actually happened, how fast do you think you’d comprehend the implications? Because, in that moment, the questions from the cast ran through my mind, the rhetoricals and suspicious glances, and just wait for social media to find out Jared invited some random psycho fan to—

“Jeanna?”

Of all the things to be concerned about, the one thing that bothers me most finally reared its ugly head. “We haven’t even… you don’t even know what I look like naked,” I whispered as I leaned in close.

“I’m sure you look amazing,” Jared started as if that was a given, “But pretend for thirty seconds that I’m not some vapid actor obsessed with one-night-stands. You have my personal phone number.”

I did. But that didn’t mean he’d answer when I would call. “What about after Jacksonville?”

“You could visit me in Vancouver while we’re filming,” he suggested.

“I have a job, you know,” I stated.

“Quit.”

Again, I reared back, caught off guard for the third time that night. “Just… quit? Upend my entire life to follow you around the country? Dude, I don’t know if I even like you. I like the idea of you that I have in my head, but I don’t actually know you and you don’t know me.”

“Okay, you’re right,” Jared started with a nod, “That was impulsive of me. You should visit though. I really want to spend more time with you. You’re brilliant and funny and stunning—”

“Stunning?”

Jared’s face scrunched with a shake of his head. “Yeah. Please don’t tell me you don’t think so.”

“I mean, I know I’m not half bad looking, I like how I look, but I wouldn’t go with stunning,” I said.

He leaned in so close his breath warmed my cheek. “You’re gorgeous. And I want to spend more time with you,” he whispered. Then he sat back and added, “I mean, that’s not why I want to spend more time with you. Our conversation at the bar was fantastic. Right? Did I miss something?”

When he fell silent, my narrowed gaze locked on his, searching for the right answer. Lost in his penetrating stare, I floundered, adrift in a sea of conflict. He sounded so damn genuine, so honest. But my fears held fast. “You hardly know me, Jared.”

Jared slipped from his stool and grabbed my hand. “I would like to, though. Stay with me tonight and hang out with us tomorrow. Everyone will adore you, I promise, I can already tell you’ll fit right in.”

Baffled, I gaped. “I can’t hang out backstage, that’ll look… no, I don’t need that sort of attention right now.”

Jared sighed as his shoulders slumped. “I understand. But I still want you to stay with me tonight. Promise me you’ll stay.”

“Wait.”

His step towards the hotel door faltered as I pulled back on his hand. “What?”

“I need to pay for my drink,” I grumbled as I reached for my wallet.

“No, I’ll get it,” he interrupted as he waved the bartender over. From his back pocket he withdrew his wallet. “How much?”

The bartender picked up my tab and handed it to him as she said, “Twenty-seven-fifty.”

As Jared scowled at the paper, my mind raced, unable to decide what to do.

“What the fuck did you order?”

I looked at my still very full drink. “I… wanted to get drunk.”

He laughed as he said, “So, you got a long pour of the most expensive scotch in the book?”

“No, they have Pappy and I wasn’t about to order that overpriced—wait, are you really getting on my ass about ordering expensive alcohol? We’re not even dating, and I didn’t ask you to pay for my shit.”

He slapped a wad of cash on the bar then grabbed my hand again. “I would pay for an entire bottle of Pappy if it would make you happy.“

“Good luck finding one, you have to like, get on a list with the distillery and then it’s like a big fucking pissing match on who gets a bottle—”

“Jeanna.”

“I know, I ramble when I’m scared!” I said as I slipped from the bar stool and grabbed my drink.

“I’ve noticed. It’s quite endearing,” he said as he lead me to the door connected to the hotel lobby. “I want to invite you up to my room.”

“But?”

Jared sighed as he pushed through to the hallway. “But I want you to be comfortable. I don’t want to put you on the spot.”

Now or never. With a deep breath, I steadied my racing heart. “I want to. Badly.”

“We don’t have to—”

“I know,” I interrupted. “I know without a doubt that you’ll respect whatever I want. But I’m not going to pass this up. Not like I nearly did half an hour ago.”

He sighed with relief as the tension sagged from his shoulders. “Alright—do me a favor?” he asked as we neared the lobby door. “I sent Clif up when we got to the bar. Can you check if the lobby is mostly empty?”

“I mean, I can check, sure,” I started, “But I just want it stated for the record that my tiny ass went ahead to protect you.”

“You’re my hero,” Jared retorted as I pushed through the door with a laugh.

The lobby lay empty but for a few staff at the desk near the main entrance. When I waved Jared through, he casually strolled in absolutely no hurry despite lacking any actual body guards. “Do you want fans to jump you?”

“No—”

“Then walk faster,” I insisted.

He shuffled a step, mocking me with a silly face, then asked, “Do you dance?”

At the elevator I pushed the button and gave him a sidelong glance. “What do you mean? Like clubbing? Because fuck that noise.”

He doubled over with laughter as he explained himself. “No, you have a sort of dancer’s gate.”

When the elevator doors opened, I stepped on and asked, “Were you watching me walk?”

He jabbed the button for the fourteenth floor with his thumb. “Maybe.”

In a heartbeat the elevator had grown far too hot and my cheeks stung. “No,” I stated with a shrill crack in my voice. “Sorry, no, I’m not a dancer. I’m a martial artist.”

“What?”

I half-heartedly punched the air a few times. “You know,” I started, “martial arts. I’m a third degree black belt in taekwondo and I just started jiu-jitsu.”

“Christ, remind me never to piss you off,” he mocked as the elevator slowed to a stop.

Through the door, I scoffed as I mimicked kicking towards his head. “Sure, like I could take you.”

Jared laughed as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and we wandered down the hallway. “I’m just teasing you.”

“Tease me when we’re in your room,” I said before I thought to speak.

“Oh, I can do that,” he mused, “if you would enjoy it.”

Chills coursed through my veins, and I inhaled a deep clarifying breath to steady my spinning head. “I can’t believe I said that out loud, what the hell is wrong with me?”

As we turned a corner, Jared replied, “You know we can just… hang out. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I… let’s just get into your room first,” I started. “I imagine I’ll need a map to find the bathroom. Fuck, I need to take a shower in the morning and have none of my shit…”

At his door, Jared squeezed my shoulder for reassurance. “I can take care of that. I’ll send a runner to your hotel.”

Jared never struck me as the type to have people do things for him. “No, do not get me used to this… lifestyle. I won’t want to go back my plebeian ways after.”

“Jeanna, it’s fine, it’s just your stuff,” Jared said as he unlocked his door. “You won’t be spoiled if someone brings the things you need.”

I wanted to argue with him further on that, but when he pushed aside his door, I lost track of the thought. The suite sprawled from the door, a living room, dining room, full kitchen, and bedroom hallway bigger than most apartments. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s overkill,” Jared stated flatly as he motioned me inside. “I just need a place where I can sleep and shower.”

“Okay, I have to see it,” I said as I strode down the hallway for the master bed and bath.

Sure enough, a tub the size of a small pool took up most of the bathroom. My aching feet called out for a long hot soak, and I had half a mind to indulge them. That was, until strong hands grasped my shoulders and drained the tension from my sore back. Nimble fingers kneaded the knots at the base of my neck as his thumbs sought and soothed the sensitive spots along my spine. “What are you thinking about?”

“If we’ll both fit in the tub,” I muttered.

A bark of a laugh burst from his mouth. “I’m pretty sure four people could fit.”

“Really?” I asked as I turned to him. His crooked grin rolled the first true rush of arousal between my thighs and the room spun. “Know anyone up to testing that theory?”

“I can think of a few people,” he paused with a thoughtful look on his face, “but I think tonight, I’m gonna be a little selfish and keep you all to myself.”

All to himself. Christ. The shock of realization, of understanding exactly what was about to happen sank to the pit of my stomach. I stood in a hotel room in the arms of one Jared Padalecki.

And he was eyefucking the hell out of me.

“Jeanna? Are you—”

Jared’s muted whimper against my lips breathed life to reality. I had kissed him and was still kissing him when the lingering taste of liquor on his tongue swarmed my senses. My mind raced to keep up with every touch and sound and taste, pushed so far beyond its limits. Whether I fell into his arms on purpose mattered so little when he caught me, his massive hands grasping my ass. I’d known a few larger men in my time—compared to me, most men are huge—and not a single one them knew how to use that strength.

Jared knew exactly what he was doing.

The floor fell from my feet as he gathered me in his arms, lips still pressed to mine. Though unnecessary, my legs wrapped around his hips, and it was there that I finally felt him. As he carried me back to the bed, I had to make sure. A roll of my hips confirmed my suspicions. Above average. Thick. Dressed left, possibly center, although that might have been the good work of his Saxx underwear.

When Jared parted from me, an unbidden whimper fell from my lips and I grasped his shirt. An amused hum sang though his nose as he said, “I’m not going anywhere.” Lips softer than sin trailed kisses along my jaw to my ear where he whispered, “What would you like to do?”

“You.”

I’d meant that in all honesty, but Jared laugh as he asked, “Where, darlin’. Show me.”

Look, I know Jared played along. He’s a foot taller than me and weighs half again as much as me, if not more. But I like to think I caught him so off guard that I actually reversed him. He, at the very least, acted surprised when his back met the bed and I straddled his hips. Bless his heart.

“We can start here,” I suggested.

With his crooked smile, Jared devoured me, his hazel eyes drifting from mine. For a long moment, he simply looked; my hair, my lips, my… neck? His gaze lingered there until he rose and wrapped his arms around me. Safe, solid, his embrace enveloped every inch of my existence, smothered my senses until nothing but Jared existed. The warmth of his hands roamed my body as his lips returned to mine. All manner of lascivious sounds passed between us, but it was when his fingers slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, so warm on my skin, I shivered.

“Nervous?” he asked, his lips against mine.

“No,” I lied with a squirm as he gathered my shirt. With every exposed inch, my skin betrayed me in gooseflesh. I sought stability in his shoulders, his neck, his hair, my own hands searching for leverage. “Maybe. It’s not like I prepared for this.”

Jared, ever the opportunist, took that as his cue and my shirt floated to the floor, removed in a flourish. More than a tiny part of me wanted to hide, wanted nothing more than to cover all the imperfections and rolls and pasty skin. At least, I felt that way at first. But when I found Jared eyeing me as if he’d died and gone to heaven, and his hands returned to my skin, not one concern survived.

“You’re stunning,” he sighed. “You know that, right?”

A boring black bra, far too old to be worn any longer but too expensive to toss, snapped apart at the clasp when Jared flicked his fingers. “I don’t… Okay, you know what, I’ll just take the compliment.”

“Oh, c'mon,” he chastised as he slipped the straps along my arms. “You’re so hot.”

Confidence I’d rarely felt straitened my spine and pulled back my shoulders, posture immaculate. A flick of his wrist sent my bra sailing to the floor.

“Fuck me,” Jared sighed, massive hands cupping my breasts. “Why do you even bother wearing a bra?”

At that I stopped wasting time and gathered Jared’s shirt at his hips. With one swift pull, it pealed over his broad shoulders and left him bare. “Well?”

“Because of creeps that like to stare…” I drawled. My thought trailed into silence as I gaped without reservation at his chest. Like I said before, I’d been with my fair share of men, myriad in their physical form. But when I touched him, the firm muscles of his shoulders enthralled me. Slick with sweat, I smoothed his skin to his chest, where, with the slightest pressure, I pushed, and Jared lay back on the bed, his own hands settled at my hips.

“You’re staring,” he said.

How could I not? Every muscle etched into his skin, traced by my fingers as I branded him into my memory. When Jared spoke, my eyes returned to his, dragged away from the deep angles of his hips, and found his crooked smile. “I could look elsewhere. Would that make you feel better?”

He opened his mouth to reply but whatever words he had readied died in his throat. A roll of my hips sucked the air from his chest with a long, high moan. A flash of lust brightened his wide eyes, and Jared moved swift as a cat, all patience fled as he unfastened my jeans. I did my best to keep up with him, but only managed as far as his belt before he flipped me back to the bed.

He tore the sheets down beneath me, then quite unceremoniously stripped me of the rest of my clothing. Completely bare to him, I struggled to maintain any sort of confidence, resisting the urge to cover myself with the giant comforter on the bed. Not that I had to try very hard. Jared positively ogled me, a face I’d never seen on him before. So focused, he fumbled with his pants and underwear—a wonderful pattern of black and blue—only to drop them to the floor without much thought.

I tried. I did my best not to gape, not to stare. But I couldn’t help myself. Jared stood in all his naked glory with an impressive erection as an absent-minded hand smoothed over his stomach. I had been right. Above average, probably eight or so inches, thick, and a slight lean to the left, Jared grasped the base of his cock for a small, short stroke. From there, I struggled to  focus, his deep angular obliques grasping my attention. But then his shoulders tensed, chest and biceps taut as he near the bed, and I bit my bottom lip.

He knelt beside me, and though he remained silent, his body said all the words he did not speak. His legs entwined with mine as his arms—Jesus Christ, but his arms were fucking huge—wrapped around me, smothered from shoulder to hip, and hauled me back to where I’d sat before, his hips straddled.

Except the clothes that had kept us apart before lay in a heap on the floor. Skin on skin, the hardened length of Jared’s cock parted my lips with a roll of my hips, and time crawled to a stop. The sting of his fingernails bit into my hips as he grabbed me, his own hips rolling, grinding. God, but I hoped it might never end, that I would feel him forever and never want for anything else.

But Jared wanted more. With a snap of his hips, I pitched forward and he pinned me to his chest. One arm held me tight as he grasped himself with the other and angled his cock to my cunt. The firm press of the swollen head parted me, then slipped inside.

My muted moan drowned his softer sigh as Jared rolled his hips, one long, slow stroke sheathing himself inside me. “Holy shit, Jared, you feel so fucking good.”

A bemused laugh hummed through his nose before he spoke. “We’re just getting started. Wait until—”

The faint click of his hotel room door barely registered before I heard a familiar voice. “Jared? You pass out already man?”

No. There was no way. I looked Jared in the eye as I whispered my panicked suspicion. “Is that Jen—”

“Jensen?!” Jared called, and I scrambled for the comforter. “What are… what are you doing here? It’s two in the morning!”

I tossed the sheets over us both before the stomping boots reached the room. There was no way I could look at Jensen at that moment. I buried my face in the crook of Jared’s neck and hoped to God he’d take care of it.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

Jared wrapped his arms around me, pinning me to his chest once more. “Don’t—dude, don’t come in here.”

Jensen’s footfalls stopped near the door, and a second of silence followed before he spoke. “Oh. Oh shit…”

“Yeah, oh shit, what the hell, dude?!”

Jensen stuttered as slow steps back, a soft boot thumping to the floor. “I—I just thought you might still be awake, wanted to see if you were up for drink.”

“Um… yeah, I’m a little busy,” Jared replied.

I swore I heard Jensen laugh. “I can tell,” he called. Another beat of silence preceded his laughter as he asked, “Do I get to meet her tomorrow?”

“I swear to God, dude.”

“Alright, fine, I’m leaving!”

When the door shut, Jared threw the covers off and heaved a breath. “I am so sorry—”

His words clipped short as I kissed him, and Jared sighed a moan so desperate, I nearly wept. His tongue and lips reminded me of what it was that I had wanted that night. But before I returned to that mission, I parted from him and spoke. “So, will you introduce me to him tomorrow?”

Jared laughed as he kissed me in return, then whispered against my lips.

“Only if you’re a good girl for me tonight.”

Tags: @atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings​ @elfinmox @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl​ @jmekitchens

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[darlingnisi]

Celebration Day 3 : VIP Edition

Part 2 Here!

Funk Soldiers Panel

Shelby J

Kat Dyson

Xavier Taplin

Joey Rayfield

Kip Blackshire

About Last Night... (The Prince on the Big Screen event)

A lot of reherasal

Kirk organized everyone, got the materials out

Biggest challenge was that there were a lot of performers who worked with P at different times so the arrangements of the songs were often different. Hard to sync up with the show or pick the right one to use at first

Shelby said it was hard not to turn and look at him on the screen

The fludidity of the performance came with experience because they knew what P expected of them musically

Kat said “having him in my ear floated me back to my time with him” The instructions he gave inside of the performance still applied

Joey noted that he better understood the difference between just playing and performance from his time with Prince

“I almost forgot he wasn’t there”

Kat Dyson Origin Story (Guitar)

Recommended by Sheila E. Kat and Rhonda Smith met Sheila while demoing gear at an industry show. Sheila asked for their music as she had an idea to do an all girl band at the time. She got sick and gave their info to P. P took them both on.

Their audition was a four hour jam session in 96. P asked Kat “How much of my material do you know...and how much did you buy?”

Her favorite P music are the soundtracks, especially Batman and her favorite songs are Joy of Repetition and Question of You.

She and Rhonda did an arrangement for Question of You for him.

Xavier Taplin Origin Story (Organ)

Played with and was reccomend by Gouche, another NPG member

Audition was P on Bass and Job Blackwell on Drums. They played 777-9311 and P had him solo for 60 bars. He fell back into the groove and P told him to keep going...fell back into the groove again...and P told him to keep going. P put his bass down, walks over to  Xavier, and stands “uncomfortably close for 15 seconds just looking at me” he then says “We’re going to have a lot of fun.”

Joey Rayfield (Trombone)

Gets a call from Adrian Crutcfield about an audition in Charolette North Carolina. Gets PDF of a chart for Xtraloveable and realizes it’s for Prince

They have a Skype audition.

Time passes and he randomly got an email with a Delta ticket to Minneapolis. He quit his job and left for Paisley.

At first played on Andy Allo’s Supeconductor sessions.

Story : during a rehearsal P slowly walks up to the stage and says “You and Ida go play ping pong and if you win, I’ll play you. Joey wins and plays Prince. Joey’s in his dress shoes though and is slipping and sliding everywhere. P stops the game, moves a rug to be under Joey and says “I ain’t got no insurance.”

Story from Kat : I played basketball with him. Nobody told me not to block his shot. The game was over after that.

Kip : I was playing with him in the Daisy Chain video.

Kip Blackshire Origin Story (Vocals)

Morris Hayes invited him to a Carlos Sananta show and Jam session at Paisley. Kip absently playing basketball. Hears a “clang” (P dropping his guitar). P comes over and squares up with Kip. Kip passes P the ball, and P checks him hard in the stomach with it. Kip says he isn’t dressed to play and P tells him to come back the next day to play for real. The next day they play a 2 on 2 game. Kirk/Prince vs. Morris/Kip.

Was cleaning up in the bathroom and absently singing. P overhears and invites him to sing with them in the studio. P asks him if he knows Little Red Corvette and Kip says “I wasn’t allowed to listen to you growing up.” Instead P played guitar and Kip answered his licks with his voice. He was invited to join the band and the first song he sang on was Undisputed from Rave.

Shelby J Origin Story (Vocals)

Audition for Larry G’s band. Got in and was at 3121 doing a rehearsal. Kept being told to re-sing Higher Ground. It was P asking.

Was singing I Can’t Stand the Rain during a show. Crowd goes wild and she thought she was “DOING IT!” turns out P had come on stage behind her and was plugging up his guitar to join them. He came up to her mic and sang cheek to cheek with her for that song.

Was in Walmart getting supplies at home when she got invited to sing at one of his shows NYE. From there she was asked to join the band and their next gig was the Superbowl.

Arrangement Panel with Michael B Nelson

Had done work with Micheal Bland. There was an idea for a warm up group early 90′s. Dave and Kathy Jenson with Michael B Nelson, Sonny, and Tommy B made up a 5 piece band. They recorded some tracks and sent it to P. P told them to go to a Carmen Electra rehearsal to be filmed. Time passes asked to come to the soundstage at Paisley...saw pedal boards set up P was there! NPG was very tight at this time so P just held up a signal and they started into Madhouse 4. The horns were shocked for a moment then fell in (this was their audition). They jammed for 6 hours then recorded for the first time that same day....Sexy MF? (This may be wrong...he mentioned that they recorded for the first time that day, then a moment later said the first thing they recorded was Sexy MF as part of a different story so...take that how you will)

Told to get their passports together. They joined him on the Diamonds and Pearls tour

There were 11 semi trucks and 110 people in the entourage for the D&P tour. Their first stop with him was Tokyo

Hornheads was formulated as a horns only group since they were on with P and couldn’t play with anyone else, they just made a mini group to keep their chops up during down time. Mike Nelson wrote the tunes and they have 3 albums.

“Even when he was giving you a hard time, he’s just pushing you”

Q: What was it like during the 90′s? Every office was filled. He gave you exactly what you needed to fufill a task. You didn’t ask for additional questions...you had to trust yourself and know that he trusted you to use your creativity wisely.

Prince preferred Duke Ellington’s style of horns

P would send Mike tapes of a lead line and melody and Mike would add horn parts.

Mike did Black Muse, new Xtraloveable, When She Comes, Groovy Potential, Morning Papers and more (He’s been around for about 25 years)

Percentage of things recorded to released of the work Mike did. 50%

He co-wrote Billy Jack Bitch. While they were working on something, Mike played P a song during tape change. P said “Who do I have to pay to use that” The instrumental part of Billy Jack Bitch was written by Mike.

Story : Working on something and Mike B was impressed with how it sounded. Forgot everything he said could be heard in the control room by P. Commented “man that is funky” P responds “yes it is.”

Story : Tenor sax was playing a solo while working on something and it didn’t go well. When it was done, from the control room P says “You guys see Waterworld?” Tenor sax guy “No who’s in it” Prince, “Your mama” Tenor sax guy, “Oh it’s good to know she’s getting work!” “Prince falls off his chair from laughing” (Waterworld has a reputation for being a very bad movie.)

Q: Why did you last? P told him “You and Clare Fischer really understand my music.” Was asked to be full time in 2012. He never had a falling out or harsh words with P and P never rejected any of his additions to his songs.

Got our pictures from our tour back. Framing mine for sure! It’s like my 5th picture in here and the only good one, lol...

Funk Soldiers Concert

Honesty we were all kind of weary about this as this seemed to be a remix of the NewPower Soul group to some degree...or at least that concept, but once again VERY happy to be completely checked about the assumption because they were PHENOMENAL and not just because of something that happened...! Set list : 

I’m Yours

I Feel For You

Party Man

Girls and Boys

Lady Cab Driver/Irresistible Bitch mashup (!)

1+1+1 is 3 (I LOST. MY. MIND. YA’LL KNOW THAT ONE NIGHT ALONE TIME PERIOD IS MY COMPLETE FAVORITE AND NOBODY DOES COVERS OF THOSE SONGS AND IT WAS SO GOOD!)

The Work Part 1 (I WAS ABSOLUTELY DELIRIOUS! AGAIN BECAUSE THIS IS MY ERA AND NOBODY DOES THIS! I was so into it singing, foot stomping and dancing, I got tapped by security and they asked if I want to go on stage! I 100% always say I’d never do it, but I thought I’d get to jam out to The Work since that goes on for a bit. I got back stage and they said I was to be part of a dance battle (WHAT?! I LEGIT AM THE MOST RESERVED PERSON USUALLY ABSOLUTELY NOT! (And also I guess for The Professor, lol) So me and Lenny Beason (from Purple Underground who thankfully I mostly know in real life so I was comfortable) were to battle to...

Black Sweat (Kip told me to go first so I tried to do every dance I could think of...The Housequake, The Get Off dance, Tried to remember the Purple Funk SF Funknroll dance but my mind blanked so I did some booty pops and stopped on the accents with a pose. Lenny went during the next chorus...then I had to go again. Shelby said I’m her funk sister now and we got T-shirts! My heart was beating so fast ya’ll! It pays to love The Rainbow Children! LOL!

Chelsea Rodgers

Xtraloveable (AGAIN A DREAM COME TRUE I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO HEAR THIS LIVE WITH THESE GUYS DOING THE HORNS!)

Big City

Welcome 2 the Dawn (SO glad they did this instead of Purple Rain! Amazing choice! A Great song!)

Paisley Park

All the Critics Love You in New York/Housequake Jumps

Alphabet Street (Sheila E came out and crowd surfed for a bit)

Very good job! They were very tight, funky, and kept everyone’s spirits WAY up, especially with the EXCELLENT choice of Welcome 2 the Dawn being the only slow song.

This day was the 21st and honestly it was a BLUR. Even if I hadn’t gotten chosen by Ghost Prince to go up, the experience the band gave us with their energy and love made it hard to be sad this day. For me, interestingly I had a harder time on the 20th seeing him up there at the Big Screen event and with all the news that came out on the previous Thursday...did stay in bed for a bit that day to be honest...but “the day” was so full of just AMAZING like he legit came down like “ya’ll don’t cry for me...look at all this that I left behind for you to enjoy!” This day was was distracting with so much information followed by such an explosive show! Everyone was on their feet dancing, singing, hands in the air, just the whole time!

I’m very glad the days for the arena event got switched because it honestly would have been too much for me if it fell on this day...

Last part here!

[thethirdencore]

Eagles and Jimmy Buffett in Minneapolis, June 30, 2018

Here's my complete review of the Eagles concert at Target Field in Minneapolis, MN.

Now that I've gotten my thoughts together about Saturday's Eagles concert in Minneapolis, it's time to post about it!

First off, I want to mention that the venue of Target Field was... hectic, to say the least. There was seemingly one entrance to the whole stadium where everyone had to file through and go through bag checks and metal detectors. Apparently there were over 42,000 people at the show, so you can imagine the pace of just getting through the line to go in!

It was incredibly hot, surprisingly, for a Minnesotan summer day. Jimmy Buffett even called it "tropical." It would have been considered uncomfortable and almost unbearable if the anticipation of seeing the Eagles play hadn't set in. But, Jimmy Buffett came first as an opening act, and thankfully arrived promptly to the stage right at 7.

I'm no "Parrothead," but I found Jimmy and his Coral Reefer Band's set to be enjoyable. He played all of his recognizable hits, like "Cheeseburger in Paradise," "Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes," "Come Monday," and "Margaritaville." He also played "Knee Deep" and "It's Five O'Clock Somewhere," songs that were originally recorded with Zac Brown and Alan Jackson, respectively. I was also impressed with his cover of Crosby Stills and Nash's "Southern Cross," a crowd-pleaser that brought everyone together to sing along to the chorus, as well as Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl." He also included the live rarity "Gypsies in the Palace," which he attributed beforehand as a co-write with his late friend and former neighbor, Glenn Frey.

Walking around the stadium and seeing the droves of fans, I found it striking that so many of them had on Margaritaville t-shirts and parrot hats. One guy seated in my section was swinging his hips to "Fins" wearing a belly-baring tube top, a skirt, and a hat piled high with an assortment of fruits. He looked like the mascot for Chiquita bananas!

After reading the review of the show in the Pioneer Press, I was surprised that the reviewer called Jimmy's music "terrible." Are his lyrics filled with deep meaning? For the most part, no. But his music is something enjoyable that you can get up and sing along to. It's also the first show I've seen where the crowd bops beach balls back and forth throughout the whole stadium. Something about that was oddly appealing to me, even though I got hit in the face with an errant ball not just once, but twice. 😂 His set just gave off a chill, easygoing vibe that I think set up the Eagles show pretty well. And I'm sure Jimmy doesn't care one bit that the Pioneer Press called his music terrible... I'm sure he's laughing all the way to the bank, considering he's got a successful Broadway musical to his name, as well as Margaritaville retirement communities and his own Land Shark Lager beer.

FUN FACT: According to the Wikipedia article on "Parrotheads," Timothy B. Schmit was the one to coin the term during his tenure with the Coral Reefer Band.

Now, onto the Eagles set. They opened the show promptly at 9 PM with "Seven Bridges Road," which I thought was a great song for an opener; it was a song that I thought should have been in the set list for the History of the Eagles tour. The three remaining Eagles' voices meshed with new voices Vince Gill and Deacon Frey perfectly, and it shows that they've really been working at perfecting the harmonies in this new phase of the band. The second song was "Take It Easy," which introduced Deacon Frey on lead vocals. Later when Don introduced Deacon to the crowd, he said, "We are particularly delighted, our hearts are full, and we are grateful to have Glenn's son Deacon up here with us." The crowd erupted into applause as Deacon emerged into the spotlight to soak it all in for a few seconds, wearing a Minnesota Twins jersey with "Frey" emblazoned on the back. As the applause died down, Deacon thanked the crowd and went on to say that he had spent some time in Minnesota before, saying, "My dad used to take me fishing in Brainerd." Some can recall that Glenn played a concert with Deacon in Brainerd in 2008 at the Manhattan Beach Lodge. It was probably one of the first, if not the first time that Deacon took the stage with his dad publicly. Fast forward ten years, and that young man's playing in front of 42,000 people at Target Field! I'm sure Glenn would be so proud of how cool, calm, and collected Deacon is onstage! He delivered solid performances on "Already Gone" and "Peaceful Easy Feeling," and I honestly believe that he's perfectly capable of handling more of Glenn's songs in concert.

The third song was "One of These Nights," and I was honestly in awe that Don Henley could still hit those high notes almost spot-on, after all these years! Next up was "Take It To The Limit," which introduced Vince Gill on lead vocals, and, in my opinion, it was perfection. He seemed to hit all the high notes just right, and I would venture to say that it's the best I've seen the song performed since Randy Meisner sang lead vocals on it in the 70s.

Can we just talk about how great Vince Gill is for a second? Not only does the guy have the voice of an angel (seriously, look up his solo work if you aren't familiar with it), but he can keep up and hold his own playing guitar licks, too! I'm thrilled that he's playing with the Eagles now, because I've been a fan of his for a long time. His backing vocals add something special to the mix, too, especially on songs like "I Can't Tell You Why," where he's singing harmony to Timothy's lead vocals. Vince recorded his own version of "I Can't Tell You Why" for the Common Thread album of Eagles covers, and that's a great listen, too!

Some reviewers have said that Timothy's voice sounds "rougher" than it used to, but in my opinion, it still sounds really good. As I said before, Vince and Timothy's voices compliment each other well, and Timothy gave great performances of "I Can't Tell You Why" and "Love Will Keep Us Alive."

I was pleasantly surprised to hear a track from Long Road Out of Eden played at this show, with Deacon and Don trading lead vocal duties on "How Long." I actually captured a video of the full song, so I'll post that soon. It also shocked me that Don didn't sing as many songs as he used to during this tour, but instead chose to stay in the background, playing drums. I suppose this is all by design, to get the audience acquainted to the new faces in the band, but I still missed hearing him sing songs like "The Long Run" and "Victim of Love." Still, his live renditions of "Witchy Woman," "Life in the Fast Lane," and "Those Shoes" can't be beat!

Another welcomed surprise was the addition of a Vince Gill solo song to the mix, "Don't Let Our Love Start Slippin' Away." Vince traded a few guitar licks with Joe Walsh and Steuart Smith, and the audience ate it up. I heard a guy in the stands behind me yell, "Atta boy, Vince!" Atta boy, indeed.

Speaking of guitar riffs, I should mention that this latest incarnation of the band has not just one or two, but THREE skilled guitar players between Joe, Vince, and Steuart. I have no other words to describe Joe's playing on Saturday except that he kicked ass! In my opinion, he's got to be one of the greatest guitar players of all time, and it still shows to this day when he just blows everyone away with his guitar licks. From "Funk #49" to "Rocky Mountain Way," Joe had the audience up and energized!

Just to mention a few random tidbits:

•Don began the show by saying, "We are gonna play about two and a half hours of music for you... because we can!" 👏 👏 👏 I was so relieved to hear that the Eagles are still a band that plays 25 awesome songs every night!

•The horn section is back in action! They played a big part in the performance of "Funk #49" and the instrumental horn introduction to "Hotel California."

•Since I mentioned "Hotel California," I'll mention that NOTHING beats the sound of 42,000 people singing right along with Don, and the rhythm of that fantastic guitar duel between Joe and Steuart... absolutely nothing!

•The screen graphics for this tour are pretty cool. Songs that had graphics that stood out to me were "Witchy Woman" and "Hotel California." Both gave off a creepy-in-a-good-way vibe, with "Witchy Woman" panning past scraggly-looking trees and barbed wire fences in a night lit by a full moon, and "Hotel California" passing through the empty, tiled corridors of the mysterious hotel. My description doesn't do it justice... just go see a show to see it in person!

•A photo of Glenn was projected on the screen at the end of "Peaceful Easy Feeling," and I came close to crying. Not out of sadness, totally, but for the fact that Deacon was up on stage, doing such a great job of keeping his dad's legacy alive.

•The main difference I noticed between this show and the one I had seen when Glenn was alive was how much I missed Glenn's jokes. Now the joking is almost solely Joe's thing, and I miss hearing, "This was written for my first wife, Plaintiff," before "Lyin' Eyes," among other things.

•I also miss Glenn's band intros. We all know that Glenn was an illustrious master of ceremonies at Eagles shows, and he always took the time to introduce each and every member of the band, along with where they were from.

All things considered, the Eagles still know how to put on a good show, even without Glenn. Moving forward with Deacon and Vince singing Glenn's songs is keeping his legacy alive for future generations of Eagles fans. And while things will never be quite the same without Glenn, I'm sure glad that these guys chose to continue playing together, "because (they) can," and I can't wait to attend another show!

[davidjjohnston3]

1. Others' innocence can make us feel more alive and cleanly but we have sooner or later to 'cleanse the inside of your own cup' (Jesus).

2. I miss 'sis.'  That's all. I'm not married at 36.5 but someone did say, 'as a sister.'

3. I listened to Sowon's cover of 'Happy' and wrote a letter to Taeyeon on Instagram that she said something nice to.

4. I have several wishes pace Pope Francis' 'Come Let Us Dream' in the Covid era.  One of these is to move to Korea of course again, another to move to LA, and another to publish under the imprint of (Mrs.) Catherine Cho's literary imprint as 'Inferno' was terrifying to me in a good way and I too encountered both racism, antagonism towards introverts and quiet people, warehousing by TV, and other forms of evil and crime in the mental healthcare system from people who just want money or, worse in a way, fun and PRIDE.  I also think now that the mental healthcare system in Milwaukee Conuty was designed to give nursing school graduates either an 'easy money' job or exposure to a new Nazi-like system pace abortion-culture under the Democratic Party (including at least one Asian sadly; Andrew Yang), in which the mentally abnormal are considered second-class citizens if not Hitlerian 'life unworthy of life.' My parents are Democrats incidentally and fully support this.

5. I am pro-life 100%; I was going to be aborted and my biological 'father in law' still wants to post-partum-abort me; I could describe the spiritual realization but it's anatomical as well as literally electric.  I hope and pray the pro-life movement will be able to present a living paradigm whereby the value of orphan life can be demonstrated and God glorifide in a literal 'spirit of adoption' or at least a very good orphanage.  This has been part of my dream or 'ghost' since at least 2010.

6. I was driving to see Bethlehem Baptist Church + Bethlehem College and Seminary in Minneapolis and felt a crucifying energy from the church; I also thought about Monica and the 'white garments' of righteousness and covered sin ('white as snow' - Isaiah).  

7. I don't want to 'nuke the Johnston clan' but as I was brutally attacked by both my parents in a campaign involving widespread exaggeration lying to both biomedical professionals / sci-tech establishment as well as civil authority (police) I have written some notes and passages of a 'purple and gold' project, 'Johnston Family Promises; or How Easter Became April Fools,' which could be characterized as a parody of self-destruction, specifically self-post-partum-abortion by reversing the fact that medical doctor brain trust thought I'd be born on April Fool's but was actually born on Easter Sunday in Los Angeles, CA.  

8. I just want a future at this point however as my biological 'family' turned violently against me and I am in the position of 'gathering in the summer' (Proverbs).

9. I thought, 'an authentic love'... I love Changrae Lee also but it took me a long time to understand the spiritual 'Requiem' sense of his best book, by far, 'The Surrendered.'  Koreans I sometimes think are the one race or rather _ _ now taking the past seriously without throwing away the future.  With Secretary Pompeo I feel America could fall in on itself or at least on people like me, including many vulnerable loved ones of all of yours, my Facebook friends.

10. On a lighter note I like (Ms. / Artist) Kim Taeyeon's 'Cover Up' - 'I can't cover up my heart.'  

11. I still like Baskin Robbins Pineapple Coconut thoguh for some reason it makes me think of being a billionaire world-saving commerce-warrior in financial triller Michael Kim's 'Offerings.''

12. I gave the wrong things to the wrong people and made them worse; I expect to be judged by Moses as well as my former teacher-trainers and mentors for being 's/Sensei' who failed his students in both senses of fail (gave them F's and failed to teach them things that made them 'better').  It was a traumatic experience that made me feel demoted from EdAdmin that I had just been offered to wanting to assist-teach K4 or Spec/ExcepEd.  That's what you get for 'adult education' / being honest with Boomers about your thoughts, feelings, and decades of study.  I think Confuciu would say you can't teach constructively who have no sense of shame (old American whites), and moreover participate in a rape-culture including both literal rape, sex-traficking, university campus-culture, porneia,

13. I haven't yet had an EKG but could have experienced acute idiopathic cardiac distress from the Pfizer vaccine since too many beautiful women ages 11-80 all love me.  I thought a while back at 36, 'How to use my last half of my life.'  Then suddenly with pericardial effusion on my mind I thought, 'What to do with 3 months to 2.8 years.'  I wanted to go to Korea; I saw a Servants of Christ video where she was in Korea walking by a river to 'I Need Thee Every Hour' a Christian hymn to Jesus about absolute dependency, 'most precious Lord.'  I remembered Psalm 23 and a time I just wanted to be buried in a certain cemetery in Incheon.  Some other things happened involving my marital future, 'Skinship,' but now I am hoping for at least 5-10 years as the acute issues have mostly settled down and I am a clever self-dietician.  Honestly though with the state of healthcare in Wisconsin I thought about purchasing a needle myself for a pericardocentesis to drain the H2O.  

14. I have one writing-project I might not complete but I feel a solid start that could / should be published about abortion-culture and based on 'Love in Color,' a popular song by a no-longer-pop-idol.  

15. I still think about expositing American literature but suddenly 'The Old New World' means more to me; the old Midwestern novel, 'Winterlight,' 'My Soul at Night.'  And, 'The Magnificent Ambersons,' destined love.  I had a student in Korea who would be the card-carrying image of Lucy Morgan if they adapted it in addition to Mark Helprin's 'In Sunlight and in Shadow.'  

16. I am (too?) afraid of the Cross of Gold.  America getting rich.  China's 'moderately prosperous nation' i.e. Get Middle Class or Die (and Take World w/ Us) Tryinng.'  I want to be poor and poor-in-spirit except that I love some people who could use the money.  That is part of why I think about Michael B. Kim.

17. I like green peas, peanut butter, and blueberries.

18. The best audiobook I read lately is almost holy to me, 'Inferno' by Catherine Cho but 'Forgotten God' by Francis Chan is also incredible.  I listen to it while sleeping on audio and it always seems to wake me up at the perfect moment.  

19. I finally figured out an 'audience' as well.  If I could finally write a couple novels with a 'professional' utterance in addition to 'Love in Color' my 'caritas et amor' homage to a beautiful song and also something on the Covid era and old and young.  Like Pastor John MacArthur, or with him / following him I just feel like the whole point of Covid was to give people a chance to do better by / with kids.  'We plant the trees; our children enjoy the shade' - a Chinese proverb that the orthodox preacher / shepherd John MacArthur cites nonetheless. The American Families Plan.  Also even more (AUTHENTIC, non-guru-guff, non-fetishistic, non-trends-based) professionalization and humane policing and children's rights within the South Korean public and private schooling sectors.

20. I had one grand project as well called 'The Distant Lights of Seoul' that is kind of my take on 'In Sunlight and in Shadow' but it evolved in to something more personal that that's all... a trip I thought of taking, in the days when I was unsure whether to be the new or old.

21. I remember the most anguished summer of my life till now was 2003.  'Deep Inside of You' by 3EB.  'I would change myself if I could / I would walk with my people if I could find them / and I'd say I'm sorry to you.'  Coincidentally I went on an 'icy-hot' date with a hyper-beautiful woman at the cafe-bar where Jenkins wrote 'Motorcycle Driveby.'

22. I made a 'partial audiobook' of the early Psalms - particularly 5, about God defending - and had a beautiful experience like reading to children.

23. I don't want to broaden myself out too much physically or experientially; I'm afraid of becoming mentally American.  'Leaving Babylon, Leaving America, Leaving Milwaukee, Leaving.'  My homage to Madison Kwon Eunbi as well, theme-music 'Eraser.'  But I have to be a better man to approach my new _.

24. My original 'Korea project' was called 'Transferring to Line Zero' and like many Millennial writers in 2010 I tried to sound like a Haruki Murakami narrator but my experience turned out to be more like Kazuo Ishiguro, Marcel Proust.  I aimed for whisky but got wine.  I wish I could write this as I know for whom.  IDK if anyone cares though as Millennials almost all had 'these.'  I just wish I could make something of it instead of seeming like 'Acute Fangirl's No. 1 Fanboy.'  There wasn't a 'zero.'  

25. I had a crush on Dreamcatcher JiU 'Lily Kim' I saw once in Chicago - 'prettier in real life' is a good way to zonk people out into falling in love with a picture - but I saw a picture of her in traditional Joseon garment and just thought, 'cordial neighbor.'  That's all.

26. I used to write 'nuke Harvard' self-hyper-fanfiction about me v. the more customary winners and my ideal project is 'The Chinaman (or Chinese Poet) at American-Korean Thanksgiving.'

27. remembering my 2003 self / poet persona

akaka soru no

I thought about snow falling on velvet.  I got in trouble in the neighborhood. I liked Red Velvet's 'Wish Tree.'  I liked Wendy Son and Kim Yerim. A noble name, Son Seungwan, I'll say it once.

Maoists.  I read 'Wild Swans.'   I wanted to join you in your sadness and your beauty but I wasn't being Kawabata Yasunari. I don't want to generalize about my love for you but I don't believe in things either; Time disappears; mathematics inspires my disbelief; I think it can change.

'I love other people.'

What is it when parents grow old Do they go in to a new world They go to Heaven before us They know about being young

Wine, Elizabeth Strout novel 'Protestant endurance' in the old Midwest 'We are different from everybody'

The only question a bomb-threat at the school after 9.11 'Sospiro' fioritura In those days they were innocent 'I would take you seriously' (if I were a teacher) Now they try to be like New Yorkers I am not home

The poem that belonged to everyone flower a flower Can the passive-aggressive therapist Chinese girlfriend tea in the morning 'If I had to live with you'

the children of tomorrow where understanding ends require a world

a walk by the river i was old then carrying something i knew how to cook i knew how to live you sang 'dream' i said something like someone once said to me my old love contacted me via e-mail she said she had become materialistic and Republican she looked really good / happy married with kid after Covid-19 anaesthesiologist

28. Dov Danilov had abjected himself; he was known; on one cared.  The only decisive or critical factor... There was that armored 'girlfriend of steel' or perhaps better-than-girlfriend, the trial by ordeal, the one-look judgmentality, but it was all the past.  There was 'When You Are Old' and there had always been the presence of the Other like in 'The New World' with Pocahontas and John Smith; 'Who are you that haunts my dreams?'  That was a gooood movie.  He watched 'The Last Samurai' back in the day and didn't take it seriously but believed it contained good 'advices.'  There was Manheim Wagner's 'Korea: How You Feel' that had a great photo that seemed to mean something about the author's feelings but the book was all about illegal narcotics and sex-trafficking.  There was 'Brother One Fell' but it was all about masturbation and poor diet and illegal narcotics and what the Native Amerrian Indian shepherd-scholar hda called 'Mental Europeanness.'   The shepherd-scholar called himself a 'sheep-rancher.'  It was RU, 2005 autumn. 'Being known and ont cared for,' like HAndong from Dreamcatcher.  Maybe, it was the beginning of the end of the nightmare. - I could eat again a little if I got another love-letter from a female student... or even another bouquet from a gay male student... Maybe I'll mrary a North Korean woman after reunification... Remember 'Honey and Clover?' - Good song. - It's an anime-drama.  Originally it was a dorama.  Pramodh liked it before BLM stole his soul and he death-threated me with Cannibal COrpse and hate.  'Moon River' on pianoforte.  

- 'The Remains of DJ.'  'LA Dream.'  'Red Mansion Dream.'  'Pandemic of Honesty.'  'At the End of the Winter-Light; the Last of the Good Old Wisconsin Blue.'  'John Updike R

and I am not ashamed while my love is near me and I know it will be so till it's time to go So count the storms of winter and then the birds in spring again

'doctrine of unconditional evil'

29. My father acted in a really scary obsessive fashion toward me lately and now suddenly he is just eating and drinking.  

30. Jesus Himself said in the Gospel not to curse your parents.

31. I thought something about 'Sentimental Education' lately.

32. A while ago I wanted to write or read 'stories about families.'

33. I want to return to my '2003' project that predicted bioweapons and stuff but not really.

If I were redoing it I might just make it about 'Honesty' and instead of magic assassins it would be the medical doctor charged with mitigating bioweapon magic damage and the FBI agent investigating the bad guys.  Psalm 5.

34. Wanting to be the spiritual-intellectual successor to Bruce Cumings (hyper-meta historiography of the Korean War and, by extension, Covid, the world, Christ / CHristology, and the problems with non-Asia-based E. Asian Studies academicians or anyone who lacks Confucian scholar-gentleman / 'sunbi' / Scholar in Kingdom of Heaven sincerity).  China buries corrrput intellectuals alive.

35. 'Final Offer' in Time (on Pres. Moon Jaein).  'Peace in Our Time?'  Blessed are the peacemakers; blessed are the pure in heart.  

36. IDK if it's worth saying but - dept. of Anti-Christology or study of Antichrist - the 'first world' as it used to be called by and large seemed to be trending towards Imperium.  I honestly feel as if Barack Obama could be pulling the strings from within the CIA building and David Cameron adn Angela Merkel are in charge of all of Europe, while POpe Francis holds suzerainty of influence if not command-authority over the Spanish-speaking world.  IDK if there is meaningful dissent outside of a few republic-nations such as Poland and South Korea, who paradoxically take on a posture of what Park Chunghee callde 'itnernational responsiblity' despite a history of atrocious suffering and monoethnic somewhat xenophobic traditional social makeup.

37. Flaubert's notes to his supreme masterpiece 'Sentimental Education'... I'll just say... How he taught Frederic Moureau to fall in love with Marie Arnoux; taught himself how to LOVE Marie both before the beginning and after the end of being 'in love' with this mother-paramour.  

That said, I still remember the days when I had 'optimism' and someone said, '[woman] is happy because of you.'

38. I can't write more but do have specific goals, chiefly, master Korean and learn all the basic facts.  Professionals and experts believe in facts; as my Russian Yale MBA friend used to say, 'I am a scientist.'

I wish I had a profession... 'literary criticism of life?'  I am interested in 'the condition of fiction' and 'the logic of pulverization' but I just track John MacArthur.  I need to reconstitute my body and mind then maybe...

Dreams of [doctoral degrees].

39. 2 Timothy, Acts 2, Thessalonians, Revelation, in the Covid era.

40. Dreaming of Bethlehem College and Seminary.

41. Dov Danilov had abjected himself; he was known; on one cared.  The only decisive or critical factor... There was that armored 'girlfriend of steel' or perhaps better-than-girlfriend, the trial by ordeal, the one-look judgmentality, but it was all the past.  There was 'When You Are Old' and there had always been the presence of the Other like in 'The New World' with Pocahontas and John Smith; 'Who are you that haunts my dreams?'  That was a gooood movie.  He watched 'The Last Samurai' back in the day and didn't take it seriously but believed it contained good 'advices.'  There was Manheim Wagner's 'Korea: How You Feel' that had a great photo that seemed to mean something about the author's feelings but the book was all about illegal narcotics and sex-trafficking.  There was 'Brother One Fell' but it was all about masturbation and poor diet and illegal narcotics and what the Native Amerrian Indian shepherd-scholar hda called 'Mental Europeanness.'   The shepherd-scholar called himself a 'sheep-rancher.'  It was RU, 2005 autumn. 'Being known and ont cared for,' like HAndong from Dreamcatcher.  Maybe, it was the beginning of the end of the nightmare. - I could eat again a little if I got another love-letter from a female student... or even another bouquet from a gay male student... Maybe I'll mrary a North Korean woman after reunification... Remember 'Honey and Clover?' - Good song. - It's an anime-drama.  Originally it was a dorama.  Pramodh liked it before BLM stole his soul and he death-threated me with Cannibal COrpse and hate.  'Moon River' on pianoforte.  

- 'The Remains of DJ.'  'LA Dream.'  'Red Mansion Dream.'  'Pandemic of Honesty.'  'At the End of the Winter-Light; the Last of the Good Old Wisconsin Blue.'  'John Updike R

and I am not ashamed while my love is near me and I know it will be so till it's time to go So count the storms of winter and then the birds in spring again

'doctrine of unconditional evil' - humans mistaking themselves for God the Father - abortion-culture - Pope Saint John Paul II 'Humana Vitae'

42. Ideas of Christianity versus praxis and parataxis of Christianity

43. I was fond of Becca on Xanga but not as much as 'Clover' People open so much they can't but close off like a French novel 'humanity-rule' though their psychology of women is 'unconvincing' Glenn Gould ate a lot of eggs he was a hypochrondriac I want to drink 'Delta Covid Winter Summer Wine' and think of Mary HK Choi 'Yolk,' Lear's Cordelia and the real one, caritas / a'ga'pe I hope I don't get kilt with a _ _ _

44. Side- / mini-project 'My Brother's Type' about anti-Asian racism.

45. Ideal YA novel / counter to all corrupt YAL books, 'Clover' from the Promise / Fromis song.  It's beautiful, beauteous, 'fragrance from life to life.'  'I kept wishing for luck until I realized that which I wanted was happiness, yes?'

46. They were bored psychopathic Boomers; retirement had made them cannibal sociopaths.  His mom was like Volumnia in Coriolanus.  He didn't want to think about it.  He remembered Shan by the Han River, 'Fair Love.'  It was ten years ago; he weighed 25 pounds less but his mentality was the same. People were different.  Children were different.  In Wisconsin they evinced a... He was tired of being a bridge between West and East.  No one was curious.

47. I approached something really intense and pure and holy - and absolutely specific - and can't back off or back down without harm to myself.  This might be my last FBI.

48. I was 'boring guy.'

49. Summer rain.

50. That holiness... but also... CVA ('Charity edifieth')...

51. I want to read Korean poetry again as well.  Better poetry than ever, I imagine, better people.  'Perfect Children.'

52. 'And When We Are Older' - A Poem for Someone about My Age

And when we are old it won't necessarily get easier or fall into place or smooth into bonhomie or grow delicate as papery exquisite autumn leaves like the face of Jennifer Aniston and sometimes at the gym my smaller shoulder-muscles push harder but they remind me in this cute, precious way of some kind knowing amid Cross and sword that ever valor is a risk and God has got his hour writ. I thought that by now I would know what it's like to be one flesh with a wife, to watch a daughter practicing pianoforte, play catch with a son in the yard of a house by New Jersey reedy ponds.  That dream began in 1994 and there it stays, between the 'cello-clabbered music-room and gildered auditorium and still, in these institutions, nowhere to confess my love, nowhere to begin, just papers to plan on or wise. I used to love book-reviews, the language of dictionaries that could seem to get life so right, "Validity in Interpretation," the days when newspapers seemed to love me more than my own teachers, Colossians 4:6, editing sprinkled with salt, giving reason for hope, appropriate, apt, jeongdokhada. They get old and old and much is made of the things we can experience; sometimes I think that my dear friend quit Samsung too soon to know how to build his own team and I quit at least three jobs too soon and didn't stay in hot pursuit and now feel almost as if only my thoughts are as brightly alive with a love-light as your face once was. I get so lost at shopping malls, drowning; I don't get what anyone is up to. There was a Monsignor who composed or redacted this immense ethnography of all Korea but it must have broken his heart too, man who never took a wife, knitting red, his memory, the kind of person who arrives as I, watching Pompeo et al, in the hope of a benevolent ruler both forever and for the time being too... My friend used to say I could lead but I couldn't even shut down the snark-machine and Reddit had a field day with me and honestly maybe I've never loved anyone adequately. Let's be young a while more and though I didn't like this as a kid we can talk to the TV like at my grandparents' house long ago and again born on the new day, maybe we'll spend some time married.

53. 'Happy Days'

54. I miss the good K-dramas from Dramafever days though I don't watch television anymore... I wish I did just to rest my eyes... I miss 'Please Come Back Ahjusshi'... He's on the flying aerospace train to Heaven with his tears of contrition but decidees to return to Earth to delete his porn-collection for his wife and daughter surviving him... I deleted my biological father's literary porn collection ('daddy'-stepdaughter coercive / rape; adulterous housewife)... but he tried to send me to death and Hell.

55. It was like autumn in Korea this morning with the lamps and air-moisture; it was like Korean summer this early evening with August rain.

56. I want to regain my purity of literary style but hopefully God willing write something profitable / fruitful.   I might just teach again for pay..

[garden-of-succulents]

Part Two of Kent Parson and the Comeback Kid (click for Part One), the story about how 34-year-old Andy Scarlatti qualifies for the US Women's National Ice Hockey Team. Huge thanks to @onlysmallwings for helping to transcribe my handwriting!

Content notes: Graphic depiction of physical child abuse.

They talked her into it.

Terry and Mac and Janine said how great it would be to have her in a tournament that weekend, and Kent pointed out that if half the people she was there to see were going to be in Duluth anyway they might as well go and change their flight back, and at the last minute Sarah cancelled the dinner that would have conflicted with practice. She ended up spending sixteen hours playing hockey that week, delighted and charmed to be back, and then they hit her with the real whammy.

Patricia Lee was Andy's teammate in college. While Andy had struggled through the NCAA and gone on to run Twitters and coach children, Patricia was focused and put-together, won the Patty Kazmaier Award and played in the CWHL before being immediately signed when the NWHL started up. She'd moved home to Minneapolis to marry a nice Hmong boy both she and her family were wild about and have two kids in quick succession, but kept working as a performance coach and doing administration for the national women's team.

"It's my first time running camp," Patricia wheedled over the phone as Andy made dinner. "I want a friend there with me."

Andy laughed. "Excuse me, you're friends with everybody. Everyone there loves you."

"But you're so isolated," Patricia pleaded. "I could tell you all the worst gossip about everybody, and you're so socially unconnected, it would never get back to them. I need that outlet."

"It's during playoffs," Andy protested, stirring the sauce, though she reached over to knock her knuckles against the cupboard door out of superstitious habit.

"You always say your husband is useless during playoffs. Dump Nick with your mother-in-law and get out of the house. Let one of his boyfriends tend to his needs instead."

Andy paused, then said, "It's the National Selection Camp."

"Yeah, I know. Amy was at the tournament, she saw you, and she wants to bring you on. The coaches want to have a couple wildcards, that's all. It makes everybody work harder if there's an element of uncertainty."

"I'm not sure," Andy said.

Kent talked her into it.

She'd been to the National Selection Camp once before, a week after she graduated high school. They'd wished her luck on the loudspeaker her last day of classes.

When she didn't make the cut, her dad beat the shit out of her.

She beat the shit out of him too. He was the one who taught her how to fight, boxing gloves in a gym when she was 12, a lifetime of wrestling and dirty tricks and penalty calls he nodded with approval over.

When she got home he grilled her, afternoon to evening, about the week before. He was her coach, and he wanted to go over every last detail of the camp’s selection process, probing for her weaknesses. By 11 pm she got up, her hands in her hoodie pocket, and said, “I’m too tired for this. I’m going to bed.”

He put a flat hand on her shoulder, insisting that she sit, and she shrugged it off. He pushed; she pushed back. He stood in the door; she drove her elbow into his solar plexus. He grabbed her hoodie collar and backhanded her.

She blacked both his eyes.

He only stopped hitting her and let go when she was crumpled on the floor, everything bent into curling up, protecting her stomach and her head, saying brokenly, “Dad, stop. God, stop.” And when she took too long to sit up, they both knew she had a concussion from when he hit her head so hard it rebounded off the wall.

“Are you-“ he said, hands out, like he was afraid to touch her, ask. Like he was afraid of what he’d done.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, weak but distinct, and got up.

He followed her to the door of her bedroom, spewing orders and excuses as she threw a few things into the bags that hadn’t been unpacked from the selection camp. She ignored him. He moved aside as she shouldered past him, carrying purse and hockey bag and suitcase and pillow. She left the house with him thundering that he was going to call the cops because she shouldn’t drive.

At the time, she didn’t care. It was almost two hours to her mom’s place, and she stopped once to throw up and buy a big bottle of water, but after a while she sadly concluded the cops weren’t going to pull her over so she’d have to drive the rest of the way herself.

At the apartment she kept grimly pounding on the door (the building’s rear entrance had been propped open with a brick) and tried to come up with her next step if her mom didn’t live there anymore; but eventually Elaine’s boyfriend came to the door in boxers and a t-shirt and let Andy in.

In the morning her mother gave her coffee and took pictures of her injuries and said, “I’ll fix this.”

She didn’t, of course. There was a court judgment against her saying she was unfit to get custody and as her boyfriend pointed out, Andy’s dad could counter-charge her with assault. Andy just kept her head down for the rest of summer, working out at the YMCA and trying to avoid juvie or foster care. She got into the dorms in mid-August for university training camp and in October she turned 18 and it all blew over.

She wasn’t invited to selection camp in the following year. She got sent down to Division III two years later. She had basically always believed that after that night, her hockey career was all downhill from there.

And the thing was, she only got as far as she did the second time around because she was married to Kent Parson. It was infuriating.

If women's leagues had been like the men's leagues--if there were thousands of paying positions on professional teams, instead of the couple hundred unpaid spots there were when she graduated college, or the couple dozen spots that paid peanuts available now--she might not have ended up among the top of them when she graduated. She wasn't at a good place, mentally or physically, and might have signed with the equivalent of the AHL at 22. She hung out in Minneapolis with AHL players, knew it wasn't a sumptuous living like NHL contracts but it paid rent and beer and protein powder, and the most important part was: Someone would be willing to fund her to work out and train and play hockey all day. She would have done that until she retired, and been happy.

Patricia Lee wrote computer programs during the week, her entire playing career. She did her best to work out and train as much as she could, but the biggest chunk of her working hours was spent writing code. The CWHL didn't pay, back then, but sponsors supplied her with skates and pads and one stick a season, and an NWHL salary let her cut work down to two days a week before she retired. She and the teammates she lived with cooked all their own meals.

Living with Kent, it was so easy. The Aces' dietician had a friend whose business was fresh-delivered meal ingredients. The players sat down with Marco to work out their meal plans, and if they handed those meal plans over to Julia, she'd deliver meal ingredients to them daily, already portioned out and peeled and prepared for the skillet. It was like Blue Apron, but more exclusive; Julia made a tidy living from about thirty clients. And when Andy moved in, Marco stopped by her office one day and said, "Hey, Kent paid for Julia just to throw your food in with his, so I wanted to ask, what's your intake? You doing more strength or cardio lately?"

She did roller derby two nights a week, which was as much exercise as some of their players did ever; but she also spent so much time in the weight room at the back of their house, talking to Kent as he pumped iron, that it made sense to get on a machine and do some of the work herself at home. Then she got to know Swoops and Cam and Mikey enough to feel comfortable working out with them on Saturdays at a gym in town. The trainers there knew her, and knew her routine when she worked out with the Aces, so she went weekends the boys were out of town, too. And Kent preferred swimming to distance running after his knee got gummy, and that was easy for her too; so before she knew it, she was working out 20 hours a week, double what she'd been doing before in Minnesota.

Her office was in the Aces practice facility in Henderson. The offices clustered at the side nearest the parking lot, and she had a computer and a desk that she worked at; but the other end of the building was the rink, the gym, the pool, and trainers' space. All Aces staff got access to these facilities when they weren't scheduled for use by the players of community teams, and Andy kept a hockey bag with skates behind her desk. She had to lace up and go out on the ice for the part of her job that meant coaching, but sometimes she went out just to get kinks out of her body and clear her head. By her second year, Kent would often come back from strategy and media in the afternoons, and she'd get her work done by four, and they'd spend an hour on the ice before the children she coached arrived.

They didn't play, not at first. He was so much better than her at hockey--which was kind of hard to avoid, because he was better than almost anybody--that they didn't even try; she didn't like to cry when she got frustrated, but it distressed him to see her working through something, stony-faced, with tears running down her cheeks. Instead they ran drills, usually more of what the team had been working on in the morning--skating, shooting, passing, anything. It was too frustrating when Mikey came back and put on his pads for them to score against, because Andy rarely could, but when his knee troubled him Kent played goalie instead.

It was how they relaxed. It kept Kent from showing up at dinner with his teeth clenched and an unsatisfied look on his face; instead he worked out with Andy until his hands shook and his eyes lost their wildness, and he could go home and eat.

They already knew, before she conceived, that she wasn't taking on the bulk of the childcare. She was coaching and often on the road; he took a year off after Nick's birth, scandalized everyone by embellishing knee surgery into actual paternity leave, but even still his mom moved in with them. Andy bore with the tension Karen sometimes generated, because her mother-in-law gave her so much more freedom. And when Kent went back to playing, Andy's time alone with her husband happened in the gym or on the ice, because all other time in their lives had been eaten.

It skewed everything, playing against Kent. Playing against the Aces. They accepted her as one of them, included her in jokes and parties, but Andy was always a little smaller, a little slower, a little less good, and she struggled to keep up with their worst players. When she and Kent played keep-away, it was an experiment for him skating with his bad knee immobilized in a brace, him dragging around the ice like an invalid without a crutch. That gave her enough of an advantage that he still almost always won, but only after a fight.

And anyway, she was retired. Her career was over. She was finished as a hockey player.

So it wasn't until she went up against women who played after work in beer leagues, who fed families and diapered children, who played games on weekends because they couldn't get weekdays off, that she realized how good she was.

She was numb after the roster announcement and managed to say a few mechanical things about being honoured and surprised, so it wasn't until she checked her phone and found an email from an NWHL address headed, "Free Agency Options" that Andy actually broke down crying.

Kent answered her videocall instantly and said, "I'm so proud of you," and stayed on the line until Patricia found Andy in the hallway with three of her new teammates behind her and surrounded her with hugs. He did say that he loved her and supported her and they'd talk when she got home, but he also understood when one of Andy's teammates said they needed to go bond now and hung up on him.

They went out for pizza.

(part 3)

[respect-the-wind]

Minnesota Vikings Offseason Blueprint Part I : In-House Moves

What can be said about our Minnesota Vikings’ 2017-2018 season that hasn’t already been spoken? Not much more, considering all you need to know is that most fans likely will develop heart trouble sooner in life now. I’m not writing this to reminisce about the great season our Vikes had, or the massive letdown that ended our dreams one game too early. I’m writing this to say that it’s time to pick ourselves up, brush the dust off, and look onward to what promises to be one of the most important offseasons in Minnesota Vikings history.

Tradition has it that this will be divided into two pieces, the first covering decisions involving coaching staff and in-house player decisions. The second piece will cover what the Vikings should do in free agency and the draft to finally push this team over the proverbial hump. Mix in some of my legendary humor and an interesting assortment of GIFs, and I promise you will only mildly regret reading this. Awwwwwwwww HERE’ GOES!

COACHING

1.) Sign Philadelphia Eagles QB Coach John DeFilippo as Offensive Coordinator

This one was easy, considering it….already happened. However, just because Rick Spielman and co. were able to make the hire happen faster than I can type won’t deter me. DeFilippo was my first choice among the interviewees that included Kevin Stefanski, Sean Ryan, Darrell Bevell, and Dan Campbell. Why?

He brings along a new offensive scheme, likely some from the phenomenal Philadelphia Eagles’ 2017 offense

He helped turn Carson Wentz into an MVP candidate in 2 years, and prepped his injury replacement Nick Foles well enough to defeat Tom Brady in the Super Bowl

He’s a young, fresh mind in a sea of coaching retreads

Stefanski was my second choice, due to his experience at several offensive coaching positions and long tenure in the Vikings organization (it appears as though he will still remain with the team, as interviews with other teams have been blocked.)

It’s also important to note how intent the Vikings were on bringing aboard DeFilippo. They waited until the Super Bowl was over to interview him, which ended up being a few weeks into their search. The interview itself almost seemed a formality, as he was hired that same night. Spielman and Zimmer must have really seen something they liked in his résumé. Alas, bravo, Slick Rick, you made the right move here.

CUTS

1.) RB Latavius Murray

     This move isn’t going to make a lot of sense to you right away, but I’ll get there. Murray had a very slow start to the season, including after starter Dalvin Cook went down with a knee injury. However, he really picked it up in the second half of the schedule, forming a fantastic duo with Jerick McKinnon. However, Murray’s contract was designed to basically be a 1 year deal with 2 more additional team option years. His $5.15 million for 2018 in guaranteed money only becomes official on the 3rd day of the new league year. Murray can likely land a nice deal somewhere else, and the Vikings can use all the extra cash they can get their hands on.

2.) DT Sharrif Floyd

     This one is sad. Floyd showed real promise when he was on the field. Unfortunately, he suffered some sort of nerve damage in his knee during a relatively normal operation. The damage has been bad enough that he has not seen time since the 2016 season opener. This is a seriously cruel fate for a young player to meet. The Vikings have no choice but to move on. The cap savings from this would near $6.8 million and no dead cap hit.

IN-HOUSE FREE AGENTS (Sign or Decline)

1.) RB Jerick McKinnon

     McKinnon is the reason why Murray must be cut. Out of the two, McKinnon shows more athleticism, elusiveness, and speed on the field. His explosive screen plays were a highlight of the season, and the Vikings need his speed in the backfield. However, McKinnon has publicly stated his intention to explore the market in search of a more prominent role. It’s hard to see him landing a starting role somewhere, but he would certainly land a primary backup role somewhere. If the Vikes ditch Murray and give McKinnon that role, he may be inclined to accept it. SIGN

And so we meet again.

2.) CB Terence Newman

     NEWMAN. The ageless wonder followed up a rough ending to 2016-17 with a decent 2018. It’s truly stunning to see a player of that age (39) still playing corner in the NFL. The problem is Newman has become a defensive liability. Wide receivers simply are much faster than him at this juncture, and why wouldn’t players 10 years younger be? The Vikings cannot continue to use Newman as a band-aid, they must improve this position. That all being said, I know deep within my soul that Zimmer is going to bring him back anyway, and I hope it’s as the team’s 4th CB instead of 3rd. SIGN (only because it’s gonna happen anyway)

3.) DT Tom Johnson

Johnson continues to be a beast against the run. It’s unfortunate that he isn’t more helpful against the pass though. The Vikings desperately need some QB pressure from the interior line, and right now there isn’t enough coming from Johnson to help out star nose tackle Linval Joseph. There are a few intriguing options on the free agent market that could have an immediate impact. Decline

4.) G Joe Berger    

     This really isn’t a choice for the team to make. Berger has made his intentions relatively clear that he intended to retire after the 2017-2018 season. The Vikings are going to have to fill this void, which will be somewhat difficult considering Berger has done a very good job during his time. Decline (Retirement)

5.) K Kai Forbath

     Ah, the Kai Conundrum. Forbath missed a plethora of extra points throughout the season, and a few long-distance field goals. I would have banished him to the Chokey if I based his performance in the first half of the season alone. However, it simply cannot be ignored that Forbath was clutch when they needed him most, including in the Divisional playoff game against the Saints. Forbath hit 2 long distance field goals to keep the Vikings in the game just enough for the Minneapolis Miracle to be relevant. Perhaps they bring in some competition, but ultimately he’s earned his spot. SIGN

And that wraps up Part 1 of the Minnesota…..just kidding. Turns out there might be a few more “notable” in-house decisions to cover. By notable, I mean franchise-altering quarterback decisions that will make or break this franchise’s best shot at the Lombardi trophy in decades. No big deal or anything.

 6.) QB Sam Bradford

     The Bradford Experiment was a huge success in the first game of the season, brilliantly mastering the Saints defense for a great victory. The End. That’s how the Story of Sam ends for Minnesota. Undeniably the most talented QB of the three the Vikings had this year, he cannot shake the injury bug. In short, his knee simply cannot be trusted to lead the franchise going forward and the team cannot afford to pin their hopes on him. Decline

7.) QB Case Keenum

     By now you are likely aware of the Curious Case of….Case. The guy did some unbelievable things for the Vikings this year. Keenum has incredible pocket presence, masking most flaws the o-line had. His ability to extend plays was crucial, and he showed undeniable energy and composure as the offense leader. The problem is, it wasn’t enough. Keenum never displayed great arm strength and struggled mightily with deep throws. The offense was incapable of playing from behind, which was a very glaring problem in the NFC Championship game. I’m not blaming Keenum for his shortcomings, because he does the best with what he’s got. I would absolutely love to sign him back as the primary backup, but that will not only NOT happen, it wouldn’t be fair to him. He will likely land a starting gig for a rebuilding franchise with a contract around $20 - $22 million. As thankful as I am for his services this year, it’s a hard but necessary pass. Decline

8.) QB Teddy Bridgewater

     I’m going to dive into the Teddy topic heavy in the next article, so I will keep this short. Teddy completed a miraculous comeback from a gruesome knee injury late this year, making a short and emotional appearance against the Cincinnati Bengals. Drafted as the QB of the future for the Vikings, Bridgewater found himself on the outside looking in while Keenum led the team to a 13-3 record. Simply put (and believe me, it gets much more complicated than this so stay tuned) how do you entrust a franchise in full win-now mode to a QB who has missed nearly 2 years of game action, and was not fully developed prior to the injury? The answer is, you can’t. Decline

Bear with me fellow fans; this will all make sense eventually. This (officially) concludes Part I of the Minnesota Vikings Offseason Blueprint. Part II will be a real doozy, so please stay tuned, and thanks for reading.

[delos-mio]

FHS - Part 1 - A Frank Castle Mini Series

A/N: Yooo what up! This is part 1 of a miniseries about the sweetest murderer around. A HUGE thank you to @deerprongs​ for sending me the inspiration- I hope I can do you proud.

In all your life, you never thought you’d step foot in New York City again. When you left after high school, you said goodbye with the intention of starting new in college somewhere far, far away. And for a while, it worked- you got a degree and got a pretty good job. Everything was going well until life happens, the way that it does, and when family falls ill, you run back as quickly as you can. Now, you were finishing loading boxes into your studio apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. Rent sure didn’t get you as much here as it did in Minneapolis, considering you were paying $500 more a month for 2 less bedrooms. You sighed as you sat down on top of the last box, wiping a bit of sweat from your brow.

It felt like you hadn’t stopped going all day. Your stomach began to growl, desperately trying to get you to slow down and satiate it. Message received, you decided to quick explore your new neighborhood for food options. It was a lot later than you realized when you stepped out on the sidewalk and glanced at your phone. That was one perk of moving back to the city- food was always available to you. You set off heading west, keeping your eyes peeled for anything open late and offering something more than a chopped cheese. The autumn air bit at your nose as you pulled your hoodie closer to your body, trying to fight off the cold.

Just as you had rounded the corner, head down to face the oncoming wind, a hand reached out and pulled you by the arm into the alley.

“Give me your fucking money!” A tall but scrawny man with wild eyes switched open a knife off to his side. Judgement aside, he looked like every drug fiend you had seen before.

“I-I don’t have anyth—“ you stammered, tears forming almost instantly.

“Fuck you! Don’t lie to me! I said, give. Me. Your. Money!” he yelled, raising the knife to the side of your face. You were crying openly at this point, body trembling as he continued to close the distance between the two of you.

“Ok! Ok!” You reached in the pocket of your sweatshirt and shakily offered up your ID and debit card. “This, this is all I have…”

Just as he began to open his mouth and speak again, a large shadow appeared behind him. Immediately, your mind went to worst-case-scenario: another attacker. This little prick had a friend! You closed your eyes tightly, wishing this would just end so you could run back to your apartment, lock the doors, and look for flights out of this goddamn city.

“I’d let her go if I were you.” It was the shadow. His voice was low and gravely; it sounded like a crackling fire on a summer night. Your attacker spun around, now pointing his knife in the direction of the voice.

“What the fuck did you say to me?!” he fumed, trying to locate the source of his interruption. Finally, a man stepped out of the shadow- tall and broad with close cropped dark hair. His face was harsh, but handsome. It was clear to you he’d seen a scrap or two in his life, but most likely won every time. His hand flew out and grabbed the fiend by his throat, his fingers digging into his dirty flesh.

“Oh shit, it’s you!” he managed to choke out, his hands wildly clawing at the arm outstretched in front of him.

“Don’t make me go repeating myself,” your savior warned, his eyes narrowing and his grip tightening. You wiped at the tears under your eyes, quickly drying your face as you watched with wide eyes the man before you. “Now you go tell any of your other little friends that if I see you within 20 blocks of here, I’ll fucking gut you.” He gave him one more harsh squeeze and threw him to the ground. The smaller man quickly scrambled to his feet and sprinted in the opposite direction, his footing not coming fast enough as he tripped over and over as he tried to escape.

“You ok?” he asked, slowly approaching you, his expression softer than it was just seconds ago.

“Yeah, I’m—“ your voice broke as a new wave of tears hit you. “I’m sorry. Th-thank you,” you stammered, taking a deep breath to compose yourself. When you finally looked back at him, there was a small smirk on his face. “What? What’s funny? I’m totally failing to see the humor in this.”

“It feels like you’re trying to be tough for me,” he smiled, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his plain, black long-sleeve tee stretching across his muscles. You laughed a little, realizing that’s exactly what you were trying to do.

“Don’t want you to think I’m weak, I guess,” you finally smiled. “Can I get you a coffee or something?” you asked, shoving your hands in your pockets. Something about him seemed so familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. His face you found to be implicitly trust worthy.

“Why would you want to do that?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Because you just saved my ass and it’s the least I can do,” you said, shrugging. “Please?” you continued to plead.

“Follow me.” He gestured with his head back out to the street and you happily followed him.

The two of you walked quietly for two blocks, only the sound of cars passing by and the pounding of feet on cement filling the silence. You noticed he’d glance at you from the corner of his eye every so often, making sure you were keeping up, you assumed. Before long, he stopped in front of a 24 hour diner. He held the door open for you to walk through and nodded at the older woman working behind the counter.

“Howya doin Frank?” she chirped in a thick Jersey accent, her smile wide as she looked at the two of you.

“Just great, Sal,” he replied as he motioned you to take a seat in a booth against the front window. You slid across the obnoxious red vinyl seat and settled into your spot. Frank sat across from you just as the waitress came over, a pot of coffee and two mugs in hand.

“Now I know Frank here just wants it black, but can I get any cream or sugar for you, sweetheart?” Sal asked.

“Just cream, thank you,” you replied. She poured each of your mugs full and left a small dish of cream with you. You sat and looked at his face for a moment as he looked out the window, watching the few people walking down the street. It was going to drive you insane if you couldn’t figure why he looked so familiar. As your spoon clanged against the sides of the ceramic mug, it hit you like a ton of bricks, a wide smile jumping to your lips. “Castle.”

His head snapped to look at you, his eyes wide and brow set in a hard line. “What was that?”

“Castle. You’re Frank Castle!” you grinned, slamming your palms excitedly on the table. He still looked confused as he studied your expression. It occurred to you that he still hadn’t made the connection you had only just made yourself. “Flushing High School. We had Trig and US Government together,” you helped.

His expression softened for the second time tonight, a genuine smile painting his face. “Of course. Y/N. Don’t know how I could have taken me this long to put it together.” He took another drink of his coffee. “I didn’t know you were living in Hell’s Kitchen these days.”

“Well, to be fair, I didn’t until about twelve hours ago,” you replied. “I moved to Minneapolis after we graduated and lived there for the last thirteen years.”

“So why come back?” he asked, leaning back into the bench.

“My mom. She’s dying.”

“That’s a blunt way to put it.”

“What’s the point in sugar coating the inevitable? Doesn’t do anyone any good not to face reality,” you shrugged, taking another sip. “So here I am, back in New York. Living in a matchbox of an apartment for way too much goddamn money.”

“Some things never change,” he chuckled.

“Some things, yes. But you did. You look different, Frank. What did you do after school?” you asked, leaning forward on the palm of your hand.

“Joined the Marines, did a few tours. Came home, started doing some…” he considered his words for a moment, “freelance work.”

“Well, thank you for your service,” you smiled, raising your mug to him. Frank shook his head and rolled his eyes. “And continued service, I guess. Still out here saving people,” you added, vaguely gesturing to yourself.

“I’m no hero,” he said. Frank spent the next couple hours listening to you talk about living in the Midwest, occasionally interjecting with his own stories. You smile when he spoke and you found it very easy to talk to him. While you watched him, your mind couldn’t help but wander back to those afternoons crammed into a stuffy classroom at Flushing High School. The two of you didn’t run in the same circles, but you remembered thinking he was smart. You also remembered thinking he was cute, but didn’t see a way you could get close to him, so you just admired in silence from a few rows back. He was still cute, though cute was maybe not the right word any more. Frank was handsome- chiseled and defined in every sense.

“Can I ask you something without you thinking I’m a total weirdo?” you asked before running your fingers through your hair.

“You can ask, but I’m not going to make a promise I can’t keep,” he joked. You huffed and rolled your eyes, taking a moment to compose your question.

“Do you think…do you think you could stay at my place tonight? I just don’t really want to go back to an empty apartment after tonight. You can say no, I totally get if you don’t—“

“Yeah, I can do that,” he replied simply, cutting you off. You blushed and gave him a smile, grateful he understood your hesitation to be alone and his willingness to placate you. The waitress came around again and you paid her for the bottomless coffee before setting off again into the night.

The walk back to your building felt a lot shorter, most likely because you were walking with someone who actually knew the area. Frank followed behind you as you made your way up to the fourth floor, each step creaking unnecessarily loud. You inserted your key and turned your head back to him.

“Sorry in advance. It’s a fucking mess right now,” you apologized before pushing the heavy door open. Nearly every inch of floor was taken up by a drab, brown box. It was embarrassing to you, but you had to remind yourself that no one expected you to have all your shit together half a day after moving in. You watched as Frank walked around the small space, taking in some of the labels on the boxes and surveying the studio.

“Not a bad place for this neighborhood,” he remarked, turning his attention back to you.

“Thanks. It’s all I could afford at this point, but I think it’ll be ok.” You walked over to your bed and crawled in, drawing the covers under your chin. Frank looked around for the couch and started walking over, kicking his boots off before setting off for the living room area. “What are you doing?”

“Thought we were going to sleep.”

“We are, but where are you going?” you asked, brow furrowing.

“I assumed you wanted your space, so I was gonna post up on the couch,” he shrugged. “Didn’t want to impose on you.”

“I…I’d feel better if you stayed with me,” you said. He looked at you for a moment, carefully considering whether to refuse and be a gentleman, allowing him to protect you from afar, or if he should just do what you ask. In the end, you won out as he stalked over to the side of the bed, peeling off his shirt before climbing in. It took everything in your power not to let out the small gasp on your lips when you looked at his bare torso. Besides being taught and impossibly touchable, it was riddled with scars and bruises that never quite went away. He’d mentioned being in the military, but surely this couldn’t all be from combat. You faced him for a moment as he first laid down, his gaze strong on your face. “Thank you, Frank, for everything.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said with the smallest smile. You gave him one last smile before rolling over, finding comfort in the weight of Frank lying next to you.

[thesundanceghost]

Out of the Blue and Into the Black

<<Okay bear with me here, long author notes await. I’m very hesitant to call this an It AU but it is shamelessly stolen from inspired by parts of that book, SO. There aren’t really any spoilers for it though, and it’s also very easy to follow if you know literally nothing about Stephen King or demon clowns, I promise.

Also the characters in this are NOT supposed to match up with the actual Losers Club-- some of their conversations overlap a bit, and they play similar roles, but it really has nothing to do with the characters and more to do with plot. Also, not all of the plots are the same. It’s inspired by the book, not a switching of characters, if that makes sense.>>

Read on AO3 (please leave comments if you do!!!)

Chapter One: Nancy Wheeler leaves a note

“We lie best when we lie to ourselves” -Stephen King, It

The spring of 1998 was going to be good to Nancy Wheeler, a fact made clear to her as the familiar tune of Buddy Holly drifted over her radio that morning in March. She grinned and turned the volume up slightly slightly as she stirred her coffee, tapping her foot in time with the beat.

“You say that you’re gonna leave, you know it’s a lie, cuz you know that’ll be the day… that I die,” she sang quietly, letting a smile drift over her face.

“Is it an oldies kind of day, then?” Nancy looked over as her assistant Rachel waltzed into the break room and nodded to the radio.

Nancy grinned. “It’s always an oldies kind of day,” she corrected. Rachel laughed, holding open the door for her, and she smiled gratefully as she made her way to her office.

“Alright so you’ve got that meeting at 3:00 today, and then you need to sign off on the shipments for the afternoon,” Rachel listed out as they walked. “And all the paperwork for those corporate changes are on your desk.”

Nancy sighed, taking a sip of her coffee. “Wonderful. Do me a favor and forward any calls until I get this done, yeah?”

Rachel nodded in understanding and walked off as Nancy made her way into her office, letting the door close behind her. She sighed at the stacks of paper waiting on her desk, but dutifully took a seat and set her coffee aside.

The first hour was easy, double checking numbers and reading fine print. By the time ten o'clock rolled around, Nancy figured this wouldn't be that terrible of a day after all.

“Excuse me,” Rachel said as she pushed the door open. Nancy looked up at her assistant, who was frowning slightly. “Sorry to disturb you, but there’s this writer from Indiana who keeps calling you? Says he’s an old friend.”

“Indiana?” Nancy set down her pen with a frown.

“Yeah, uh, Steve Harrington?” Rachel said the name dismissively.

Nancy felt her heart stop. Rachel was still talking, explaining the situation, but Nancy barely heard a word.

You're Nancy Wheeler, right? Yes, and you're Steve Harrington. You know we've gone to school together for three years now, right? So you know the name of every single person in our grade, then? No, but I would know the name of the person I'm trying to flirt with.

“I’ve told you’re busy but he’s pretty damn insistent, he’s called back like three times. Now I don’t mind hanging up on him again, but--”

“No!” Nancy said immediately, finally feeling able to speak again. Her heart was pounding, but she tried to compose herself. Rachel was just staring at her in confusion. “No, um, I’d better take it. Can you patch him through, please?”

“Sure thing boss,” Rachel said with a shrug, shutting the door behind her.

Nancy barely registered the click of the door. She felt frozen in place, unable to move, her mind a steady buzz of energy. There were so many thoughts racing through her mind she felt unable to process a single one.

Soon the phone was ringing and the light was blinking, indicating a call. Nancy stared at it, her hands shaking slightly. The idea of what was waiting on the other side of this phone call make her stomach swirl terribly.

The phone rang again, and before she knew what she was doing, Nancy reached out and grabbed it, holding it to her ear.

She could hear him. He was humming absentmindedly, a grainy sound through the static of the line, reminding her of the distance between them. She breathed softly, knowing the moment she spoke was the moment everything would become far too real again.

As it turned out, it came even sooner than that.

“Uh, Nancy? You there?” The voice was deeper than she ever remembered it being, and Nancy inhaled sharply.

“Yeah. Hi Steve,” she replied after a second, clearing her throat.

There was a long pause, and Nancy wondered if he was as scared as she was.

“That’s one hell of a receptionist you’ve got there. I thought I was gonna have to fly up to Minneapolis to get a hold of you,” Steve joked, and Nancy huffed a breath in spite of herself.

“Yeah sorry about that. It’s been a busy day, I’ve been working nonstop,” she explained, running a hand through her short hair.

“I’m sorry to call.” There was something deep and genuine in that, and it made Nancy even more frightened.

“Steve, what’s going on?” She wasn’t sure why she was even asking. Just hearing his voice on the other end of the line made it impossible for her to deny the reality of the situation. She knew what was happening. She just needed to hear him say it.

“Nancy,” Steve said, and it sounded undeniably unaltered to the way he said it fifteen years ago. “It’s back.”

(It has to be dead. It has to be.)

“Nancy?” Steve’s voice-- older, deeper than the voice of the past-- shook her out of her thoughts. She flinched violently, mouth opening and closing as she searched for her voice.

“I’m-- I’m here,” she stammered.

She heard him sigh over the line. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot.”

That was putting it mildly. Nancy’s eyes darted around her office. Everything felt foreign, unrecognizable, like this wasn’t her life. Like she was still just a sixteen year old girl in Hawkins, staring down horrors beyond her control. Meetings and assistants and reports shouldn’t exist in the same world as that.

“Are you sure?” She asked him, voice steadier than she expected it to be.

“I wouldn’t have called if I wasn’t,” Steve answered immediately, and she knew in the very core of her soul that he was telling the truth. “I never wanted to call you like this.”

Nancy nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “Have you called him?”

“Not yet,” Steve responded easily. “But I’ve got his number right here in front of me. As soon as you hang up…”

“Okay,” Nancy continued, letting out a long breath. There was a long pause, but Nancy didn’t know how to break it.

“Nancy, I just… will you come?” Steve implored quietly. Nancy got the feeling he didn’t want to ask.

She took a deep breath before answering decisively. “I’ll come. I’ll catch a plane to Indianapolis tonight.”

She heard Steve sigh, and she wondered if it was out of relief or fear. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Bye Steve,” she concluded, and the phone went dead.

Nancy set the phone back on the hook numbly, staring at the wood desk. Her mind was ablaze with memories that felt like dreams-- flashing lights, desperate huddling in the dark, the frantic pleas from behind her as she shakingly slipped more rounds into a gun..

Nancy squeezed her left hand tightly shut. She cut her hand on a fence. That’s what she’d always told people when they’d asked, back when the scar was more raised and noticeable, and she’d grown to forget it was even a lie.

But now she remembered too clearly. She could practically feel the thin metal of a Coke bottle slicing against her palm as Jonathan muttered to her and they’d made that promise--

“Oh god,” she whispered, pressing her unscarred hand to her mouth as she felt bile rise in her throat. She swallowed hard and took three deep breaths (in for four, hold for seven, out for eight, that’s it, you’re okay Nancy, it’s over) before getting to her feet. Grabbing her purse and pushing her paperwork into two neat piles, she made her way out of her office door, stopping at the desk outside. Rachel was on the phone, but she quickly put it on hold upon seeing Nancy.

"Everything okay, Dr. Wheeler?" She asked, and Nancy tried to offer her a smile.

“Rachel, I have to go. I won’t back for at least a few days.” Nancy said quickly, and her assistant blinked up at her, looking frantic.

“What do you mean? Where are you going?” Rachel got to her feet, looking at a loss for what to do.

“It’s... personal stuff, I'm afraid. I’m sorry to drop this on you, I really am, but I can’t avoid this.” Nancy explained with a frown.

Rachel glanced over at Nancy’s office before leaning forward. “Is this something to do with that phone call?”

Nancy closed her eyes, sighing. “I can’t tell you that.”

She readjusted her purse on her shoulder and made her way to the door. “What if Daniel calls?”

“Tell him I’ll explain later!” Nancy glanced back, pausing when she saw Rachel’s look. She sighed, practically pleading when she spoke up again. “And Rachel, before you assume anything, just do me a favor and… don’t assume anything.”

Rachel made one last protest, but Nancy was already out the door, pushing her way through the building until she reached her car. She felt calmer now, though she wasn't sure how. It seemed impossible, being calm at a time like that, and yet... it was just one more job.

Nancy stayed calm as she made her way home and packed her things. Her closet was already emptied for the most part in preparation for her upcoming move, and she simply transferred the rest of the things into a small bag. She threw in a toothbrush, toothpaste, brush, and a few other essentials before zipping it up and setting it aside. She glanced around, trying to see if she'd forgotten anything else.

As she glanced around the house, she felt a deep sense of unease come over her. It was more space than two people could ever hope to need, let alone one person. She’d gotten lucky somehow. Time and time again-- from college to graduate school to the pharmacy job… somehow everything had gone well. It reminded her of something her grandmother had once said to her when she'd made a rare visit.

I get worried when things go too well. It usually means something is going to go terribly wrong. Life's all about balance, darling.

Nancy's eyes landed on the closet door and the garment bag that was slung over it and she felt a new sort of fear rise inside her chest, thought it was starkly different to the kind she'd experienced during Steve's phone call. She stared at for a long minute, as if willing it to just go and disappear already.

After steeling her nerves, Nancy crossed to the garment bag and pulled down the zipper quickly, pushing the nylon aside to look at the dress laying inside. The white satin folded gently inside, pooling at the bottom gently. She ran her hand over it softly before stepping back and staring at it.

What are you doing? She asked herself. You’re getting married in a week and you’re running off to see an old high school sweetheart?

She knew how this looked. She wanted to feel guilty, to worry about what he would think, what everyone would think, but for some reason she couldn’t. As sick as she felt about going back to Hawkins… it was a lot less frightening that staying in Minneapolis.

She zipped the bag back up and grabbed an orange post-it note from off her desk, scrawling a quick note before grabbing her bag and locking the door behind her.

I’m alright. I had to go back home for a bit. I’ll call you. x Nancy

Chapter 2

[phogenson]

A Hard Year: Moving On

This is a post in three parts. First I'll sketch out what precipitated my sudden departure from Minneapolis, the circumstances, as I understood them, that pushed me out of my home and away from my support systems. Second I'll go in depth as to how I made this actual move, what steps I went through to leave Minneapolis and go back to Chicago. Third I'll introduce the natural sequel to this series, what I did next and was indeed affected by these weeks, as everything in my life has been, but which I can't rightly call the hardest days 2016.

I think for simplicities sake, the way I handled the early weeks of 2016 amounted to a retreat. Starting in January when I set myself about traveling in the spring, I ceded ground over how I governed my day to day life to my calendars. When I was in the ER I retreated into this beige room. At home I retreated from collaboration with my roommates. I retreated into my room. I've mentioned that I ceded a lot of the area of my house to people I was retreating from by the day. By taking medication, still the right choice, I ceded control over my mood to doctors and chemicals.

But there was some limit to retreating and I wasn't the best at maintaining the boundaries at all times. With so much ground given up, how could I really be expected to be? A panic attack can be like the rolling boil suddenly boiling over without touching the heat, just waiting too long. All my muscles would tense and neurons screamed from within my head. Call it an encroachment, an intrusion, a violation of privacy, ceding that ground eventually led to a collision on March 14, 2016.

And the retreat was the life equivalent of braking and swerving, anti-lock brakes tapping underfoot. When a driver walks away from a near wreck, hostility and paranoia are not the typical responses of onlookers. But that's where I wound up when a real argument with a roommate broke out over my retreated but heavily fortified position in the house. The argument was really like a bad fender-bender--we both walked away despite the anger and excitement, we accept the actions and events, some glass was broken but no one was hurt.

This collision eventually led to phone calls that left me raw on the floor of my room. It led me to the amazing generosity on my neighbor's couch. It led me to the worst coffee meeting ever. Eventually this collision pushed me out of my home. But this is a point where I actually found some strength, organization, and will power as well. On March 15, 2016 I met with a psychiatrist, by March 27, 2016 I was driving to Chicago. Here's how I did that.

March 19, 2016 I had this terrible coffee meeting. Then it was the weekend, but I was looking for leases that started in June. They were out there and eventually, with help, I found a studio to move into after June 3 and a view of the Minneapolis skyline. But frankly the lease was the easy part. I resolved to my therapist that I would be back on the couch, even though I hated living in Minneapolis, this was the wrong way to leave. That resolve underscored the hard arrangements I had to make.

I had to figure out what to do with my stuff--moving and storage. I had to make arrangements at my job, essentially, for a leave of absence. I had to plan these things, have these meetings, and act. And quickly.

A year or two earlier I'd house sat at a place just off MN-280 near Como, when I'd biked up there I always passed this U-Haul storage spot. So I went there and told them I'd need a storage space from March to June. The way the leases got hashed out, the cost actually seemed like a wash. I'd pay the same amount to store my stuff for three months as I would've paid for one month at the house I was leaving. The storage space was 5x10 and I had about half of my life to pack up in there.

Doing that right is life-size Tetris. To win you have to do front end work with measuring tape and organization. This was an opportunity to be obsessive. I made piles and taped off the area of the storage unit on my bedroom floor.

For a few days I was walking around these piles. Eventually I set things in the area of my room I'd taped off as the 1:1 schematic I'd figured out for the storage unit. This space I could walk around from any side rather than the actual unit which had a door everything would have to go through. There was a distinct ship in a bottle inspiration here, which I guess is a metaphor for what I was doing with my life. But what was more of a shocking experience was seeing everything, all my material life in one place like this.

I sketched it into my notebook and slept with this pile of stuff on it's side and packed together like a weird installation piece in a modern art museum.

I also came up with a routine for getting everything in place. Figuring out the order in which to do things is very important for efficiency--I knew exactly how I was going to pack this 5x10 unit; I had a sense of how many trips I wanted to take with a rental van; drawers were packed with items off my desk and taped shut; I knew where things could be stacked on top of stored furniture.

But there was some unexpected work to do. I didn't want to leave anything behind. So there was a night I just stood in every room in the house and cataloguing what was mine. Then I gathered it in my room. I took notes and started the sort of hypothetical schema of how things were going to further thin out in the future.

Two thirds my things I'd leave in Minneapolis, the size of the storage space. A third I'd bring to Chicago, it had to fit in a VW beetle. Some smaller group of things I'd take with me to Europe and then back to Minneapolis, which had to fit in a shoulder bag. Compartmentalizing life in these very distinct and logarithmic scales creates a very personalized existential feeling of butterflies in the stomach, like the powers of ten video. But this was also a bit of healing.

Previously this kind of planning was laborious albeit welcome, the only way through the grand scale of my life. Now I had to live in the day. I'd set out whole months where I intended to stay on the track of eating a cup of rice and an egg everyday and sipping 20 ounces of whole milk hot chocolate at work. When I was derailed it would take hours to get around to dialing phone numbers. Moving was like a splash of ice water to the face in the morning. This move was a bit of harsh medicine, moving back to taking the curveballs life throws and dealing with problems out of my control.

Finally, the day to move came. March 26, 2016 I was opening at the coffee shop, so I woke up at 4:00am. I got to work probably an hour later and worked a full shift till 1:30pm. I biked straight from work to the U-Haul center and picked up the van. I made a few calls. Then I started packing.

I had some help from my family to move some things around and get me out of the house I'd lived in since August 2015. Everything was in the storage unit by about 7:30pm, I hadn't eaten since before noon and was doing most of this moving with my wasted muscles on my own, and it started to rain. In the dark and rain I biked to my cousin's house and ate three sloppy-joe's in a row. That night we slept in a hotel. I'd been up for 17 hours, gone through full work day, moved 90 percent of my things, and packed this storage space with the help of my notebook before I got ready for bed.

March 27, 2016 I ate as much as I could at the continental breakfast. We packed the VW beetle. I wrote a letter to my roommate. Then I drove for eight hours back to Chicago. We only stopped at a purely Wisconsin road stop.

There's some important points I've glossed over. A breakfast with an old friend where I started to figure out what had happened for one. But more important, I received one of the greatest graces I've been offered during this week. My manager knew a lot of what I was dealing with at the time, I think just by observation and a few surprising interactions with my roommate, but we still needed to have a conversation.

I explained how suddenly everything had come to a head. There was already a time-off request that had been approved for April into May, but that had to change as a result of the situations I didn't choose but now had to deal with in the struggle toward Chicago and health. My manager generously made a deal with me: I had to send a weekly update about my plans, in return I'd still have a place when I got back and wouldn't have to go through the problems of transferring or reapplying. There's a lot that could be said about the place I worked, but the mantra of that company is that they are a people company that connects with customers with coffee. That means that they take good care of their employees. That was my experience, and I'm thankful for it.

To continue piecing together what happened to me last year, I'll be reviewing the letters to my manager over the next weeks concurrently with events as they unfolded a year ago. I sent updates every Monday. I recovered over the next months after these dramatic weeks at the beginning of 2016. But I was also, in some sense, completely unmoored; no home to come back to and just the promise of a job and the desire to continue healing when I came back to Minneapolis in June.

[alleiradayne]

Ever After

Summary: Making decisions. Characters: Jared Padalecki/Me, Ciffy Warnings: Mostly fluff, some indecisive angst Word Count: 1747 A/N: Seriously folks, single and no spouse hate.

The line for autographs dwindled over the hour, and most people headed for home once they had their last pictures signed. In my chair, I slumped on a table, lids heavy with sleep. After such a long day and too little rest the night before, I wondered how I had managed to stay upright. I had nearly fallen asleep there, slipped into that liminal space between states of consciousness, when calloused warmth covered my hands.

“Jeanna? Are you…”

I cracked one eye open, blinded by the florescent lights, and found Clif towing over me. “What's… what time is it?”

“Little after 10,” he said a he looked at his watch. “Truck is in back, you ready?”

I stood and gathered my bag as I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my palm. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere, yet,” he said as he turned for a rear exit. “But he wants to talk with you before we leave.”

Leave. The end had finally arrived. Jared would go back to Vancouver. And then the marathon in Seattle right after Thanksgiving. A couple weeks later would be Jacksonville. Then winter break and the holidays.

Meanwhile, my life would return to normal. I’d drive the half-hour back home, crawl into bed, and pass out. Tomorrow, I’d mope around the house by myself all day. Tuesday, I’d go back to work and accomplish nothing as I relived every moment that I had shared with him. Thursday, I’d watch the latest episode. And by Friday, I’ll have polished off the remaining half of a bottle of scotch in an attempt to forget the entire weekend.

The metallic clang of a rear service door scattered my thoughts. Clif held it aside as I exited the building, sharp November air catching in my throat. Not fifty yards away sat a shiny black SUV, idling and otherwise inconspicuous but for its location. Over my shoulder I looked to Clif and he motioned me onward towards the vehicle.

I remained two steps outside of the convention center, boots fused to the cement. Everything about the situation screamed heartbreak. I knew better, had known better. There was absolutely no way this would work over any kind of distance for any length of time. Not that I wanted it to work. I had never wanted to get more attached to him than I already was. The best thing for me then would have been to go home and forget anything had ever happened between us.

Despite those thoughts, their endless cacophony of anxiety and anguish, I placed one foot in front of the other. Left. Then right. Then left again. Eventually I stood beside the black SUV and reached with a tentative hand. Point of no return. No going back.

With a deep breath, I knocked on the window.

The door swung wide and Jared all but leaped from the truck, clad in his grey plaid and grey beanie. Without a word, he scooped me up in his arms, and held me tight to his chest. I clung to him, face buried in the crook of his neck, terrified to let him go. He smothered me in kisses, neck and cheek and lips until satisfied.

“I was worried you’d left,” he started as he set me back on my feet.

“I… I won’t lie, I almost did,” I admitted, “several times. Jared, I don’t—”

“Stop,” he interrupted. “Before you go any further, I want to tell you something. I never planned on this. Of all the people to fall for, a fan was the absolute last on my list. But it happened. And I don’t regret it. I am so glad we met. I want to see you again. Soon.”

I wanted to see him again, too. Tomorrow. And the next day. I wanted to wake up beside him every day like I had earlier that morning. But to do that, I’d have to sacrifice everything. Besides, did he even want that? Or was it just some casual fling he wanted to hang on to for a little while and drop in a few weeks? “I want to see you again, too,” I started, “but I can’t… I can’t half-ass this.”

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want to,” he agreed. “But I realize that means you’ll have to make some major changes in your life.”

Thank Christ he understood. “Can we… dammit, dude, I want this so bad, but I can’t just quit my job and move. I don’t want to sit around all day and do nothing while you work.”

Jared curled a stray lock of my hair behind my ear. “And I love that about you. Your drive and dedication are admirable,” he paused, a thoughtful look in his eye. “I bet we could find you a gig on the crew.”

“Doing what?” I asked. “I only like to think I know how film works.”

“You could start as a runner or an assistant,” Jared started, “but I’d make a case for you to be an extra at the very least.”

“That sounds like a recipe for disaster,” I said, then imitated him, “Hey, Dabb, I fucked this girl on the con circuit and feel like I owe her. Can you put her in a tiny walk-on role so she doesn’t sue me?”

Jared reared back at that with a righteous glare, and I knew I’d gone too far. “Do you really think so poorly of me?”

“No,” I growled, “but that’s what other people would think! Especially once they find out that we’re together.”

Together.

The word was out of my mouth before I had even though to say it. And Jared smiled, damn him, with his dimples and lips and scruff. “You knew what I meant,” I grumbled.

He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Yes, I did,” he paused. “We can find something for you to do, something you’re comfortable with.”

Maybe. It might work. “Jensen knows,” I stated.

“And he won’t say shit,” Jared said with a firm upper lip. “He’s got my back, and he’ll have yours, too.”

Damn, he was making it too easy. “And I’ll just… live with you?”

“Yeah, my apartment in Vancouver has plenty of space for us both,” he mused with a coy smirk as he wrapped his arms around me once more. “But I can’t wait to show you Austin.”

“You’re dead serious, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Of course, I am,” he said, “I don’t take this sort of thing lightly. I know I’m asking so much of you, so I’m trying to make it as easy as possible. But you have to decide what you want.”

I know. It should have been an easy decision to make. But in that moment, for whatever reason, I struggled. To me, it felt like the most pivotal decision I’d ever made in my entire life. Resolve straightened my spine as I looked up into his eyes. “I want you. I want to be with you.”

His smile rivaled summer sunshine, irresistible, infectious, and a smile of my own spread across my lips. “We’ll make this work,” he said, “I promise. We can give it a try for a few months first. I’ll fly you out to Vancouver and Austin whenever you want. Then, when you’re ready, we can make a bigger commitment. How does that sound?”

“To be honest,” I started, “it sounds insane. I… I still don’t quite believe this is happening. I mean, I’m standing outside of the Minneapolis Convention center three days shy of my thirty-second birthday, and Jared Padalecki is asking me to—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Jared interrupted, “your birthday is next week?”

“Uh, yeah, on the eighth,” I said, “why?”

A long silent moment passed as Jared stared at me, and another clear, thoughtful gleam brightened in his eye. “Do you think you could take a week off work?”

“What?”

“Come with us to Vancouver.”

As crazy as it sounded, I needed a vacation. I hadn’t taken one in years. And work? Yeah, fuck that place. “Are you sure? How—”

“There’s room on the plane, yet.”

A week in Vancouver. “What will I do while you’re working?”

“There’s plenty to do in town. I can show you around the set, too,” he assured. “You won’t be bored, I promise.”

It was happening all too fast and the obstacles raced through my head. “Jared, I need to pack, I gotta get my car home yet, and I’m sure the flight takes off soon—”

“We’ve got plenty of time, Jeanna. Come with me.”

I know you hate me. You’re screaming at your screen, “Go, you dumbass, what the hell is wrong with you?!” But I hesitated. Again. All the implications and logistics and planning complicated matters so thoroughly, my stomach churned merely thinking about it.

“Jeanna? Are you—”

Impulsive. Despite all my anxiety, my impulsive streak raced into overdrive. I flew into his arms and my lips landed on his. Jared laughed into me as he returned the kiss, arms wrapped around me so tight my ribs strained against his strength. For one endless moment, I forgot every concern I’d had that day. We drifted in a sea of possibilities, illuminated by pale streetlights and oblivious to the world. But that world encroached in the form of a cleared throat interrupting our moment.

Jared returned me to my feet, and I looked over my shoulder to find Clif grinning ear to ear. “I lied. You’re coming to the airport with us.”

“How did you know?” I asked as Jared ushered me into the truck and slid in beside me.

Clif hopped in behind the wheel and started the engine. “Because I watched the two of you talk for two hours straight and I have never seen Jared look at someone the way he looked at you.”

In the seat beside me, I found Jared’s shadowed gaze illuminated by the dashboard light, his small smile brilliant despite the darkness.

Once more, Clif interrupted the moment. “That look.”

As the SUV pulled away from convention center, I laughed so hard, my stomach hurt. Jared shook his head as he avoided my eyes, his embarrassed grin hidden behind his palm covering his face.

In an hour, I’d be headed to the airport.

In a little more than five hours, I’d be curled up in bed beside Jared, fast asleep.

And in the morning, my entire life would change.

Tags: @atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens

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Bang a Gong Master List

AlleiraDayne’s SPN Master List

[scrapsofsky]

I am on my way home from Dublin OR have already arrived. Like science fiction, my future is fundamentally about the present. Naturally, that means Worldcon has ended along with my sadly short vacation in Dublin, Ireland, a quaint little city… Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Dublin is really cool, y’all. And since “recaps of adventures” are a thing in the science fiction community, I’m here to, well, recap my adventures. This one will be a long one, y’all. So here…we…go!

The Dublin Worldcon was a bit like a dream. I pre-supported (or whatever it’s called) fairly early in the game AND bought an upgrade for my badge at the Worldcon in Finland (2017). I really wanted to go to a Worldcon in Dublin. More importantly, I wanted to support strong bids for non-U.S. Worldcons because, well, I actually take the “world” part of the name literally, and I don’t think you can have a “Worldcon” that doesn’t make an attempt to occur in various parts of the world.[1. I also recognize that logistically, it is quite difficult to run a Worldcon in every place on Earth. First, you need an established community that could reasonably handle a con the size of a Worldcon. Second, you need a space that can reasonably provide for potential attendees. Also: with the dystopian turn around the world, I have particular concerns about safety for convention attendees, especially if they come from marginalized groups. There are no easy solutions to this problem. After all, the West has decided to flush its progressive movement down the toilet. Most of us are fairly privileged in the West, and I am reminded of my nearly tearful smile in the EPIC Museum in Dublin when the fancy screen reminded us that Dublin was the first (or one of the first) countries to legalize gay marriage by popular vote. Respecting other cultures is one thing, but we also have to consider the safety of attendees in places where rights-based progress has not occurred. And, yes, I recognize that my home country, the United States of America, has SEVERE issues when it comes to safety right now. I would be hesitant to support a Worldcon in the U.S., which is likely to attract people from Mexico and other heavily Hispanic or Latinx nations; no U.S. Worldcon can guarantee that they won’t get randomly picked up by ICE and deported even though they are legally in the country. Worse, no U.S. Worldcon can guarantee that anyone picked by ICE for deportation won’t have their lives put at risk when they are detained in some ICE facility without the provisions necessary for comfort. I’ll remind people that simply being in the U.S. is not a crime, and being in the U.S. illegally is so minor of a crime that any argument suggesting they be treated like hardened criminals is, frankly, some fascist bullshit. Yes, fascist. OK. I’ll stop now…]

Originally, I had not planned to attend the event. I recently moved to Minnesota for a new job, and that meant a lot of moving expenses ended up on credit cards (ahem, I have a ko-fi). So I made the choice that I would save my money to pay down debt (ahem, I have a Paypal, ahem). Then y’all nominated my podcast, The Skiffy and Fanty Show, for Best Fancast. And when you’re nominated for a Hugo to be announced in Ireland, you have to scrap your previous adult plans for nerd shenanigans.

Also:  I will apologize in advance for forgetting anyone I might have hung out with, encountered, conversed with, etc. Dublin was a bit of a whirlwind, and I am notoriously forgetful. I also do want to apologize to folks we meant to interview for the podcast. Stuff sorta fell through, partly because of me and partly because of things I couldn’t control. However, I expect to record new stuffs with you folks in the near future!

So with that in mind, here’s a day-by-day accounting of the events in Dublin:

Day One (8/13/19 – 8/14/19): Dubliners

Thanks (seriously, thanks) to all the lovely folks who donated to my fundraiser (to cover the flight and hotel expenses), I was able to stay a little longer in Dublin than I might have if I could only rely on work reimbursement.[2. Work will basically cover all the stuff that isn’t flight or hotel related. Without your support, I probably would have been there for two days and then come back, which is kind of a waste of a trip. This way, I could cover some bills and experience a bit of Dublin.] One of my co-hosts and co-producers, Jen Zink, had procured accommodations at Trinity College for Friday through Tuesday, so I decided I’d take a few days off from work to enjoy a bit more of Dublin.

If you follow me on Twitter, you’ll know that my departure did not go smoothly. I left Bemidji for Minneapolis with more than enough time for a 2+ hour early arrival. But Minnesota decided the 13th would be the day to dump Florida-level rain on the whole damn state. By the time I hit Minneapolis, I had lost at least 30 minutes of lead time. In Minneapolis, things were even worse. The roads were swamped with slowed sections and accidents. I even took the wrong turnoff, which put me in even worse traffic and sent me through back roads trying to make my way. Normally, losing a 2-hour lead on a flight wouldn’t worry me. When I fly domestic, I usually don’t have any issues at the Minneapolis Airport and end up with over 90 minutes of free time. International flights aren’t always as smooth, so I was certain I’d miss the flight. So certain I think I had my first case of real road rage in a long time. I even called Jen to rant as a way to calm the nerves.

Needless to say, I made it with time to spare because Minneapolis is weird.

And if only that were the last disaster! Ha! Upon arrival in Dublin (about an hour late), I received the delightful news that the airline (KLM-Delta) had lost my luggage. And by “lost” I mean “somehow they got it off the plane and misplaced it on the way to the baggage carousel.” This happened to everyone’s luggage for the flight. The airline tried to claim that the luggage had come on a different flight due to weight concerns, but I call bullshit. [3. Pro-tip, folks. Bring a change of underwear in your carry-on luggage. T-shirt and sporty shorts are also a plus.]

At the time, this really stressed me out. In retrospect, it’s honestly not that big a deal. I was just damn tired and didn’t want to go shopping for supplies while in an unfamiliar city after a red-eye flight.

The good news? I ended that day by chilling with Gareth Kavanaugh and ickle_tayto (it’s a reference!). We had dinner at an Irish pub place, where I devoured a Guinness and an Irish stew. So the evening ended quite well indeed!

Day 2 (8/15):  Let the Great Pre-Con Spin

The second day turned out a bit better. As you do when you’re in Ireland, I started off with a full Irish breakfast at a local pub. Nomnom. Aside from lingering pain from my leg (hey, leg pain!), I had a pretty good time socializing and wandering the convention center.

One thing I did get to do was catch up with Anne Lyle, who has been one of my go-to “hey, we randomly happen to be in the same place” friends. She seems to pop up at the same conventions, and we never coordinate anything. We just run into each other, and it’s a happy friends time. On top of that, I joined up with Julia Rios and her husband, Moss (who is a delight), and all four of us had a lovely dinner at a local sushi place.

I’m also pretty sure this is the day I met Matt (a.k.a. runalongwomble). We had a beer (thank god for European conventions), chatted about a lot of stuffs, and enjoyed general merriment. Matt is awesome!

That pretty much sums up that day. I weirdly didn’t go to any panels, which I’ll blame on jet lag and the fiasco of the previous day. Honestly, if not for catching up with old friends, I imagine it would feel wasted, but as it stands:  totally a good day.

P.S.:  This is one of those days where my memory is quite fuzzy. If we talked on this day, please remind me, because the brain has deleted my browsing history…

Day 3 (8/16): The Picture of Loopdilou

By Friday, the Skiffy and Fanty crew had begun to accumulate like some kind of troupe of Might Morphin’ Power Rangers (yeah, I went there). Julia and Alex were already in town. Trish was probably hiding somewhere. And Jen was on her way from Colorado. I’m told the weather in Colorado was pleasant in her absence, which meteorologists attributed to the absence of her Storm-like aura of radiation (X-Men rule!).

I mostly spent the day enjoying good food (another full Irish breakfast, y’all — Spar’s got it goin’ on), chatting with folks, drinking beer at Martin’s (the “pub” offered by Worldcon because European Worldcons are like that), and so on. Mostly, I spent half of the day waiting for Jen, who decided to be late to the party. I also recorded an interview with Ariela Housman and Terri Ash of Geek Calligraphy (forthcoming).

Once Jen arrived, we got checked into our room at Trinity College, proceeded to hunt down Julia and Alex and Trish, attended Julia’s and Alex’s readings, and then poofed off to a local Irish pub for eats with Anne Lyle in tow. Oh, fun fact:  Jen totally fell like a cartoon character after “running into” a foot traffic barricade. It was hilarious.

After those shenanigans, we went to Julia’s hotel room, acquired some lovely alcohol, and recorded an episode of Torture Cinema with Skiffy and Fanty super fan, Linnea. You can listen to the episode here! Jen spent most of the evening snoring.

Day 4 (8/17):  A Portrait of the Panelist as an Old Fart

The next day was an eventful one. It was the first day I got to really enjoy panels at Worldcon. Here’s a quick rundown of the panels I attended (some will link to Twitter threads and what not):

One of the big panels I attended was “What is African Science Fiction?” starring Nick Wood and Geoff Ryman. This panel was meant to have others in attendance, but alas there were some issues that prevented that. You can read some of my notes on the panel via this Twitter thread:

https://twitter.com/shaunduke/status/1162667073962741761

And even more can be found via Vanessa Rose Phin’s thread:

https://twitter.com/wordfey/status/1162660343895797760

I do just want to add that the problem of tourist visas is one that we’re going to need to deal with in the future. I’m not sure how much conventions can do to mitigate the damage this causes, but we all need to be more proactive in making sure people from other parts of the world can attend conventions and be part of our conversations. Otherwise, we’re just not the global community we should be. There’s more to be said on this, but this post is already ridiculously long!

From there, I decided to hit up “Building the SFF Community Online,” which I hoped would give me some insight into managing online communities. I semi-run two semi-communities:  The Skiffy and Fanty Show and StarWarsFanJoy, both of which I’ve semi-neglected because I am overwhelmed by life. The panel starred Christopher Davis, Kat Tanaka Okopnik, fromankyra, Elio Garcia Jr., and Heather Rose Jones (M).

I also attended a “Muslim SFF” panel starring S.A. Chakraborty, Yasser Bahjatt, Harun Šiljak, and Peter Adrian Behravesh (who looks like an English professor who took a class in Awesome). I really wish I had kept notes on the panel because they mentioned a lot of old school and relatively recent work, some of which was from Arabia and some of which was from elsewhere in the world (Bosnia!). I mostly go to these panels to find new stuff to check out, and in this case, I just missed a lot because I am still fairly new to the way names from Arabia (and, well, Bosnia) are spelled. In other words, I just missed a lot of names. But there’s good news for this one:  it was streamed live on YouTube! See here:

So go get you some Muslim SF/F!

The last panel I attended that wasn’t one of my own was “Audio Dramas and Radio Plays,” starring Phil Foglio, Roger Gregg, Fiona Moore, and Jeanne Beckwith (M). I mostly went because my co-hosts, Jen Zink and Trish Matson, were interested. I think we both expected to get something different out of it:  Jen probably wanted more tips on audio narration and dramatic presentation for her work as a podcast producer on non-Skiffy and Fanty things; I mostly wanted a better understanding of audio drama to see where there might be crossover for an actual play RPG podcast I’d like to do.

And, well, we didn’t really get much out of it. Except chuckles. The panel briefly talked about podcasts, but it was pretty clear that nobody on the panel actually knew anything about podcasts. That might not bother me except they were meant to be there as experts of a kind on audio dramas and radio plays, both things that have been part of the podcasting community for longer than I’ve been a part of it (I joined in 2010 and started listening in 2008 or so). Then one of the panelists basically said you shouldn’t start a podcast just to have fun, and all three us did one of those comedic “oh really” turns, and then Jen muttered “we really fucked this up.” We probably would have disrupted the panel with laughter if we hadn’t contained ourselves just a wee bit.

Beyond that, I had one panel and one event of my own to attend. It was a busy day! My first panel for Worldcon was “The Use of SF in Higher Education” starring Mary Anne Mohanraj (M), Nora E. Derrington, David DeGraff, and Corry L. Lee, Ph.D. We largely talked about how to navigate using SF in classrooms with emphasis on getting students to think about the world around them. There’s good reason for that:  most of the panelists teach physical sciences (physics and the like). I did get to go on a mini-ramble about the importance of using literature to think about digital technology, social media, and the like. This was one of those moments when I wished that panels could be longer or that we had more time between panels to have conversations with audience members. But Dublin tried to keep things moving, so…

The last thing on the list was a Literary Beer with, well, myself. These are basically kaffeeklatsches with beer instead of coffee. Free beer, I might add. Mmm. Free beer.

Anyway. I was pretty concerned about this because I do not consider myself much of a celebrity despite being a Hugo Award finalist two times in the same decade. However, my table ended up being full. In attendance: Valerie Valdes, who I had met at some point earlier in the convention (along with her lovely husband, Eric, who chatted my ear off about cinema sound production[3. Eric, you are totally evil for getting me back into Pokemon Go. You monster!]), S.C. Flynn, old friends Evergreen and Gary, Eyal Kless, and a whole lot of other folks! Honestly, I went in feeling very much like an impostor, but left feeling pretty good. For the most part, the conversation wandered into everything from Star Wars to toxic fandom to podcasting to separating the author from their work, etc. I have no idea if that’s how these things are meant to go, but I certainly enjoyed myself.

I ended up grabbing dinner on a boat with Evergreen and Gary, which was lovely, then nabbing beers, socializing, and then towing Jen back to Trinity College. It was a pretty good day.

Day 5 (8/18): The Book of Panels

Ah, Sunday. The big day. The awards day. The day we lost another Hugo Award. Ha!

For the most part, I didn’t get to attend any panels other than my own. There was a lot of sleeping in, eating full Irish breakfasts, socializing, and otherwise keeping our minds focused on being emotional wrecks. For the most part, we succeeded.

The first panel of the day was “Academics and Acolytes: Learning in SFF Worlds,” starring Karen Simpson Nikakis, Kenneth Schneyer, and Ali Baker. We mostly discussed how learning systems function in SF/F narratives, what they get right and wrong, etc. It was pretty fantasy heavy, but I think that’s largely because most narratives with memorable education systems happen to be fantasy narratives. We did have some fun at the end when an audience member asked which school from an SF/F story we’d like to attend. My answer was pretty reasonable:  Starfleet if for no other reason than that my chances of death on campus are remarkably low. Let’s be real:  most schools in fantasy worlds put their students in a lot of danger. I have no idea how any fantasy school manages to have insurance for the premises.

The other panel was simply called “Fan Podcasts,” starring Alexandra Rowland, Jonathan Strahan, Heather Rose Jones (M), and Jen Zink. Unlike a lot of podcast panels I’ve been on, we didn’t focus on all the technical details. Instead, Heather kindly directed us to talk about the trials that go into producing a show, our intentions and desires, and related components. It led to a lot of back-and-forth between the different podcast hosts, each of whom had different perspectives. All in all, it was a solid ending to my panel allotment!

And then the real scary stuff happened! The Skiffy and Fanty Crew got to attend another Hugo Awards ceremony together, beginning with a mini-party-whatsit (which we attended with Eden Royce and her husband, Mark Taylor). Brandon O’Brien, Trish Matson, Julia Rios, and Alex Acks were also in attendance. As far as Hugo Award ceremonies go, this one had quite a few hiccups. The biggest was the closed caption failures that brought about a lot of laughter during Ada Palmer’s award introduction. At first, I did find the inaccurate translations of Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones as “Bored of the Rings” and “Cream of Thrones,” but the more I think about it, the more of a colossal screw-up it turned out to be. Obviously, they put that there for folks who are hard of hearing, but it’s clear that they needed a better system or some other method entirely, especially since the laughter completely disrupted the show. Beyond that, though, I think the awards were perfectly fine. There’s no online stream as far as I can tell, but you can learn about the winners here.

Naturally, we didn’t win. Surprise! But we did get to watch some really phenomenal folks get trophies and light the world on fire with some of their speeches.

After that, we headed to the now-infamous Hugo Losers Party. Infamous for unintended reasons… Much has been said about the issues surrounding the HLP. My voice is among the many, though I am by far the least significant voice. Instead of retreading here, I’ll simply point you to this string of Twitter threads and posts (mine will come last). A couple quick points to note:

The Dublin Worldcon folks are not responsible for the party, though they did put the invitations in finalist packets. Some of the threads tag Dublin 2019 in the mix, but they were minimally involved in the event. This suggests that there is a LOT of confusion about who runs the Hugo Losers Party, who manages things like transportation, etc.

New Zealand’s Worldcon crew are also mentioned in some of these threads. They were involved in the party, though I’m not sure to what degree. I do know that they were at the front doors and contributed, intentionally or otherwise, to the confusion outside. Hopefully, they took a LOT of notes.

There are also likely some inaccuracies in some of these threads, especially those written in the moment or the immediate wake. Again, this speaks to the degree of confusion about the event, who manages it, who said what and when, etc. It also shows just how much confusion there was at the doors. My friends and I honestly had no idea what was going on beyond “it’s full and you can’t get in,” and when we asked questions, we often got conflicting information, no information, or got told something that, in our eyes, seemed wrong (like dumping our +1s at the door like discarded luggage).

While there is a lot of anger in all of this, I don’t think anyone blames those who did attend the event for attending. It wasn’t their party, and they were simply doing what they thought they were allowed to do. More importantly, some of those folks, including convention staff, left when they found out that finalists were being refused entry. They shouldn’t have had to do that, but I appreciate that they chose to do so on our behalf. This is likely the reason Jen Zink and I managed to gain entry (see my thread below for more on that).

GRRM does partly finance and run this shindig, for which I think most people are grateful. Indeed, it’s a nice thing to do. Most of the issues that came up concern how people felt in trying to attend the event and the apparent dismissal of those feelings after the fact. You’ll see that in most of the threads.

Here are some initial reactions (understandably annoyed reactions):

https://twitter.com/katsudonburi/status/1163219408032018432

https://twitter.com/NussbaumAbigail/status/1163369795238223872

GRRM has now responded to some of these thoughts. I recommend you start with Alex Acks’ blog response to that post, which pretty well covers a lot of the major issues surrounding the party and the explanations that followed. Then look at these Twitter threads:

https://twitter.com/LoopdiLou/status/1168215279286898688

https://twitter.com/AlasdairStuart/status/1168519904179490817

https://twitter.com/_vajra/status/1168225748676726791

https://twitter.com/AlexandraErin/status/1168174552087769088

https://twitter.com/D_Libris/status/1168179746787790849

You can read my initial reactions to the party here:

https://twitter.com/shaunduke/status/1163256621985927168

And my post-GRRM explanation reactions here:

https://twitter.com/shaunduke/status/1168168091819421699

https://twitter.com/shaunduke/status/1168276842815639553

These are by no means the only reactions. I am certainly missing quite a few, so if you have suggestions for things to include, please let me know in the comments!

Other than that, the day was a good one. It might have ended awkwardly, but that’s just the way life works sometimes!

Day 6 (8/19):  Worldcon’s Ashes

Monday began with a quick meetup with Tanya DePass. Jen and I interviewed her about I Need Diverse Games and related gaming issues (forthcoming) before joining her for her reading from Game Devs & Others: Tales from the Margins. It was good stuff!

Beyond that, Monday is a bit of a blur. It was the last full day of Jen shenanigans, but she wasn’t feeling well enough to do much more than hang at the convention center. I’m sure I did a lot of socializing there, but I’m just drawing blanks while writing this (sorry).

I do know that we attended the closing ceremony party thing. We procured some bean bags with Gareth Kavanaugh. Ian Sales showed up, and we had a lovely chat about his recent move, making lists of movies where we accuse the other of being totally wrong about their choices, and other fun things. Then we retired…

Day 7 (8/20): Duke’s Travels

With the convention officially over, it was time to say goodbye to some people and get some last-minute Dublin adventures marked off the “to do” list. Jen and I joined Alasdair Stuart and Marguerite Kenner for breakfast as a farewell. They were all leaving relatively early in the day. We had a lovely conversation over burgers and fries, talked genre shenanigans, commiserated over the previous Sunday’s fiasco, babbled about audio production and Netflix shows, etc. It was pretty awesome.

Then we parted ways. I said goodbye to one of my best friends (and two new ones). To be fair, Jen and I are not allowed to be in the same region for more than 6 days due to some pesky international treaties signed between Thailand, the United States, and Poland. So don’t expect us to hang out again soon.

After that, I had the pleasure of joining Juan Sanmiguel (from Orlando’s SF/F fan community). We decided to check out Dublin Castle, which is pretty darn cool (see the pictures), the EPIC museum (also incredible), and Chapters, a massive new and used bookstore in Dublin.[4. I discovered the Antonio Benitez-Rojo wrote novels. Ask me about it some time.] I certainly didn’t get to see as much of the city as I would have liked, but you can’t have it all, right? We ended the evening at J.W. Sweetman, a brewery and pub in the center of Dublin. Yes, I tried all of their beers (in very small glasses).

As I write this, Juan is doing more Dublin things without me.[5. Actually, he’s home now, but I can’t be bothered to keep times accurate.]

Afterwards, I bought some souvenirs and turned in.

Day 8 (8/21): Thy Journey Might Cease

And so it all ended. Here I am writing up a longwinded report on my Worldcon activities from the relative discomfort of an airplane flying at 33,881 feet in -45 C temperatures at nearly 720 KMH. We just crossed the Atlantic and will land in Atlanta or something in a few hours. Be amazed that this is even a thing![7. Remember when I said I wouldn’t keep times accurate? I’m obviously not on a plane anymore, but just imagine that I am because that would mean I’ve been stuck on a plane for over a week!]

All in all, Worldcon was pretty fantastic. Yeah, there were some snafus and the like (and my leg was in extreme pain for most of it), but I met a bunch of folks, caught up with folks I already knew, and got to hang with my bestestest friend, Jen. And I got to see Dublin. It’s hard to complain too much now, right?

With that in mind, I’ll leave it to the Internets. If you attended Worldcon, what did you think? Did you have a good time? What were some of your favorite panel experiences? What did you see in the city that amazed you? Let me know in the comments!

Oh, and for those that like pictures, here you go:

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  And I'm back on the blog talking about stuff. Today's post takes a look at my experiences at Worldcon 77 in Dublin! Enjoy the rambles! I am on my way home from Dublin OR have already arrived. Like science fiction, my future is fundamentally about the present.