#it is not fully joe and anyone who comes to me with bUt ToLeRaTe It Is ClEaRlY a JoE sOnG

[midnightsslut]

the reason why bejeweled feels very calvin to me still is how it parallels high infidelity. in general, the 3am tracks seem to explore a darker, more explicit side of a storyline that’s already present, if only in the form of subtext (like we don’t have a direct parallel for wcs, but we do have two songs exploring formative past relationships vaguely sexually, and wcs is the darker example), on the main album, and bejeweled/high infidelity is perhaps the best example of this. its similarities to tolerate it, which is about something she felt ‘at one point in her life,’ back this up. HOWEVER, I do think it’s exploring a potential outcome of the then-current state of her relationship with joe. like, this is how things could go - I have forgotten that I have a man in the past, and I can do it again.

[xxblackballoonxx]

Maybe That Was New York: Part 3

This is a work of fiction.

So apparently I'm continuing this! I don't know if this story will be updated regularly, as of now I plan to update it as it comes to me. Also, the man is too beautiful, the above photo is just 😍😍😍

This Sunday marks the 21st anniversary of the September 11, 2001 attacks. I couldn’t post a story about New York this week without paying respect to that. I know many younger people may not understand the profound changes this event had on the entire world, not just New York and not just the United States. It profoundly changed me, personally. It is a day to remember and mourn the 2,977 people killed on 9/11 and the over 4,000 that have been lost since to 9/11 related illnesses. Moments of silence will be held at: 8:46 am, 9:03 am, 9:37 am, 9:59 am, 10:03 am, 10:28 am EST. Never forget.

I am open to private and respectful conversations regarding 9/11. Any negative or disparaging comments towards those we lost will not be tolerated.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Maybe That Was New York: Part 3

Joe woke up to lightning flickering through the half closed curtains, the sky dark and city lights dimly light through the pouring rain. He reached across Jenny, who was still sleeping, to check his phone. It was just after 9 am but felt like the middle of the night.

"Time is it?" Jenny mumbled, reaching out for his hand.

"A little after nine. Nasty storm going on." Joe replied.

He laid back down, smiling to himself as she held his hand close to her chest. He could feel her breathing change as she fully started to wake up. He was starting to lose track of time, already. It had only been two nights sleeping in the same bed and it felt like twenty.

"How about we stay in and order room service?" 

Jenny nodded groggily and turned over as Joe picked up his phone to look at the menu. He scrolled with one hand, running his other hand through her hair. Jenny listened to him place the order, his voice was already seeping into her soul. And so was the way his hands felt on her.

"Can't believe it's my last full day already, check out tomorrow." Jenny said as she sat up, pulling a shirt over her head.

"When do you have to be home?" Joe asked as he reached out to touch her skin before the shirt fell down her back.

"Was planning on tomorrow night, catch a late train back."

"Can you stay one more night? Since Monday is a holiday?"

Jenny turned around at the tone of Joe's voice, a little unsure in his question but solid in his desire for her to stay. He ran his hand through his hair and caught her eye, a little grin on his face.  She found herself falling into the grey blue sea of his gaze, calm and steady.

"Maaaybe. If I had a place to stay ..."

"You can stay with me." 

Joe's quick and sure response was unsettling to Jenny. She hadn't wanted to question what they were doing, because they were living in the moment. But making plans? That wasn't living in the moment and the part of her that didn't trust anyone immediately began to question his motives. What, exactly, ARE we doing? Still, she maintained her composure.

"You sure?" Jenny asked casually, but Joe could see the doubt in her eyes and in the way she picked restlessly at the duvet.

"Jen?" Joe began, taking her hand gently in his, "I'm positive that I want you to stay with me tomorrow night."

Jenny smiled at him and nodded before standing up to use the bathroom. It pained him to see how much she second guessed everything he said, and he wanted nothing more than to make her believe he was interested, that he wouldn't lie to her. It was a mission he was officially signing up for.

“I told my brother about you.” Joe said as they finished breakfast, sitting across from each other on the bed.

“Really, when?” Jenny asked with surprise.

“Last night, when I went back to my flat. Apartment. Loft. Whatever. Anyways, Finn called me and yeah, I told him.”

“And? I need details here.” Jenny said with a laugh.

“He told me to make sure I had extra condoms.” Joe responded with a grin.

Jenny’s face turned red as she laughed again, burying her head into her hands.

“Well, was he right or was he right?” 

“I mean … based on last night, he was completely accurate.”

Jenny looked up at Joe with a smile and he winked at her, his smile widening as her face flamed red again. There was something about how he could read everything she was thinking, see it on her face. It felt different, like he’d always known her in some way.

He cleared the tray from the bed, setting it outside of the door, and turned around to find Jenny rubbing the side of her neck. 

“You alright?”

“Oh, yeah, just a chronic neck issue I’ve had for years, flares up sometimes.” 

“Come here.” Joe said as he took her hand and pulled her towards the top of the bed.

He sat down, propping himself up against a few pillows, and settled Jenny between his legs. He swept her hair over her shoulder and started to gently massage her neck, feeling her relax back into him a bit. After a few minutes, he stopped and pulled her shirt up over her head.  She stiffened slightly.

“You ok with this?” He whispered.

“Yes. Just … been awhile since I’ve been with someone. Like this.” Jenny whispered back.

He knew what she meant. Sex was one thing, you could detach emotionally to a certain degree, focus on the physical. But sitting in bed together, on a stormy morning, doing something like massaging the other person’s neck, it was intimate in a different way. Joe kissed her neck and then across her upper back, running his fingers down her spine.

“Well, this is a different massage technique.” Jenny joked, resting her hands on his legs.

“Only for you.” Joe replied, his mouth close to her ear, sending shivers across her body.

Jenny’s hands slid up to just above his knees as he tried to focus on massaging her shoulder. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and held her close to him. This is what he’d been waiting for, why the other girls he’d dated were fleeting connections. None of them ever touched his soul like this.

The following afternoon, Jenny unpacked a few things in Joe’s bedroom. He watched from the doorway, suddenly feeling self conscious about the fact that someone was in his space. He hadn’t fully unpacked yet, one of his suitcases exploding in the corner, script pages across the dining table. He had planned to spend that weekend getting himself settled and reviewing the script. Instead, he had fallen into a spell he’d never imagined.

Jenny turned around, heart pounding as she saw Joe watching her, leaning against the doorframe. The way he looked at her was melting the ice she’d built up for a long time, and she knew if she let him, he would get all the way inside. He raised his arm across his chest and rubbed his neck, feeling even more awkward.

“Sorry it's such a mess, been a bit busy this weekend.” He finally said with a smirk.

“It’s alright, it's really not messy.  You’re just not settled in yet, that’s all.” Jenny replied.

She walked over to the door and slid her arm around his waist, resting her head on his chest. Joe wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on hers, rocking back and forth slightly. It’s madness, really, but this is actually happening.

“There's something we need to do.” Jenny said.

“What’s that?”

“I need an iced tea.”

“That’s what we need to do?”

Jenny laughed and nodded as Joe followed her out of the apartment and onto the street. Every day here, he felt the city taking him in a little bit more. He knew it was like the ocean, beautiful with a dangerous current, commanding respect. And even then, it would spit you out from time to time, to land on the beach, hopefully unscathed.

They entered the coffee shop, and the barista looked up, unable to hide the smile on her face. The girl and the British guy were back, hand in hand. The girl pushed her sunglasses up on her head and stepped up to the counter to order. The barista gave a small look, one that only another girl would understand, and Jenny nodded with a little smile. So they are together. 

The barista watched them collect their order, the man touching the girl’s back as she put a straw in her cup. Her handing him a sugar packet for his tea. They were already that in sync. Whatever New York spell this was, the barista was completely captivated. That was the thing, when you lived within the city streets, the possibility of something happening became mundane sometimes.  And then you’d have an experience that couldn’t happen anywhere else, and you would come alive again. That was the magic of it. 

Joe held the door open for Jenny as they stepped back outside, and he turned to her as she flipped her sunglasses back down.

“Can I ask what that was about?” Joe said, taking her hand again.

“The barista. She was in the shop the morning we met, and the morning after. She’d noticed us. I thought she’d like to see the outcome so far. Of you and I.” Jenny replied.

“You noticed all that?”

“I notice everything.” 

“Going on your Blinders dissertation, yes, you certainly do.” Joe said with a laugh.

They walked down the street, hand in hand, lost in their own conversation. They earned longing looks, fleeting thoughts of how long they had been together, a few thinking the man looked vaguely familiar. A part of the city and a product of it.

Late Monday night, Joe stood with Jenny in the busy train station, holding the handle of her suitcase. Jenny thought back to the conversation they'd had that morning, sun streaming in through the window.  

“I was hoping, since you work from home, that maybe you could come back later this week and stay for a little bit?” Joe had asked her, as they lay facing each other.

Jenny watched as his eyes searched her face for a response, and she was compelled to reach her hand out, to run her fingers over the freckles across his cheek and then down to his scruffy beard.  The sunlight was picking up on the red in his hair and no man had ever looked so beautiful to her.

“I have a few things I need to take care of at home, but what if I come back Friday night? I’ll bring my work laptop so I can stay after the weekend.”

“That sounds good.” Joe said with a smile.

Now he was hugging her goodbye, and she felt a sudden panic. It was all well and good to talk about her coming back, but what if he changed his mind in the days between? When being apart seeped in and they both had perspective and distance.

“I’m going to call you every day, that’s a promise.” Joe whispered to her.

Jenny nodded in confirmation, but he knew for her it was a “I’ll believe it when I see it” situation. And he didn’t blame her, guys broke promises left and right, love bombed and ghosted, cheated and left. He wasn’t that person, but he understood he had to prove himself, and that was alright with him.

“I’ll let you know when I get home.” Jenny said, looking up at him.

“Please do. I’ll see you soon, love.” Joe replied.

Jenny smiled at the term of endearment, sliding her hand up to Joe’s neck as he kissed her one more time. 

“When I get back, we’re going to talk about this ear piercing you have, because, I gotta tell ya, the thought of you wearing an earring does things to me.” Jenny commented.

Joe laughed and nodded, bringing her in for one more hug. He handed over her suitcase, and she walked towards the track her train was at, turning back took look at him. He was watching her, the grey blue gaze she had already come to love, and they both had the feeling that the intensity between them was just beginning.  But would the spell break, once she left city limits?

[illfoandillfie]

Kinktober Day 3: Bukkake

Kinktober Masterlist | Regular Masterlist

Pairing: Primarily Ben Hardy x Fem!Reader and Lucy Boynton x Fem!Reader + also Lucy Boynton x Rami Malek + Gwilym Lee + Joe Mazzello

Words: 4,881

Warnings: bukkake (obviously), oral sex (f receiving), 69ing, cumplay, vibrators, some overstimulation, degredation (being called a slut).

A/N: This is something of a sequel to The Dinner Party. As soon as I saw bukkake was an option for day 3 I knew I had to do something with the borhap boys and then I’m too much of a whore to leave out Lucy so here we are lmao.

The day after the dinner party was a mostly quiet one. Ben treated you to a massage which was very appreciated, and then spent the rest of the day showering you in affection, ignoring your protests that you should be thanking him since he’d helped you live one of your biggest fantasies. You spent a long while talking about it too, going over everything in more detail now that you were in a better headspace to think properly. You talked through the emotions the scene had brought up and how close it came to what you’d been imagining. Ben confided which parts he’d liked most and which parts had made him worried and how he’d come close to safe wording once, when Joe had been spanking you. But for the most part he’d enjoyed it as much as you had and you agreed that neither of you would be opposed to something similar happening again. Although you also agreed that if it was a one-off event that would be okay too.   

Everyone remained in London for some weeks though it was hard to organise a group hang out again. You did meet up with everyone individually – Rami and Lucy joined you when Ben bought tickets to the ballet, you met Joe for dinner and drinks, and played a round of golf with Gwil – but it was difficult to find a time you were all free again. And not for lack of trying. It just seemed as if half of you were always busy at any one time. Lucy kept pushing though, eager to see everyone again, and eventually the planets aligned. A meeting fell through here, a lunch was rescheduled there, and all of a sudden everyone was free. There was some back and forth in the group chat about where to meet but eventually it was decided that your place would serve best again. It felt as if everyone was being careful not to reference the last time they’d all come over. It had felt like that every time you’d seen any of them. The most anyone had said was that dinner had been nice and it was good to catch up. But neither you nor Ben were keen to be the ones that brought it up either. For one thing you didn’t want to seem as if you were fishing for compliments, but there was also the uncertainty about far they’d read into such a comment. But even with the slight awkwardness, neither of you had any complaints about hosting everyone again.   

There was a lot less to prepare this time around, just a small afternoon tea rather than a full dinner. Ben did a run to the store to pick up a few necessities like milk and bread and a bag of apples so you could whip up a simple teacake. You had a quick tidy-up but didn’t need to go to the same amount of effort you’d required to set up for the dinner party. You didn’t have to worry about moving the furniture around, or dressing provocatively, or digging out sex toys, or anything like that. And when everyone arrived you sat around the living room on whichever chairs were available with mugs of tea or coffee, chatting casually, and snacking on sandwiches and cake. Some wine and bottles of beer got opened but that was as raucous as the afternoon seemed likely to get. At least, until an hour or so in when there was a lull in the conversation.   

For a moment all the talk seemed to stop. It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. The silence was perfectly tolerable if a little odd considering how many of you there were. You were just about to ask Gwil how the project he was working on was going when Lucy spoke up.   “So that dinner party was fun.” She said, her eyes flicking from you to Ben and back again.   There was a chorus of agreement from everyone else and you giggled, knowing they were all thinking about what it had felt like to fuck you. Ben slowly lowered his beer bottle without it having reached his lips fully and your heartbeat sped up, wondering if they’d have more to say.   “I just have one small regret about the night,”   “Oh?” You felt as if every cell in your body had frozen in anticipation, wondering what Lucy might have regrets about. Had she disliked something that had happened?   “Well,” Lucy took a sip of her wine as if to fortify herself a little, “I wish we’d made out more. We could have made a show of it for the boys.”   Your body had started to work again but at twice the speed, your stomach somersaulting at the suggestion. You tried to keep your voice level, “Y-yeah, that, um, that probably would have been fun.”   Ben’s head had whipped around to look at you and in your peripheral vision you saw Gwil and Rami exchange looks. The same thought was on everybody’s mind but they were waiting for you. Slowly you turned to look at Ben too, already able to see the excitement in his eyes, “What do you say Benny? You okay to watch Me and Luce?”   “Uh,” he cleared his throat and nodded, “Yeah I’d like that a lot.”   “Rami?” you asked, sure he’d already have talked it through with Lucy but wanting to give him a chance to voice any discomfort, “Do you mind if I kiss your girlfriend?”   He chuckled softly, “No, I don’t mind at all.”   “Okay,” you glanced again at Lucy who had eagerly watched the whole exchange, and then back to Ben who nodded at you and took charge of the situation.    “Right. Lads, help me move the furniture a bit so the girls have some room. Babe, go and get a couple of blankets or sheets or something so that we don’t end up with spunk in the carpet.”   You hopped up and hurried to the bedroom as everyone else began rearranging the furniture. Lucy followed you and, to your surprise, so did Ben. He grabbed the pillows from your bed, pulling their covers off so they could be replaced with fresh ones as you dug through the cupboard for some clean sheets.   “Right, what did you ladies have in mind?” he asked softly as you all busied yourselves.   “Well, I guess, maybe me and Lucy will make out-”   “More,” Lucy cut in, “Not just making out, I want to fuck you.”   You gulped, “Okay. Me and Lucy will fuck and you guys can all watch and jack off over us. How does that sound?”   Lucy nodded enthusiastically, “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”   Ben’s eyes flicked between you but he nodded, “That's what I assumed. Just to be clear though, nothing else?”  “What did you have in mind?” Lucy asked slyly, “I’d be up for blowing you guys too if you wanted.”  Ben laughed, though his cheeks flushed pink, “I wasn’t suggesting anything. In fact, I was going to say it’s probably safer if we put a no touch rule in place. I mean if you want things to be more like last time, obviously I’d be into that and I know Y/N would be too.”  You nodded agreement.  “But this is very spur of the moment, and a lot of planning went into last time. I’d at least want to talk to Rami about offering any, well,”  “Any of our holes?” You suggested, making Ben flush more.  “Yes, that.” He said with a small laugh, “It’s probably better if it’s a look but don’t touch situation. Unless you had other ideas.”  “No, that makes sense,” Lucy said, “I did talk with Rami about it already but the idea of me being shared around wasn’t brought up, it was just about everyone watching me and Y/N.”  “Then I think it’s for the best if we stick with that.”  “Yeah, whatever you guys are most comfortable with,” Lucy said, “As long as I still get to play with Y/N’s cunt.”  Ben smiled at having such a statement addressed to him, but he could see your excitement at the idea and was happy to agree on your behalf.    “Right well, I’m going to go make sure Rami knows whats going on. Why don’t you two go and get these sheets spread out, make it comfy for yourselves, and then I’ll go over the rules so everyone hears them and we can get started.”   You pulled Ben into a quick kiss, “Thanks babe. Love you.”   “Go on, go set up.” He laughed, handing Lucy the newly covered pillows, “Who knew we had two sluts in the group.” 

By the time you returned to the main room it looked quite different. The coffee table had been shifted aside, butting up against a wall out of the way. The couch, arm chair and a few spare seats from around the dining table had been rearranged too, creating something of a circle. Ben pulled Rami aside and you were momentarily distracted watching them chat, until Lucy threw a pillow at your head to get your attention. Laughing again, a little giddy with excitement, you helped her spread out the sheets, laying the pillows in the centre. She observed what you’d created with her hands on her hips.   “There, that should do. How you feel about toys? Got a double ended dildo we could use?”   “Ummm, nothing like that. Theres a regular dildo though and a vibrator. Plus y’know, cuffs and paddles and that.”   Lucy shook her head, “What about that one with the remote we used on you last time?”   “Yeah, I’ve still got that. What are you thinking?”   “I’m thinking the boys could control it. And maybe grab the other vibe too?”   You agreed and hurried back to the bedroom as Ben gathered everyone’s attention to explain the rules of the evening.    “So Lucy and Y/N have graciously offered to be tonight's entertainment but there’s to be no touching involved. You are allowed to talk to them, give them suggestions, make comments about them, call them derogatory names – the same sort of thing as last time. And, of course, you’re encouraged to enjoy yourselves fully and have a cheeky wank while watching them. As long as you keep your hands to yourself. Um, what else,” Ben paused as he watched you re-join Lucy in the middle of the circle, “There is lube, if you’d like to use it. And if you are going to cum, try to aim for the girls or at least the sheets and not our furniture or carpet. Of course you can also-”   You stopped listening as Lucy tugged you down to the floor, situating herself above you so she was straddling your waist. She grabbed your wrists as you reached out to touch her, pushing them over your head and pinning them against the floor as she leaned down to kiss you.   You couldn’t help but arch into her, Ben’s voice calling you a slut still ringing in your ears, as you tried to deepen the kiss. 

Ben had long stopped talking, all four of the guys completely focused on you and Lucy. You were vaguely aware of the sounds of them getting comfortable as Lucy let your wrists go. She sat up straighter and drew her dress over her head, revealing the matching bra and panties she wore.    “Came prepared?” you asked which just made her laugh.  “Now you,” she said, shuffling back so she could strip you too. You hadn’t put in as much effort with your underwear, not having expected to show it off for anyone other than Ben, but someone still let out a long low whistle of appreciation.  Lucy giggled as she resettled herself on your hips and leaned down to kiss you again, distracting you as her hand reached for the vibrator.   You jolted as she pressed it against your clothed clit, holding it there until you let out a soft hum of pleasure. And then, just as soon as it had started it stopped. Lucy sat up again and looked around at the entranced men, all of whom seemed to be a little dazed.   “Well c’mon boys. We wanna see your cocks.”   There was a sharp intake of breath and then you heard zips lowering as each of them complied with Lucy’s request.    She just grinned at you.  

You had enough time to glance around and see Ben in one chair, slowly stroking his semi-hard dick, before Lucy surprised you with the vibrator again. She held it against you, turning up the speed of the vibrations and using the tip to draw circles over your clit as you squirmed underneath her. Rocking forward Lucy let out her own soft hum of pleasure as she rubbed herself against the vibrator too.  From somewhere above you came a soft groan from one of the boys, though it was hard to tell who exactly when Lucy was once again adjusting the speed of the toy. She turned it up a notch, the buzzing getting louder as the speed increased, and held it firmly in place. Her other hand rested against your thigh so her back was arched slightly as she rocked against the toy, both of you keening and moaning softly as it drew you towards the edge.   You came first, mouth falling open as you shuddered with the orgasm, but Lucy kept the vibrator in place until she’d reached her peak too. She didn’t take much longer than you did but it was long enough to have you whining as the pleasure teetered on the edge of pain. You felt nearly breathless as she shut it off and put it aside.  

Looking up at your captive audience, Lucy asked, “What would you fellers like to see me do to the slut next?”  It was quiet for a bit. You waited, still trying to catch your breath, to see if anyone would comment on your fate.  After a moment Joe spoke up, “I think you shouldn’t throw stones in glass houses Luce. You’re as much of a slut as Y/N.”  Lucy laughed, “Fair point. So then what would you like to watch two sluts do?”  Joe didn’t even pause, “I think you should 69.”  “That does sound fun,” Lucy said, already reaching for your knickers, “Someone unclasp my bra for me?”  You let her work your underpants down your legs, watching as Joe happily stood up to help Lucy with her bra. She shucked it off and stood to remove her panties which gave you time to rid yourself of your own bra, leaving you both naked.   The next thing you knew as you settled back against the pillow, was Lucy lowering herself over your lips and the salty sweet tang on your tongue as you licked along her wet slit.   She hummed in response, and rocked against you, cooing about how good you were and how you were going to make her cum again, encouraging you to delve deeper and taste more of her.   “I said 69 Luce,” Came Joe’s voice and then she lowered her head to your pussy too, her breath warm as she lightly licked along your lips. 

Knowing that there were so many eyes on you was definitely a turn on, especially when you could hear the boys. They made comments about you and Lucy, calling you good sluts for keeping them entertained, grunting about how hot it was to watch as they stroked themselves. And then there was the sound of their strokes too, hands on skin, occasionally assisted by the wet of lube or spit. You could hear their hisses and hitched breaths mixed in with Lucy’s own sounds as she spread your lips with her fingers and lapped up your juices. The only problem was that Lucy’s ministrations were too light. Her tongue and lips felt nice as she traced them along your slit and flicked against your clit, but you wished she’d be a little firmer or faster. To compensate, or maybe in an attempt to demonstrate what you wanted, you sucked harder, pressed your tongue more firmly to her cunt. Which just made her climax sooner. She moaned when she hit her release, still bent over you but breaking contact so you were left wishing she’d just keep going.   She rode out her orgasm on your face and then sighed with satisfaction as she crawled off you.  “Lucy,” you pouted, wiping your mouth, “I didn’t finish.”  She clicked her tongue and mockingly pouted back as she knelt between your legs, “Boo hoo.” Her fingers lightly traced along your lower stomach, making you shiver, “You already came once, isn’t that enough.”  “I’d prefer more.”  She let her hand trail lower, down to your clit, “Hmm, my mistake.”  And then all of a sudden she was pressing two of her fingers into you, making you gasp. With her free hand she spread your lips open, offering the others a clear view of her fingers disappearing into your hole, all the while teasing you for being so wet and so desperate for more.  You moaned as she adjusted her pace, speeding up, fucking you hard and fast with her two digits, but it wasn’t enough to get you close to orgasm.   “Please,” you whined after a little while, but Lucy only laughed, continuing to finger you in the same way for a few more strokes before suddenly pulling out.  

Before you could so much as open your mouth to swear, Lucy was pushing something new into you.  Your voice cracked with your moan as she turned the egg on, the vibrations hitting all the spots Lucy hadn’t hit before. You were aware of Lucy kneeling over you as you writhed on the floor, unable to escape the constant stimulation. But, as you drew closer to the edge, it became harder and harder to take in what was happening around you. You were vaguely aware of one of the boys groaning but otherwise you were completely oblivious to the rest of the group, entirely consumed by your cunt and the release you’d so craved washing over you. Even when Gwil stood up aimed his cock at you, rapidly jerking himself until his semen painted your stomach, you barely had any clue it was happening. No one had stopped the egg, no one had slowed it. You gasped Lucy’s name, trying to tell her it was becoming too much but she didn’t answer. It wasn’t her fault though. You were too distracted to notice that Joe had gripped Lucy’s hair and pulled her around to face him. As you clutched at the sheets and wailed to god, Joe was groaning through his own orgasm, one hand holding Lucy in place so that not a drop missed her face. You only became aware that Lucy no longer had the controls when Ben shoved her down and told her to suck on your tits. Whoever had taken the controller from her, or picked it up when she dropped it, was kind enough to slow the vibrations to a less consistent pattern but they didn’t turn it off. Instead you experienced brief moments of piece between the harsh seconds of high intensity vibrations. And on top of that your nipple was enveloped by the warm wet of Lucy’s mouth. Joe’s cum spread from her cheeks and lips to your skin as she mouthed and kissed at every inch of your breasts. It must have made for a nice show because before long Ben was splattering his seed over Lucy’s back as Rami sprayed cum over your neck and into your mouth as you opened it to scream through another orgasm.  

When the egg did stop, you were panting for air. Lucy was on her knees again, facing away from you and giggling as she drew her fingers across her cheek and licked them clean, clearly putting on a show for the boys.   “You guys really must like seeing us be so slutty,” she laughed and you saw Ben and Gwil nod in unison. Gwil was already hard again, slowly stroking himself once more though Ben clearly needed some more time to recover. Sitting up, you glanced around and saw Rami watching you as Joe examined the controls of the egg. An idea had already formed as to how to get some revenge upon Lucy and so you held your finger to your lips before either Rami or Joe could give you away. Joe winked and Rami broke into a smile as you reached out for the discarded vibrator and quietly shuffled towards Lucy, her back still marked with Ben’s cum. Of course, both Ben and Gwil spotted you creeping up but they held their silence, Gwil telling Lucy to open her legs a little wider as if it would help get him off again. She obliged, her focus entirely on his weeping cock as she absentmindedly touched her pussy.   “I know I’m not allowed to touch you,” Gwil said, “but I think it would be alright if you helped me out, don’t you?”  “I suppose that would be okay,” Lucy said, hesitating for half a second before drawing her wet hand away from herself and reaching up to grasp Gwil’s cock.   It gave you the perfect opportunity to close the distance between you and to press the tip of the vibrator against her hole,quickly pushing it in as you turned it on. It didn’t come up against much resistance, wet as she was.   “What the f-oh!” She gasped as you thrust the buzzing toy in and out of her, adjusting the angle until her legs tensed and she moaned. And then you held it there as she dropped her hand and tried to bat you away. You tutted in her ear and told her you were just repaying her for what she’d done to you, beginning to properly fuck her with the toy, keeping it angled to hit whatever spot you’d located that she clearly enjoyed. The sight of you pumping the vibrator into Lucy’s pussy as you reached around to palm at her breasts obviously worked for Ben, his cock getting stiffer before your eyes. You heard Joe and Rami move towards you as well, though you couldn’t see how eagerly they watched as Lucy cried out and came.  You felt very pleased with yourself for about a second before the egg jolted to life inside you again and you matched Lucy’s cry with your own, your hand slipping from the end of the vibrator. It stayed inside Lucy for a little longer, her cunt clenching so hard that it kept the toy in place, but before long it had slipped from her, still buzzing where it lay on the sheets.  Joe still held the controls for the egg and adjusted them constantly, making the egg buzz higher and lower and stop and start so that you were barely feeling it beyond brief bursts of pain tinged pleasure.  “Fuck that was hot,” Gwil grunted, his thumb spreading precum over his tip and down his length, “Both of you sluts looks at me.”  You dragged your eyes up to his cock, watching how his fist sped up as he got closer and closer and then finally came again, making sure to hit you and Lucy’s chests. 

There was a cheer as you felt yourself be manhandled into facing Lucy. She winked at you and bent forward to lick the cum from your tits, keeping it on her tongue so that when she kissed you, you could taste it. It mingled with her saliva and yours, streaked over your lips as Lucy deepened the kiss, making sure her tongue met yours so she could share every drop. What sperm had newly been spread over Lucy’s chest soon smeared across yours as she pulled your in close, your nipples brushing as you got drunk on her kiss. You were still feeling buzzes from the egg inside you though you doubted Joe still had the controller since the pattern was no longer as random. However, Lucy had no toy shoved inside her cunt to keep her on edge. Instead she manoeuvred so that her pussy pressed against your thigh, leaving a wet trail where she dragged it over your skin.   You automatically lay a hand on Lucy’s back to hold you steady, inadvertently spreading the cum that had been left over her.   That did it for Ben who grunted as he dripped more cum over you and Lucy as you made out.  “Go on Luce, pin the whore and grind your cunts together.” Rami suggested, clearly enjoying seeing his girlfriend on top of someone else.   She didn’t need to be asked twice, gladly pressing you to the sheet again and climbing on top.   All you could do was whine at the inconsistent vibrations within you, looking up as Lucy pressed her pussy against yours, their slick mixing as she gyrated her hips. And then you felt it. Lucy had reached for the still on vibrator that had fallen from her. She pressed it between you and at the same moment, whoever now held the controller for the egg vibrator turned it up so that you felt the buzzing from inside and out. You screamed at the combination of sensations, pinned under Lucy and unable to escape.   Lucy was moaning too, getting off on you. And you felt a sticky kind of wetness as Rami’s orgasm landed on your mound. Lucy used her fingers to spread it across her pussy and then continued to grind against you, the white of his release adding to the creamy wetness that already existed from both your cunts.   You were the next to cum, unable to hold off as the egg got louder and faster. And then Joe who didn’t seem too fussed about aiming for either of you. His cum spilt onto the sheets around you but neither of you noticed. You were too busy whining as you once again became overstimulated and Lucy was entirely distracted by her quest for a final orgasm. By the time she reached it you were nearly crying, but thankfully she shook with her well earned climax and then slipped from you to lay on the floor.  

Ben had already zipped himself away and was quick to catch the vibrator and turn it off as whoever had the controls mercifully switched yours off as well.  You hissed when you tried to move, the egg still rubbing the sensitive spot but Ben hushed you and gently removed it from your pulsing pussy.   “Joe, Gwil. D’you guys want to get everyone some water?” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question.  They agreed and you heard their footsteps disappear through the doorway. Once they’d gone, Rami helped Lucy up as Ben helped you, leaning in to kiss your forehead softly.  “Are you both okay?” Rami asked, concern written in his features.  Lucy said yes as you nodded and, satisfied, they assisted you towards the bathroom, letting you each lean against them as you walked slowly.  Ben tried to insist on helping you clean up but you told him it was fine and shut the door so that you and Lucy could run some warm water and clear away the evidence of your debauchery.   Lucy laughed, seeming less worn by the second, as you scrubbed her back clean with a flannel, “That was a lot of fun.”  “Yeah it was. Really glad you suggested it.”  “Good. I was a little worried you wouldn't go for it after last time.”  “Are you kidding? Me and Ben were both kind of wondering if anyone would want to do something like that again. But we didn’t want to just ask for it in case it seemed like that was the only reason we’d want to hang out.”  “Think it’s safe to say everyone would be on board if you ever suggested a dinner party again.”  You laughed too, “Yeah, I think you’re right. 

Rami knocked on the door as you were washing yourselves so he could return your clothes to you and by the time you were both redressed the living room was almost back to normal. The chairs were still rearranged but no one seemed too bothered by it. When the boys realised you and Lucy were coming back, a round of applause broke out. You laughed, a little embarrassed, but gave a bow as if you were completing a performance, Lucy joining in beside you. She made her way to the couch where Rami sat, curling up and laying her head in his lap as she finally relaxed. You found Ben, sure you weren’t going to have the same emotional reaction you’d had to the events of the dinner party but wanting to be near him just in case. He was in an arm chair so you climbed onto his lap, resting your head on his chest as he wrapped his arm around you.   You felt tired and a little sore but very very satisfied and your heart was nearly bursting with how lucky you were to know such a wonderful group of people.   Ben’s hand was warm and heavy where it rested on your side but you didn’t mind. It was comforting. As was the gentle rumble of his chest as he spoke, laughing with Joe about something as if there hadn’t been an interruption 

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Savage Love A-Z

Like so many, I started reading Dan Savage for prurient kicks — every week, I’d pick up Toronto’s free weekly NOW Magazine and check the club listings, movie reviews, municipal scandal reporting, and then I’d look around the subway car before turning to his syndicated Savage Love column.

Savage’s sex advice column exposed (!) me to a much wider spectrum of human sexuality than I encountered even in the radical, politicized, sex-positive, queer-friendly circles I ran in, and Savage’s frank, fully, raunchy and empathic replies were even more eye-opening.

That’s Savage’s brilliant bait-and-switch: come for graphic sexual content, stay for thoughtful and well-thought-through philosophy — a philosophy that is forgiving when it needs to be (see, e.g., Savage’s famous tolerance for cheating as more normal than anyone admits).

But also blistering when warranted, as with Savage’s catchphrase “Dump the motherfucker already” (abbreviate to DTMFA to preserve space in his syndicated column), with which he chides people who are trying to make it work with someone who is fundamentally unworkable.

For more than a decade, Savage has run a wildly successful and even more entertaining podcast version of his column, the Savage Lovecast, featuring guest-experts, recorded audience reactions, and Savage’s acerbic and charming narration.

https://savage.love

With his frank sexual language and graphic descriptions, Savage is an unlikely culture-maker, but also a wildly successful one. Just consider the many coinages he’s introduced to everyday English.

These include the political (“santorum: the frothy mix of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex,” named for homophobic senator Rick Santorum) and the sexual (“pegging: when a man is anally penetrated by a woman wearing a strap-on dildo”).

But most of all, Savage-isms are about the place where relationships and sex meet: “GGG” (“good, giving and game”), “the campsite rule” (“older partners’ responsibility to leave younger partners in at least as good a shape as they were in when you began your relationship”).

These get to the core of Savage’s mission and the secret to his enduring success: they acknowledge that sex is important to most adults’ lives, and set out to make people happy about their sexual selves, by being kind to the people they have sex with.

Beyond his columns, podcasts and film-festivals, Savage has published many books about sex and relationships, but his latest, “Savage Love A-Z” is my new favorite.

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/669583/savage-love-from-a-to-z-by-dan-savage-illustrated-by-joe-newton/

As the title suggests, the book is an illustrated, alphabetical tour through the concepts and tropes of Savage’s decades-long corpus of sexual wisdom, humor and learning (including many frank admissions of where he got it wrong, listened to critics, and got better).

I was skeptical of the alphabetical organizational structure — it’s an awfully arbitrary way to put together a lighthearted-but-deadly-serious manual for a happier, more satisfying, kinder way of living.

But the structure won me over: after all, our relationship and sex problems are chaotic and blended, too — if sex was just a matter of this thing and that thing rubbing together, there’d be no problems.

The thing that makes sex so difficult isn’t the mechanics, it’s the entanglements — our imaginations, our expectations, our shames, our fears, our hopes. Logistics. Vocabulary. Secrecy. The endless complexity of other people and all their inscrutable, inexpressable stuff.

It all happens at once, and none of it can be cleanly distentangled from the rest of it. The commonplaces of sex and relationship advice are, on their face, nonsense.

Our cultural consensus is a contrafactual upside-down world in which love is primarily monogamous and lifelong, men don’t look at porn, women don’t like sex, everyone has one true love, and a good sexual partner just knows what you want without ever having to discuss it.

Savage invites us to treat that consensus with the contempt it deserves, and to join him - and his readers, whose words and voices are always present in his work - in the far more delightful, weirder, more fun, and nicer reality.

Most of us are woefully ill-equipped for reality, misinformed by the ways religion, sex-phobia, and fairy tales "put a zap on our heads" (another Savage-ism). Savage is quartermaster for our journey to the world as it really is - and guide to the better world it could be.

[queenofthefallenangels]

My Knight Part 1/2

Jon Moxely X OC 

Requested by: @xladyxfatex​ 

Rated: M 

Warnings: smut and fluff 

Summary: Kenny takes his little sister, Ashlynn to one of his matches to try and cheer her up. Ashlynn goes with Riho and some of the other girls to a bar after the show. That’s where she meets one charming man. Too bad that man was exactly who her brother warned her against. 

I groaned as I got out of the car. It was amazing to go anywhere with my brother. My brother had taken me along to much different wrestling shows that he had performed with, all over the world.  This was different. It felt like he was inviting me as a pity trip. I knew mom and dad had tried to coax him into taking me out of town to cheer me up.  

“Come on, Ashlynn,” Kenny said smiling as he handed me my bag. We were at the hotel for the city he was wrestling in tomorrow night. “You love coming to my matches.” “I do. When there isn’t a hidden agenda behind it.” I sighed. “I know mom and dad made you do this because they are worried about me.” 

“Of course they are. I am too. You have been locked up in the house ever since.” He paused. “It’s not healthy.” “I am perfectly fine.” I rolled my eyes as I rolled my bag into the doors. I knew what he was talking about. The last few months of my life have been in pieces. My fiance left me for his boss, I lost my job which caused me to lose my house. To top it all off, my Yorkie passed away. It all came at once like a nasty hurricane, leaving nothing, but destruction in its path. I moved back in with my parents which is something at twenty-eight years old, I thought I would never do. I was miserable. I locked myself in my room for days. Just wishing that I wouldn't wake up.  I knew Kenny's niceness was only my parents trying to get me away from my Netflix binging. Which was probably a good thing. The office was even getting old after its thirtieth run through. 

"Ash, you aren't fine. We are all worried about you. We thought maybe if we left you alone that you would snap out of it. You haven’t.” 

I sighed, “Fine, but did you really have to make Riho take me out. That makes me look even worse.” Kenny raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t make her. She asked me if I thought it would be okay for you to go out with the rest of the girls on the rooster. I thought it would be a perfect thing for you to do. You need to get out with some girls and forget everything.” 

“To a bar... where I could get drunk...and met a boy? What kind of big brother are you?” She teased lightly. 

“No wrestlers,” Kenny warned. That was always Kenny one warning. He would tell me all these horror stories about them. How most of them were just looking to get laid to fill the need of being lonely on the road. A lot of them also had let the fame get to there and the fact that girls were practically begging to jump on their dicks. He never wanted me to become one of those girls that he sees. He said there was more to me. He said I could date any other kind of athlete, but he had just seen too many with wrestlers. I never dated much of either. I mainly date normal joes with normal nine to fives.  I still ended up getting hurt though. It didn’t seem to matter. “Especially Jon Moxely.” Kenny entered that pulled me away from his thoughts. 

“Why especially him?” I asked as I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms tightly across my chest. I had no idea who he was even referring to. I hadn’t seen any of his shows since he joined AEW. I had really no intention as bad as that sounded. 

“He is no good. Just stay away.” Kenny’s voice was stern. I sighed as I nodded in agreement to stay away. 

---------

We went to the bar as soon as most of the girls were freed from the arena. Some of the male wrestlers had followed them as well though Riho had told her. Her English still wasn’t the best, so Brit and Brandi could have said something completely different and it didn’t fully translate. That or the boys just brought themselves. I didn’t care. I had no interest in any of them. I was too busy with a drink in my hand. It had been a while since I had alcohol which helped mend the fact that it had been a while since I was not used to being in crowds. I had hidden in my room for so long. This was the most I had other than going to the store. 

The problem with it being so long is that I wasn't as tolerant to alcohol as I used to be. I could feel how lightweight I was by the first beer. I didn't care though. Kenny wanted me to go out and have fun and this was definitely making it more fun. 

I was soon dancing on the dance floor with a couple of girls. I was actually enjoying it. Giggling with them. I had forgotten everything that happened these last few months. Kenny was right I needed this. 

Someone had to ruin my fun though. A guy soon came by and pressed his junk hard against me. I groaned as I turned around to see who the boy was. "Fuck off," I told him. "You aren't getting shit." I slurred him. I tried to smack him, but I stumbled a bit since he moved from it. 

"Feisty," he chuckled. "I like them feisty. Now, come on, I will give you a fun ride." He sneered at me. He grabbed my arm to pull me close to him. I tried to fight him off. It was no use. The man was stronger than me. 

"Hey!" Someone yelled from the back of the crowd as he moved forward. The voice was rough and husky. I turned to see a tall muscular man coming towards us. He had a short reddish-brown that you could tell was thinning at the top. He had a well-groomed beard. When I met his pale blue eyes it was like lighting between us. He grabbed the guy who had touched me by the collar. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to treat a lady, Sammy?” He asked. “If she says no that doesn’t mean force your tiny ass penis on her more?” He said as he pulled him away from me. “Hey, mind your damn business,” Sammy said as he pushed the man back. The other man stumbled back. A fight broke out between the two men. I was shocked. It had to be the tipsiness in me, but I couldn’t help, but think this was kinda hot. The man had gotten the upper hand on him. Sammy ran off into the crowd trying to fix himself from the embarrassment he just had. 

The man turned to me. I smiled slightly. I could feel my cheeks starting to get hot. “Thank you for that. I didn’t think he would leave me alone.” 

He shrugged. “He had it coming for being a disrespectful little prick. He doesn’t know how to treat a woman right.” 

“Well, thank you anyway, my knight, in shining armor.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek softly. 

He grinned, “I don’t know about that now. I am not much of a knight.” “Well, I would love to buy you a drink on me,” I said. As I moved towards the bar I could feel myself start to stumble on my own feet. 

“I think you have had enough to drink for tonight.” He said. “How about I get you home?” 

I looked around for any of the girls I had come with. I had lost them in the fight. Kenny would most likely kill me for going home with a random guy, but I had no idea where anyone else had gone. To be honest, I wasn’t looking that hard. I nodded, taking the hand that he moved out for me to take. 

“You never told me your name,” I mentioned as we got to his car. 

He opened the door for me, “Jon.” He got into the car. “What is yours?” 

“Ashlynn.” 

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” He winked with a slight chuckle. “Where am I taking you?” 

I told him the hotel I was staying in. He smiled which confused me. “That is the same hotel I am staying in tonight.” 

“Mhm, maybe you were meant to come and save me, and be my brave knight.” 

“Are you always so corny?”  He laughed. I couldn’t help but love his laugh. 

“Maybe. I am pretty sure it’s just the alcohol. That and I haven’t exactly been around people a lot lately. I have been living in my own world after my world kind of came crumbling down. “I know that feeling.” He nodded. “This isn’t a pass at you or anything, but if you’d like I could take you up to your room and we could talk it out. Alcohol isn’t exactly a good way to deal with it.” I opened my mouth to say yes, but then I remembered that I was sharing a room with Kenny. He would be livid that I didn’t come back with Riho and that I got into the car with this strange man. He wouldn’t be so nice. “How about your room?” She asked. “Mine has my brother and I don’t think he will like some random guy from a bar in his room.” 

“Nah, and I don’t need to get into another fight because of you,” He winked teasing me. “Come on, I will help you sober up a bit.” He pulled into the parking lot outside the hotel. He got out of the car and ran over to open the door for me. I blushed a bit as he took my hand and walked with me into the hotel. It was nice to actually be getting some attention from a guy. Even before the break-up, my ex had been harsh and barely wanted to touch me. I could tell he was slipping away before it even happened. I had been naive enough to think that I could make it stop. 

Once we were in Jon’s room, he shut the door behind us. He handed me a glass of water. I started to drink it, noticing how thirsty I was once the liquid hit my lips. I could feel my mind clearing up as I drank the water. I started to feel more nervous being in a room with a guy I only knew by the first name. When alcohol was still clouding my mind, this seemed like an okay decision. Now, I wasn’t so sure. 

“I don’t think you should have sobered me up. I may run out of this room now before you get your way with me.” I teased to help calm my nerves and end the awkward silence between us. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, “Or maybe that was my plan all along.” He winked at me. My heart skipped when I saw him wink at me. He smiled at me with his dimples showing perfectly. How in the hell was a guy like this interested in her? He was built like someone you would find in a romance novel, not a guy you would actually meet in the bar. In her experience, most of those were missing teeth or had a few STDs on their lips. He had none of that. He was honestly the sexiest guy she had seen. She could see better now that she was out of the dim lights of the club. His white t-shirt hugged his biceps almost perfectly. He had never missed a leg day because even his jeans hugged him perfectly. No wonder he had never made a move yet. There was no way I could be his type. He needs a girl more like him. 

I wasn’t ugly or anything like that. I was just well, average. My brown hair which waved at the ends fell to my shoulders. I was slender with not much boobs or ass, but decent enough. I couldn’t twerk, but my ass looked somewhat good in jeans. I had a little to grab.  go My pale hazel eyes were the best-looking part about me. It was why I wore a lot of eye makeup to make them pop even more so guys would ignore the rest of me. 

Jon and I slowly began talking to fill the awkward silence in the air. It wasn’t anything that deep, but it was nice to just talk to someone and he was probably the easiest guy to talk to. He was so laid back in every single way and had some amazing stories. He had me laughing like crazy. He made me laugh so hard I snorted at one-pointed. I covered my mouth completely embarrassed. He laughed at me, only causing me to blush harder.  

“I am sorry, that was just cute.” He said as he reached for my hand. “You don’t need to feel embarrassed at all for me. I won’t judge you.” His words were so sincere that I felt like I could trust him. He leaned into her. “I also know I said I wouldn’t take advantage of you, so you can leave after I say this, but you are honestly the most beautiful girl. I am glad that I came to the bar tonight.” He leaned in more, closing most of the space between us. I couldn’t believe what was happening. His soft lips were soon against mine. He wrapped a hand on my waist, pulling me close. 

Now, the smart side of my brain was telling me that I needed to smack him in the face. I needed to tell him off and walk out of the room. Just because he saved you from one creep doesn’t mean he isn’t one himself. The other side of my brain was taking over though. I wanted to kiss him so badly. The smell of his cologne filling my nose.  I kissed back wrapping my arms around his neck. In that second, it became more heated between us. He licked my bottom lip as he begged for access which I happily gave to him. I allowed him to explore every inch of my mouth before I wrapped my tongue with his. He pulled me onto his lap making me straddle him. I could feel his already hard dick pressed hard against me. It's been so long that I had no willpower to fight it. I needed him. I needed this physical contact that I was unaware I even craved anymore. 

I rolled my hips across him. I could feel myself starting to soak through my underwear. I bit my lip trying to hold in a moan. He must have taken notice because he pushed himself up against my core. I gasped as I felt him brush against my clit. His eyes dark as he flipped me onto the bed laying me on my back. He kissed down my neck, dragging his teeth on it. He was sending chills down my spine as he went. Once he reached my shirt, he pulled it up. His warm hands cupping my breasts as they pushed passed my bra. His hands were rough against my soft skin. I didn't mind. It felt amazing. His lips met my stomach as he began to kiss it. He undid my pants with one hand yanking them down to my knees. He pushed my panties to the side and licked ever so lightly against my lips before he kissed down my thighs. He moved his face back to my core. I could feel his hot breath sending goosebumps up my body. I didn't know what he was waiting for, but the anticipation was killing me. I bucked my hips. "Please Jon, I want this," I begged softly. That seemed to be what he was waiting for. He pushed his head back in my heat and licked my lower lips. He spread me open with his fingers still licking long stride before he focused his attention on my clit. He licked circles around it making me buck my hips towards him. God, I wanted more. He wrapped his arm around my hips holding me down as he sucked my clit. He pulled it into his mouth and sucked before making a slight popping noise to release it. I tried my hardest to move it back towards him. I could tell he was loving teasing me. He licked around my hole before he dove into it. He licked in circles before he thrust in and outside. I threw my head back as I arched towards him. My hands fell to his head as I tried to make sure he couldn’t get away with pulling back and teasing me more. I could feel him smirking against me before he went back to work. It wasn’t long before my high was coming close. I was moaning his name like prayer as my pussy clenched around his tongue. He picked up the pace of his tongue and carried it on through as I came all over his face. 

As he pulled away, I saw him licking his lips. “You taste like heaven.” He smiled as he kissed me again. My hands went down to his jeans. I could feel that his dick begging for freedom. I undid his pants and pulled them down. My hands went to his chest as I pushed him onto the bed. He pulled his shirt over his head as he laid back. I couldn’t help, but pause to stare at his body. It was almost perfect. I ran my hand down his abs. He didn’t have to flex them for me to feel his abs perfectly. His V was outlined perfectly as I ran a finger down them.  I slowly kissed his chest before I moved to his V. It was a good thing that I was so lost in lust or I might be nervous about this. All I could think about was giving him the same pleasure that he had given me. 

I wrapped my lips around him as I slowly started to bob, swirling around my tongue around his base. I began to take more of him into my mouth. I, soon, pushed him all the way down my throat. He groaned as he wrapped his fingers through my hair. He thrust towards my mouth. I gagged. My first reaction was to pull off, but he held my head there for a bit longer. He pushed a couple more times down my throat before he released my head. He pulled me back up towards him. His blue eyes met mine. “Are you sure about this?” He asked me. I didn’t even have to think. I didn’t even respond with words. I just smirked as I slid on top of his dick. His hands landed onto my hips as I began to move them against him. We still hadn’t broken eye contact. I moved my hips faster as I began to bounce on him. He dug his nails into my hips as he thrust back up into me. I threw my head back as my eyes rolled back into my head. 

He flipped us over so that I was on my back. He hooked my legs putting them over my shoulders. He pushed back inside me. He started out slowly at first then he started on a brutal pace, going fast and deep.  I gripped the bed sheets as he moved in and out of me. I moaned loudly as I pushed my hips against him. It wasn’t long till I could feel my pussy clenching around him tightly as my high was getting close. He reached his hand over as he began to rub my clit. “Cum baby.” He said his voice was rougher than before. It forced me over the edge as I came all over his dick. He wasn’t far behind me as he pulled out suddenly cumming all over my stomach. 

He got up from the bed grabbing a towel as he carefully whipped my stomach off before cleaning himself off. I missed his warm cum on me, but it was soon replaced by his warm arms. I didn’t mind it. He held me close as he ran his fingers through my hair. It didn’t take me long before I was sound asleep. It was the easiest I had fallen asleep in days. 

--- 

I could hear a soft ring as I began to slowly open my eyes. My head was pounding in my head. I slowly opened my eyes and noticed I was in a hotel room, but it wasn't mine. The room was very similar, but the artwork gave it away til my eyes could see clearer. I could see my clothes on the floor mixed in with someone else. I looked over to the side of the bed to see a man sleeping next to me. In my drunken state last night, I had never put two and two together. Jon was actually Jon Moxley. The one Kenny told me to stay away from. 

As I looked at him with the sunlight coming through the window,  I felt bad for doing this, but if Kenny found out I was dead. I quickly grabbed my clothes throwing them on. I kissed his head before I headed out the door.

[whitehotharlots]

This is not going to be the end of MeToo

A dream is floating around the heads of Dirtbag Leftists. A beautiful, wonderful dream… A Biden nomination, and especially a Biden presidency, has shown the MeToo movement for what it really is: a collection of amoral careerists cynically, arbitrarily exploiting sexual assault claims to raise their own professional status and settle personal scores. The movement is ideologically bankrupt, monstrously hypocritical, and utterly unconcerned with helping vulnerable people. Everyone paying attention must now admit to this, and, once admitted to, the hags and scolds will no longer wield so much power, and will lose their ability to wreck actual leftist movements with specious accusations regarding finger wags and epigenetic trauma.

Oh lord, how lovely this would be.

Take this quote from Felix Biederman of Chapo Trap House, who says that a Biden presidency

would eviscerate the liberal media identity politics industrial complex. Because Biden-World has no use for those people. Like, Democrats just spent a week going “Don’t call it the Chinese virus.” Then Joe comes out there and he’s like “we’re gonna send them back, Jack.” [ . . . ] Someone was saying this entire primary was a referendum against Bernie and his ideas, (and depending on how much of a fucking loser you are [a referendum] on a podcast you don’t like). If that’s true, isn’t also true that this is a referendum on everything the liberal media has lectured everyone about since 2014? Doesn’t this prove that no one cares about that shit? Biden’s a complete refutation of all of that.

Biederman is one of the funniest and most astute political observers of our time. His observations here are correct from a moral standpoint. He is also correct from a “describing reality” standpoint. But he is not taking into account the degree that MeToo is and has always been propelled by cynical careerism.

The general consensus is that the arbitrary weaponization of MeToo is now so plainly obvious that anyone sharper than, say, Sady Doyle must recognize that and will have to account for it. For this to happen, however, we have to assume the MeToo’s purveyors are at all concerned with not coming across as amoral hypocrites. And let me tell you—I know a lot of these people, I have sat with them in classes, I have gone to their conferences, I am deeply immersed in their culture. They have no capacity for shame and even less for self-awareness. They don’t care if the entire world thinks them to be hypocrites—if anything, the scorn of outsiders only increases their self-certainty.

This has all been obvious since day one, and not just to cranks like myself. Call it the Law of Zero Tolerance: the more draconian a policy is, the more arbitrarily it’s going to be enforced. More conscientious writers are now insisting that MeToo has always been a humble call for authorities to be less skeptical toward sexual assault accusations, and for men on the whole to be more aware of how their behaviors can harm women. This is very reasonable-seeming. It’s also absolutely not how MeToo was handled. The hashtag was #BelieveWomen. It wasn’t #BeLessSkeptical. The formal line—stated explicitly, as clear as could be—is that men needed to be punished, that false or incorrect accusations were absolutely fine, that any and all allegations were abject and absolute proof of guilt, and that no matter how implausible or trivial or even physically impossible an accusation was, the accused always—always—deserved punishment.

Such a terrifying dynamic obviously could not be fully enforced—society would collapse. It has instead only gained traction in arenas that were already relatively equalitarian and liberal-minded: education, academe, media, and left-liberal politics. It was not intended to make these spaces more equitable; it was instead a means for women of gaining leverage within these spaces. That’s it. And because it’s always solely been an attempt to shift power dynamics, criticism has always been met with vicious resistance. As I’ve said: lots and lots of people have been aware of the movement’s cynicism since the beginning. Men and women have talked to me in private about it for over a half decade now. But they keep their mouths shut in public spaces because they realize that every neurotic shitty woman around them has now been gifted the power of the creepy kid from the old Twlight Zone episode who could wish bad people into the corn field. All they have to do is declare you a very bad man (or a very bad ally) and that’s it, your career is fucked.

No matter how mild, respectful, or thorough a person’s criticism may be, uttering a single word against MeToo renders one persona non grata within liberal spaces. Trust me, plenty of people have wanted to push back, but they kept their mouths shut because they valued their jobs. More people will want to push back now, probably, but the dynamic is still in place: shitheads have a new means of achieving power and prominence, and now that they’ve achieved success they have no reasons to suddenly start being decent.

Our society is designed to reward cynical liars. The less principles you have, the more shameless you are, the easier it is for you to succeed. The shitheads who have floated to the top of the MeToo heap are now even more insulated from scrutiny than they were before. And, trust me, none of them are going to give up a hint of power. They’re not gonna admit they were wrong or dishonest, that’s for damn sure. Instead, as the stakes have gotten higher and the landscape is growing even more austere, they’re going to double down. Bad faith will rule us all until the final collapse hits.

[dweemeister]

Pinky (1949)

Hollywood’s plodding shift to featuring films starring and/or made by non-white people has produced stories and perspectives that have never graced cinemas before. Some of the American films that have stirred me are rooted in racial identity. The 1934 and 1959 adaptations of Imitation of Life are two such examples, and both tackle a subject that has not been addressed in Hollywood for decades – a black person passing as white and the conflicts of identity that inspires. Both versions of Imitation of Life are blessed with heartbreaking acting and ideas rarely uttered or depicted in film history. But I can imagine some viewers dismissing both films without attempting to engage them – the two adaptations have a black female lead that assumes certain “mammy” stereotypes and the 1959 version’s passing daughter character is mixed-race but is not black.

Released by 20th Century Fox, Elia Kazan’s Pinky (based on the novel Quality by Cid Ricketts Sumner) casts Jeanne Crain, a white actress, as the titular character: a fair-skinned black granddaughter who passes as white. It is without question that Crain’s casting undermines Pinky’s wonderful and nuanced message. Fox’s chief executive, Darryl F. Zanuck, and the Breen Office (which enforced the Hays Code) noted that because the title character loves a white man, the film – if it chose a black actress to play Pinky – could face an intense public backlash from "a number of sections of [the United States].” All but twelve states had anti-miscegenation laws in their books in 1949. Compromises were struck between Zanuck and the Production Office. Fox could make the film and keep the interracial romance (the screenplay was written in consultation with NAACP Executive Secretary Walter White) only if a white actress played Pinky. With Crain’s casting, the production moved forward, despite director Elia Kazan’s opposition to Crain’s selection.

On a sweltering day in the Deep South, Pinky Johnson (Crain) has returned to her impoverished rural hometown, hoping to see her grandmother Dicey (Ethel Waters) one final time before returning to the North. Dicey raised Pinky through her childhood and teenage years, with no mentions of allusions to biological or foster parents. Dicey is heartbroken to hear her granddaughter has downplayed her blackness during her time at nursing school, but is happy to learn that Pinky has graduated. To complicate matters, Pinky also tells of her love of a white doctor, Thomas Adams (William Lundigan), to whom she has revealed nothing of her black ancestry to. In addition, while attempting to collect her grandmother’s debts while in town, Pinky is involved in an incident with a Dr. Canady (Kenny Washington) and his significant other, Roselia (Nina Mae McKinney). The police arrive at the scene and apprehend all three. After being fortunately released from custody with just a warning – black people have been killed for far less by American police – Dicey learns that her elderly white neighbor, Miss Em (Ethel Barrymore), is dying and needs a nurse. Pinky, remembering how Miss Em was cruel and disparaging to her during her childhood, decides to extend her stay.

Also appearing in this film are the town’s doctor Joe McGill (Griff Barnett) and the gossiping Melba Wooley (Evelyn Varden, whose character is lacking a moral compass). Juanita Moore has a cameo as a nurse.

From the opening shots of Pinky, it almost feels as if it was shot on location somewhere in the Southern United States. Early in the film, there is an uncut tracking shot clocking in at almost ninety seconds as Pinky walks from the front of Dicey’s shack to the low cast iron gates of Miss Em’s slave-built estate. The sets, almost entirely constructed on a soundstage, are deep enough so that the audience cannot pinpoint the soundstage’s back wall. The foliage looms over dirt roads and buildings – the canopies, blowing in the wind, are never seen. Kazan, in retrospect, criticized his own film for not including the dirt and grime that need not be manufactured with location shooting. But these fabrications – thanks to cinematographer Joseph MacDonald (1958’s The Young Lions, 1966’s The Sand Pebbles) and art directors J. Russell Spencer (1936’s Modern Times, 1946’s Dragonwyck) and Lyle R. Wheeler (1939’s Gone with the Wind, 1956’s The King and I) – still evoke the small-town South. One can feel the humid heat permeating through the night, amid Spanish moss and the racial inequality built into public spaces and homes*. For those who do not live in such places, small dots on a regional map, the scenery envelops the viewer, allowing them to further understand the cultural disorientation of any visitor to Pinky’s hometown.

Though the film is a drama, Kazan borrows horror elements to frame the setting and highlight the racial tension that pervades this Southern town. Expressionist lighting overhangs shots of foggy forests, a graveyard, tight roads, and derelict/near-derelict buildings. During the night, these surrounding appear as if taken from a disturbing lucid dream. The lurking dangers are embodied through the racist and sexist characters that Pinky encounters. With this marriage of setting and supporting cast of flawed characters, Pinky could be classified as a Southern Gothic tale – a subgenre that uses the grotesque to comment on the American South’s culture. Kazan’s filmmaking here awakens the audience to Pinky’s inner turmoil over her racial identity and belonging. Freed from worrying about racial prejudice in the North due to her passing, she is terrified about what it means to be a black woman in the place of her childhood. Miss Em’s cousin, Melba, perhaps exemplifies the white residents’ racial animosity when she meets Pinky for the first time. What she says is a statement of curiosity, an expression of Southern gentility, and a veiled threat all at once: “I heard you were light, but I had no idea. Why, you’re practically white.”

Does Pinky still feel like she belongs to this poor village? That question, among others, has an answer. She must first navigate this racism, for the first time, as an adult. By film’s end and despite all outward appearances of success, it is unclear if Pinky is satisfied with the answer she has uncovered.

The interrogation of Pinky’s blackness truly begins when Miss Em quickly realizes the identity of the young woman tending to her bedside as a hospice nurse. Miss Em, though bedridden, attempts to reinforce her authority over Pinky – a relationship assuming Pinky’s immaturity and based on tacit racial subservience (for the latter, refer to both Imitation of Life films even as the white mother characters fully realize Louise Beavers/Juanita Moore’s humanity). No longer a child, Pinky will not tolerate Miss Em’s racial condescension. It matters not that the patient is drifting in and out of consciousness during her final hours. Miss Em will be more respectful towards Pinky in the face of this bedside manner. Perhaps she is chastened by Dicey’s friendship and the favor that Pinky need not return; perhaps she is admiring of the newfound strength in the young girl she used to berate; perhaps it is due to the drugs coursing through her body. That all or some of these factors can be interpreted as true empowers the film’s final act, as screenwriters Philip Dunne (1941’s How Green Was My Valley), Dudley Nichols (1938’s Bringing Up Baby), Jane White (no other film credits), and Kazan obfuscate any simple resolutions to the film’s sense of racial justice. Pinky validates anyone who might see the film as confirming that the harshest of souls can cool their racist predispositions, or that it is impossible to reform such persons.

Though Jeanne Crain’s casting captured the headlines, the best performances in the film are from the two Ethels. As Miss Em, Ethel Barrymore has little physical acting, so she must rely almost entirely in her verbal deliveries. Alternating between exhausted observation, acidic riposte, and resignation, Barrymore navigates these final hours of her character’s life with the requisite modulations in tone. Despite being on screen for less time than Crain and Waters, Barrymore – as Miss Em – inhabits a character with the most dynamic development, routinely stealing scenes even while confined to bed. Six years after starring and “taking a chance on love” in Cabin in the Sky (1943), the deeply religious Ethel Waters commands yet another accomplished performance in Pinky. As Dicey, she plays probably the least dynamic of the three principal characters, but Waters’ anguish and understated sense of egalitarianism is a fascinating contrast to Pinky’s drifting stoicism upon her arrival at Dicey’s shack. For the Ethels, they are playing roles analogous to those they had previously assumed. But Barrymore’s elderly curmudgeons rarely commented so directly on race; Waters’ hardened maternal figures seldom interacted with white people. Together, they form an imperfect, uneasy coexistence – a postbellum relationship grounded in necessity and deferred acceptance of the other.

Prior to Kazan’s arrival on set, John Ford (1939’s Stagecoach, 1946’s My Darling Clementine) had already directed a significant bulk of Pinky. Viewing the rushes, Darryl F. Zanuck was embarrassed by the footage Ford had shot, stating that, “Ford’s Negroes were like Aunt Jemima caricatures. I thought we [were] going to get into trouble.” Indeed, Ford was a dreadful fit, given the source material and the director’s reputation (Ford’s reputation on making introspective films about racial relations was dire, and he would not possess the basic skillset to make such a film until 1960’s Sergeant Rutledge). The cast, upon learning they were going to work with the best director in Hollywood at the time, were ecstatic the decision until it became clear his abrasive demeanor intimidated Crain and especially Waters. Zanuck quietly dismissed Ford in favor of Kazan (coming off 1947’s Gentlemen’s Agreement, which decried anti-Semitism), stating in public that Ford came down with a case of the shingles. Ford, as you have correctly guessed, never had the shingles. None of Ford’s work survives in the final print of Pinky.

Pinky was justifiably attacked by black critics for Crain’s casting over Lena Horne (who had lobbied for the role). The film, a compromise between 20th Century Fox and the Breen Office, contains mixed messages about racial integration and the nature of interracial friendship and love. The thematic confusion interferes with the film’s obvious, well-meaning intentions and the stellar performances from Ethel Barrymore and Ethel Waters. In its final form, one can only imagine how damaging Pinky may have been if John Ford remained with the production rather than Kazan. Within the artistic constraints of Hollywood studio filmmaking and the regressive perspectives of too many Americans, Pinky inspires a torrent of conflicting emotions as it struggles to form a coherent thesis. In a peculiar way, the muddled messaging is also a reflection of Pinky and mixed-race persons themselves, as they strive to understand what to make of themselves.

My rating: 6.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

* In the scene where Pinky goes to a general store late in the film, notice the racial composition of the customers and how they react to Pinky. Also, Dicey’s shack is aesthetically reminiscent to sharecropper hovels or slave living quarters.

[backtothestart02bts]

He Kisses Me When - Dr. 6-10 | westallen fanfiction

More drabbles. :)

...

6. When I am relaxing in the bath

An audible sigh escapes me as I slowly sink into the warm bath water, my hair up in a bun and my body aching from the long day of running around the city in pursuit of evidence for a serial killer that caught my interest. My Dad and Barry don’t know about it. Only Cisco does, and mum’s the word. I just have to hope he won’t tell Caitlin, because she – ironically – can’t tolerate secrets now and will go straight to Barry (he’ll take to her better), who will then try to process how to respond to the situation.

I didn’t lie to him this time, so he can’t be mad about that. (I feel guilty every time I have to do that when I believe so strongly in a story that if false promises need to be made to keep my husband from preventing me from following through on them, so be it. I’m glad I didn’t have to do that this time though.) This time I was simply very crafty and kept all knowledge of what I was doing from both of the very protective men in my life.

My dad will naturally walk in on my husband trying to decide how to react and give his very strong opinion, which will convince my husband to have that same opinion and to carry out his wishes, which he will no doubt do, albeit much nicer than my dad would have done.

In the end I’m mad, so I’m hoping Cisco is a good secret-keeper and that at least my dad doesn’t know. Barry I can calm with kisses and love declarations and sex. Dad is a little harder.

Throwing all that to the wayside, I let my thoughts slip away and close my eyes as the water swallows me whole save for my head pressed against the far side and my toes peeking out by the faucet.

I’m so content I don’t hear or feel the wind from the door opening and closing, but I hear his voice and know I’m in trouble.

“Joe told me what you were digging up today.”

My eyes flash open, and I turn to look at him, I can explain on the tip of my tongue.

“Are you mad?” I ask instead, nibbling on my bottom lip.

He shakes his head and crosses the room to me.

“You’re not?” My brows fuse together.

He chuckles. “No. I knew what I was getting myself into when I married you.”

I grin as he leans down to kiss me and then gasp as he climbs into the bathtub fully clothed save for his shoes, socks, and jacket.

“Barry! What are you-” I squeal, but he only laughs and settles himself on the other end, having to bend his knees up considerably so he can fit the full length. I laugh too then because he just looks so uncomfortable. “Barry,” I coo, shaking my head.

“This idea was better in my head,” he admits.

So, so in love with him, I get on my knees and crawl over to him, climbing into his laps and well aware of how his eyes keep drifting down to my breasts.

“Let me make you comfortable,” I say, and this time I’m the one to kiss him.

.

7. When I am searching for something I lost

I can’t find them anywhere. They’re pretty jewels hanging from a pearl strand that go perfectly with my dress, and I can’t find them anywhere!

Barry’s trying to help. I know he is. But he doesn’t know how I organize my make-up or my clothes. I’m supposed to expect him to know where my jewelry is?

No, I don’t think so.

Still, as I pace back and forth throughout our bedroom and bathroom, I can’t help but be aware of him standing in the middle of the bedroom, not moving to avoid me running into him, and running his hand through his hair, gripping his locks because he doesn’t know what to do to help me and he’s afraid to do nothing.

“Iris…”

“Yeah, Barry?” I ask, still digging through drawers of jewelry and make-up.

And then it must occur to him what he can do, because he takes one step, halts me with his hands on my arms and kisses me before I can stop him, his lips pressed to mine in a surprisingly sensuous kiss.

Something occurs to me, and I break away.

“What? What?” His eyes are wide.

“My coat pocket.” I grin wide and instantly take off for the stairs.

He follows me quickly and watches as I reach the door, then the coat hangers, then my dress coat and reach inside.

“No,” he says in disbelief.

My smile spreads somehow further as I turn to dangle the earrings before him.

“Guess you’re my lucky charm, Allen,” I say, and I know I’ve boosted his ego, but I don’t care.

Barry Allen is my everything.

.

8. When I am mad

I’m boiling, absolutely infuriated. Nothing could make me madder in this instant, but Wally – who has just woken up from his night over on the couch – somehow achieves that feat by asking what the big deal is.

“Oh, no,” Barry says as I turn to face my brother, my fingers curled into fists at my side so I don’t start clawing his eyes out with my fingernails.

“What’s the big deal?”

“Sorry for what?” Wally asks aloud, and I know Barry has just mouthed to his brother-in-law to apologize. “So your editor didn’t like your story. Write another one.”

I stomp toward him, unable to decide which infuriates me more, him not realizing what the big deal is or him not feeling bad about the fact that he’s made me so mad.

I finally see him worrying for his own safety at least as I get closer because he’s backing up and has himself pinned to the wall before I’m inches away pointing my finger at him.

“The ‘big deal’ is that this story will change lives. The ‘big deal’ is that I risked my life getting the information to write this story-”

“Wait, what?” His eyes widen and Barry’s face falls into his palm.

I probably shouldn’t have informed my little brother about that part. Oops.

“The big deal is-”

“Uh-uh, you’re not getting out of it that easily. Your life? What happened, Iris?” He’s suddenly soft with me, and part of me loves it, but the part of me that’s still mad at him doesn’t. How dare he be concerned when he could’ve cared less about the story two seconds ago!

“Iris?” Barry tries, and for some god forsaken reason I turn around and address him.

“What?” I demand, though he hardly deserves it.

He walks up to me, sets his hands on my shoulders, and looks me in the eye.

“If anyone can change that man’s mind, it’s you.” He lowers his head to kiss me, and I reciprocate – much to Wally’s annoyance. “I love you.”

I melt. Completely melt into his embrace.

“I love you, too.”

“Ugh. Get a room, you two,” Wally says, and actually leaves the loft. I don’t care. He’ll be back later for pizza and telling me how great of a writer and big sister I am – if history has told me anything.

Right now my husband is kissing me, and there’s not much more to care about than that.

.

9. When I talk too much (to shut me up)

I’m unaware – completely – that I’m rambling almost as fast as my husband can when he’s excited. I think said husband is listening intently as I rail on about something that happened at work, something stupid, something that was both good and bad and I can’t stop talking about.

“And so then-” I stop talking to laugh. “I can’t believe it. Can you believe that, Barry?” I smack his chest lightly. He winces, but not because it hurt.

“He – they – it actually, oh my God.”

He forces a smile. “Mhmm.”

“Barry, are you listening?” I frown.

He nods. “Yep.” So I continue again.

It’s not until several minutes later when honestly I’ve forgotten what I was talking about before I started repeating myself and laughing at what I remembered but didn’t say aloud and how Barry has been awfully quiet, and I think to myself have I been talking this whole time???

“Barry, what was I talking about?” I ask, the fact that he was falling asleep beyond me and not worth discussing because it hasn’t really hit me yet.

“Um…”

“Oh, nevermind, I remember.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He sits up quickly and leans in with a rush.

“What- Mmm,” comes my muffled moan, and I think to myself, maybe kissing is better than talking right now.

.

10. When I am scared

I’m hiding under the desk in my office. There’s been a citywide alert for a new meta that can control electricity. Several people have been electrocuted and now the whole city’s power is out, gathered up in this meta’s body.

Barry’s running around saving people. Cisco and Caitlin are busy helping him out from STAR Labs, where I should be. Barry and my dad told me to stay put. They don’t want me to be the next person electrocuted. For some reason I listen to them, since I have no protective gear and STAR Labs isn’t exactly close.

But because I’m not helping out, all I can think about is how scared I am. Not just for me, but for the whole of Central City, for Barry, because he’s my Barry, and I won’t feel safe until he’s in front of me again, warm and happy and safe himself, even if the city-wide power outage is still in place.

The lights turn on, and my phone rings. My cell. I see who it is and breathe a sigh of relief.

“Barry?” Hope and tears are in my voice, and in a flurry he’s there before me, his grin faltering for a moment when he can’t tell if I’m okay. “Barry.” Relief spills off my tongue, and I nearly crumble until he’s there catching me and holding me close.

“I’m okay, Iris. Everything’s all right.”

He’s stroking my hair tenderly, holding me up, and I’m telling myself to believe what I’m saying.

“I know…I know…”

Oh, his chest is so solid, his arms so strong, his words a sweet lullaby against my skin.

“Iris…” he urges softly, and I lift my head, tears welling in my eyes.

“You came back to me,” I say, though he always does. I shouldn’t doubt it by this point.

He nods, smiles shakily, cups my face in his hands and kisses me, warm and soft.

“Always,” he whispers when we part, and suddenly, I’m not scared anymore.

[purplesurveys]

861

Are there any common survey questions that are irrelevant to you? Marriage and kids questions like what the previous person said, but only because I’m not at that point yet. I also obviously can’t relate to questions that are specifically meant for a North American audience, like ones that ask about what I bought at Wal-Mart or Trader Joe’s or whatever.

Do you have any eating habits that others think are strange? Yeah, a few. I prefer mayo for dipping fries as opposed to ketchup and a lot of people think that’s weird. I also eat a mostly vegetarian diet. < A mayo ally, yaaas. To add to this I eat a lot of stuff with mayo too, which has met hostile reactions through the years because mayo is apparently unpopular. What else... when I eat fried chicken I usually leave the chicken meat untouched; I just like the skin. I also dislike fruits. This makes me sound like such a picky eater but I’m really not lol

Are there any fictional characters you feel strong connections with? They’re mostly professional wrestlers, which technically count because most of them play fictional gimmicks or characters. I’ve always felt a connection CM Punk which is why he’s been my favorite for like nine years straight now, even though he’s been retired for six.

Does your voice sound different when it’s recorded? No. It sounds the same as how I hear it unrecorded, and I probably fall into the 1% who has no problem hearing her recorded voice.

Is there anyone you wish you were closer to/anyone you want to get to know? Not at this point. I had wanted to know our newest batch of applicants for our org, but Covid happened and that ruined any chances of me being able to do that throughout the semester; and since I’m graduating it’s not like I’ll get to see them anymore after this. 

What was the first movie you ever remember watching? Stuart Little 2.

Do you ever sit and read books in bookstores, then not buy them? Sometimes, if the books are already open and if there are seats available. Fully Booked will sometimes provide chairs for people who wanna start reading there, which is a feature of theirs I’ve always loved.

Is there a story behind how you got your name? My parents tell contrasting stories and I think they’ve genuinely just forgotten the real story behind it. Some days they’ll tell me that they encountered the Swedish singer Robyn on TV once and liked the name enough to lock it in for me. Other days they’ll tell me that Robyn was simply a good unisex name to pick. There’s definitely a story out there, I’m just not sure which one it is.

Do you have a favorite film director? If not, what’s your favorite genre? Stanley Kubrick is for sure my favorite but I haven’t been as vocal about my admiration for him these days because of all the stuff he did during the filming of The Shining that got exposed; and if I tried to defend him, Twitter would just bully the shit out of me. If I’m engaging with people who I know wouldn’t tolerate my love for Kubrick I just say Darren Aronofsky, who’s another favorite of mine. But Kubrick is absolutely my #1 when it comes down to his work.

Is dream interpretation something that interests you? No. I’m not interested and I don’t believe in it.

Are there any accents you find blatantly unappealing? Probably a general American accent because I hear so much of it already.

What qualities do you admire in a person? Perseverance is a big one. I love a good survival, rise-from-the-ashes story.

What historical periods/events, if any, do you find the most interesting to hear about? I enjoy social history more than stories about wars or various revolutions. So it doesn’t matter what era or period I’m reading on, but as long as I get to know the education system at the time, their eating habits, the foods they ate, what they’d wear on a daily basis – everyday life, basically – then consider my interest piqued.

Is there a certain song that reminds you of your current relationship? Sure. Gabie made two playlists for us four years ago when we first started dating, and I had those on repeat for a long time; I haven’t listened to the playlists in a while, but the songs will still remind me of our relationship if I encounter them somewhere else.

Do you like to sleep in, or do you prefer to be out of bed early? These days I like getting out of bed early because there’s no reason for me to sleep in anyway. I don’t go to school anymore and I don’t have work, so for me to not go crazy with the nothingness that’s been going on for four months, I have to get up early and find something to do before depression catches me.

Are there any superstitions you buy into, personally? Just one. It’s a popular local superstition based in my school that I and many other students buy into just for the shits and giggles. They say that if you took a photo with the statue at the very front of our school, you’ll end up getting delayed and not graduating in four years. It’s bullshit obviously, but I still insisted that I don’t have any photos anywhere near it during my time as an undergrad. For anyone who made it up to this point of the survey and is curious, the statue is called the Oblation.

Regardless of whether you believe in astrology or not– if you’ve checked it out, of course– does your personality coincide with the given traits for your star sign? Some of it, like the fact that Tauruses are loyal, always think they’re right (lol), and love their food. I hate astrology though and I don’t like befriending people who make it their world.

What was the last film you cried during? If you’ve never cried watching one, what was the last film that moved you in some way? I haven’t watched the whole film since catching it in theatres but I did revisit the ending to Portrait of a Lady on Fire a couple of weeks ago, and it made me cry.

Are politics something you enjoy discussing? I wouldn’t say I enjoy it, but I am very political. I pay attention and I get very passionate about it. I don’t like fighting with close minded people about my opinions/stances. If you can communicate/debate like an adult I don’t have a problem with those kinds of discussions. < There we go.

What is your LEAST favorite song by your favorite band/artist? Ooooooh this question is MEAN lol. I’d have to say Ain’t It Fun. I feel like I’m committing a crime because it’s pretty much Paramore’s most popular song now, but I just never enjoyed it too much.

[phantomphangphucker]

Why Am I The Confused One Here? - Phic Phight

Prompt Creator: @deredereart  Prompt: Valerie is questioned after a round of lazer tag with some friends because of her ridiculously good aim. Summary: Laser Tag has never had a weirder ending

No warnings apply

I can’t help my smirk as I look at the scoreboard, it’s no surprise to me that I have the most points but otherwise I’m damn surprised. Literally, all of us did damn well, I was kind of expecting to do drastically better than them instead of just marginally better. Who came in last is definitely no surprise though, he’s probably the most unfit person in our class.

That’s made even more obvious by his out of breath remark, “hey Val! That was weirdly good”

“Yeah! You hit nearly every shot you took. You do this a lot or something?”

Turning my head around to my friends, I blink and clue in that maybe, just maybe, actually trying wasn’t the greatest idea. Deciding to just run with the excuse she practically gave me, “well I needed something to do and take my anger out on after that dog shit”. Sam rolls her eyes at me, “yeah sure that’s totally the reason”, I can practically feel the sarcasm in her voice. Whelp, too late to change my story now.

“Heh, if you want we can have a one on one match. See who’s truly better, being the two higher scores”, I can’t help but smirk at Danny’s cocky challenge. I’m not too surprised he did the best of my friends, no way his parents haven’t forced target practice on him; what with their undying love for ghost hunting.

Tucker wheezes hard as he catches up to the three of us, “well it better stay one on one, cause I’m fucking out”. As if to prove his point, he animatedly flops on the ground, while we all snicker at him. “Tuck, you really are awfully out of shape”, Tucker only shrugs at Sam’s dig before turning to me, “seriously though, your aim is something else and you dodge damn good too. Unlike a certain someone”.

“Hey, you don’t need to dodge if you bury your opponent before they can shoot or shoot much anyway”, honestly Danny? What kind of strategy is that? No wonder I got you so damn much.

“That doesn’t work in laser tag Danny”, Sam rolls her eyes at him but he just sticks his tongue out her. “Well maybe we should have a paintball match then”, Tucker immediately starts waving his hands back and forth while shaking his head. “Hell no dude, you don’t even flinch from being hit. That shit ain’t fair”

Danny’s now sticking his tongue out at Tucker and man it’s obvious they’ve known each other forever. Kind of weird butting into a well-established group of friends but to hell with it, they’re lucky to have me. Even if I’m busy most of the time.

“So why are you actually good at this? Because you just taking the excuse I gave you pretty much proves it’s something sketchy or some shit”, Sam leans into me and smiles wickedly, “so spill”. Oh well, fuck that was really damn sneaky of her, impressive though. Now, what the hell am I supposed to say? “Fine, not much else to do other than paper toss and bouncing little kid balls off the walls. Happy?”, please just accept the excuse, would you?

Sam lounges against the wall, inspecting her nails as she talks, “ah the old, give ‘em an embarrassing excuse so they’ll assume you’re telling the truth because why would you make up something embarrassing? Care to try again?”, what? Wow ok, I guess I shouldn’t be shocked, pretty sure Sam sneaks around near constantly.

“Well maybe I like to have some secrets ok?”, I’ve really got nothing else to offer. And I’m almost annoyed that Danny laughs, he’s the most damn secretive person I’ve ever met!

“You could have pulled at least three more different excuses there. Heck, I can think of four off the top of my head”, I glare at Danny, because really? You’re laughing at me because I didn’t lie more? Seriously? “I’m not super big on lying Danny. Unlike you, I’m not a walking secret”. Apparently, my more or less good-natured insult, needed to be more insulting because he’s just laughing harder now. I opt to just glare at him.

Tucker pats me on the shoulder, “you should know by now that Danny takes near nothing seriously and is basically insult immune. We just rag him cause it’s fun”. I watch as Danny finger-guns at Tucker and blows imaginary smoke off his fingertip.

Danny, turning to me, “even if I’m Mr. Secretive, the weirdo trio are probably the three people you could trust most with any secret really. Even if we told, no one would believe our shit”.

Sam nods, “that may be partly because off all the crazy shit we tell teachers. I mean come on Danny, you could have just said you cut your hair up in a dare but no, instead you tell him that toothpaste ate it”. Um, what? Turning to Danny, “I mean I guess points for creativity but really? Why would anyone believe that”.

Danny snickers, “and the great thing? I wasn’t even lying. My parents make some weird shit”. Oh, you have got to be kidding me? He’s actually serious, and I thought my injuries and what not were hard to explain. Maybe they do have a bit of a point but I’m still not going to spout my shit just cause they want me too. Danny sticks his finger in the air, “however I was lying when I blamed my colour changing shirt on my dad’s latest invention”. Now I’m just confused though Sam and Tucker both look slightly angry with him. Oh, he lied to them, wow. Ok, I guess I can’t really talk but he’s super close to them, “did you really just admit you lied to them? Just like that? No prompting, nothing? That’s pretty gutsy”

“Danny knows no fear. That and he rarely cares about anything”

“Hey now, I care about you guys you ass”, Danny tilts his head to me, “it doesn’t matter if they know now since the times past. And frankly, they probably knew I was lying but just accepted it because that’s how it works with me. If I’m lying to them then they know it’s something they don’t want me to tell the truth about”. That is really messed up and makes me feel like way less of a dick for lying myself. “Well, what about my shit? So that accepting a lie only applies to you”.

Tucker rolls his eyes at me, “we always eventually get the truth from him so it’s different. That or we actually know what he’s lying about as he’s lying” Um what, “doesn’t that defeat the purpose of lying?”.

Danny shakes his head, “naw, that’s just me lying to make them feel better and so they know not to worry”. Man, even when he’s lying his being all self-sacrificial about it. “You really are too good of a guy Danny”.

Danny rubs his neck bashfully as the other two round on me again, “so obviously we’re trustworthy and skilled at secret keeping. So really, spill it”. Something tells me I’m really not going to be able to get out of this. But seriously my hunter shit is a secret for a reason, the last thing I want is them getting caught up in this crap. Sure I wouldn’t trade it for the world now, but I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I mean hell, Danny would get involved in a heartbeat to protect his friends, and that includes me, fearful of ghost or not.

But also, we’re all adults now. My friends aren’t some dumb kids getting in over their heads like I was. Hell, just being my friend gets them involved in a way. “Why do you even want to know so bad?”

“Because Sam’s nosey?”

Sam glares at Tucker before looking to me, “because we’re supposed to be friends”. Ok ouch, that was just kind of mean but I do get it a little.

“Because the two of them are heading off to college and want you to finally admit it before they fuck off. Not that I really approve of them borderline forcing whatever it is out of you”, I blink at Danny a bit because damn that’s a hell of a point. And I guess of all people, it would be the embodiment of secrets that doesn’t support forcing others secrets into the light.

Sam rolls her eyes at Danny, “we really shouldn’t have to force anything Danny. We’re friends and even if things were pretty rocky in the beginning, she’s nearly a part of the weirdo gang”.

Danny snickers, “well Tuck’s still the weirdest one”. Uh, you sure about that? Tucker seems pretty normal compared to all of your weird goings-on. Danny can clearly see I’m judging him, “hey now, I’m weird by default. Those two are weird by choice. Tuck’s just extra weird, aren’t you Mr. Meat sense”.

What? Ok there’s a story there. Danny turns his head back to me after sneering at Tucker, “we’ve all got our weird and weird is far more tolerant of weird”.

Sam nods and shrugs a bit, “I don’t think any of us could actually be friends with someone totally not weird”. Honestly, she’s pretty darn right and even I’ll admit, hanging out with average Joe’s is actually really awkward. Even with the questioning, this isn’t really awkward, and I’m starting to feel like a bit of an ass. Crap, something tells me that if I don’t own up, I’ll probably wreck any genuine friendship I’ve got going on here. “You guys aren’t going to trust me very much if I don’t tell you, are you?”, judging by Sam’s smirk, I’m completely right. 

You know what? The hell with it. I know what it’s like to have fake friends and this ain’t it; this hunter shit has already cost me a lot. I deserve genuine friends and I guess that means not being a closed off wall. Heck, Danny is a closed off wall and he obviously tells them his shit. Tells them, not me. “How about this, give a secret get a secret”, I nod at Danny to make my intentions clear. Even if he’s not the one being pushy, he’s also clearly not opposed either. Sam and Tucker both eye Danny, well at least they’re leaving it up to him, while Danny shrugs, “well duh, knowing my shit is the initiation. Can’t be one of the weirdos without it, though Jazz is only an honorary member”. Oh, OH. Ok, there’s more going on here I think, “well fine then, you sure have a weird way of establishing a true friendship though. Which I guess is a bit expected”.

Crossing my arms at them a bit, fully expecting a bit of a freakout. “I hunt ghosts alright. The red-suited one with a board. Don’t go getting invol-”, I cut myself off as I notice none of them look even slightly surprised. If anything, they’re all smirking. Squinting at them, “you already knew you asses! Didn’t you?”. Both Danny and Tucker laugh lightheartedly while Sam actually responds, “well finally and yeah. I recognised your voice on the very first day, V”. 

WHAT!? I know my mouth is gaping open so I snap it shut before opening it again to speak, “THE WHOLE TIME!?”. How the hell haven’t they called me out before? What? Tucker’s basically wheezing and sits on the ground, Danny gives me a goofy thumbs up, “yup, It’s pretty damn hard for anyone to actually keep secrets from the three of us”. Tucker laughs even harder, “dude! That makes us sound like some creepy all seeing eye”. Danny looks to Tucker judgingly, “Tuck pal, you literally hacked the navy while eating grapes this morning”. Um what?

Danny snickers at my confusion, “Tuck’s a bit of a menace”. Sam rolls her eyes at him, “last I checked, you’re the only one who’s officially called a menace, Danny. Well, at least until Tuck gets himself on a watch list”. Danny puts his hands on his hips mockingly, “hey now, the government only tries to murder me on occasion and they really suck at it”. Um what? I don’t know if he’s kidding or not. He better be because that’s, that’s just absurd.

Danny smirks at me, which I guess means my confusion is damn obvious again, “Val. My very existence is illegal in the eyes of the gov. I don’t have secrets, I am the secret”. Sam snickers, “yeah, the biggest damn one in the fucking country”. Tucker laughs, “More like the world!”.

Watching Danny blush I realise they’re being serious here, what the hell?

“See Val. This shit is why there are not really secrets in with the weirdos. There’s no damn point. Hell, for all accounts and purposes being a damn good hunter, which you are, loses its weight around what’s effectively a bunch of royalty”. What? Are they just going out of their way to confuse me now? To get back at me for lying for years, when they already damn knew?

Gaping at Danny, “what is even going on here? I mean if your goal was to confuse the hell out of me and thus distract me from the whole, you guys knew the entire time but never damn called me out, then congrats on a job well done. The hell?”.

Danny actually looks like he feels a bit bad, “our lives are a mess and weird is our norm. And Val, don’t worry about us getting involved in your ghost shit. We’re more involved than you are and for longer”, what? Well, I guess for Danny that makes some sense. Ghost hunters for family and all but still, what? Danny chuckles and continues, “you’re talking with the only humans who are actually regarded highly by ghosts. In their eyes, we’re princess,  pharaoh, and king. Bunch of ghost royalty, and yes there are long stories behind all of that”. WHAT? That doesn’t even make sense? What? I probably look like my brain is melting or something. Which it kind of is, none of this makes sense.

Sam rolls her eyes at Danny, “I think you best just let her in before she has an aneurysm or something”. Part of me says it’s way too late but yeah, explain away.

Danny shrugs animatedly, “not really sure how that will actually help, finding out your friend is practically his own unique species is more of a sure fire way to achieve brain melt”.

“Ok? Just spit it out you ass”, both Sam and Tucker glare at me for that, which I guess fine. I beat around the bush and tried to wiggle my way out of this so fairs fair I guess. But I’m not even sure what Danny’s saying at this point, this is a mental cluster fuck of dog shit proportions.

Danny laughs, “blunt corpse spilling it is”. Danny stares straight at me, which is a little unnerving, “I’m Phantom. The world’s one true halfa”.

“WHAT? I mean what?! I, you ass! You let me hunt you and then befriended me? The fuck a wrong with you?! You insane idiot!”, I can’t really help but smile though. Even if my friend is clearly a loon but hey, I’ve got a nanobot suit in my veins; that’s pretty loony too. And-HOLY SHIT! OK! I officially don’t think anything will ever shock me again after just watching Danny freaking transform into Phantom.

Danny god damn Phantom laughs as he claps his hand on my shocked shoulder, “welcome to the weirdo gang aka Team Phantom, we’re all fucked”.

End.

[whatib]

I believe in Freedom of Speech

What I find most disturbing is that the employees that are banning people and companies are immature individuals(some are clearly in a bad place mentally) filled with hate against the world(for a million different reasons) and a lack of respect for others, and they're very short on a sense of humor.....they've made it clear they want to hurt others in order to get their "pay back" against society....I had some kid shut down my Youtube channel that had 317 videos on it just because I made one comment about the vaccine not working against Omicron. I wasn't preaching anything or telling anyone not to get the vaccine. I merely said that "I now know 19 fully vaccinated and boosted people that caught Omicron. I guess the vaccine doesn't stop Omicron" and boom the next day a decade of videos was taken down. I appealed and thank the Universe my channel was restored but then I had to comb thru all of my vides to see if I mentioned anything about Covid and just remove them from youtube. We ARE living in China, the Germany from WWII, and North Korea....and it's friggen scary as hell. This is why our forefathers founded this great country upon one concept...Freedom of Speech...because without it, you are in a stranglehold by your government with no recourse, and you will be sent to the Stalag when the hand comes down. We're giving the Power of the Hand to mere kids that don't have 40 or 60 years of experience on Earth which grants them the skill to understand other opinions and make good judgements with respect to the Holy Grail of Life...Freedom of Speech I've never voted in 57 years and never will, but I did support Democrats for basically 50 years until they burned my country down between 2016 and 2020. I will never trust a Democrat again for the rest of my life. These people are a cancer to society. They definitely have a warped view of the world when they condone and fully support saying things like F*** Trump but they freak out if someone says F**** Joe Biden. This one simple example shows me that there's a large group of people that don't understand the concept of "Fair Play" and without that you have a lopsided world that will be embattled in a struggle forever. Tolerance is the only way the world was able to get to where it is today, and the only way it will survive. I had to tolerate my mother calling me an idiot for 57 years in order for me to be the success I am today. Her hate for me made me not want to be her, and it made me the good person I am today, helping the poor, helping individuals with special needs, being a Special Olympics coach, developing software for people who lack computer skills, teaching computer skills to the elderly, giving jobs to people from other countries. Do I care if I hire a Muslim? or a Christian? or an Aheist? No, I understand that the world is full of billions of people with different beliefs, it's not my place to send them to the Stalag, or shut them out of the world. Everyone deserves a place in society, and they all deserve Love. Even if they hate President Trump or Brandon. (Brandon is still in office and he deserves all of the same teasing that all of his predecessors received until he leaves office....so don't cry, it's no big deal...it actually means nothing at all...once you can wrap your head around that, you'll finally move forward in life and you'll enjoy staring at the Moon and feeding the birds and the squirrels, and you'll finally be one with the Universe)

[sunshinedjh]

Summoning Love Part Seventeen: Caught

Summoning Love: Phil Lester has the ability to make anything he desires appear at will. However, with great power comes great responsibility. And along with his parents wanting to disown him, his entire school thinking he’s a freak, and being the only person in this world he knows of with a hidden power, things can get rather lonely…   Phan |Superpowers |High School Au |

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Part Sixteen

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Word Count: 1175

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Wattpad<<<

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Warnings: homophobia :(

'Daaaan?' Phil called from the bottom of the stairs. 'Yeah?' 'Are you ready yet?' Dan poked his head out from behind the banister. 'No, clearly I am not'

'Well hurry up then!' 'Okay okay, I'm hurrying'

-

After Dan had finally finished getting ready, they'd began walking to school. It was a nice day, sunny with blue skies. The conversations Dan and Phil were having were also pleasant, but neither of them could say that they were particularly ecstatic to be going to the place they were heading.

'But what if someone finds out about us?' Phil was asking worriedly. 'It's fine, no one's gonna know' 'Yeah well even if no one does we still have double maths, todays gonna suck no matter what'

'At least we don't have dodgeball again' Dan muttered, remembering the incidents of the last time.

It seemed as though Phil had remembered too, as he started laughing. 'Not so good at dodging balls are you?' 'Shut up'

The two of them arrived at the school gates a few minutes before the bell was due to go. 'I'm not with you in either of the first two lessons' Dan said sadly, looking Phil in the eyes as they came to a halt in the corridor.

Phil had an urge to grab hold of Dan's hands but he resisted. 'I guess I'll see you at break'

At that, the bell decided to ring.

Dan gave Phil a look up and down. 'I guess you will' 'Bye Dan!' Phil called out as Dan turned to walk away. It felt oddly insincere to leave without a hug or a kiss but it wasn't like they could get away with doing either of those things here.

-

The first two lessons were grim. Phil had happened to have English and then history.

His English teacher had informed him that while he'd been away, he had missed an exam on analysing poetry. So for the first hour of the morning, he'd been reluctantly shoved in a tiny exam room and made to write an essay.

The second hour of that morning consisted of Mr Harbour, Phil's history teacher, telling the class about the tragedies of World War Two.

Phil hated history, all these dates and statistics just going into his brain and flooding right back out again. Who even needed to know about the past? And the fact that it was about the war was just depressing.

He was nearly falling asleep. In fact he probably would have if he hadn't have felt a harsh smack on the head from Joe King, who happened to sit behind him, hitting him on the head with a book. Of course the teacher hadn't noticed.

'Oi' he'd whispered 'where you been? Me, Kyle and Scott missed you' 'Sure you did' Phil muttered through clenched teeth, as he rubbed his had where the book had hit.

'Lester!' Mr Harbour yelled 'Are you kidding' Philmumbled. He looked behind him to see Joe looking completely innocent and working, as though he hadn't been talking. That little shit.

'I will not tolerate my lessons being interrupted, understand?' Phil looked over at the door. He swore he just saw...

'Lester!' Mr Harbour raised his voice 'Are you even listening to me?' Phil turned his head back to face his teacher. 'Um, no... not really sir' The class around him burst out laughing.

'Right that's it, outside. I'm removing you from this lesson' 'Okay sir' Phil replied, getting up. His attention was still focused on what he'd saw outside. He grabbed his stuff as fast as he could and exited the class.

He'd been right. Dan was there, hiding behind the classroom door. 'What on earth are you doing?' Phil asked in surprise. 'I could ask you the same Phil Lester. Getting kicked out of class? My my my...'

'I got kicked out so I could come and see you, but how'd you get out so easily?' 'I asked if I could use the bathroom. And that was what I fully intended on doing... after I'd taken a quick stop on route to visit you'

Phil rolled his eyes. 'Okay well at least take me with you, before some teacher comes and asks me why I'm out here' 'Sounds like a plan'

'You know I have had the worst morning' Phil began as they started walking. 'Did you have to do that English essay too?' 'Yeah, riveting wasn't it?'

The two of them stepped inside the bathroom once they'd reached it. Dan leaned against one of the sinks and yawned. 'Don't you have to pee?' Phil asked. 'You know what, I don't think I do' Dan grinned devilishly, looking over at Phil.

'If we get caught skiving I'm blaming you' 'Well that's not nice now is it, I'm pretty sure you're the one that got yourself out of that classroom' 'Bastard' 'Nerd'

Dan walked over to Phil and looked fondly at him. He wasn't wearing his glasses today and so Dan could see his eyes much clearer.

'How long until break?' 'I'm not sure' 'Better hope it's a while' 'Wh...'

Dan leaned in closer to Phil and connected their lips. Phil made a noise in surprise, and grabbed hold of Dan's curls to steady himself. Dans lips were warm and tasted of... was that lip gloss?

Phil ran his tongue along Dan's bottom lip, he couldn't help it, it tasted nice. Dan was starting to let out little gasps that were almost moans as the kiss got faster. Phil knew they were supposed to be staying quiet but he didn't have it in him to ask Dan to be quiet.

Perhaps he should have done though. As if they had both been quiet they might have heard the sound of the bell ringing, or heard the three people who had just entered the room.

'Howell? And Lester?!' A voice from the other side of the bathroom yelled. Thankfully Dan and Phil did hear this and so they rapidly let go of each other.

'Damn I knew you two were weird but I didn't think you were gay' 'And for each other too, gross' 'Get the fuck out of here!' Phil shouted. 'Sorry, are we interrupting?'

'It's fine we'll go, we've got some news to spread now' 'Don't you dare tell anyone!' Dan stepped forward and tried to walk up to them but Phil stopped him.

'What do you think we're gonna do, not tell everyone that you guys are fags? How boring' 'You guys ought to consider yourselves lucky, that we aren't about to beat the shit out of you'

'Too right' 'Anyways catch you later losers' And with that the three of them left the bathroom.

'Fuck...' Phil whispered 'Oh this is bad, this is really bad. What are we gonna do?' 'Phil I...' 'I'm not staying here for the rest of the day' 'Phil, listen, we get bullied enough as it is. I really don't think this is going to make much of a difference'

Dan knew that wasn't exactly true, he was just trying to stay strong. As he looked over at Phil, it almost looked as though there were tears forming in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Dan leaned back into Phil. Not to kiss him but to hug him tight.

'We got this okay?'

Next Chapter

[dawnaress]

Why TV judge Jerry Springer supports court-packing: 'It's important to have a Supreme Court that recognizes America's values'

With Senate Republicans likely to confirm Judge Amy Coney Barrett as Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s replacement on the Supreme Court this week, Democratic presidential nominee Joe Biden will face renewed pressure to expand the court’s ranks should he defeat President Donald Trump on Nov. 3. Court expansion — or, as some call it, court-packing — is a controversial topic that the vice president has so far avoided discussing in-depth, to the frustration of some of his supporters.

But if Biden decides to move ahead, he’ll have the support of at least one famous judge: Jerry Springer. “I originally didn’t think it was a good idea,” the talk show host-turned-presiding justice of NBC’s syndicated courtroom series, Judge Jerry, tells Yahoo Entertainment. “But now I’m OK with extending the Supreme Court if that’s what it takes to guarantee the ideal America.”

For Springer, the argument in favor of expanding is a clear-cut case of balancing more the conservative values Barrett is expected to favor in cases involving abortion and voting versus the more progressive values favored by majorities of the country in national polls. “On the one hand, you have the value of having nine justices for so much of our history,” Springer explains. “But I balance that against the value of, for the next two generations, women aren’t going to have control over their own bodies and we’re not going to enforce the right of everyone to vote. When I balance those values against the value of saying, ‘At least we kept it at nine,’ it’s not a balance of moral equivalency. It’s important to have a Supreme Court that recognizes America’s values of saying all people are created equal.”

Like the rest of the country, Springer — who was a politician and journalist before getting into daytime television in the 1990s with The Jerry Springer Show — closely followed Barrett’s confirmation hearings and took issues with several of her comments, including her description of herself as an “originalist” when it comes to interpretations of the Constitution. “That theory makes absolutely no sense, and I’ll tell you why: the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia was a political process, and everyone had different intentions and different ideas. It was weeks and weeks of bargaining and negotiating, so if you want to decipher the original intent, you’re not being intellectually honest, because there was no single idea. They all compromised! Maybe you can figure out one person’s intention, but there is no way you can figure out the collective invention.”

“Also,” Springer continues, “Are you going to rely on the intentions of people from 240 years ago who thought that Black people were three-fifths of a human being and that women should not have the right to vote? It’s just nonsense; these are people who are otherwise very smart using a big word to rationalize their negative point of view that hurts at least half the country. We can give it all kinds of names and rationales, but at the end, we’re down to this: Is it more important to keep the Supreme Court at nine, or is it more important that all people in America have equal rights? That's the only issue at stake. Whichever side you come out on, OK, but at least be honest to the decision that you're making.”

Clearly, Judge Jerry isn’t shy about adjudicating the current political situation in America. In a wide-ranging interview, he addresses why he voted for Biden, how the justice system is “set up to give white men the advantage,” and why the coronavirus will likely doom Trump’s chances of reelection.

Yahoo Entertainment: Because of coronavirus restrictions, you haven’t been able to have an audience for recent episodes. The audience reaction was always a big part of The Jerry Springer Show — is it odd not having people in the room now?

Jerry Springer: Well, the old show was obviously 100 percent dependent on a live audience, but in a courtroom, the audience has no purpose except to be background. Otherwise, they’re not involved and have to keep quiet. So it doesn’t really affect the decisions I make or the law I have to abide by, but it does change the atmosphere. What you’ll see in some episodes is that the producers have given me a laugh button, so whenever I make a quip or something like that, I push the button and you hear laughter in this empty courtroom.

Is it different for you to be put in the position of judging the people you’re talking to? As a talk show host, you mostly remained an impartial observer helping along the conversation.

The truth is that, in my life, I’m not very judgmental, and that’s due to my liberalism. I believe that people are entitled to live the lives they want as long as they don't hurt anyone else. I don’t cast judgment, because I don’t walk in their shoes. But you’re right: now I have that responsibility. I guess I treat it as if I’m their father or grandfather, and they need to be disciplined. I don’t [judge] out of meanness. I try to be understanding, and explain to them why I’m reaching the decision, and that it’s not a reflection on them or that they’re a bad person. In so many of the cases, the only entities that know the truth are the actual parties and God. Everyone else is just listening to what they’re saying and trying to make a fair judgment.

Do you ever get the sense that any of them are playing to the cameras?

When these suits are filed, no one has any idea that one day they’re going to be on television. Every morning, we have producers that look at every case that has been filed in the United States of America the day before, and if it seems like an interesting case, the plaintiff and defendant get a call going, “Would you like to have your case adjudicated by Jerry Springer on national television?” I am fully aware that if someone didn’t like me going in, why would they ever agree to have me be their judge? So obviously, the people that are coming before us are people that start out with a pretty good feeling about me. They think, “Hey, this is cool. Let's have Jerry do it.” So in the very beginning, you can almost sense their nervousness of being in front of a guy they’ve watched on television for thirty years. That creates a different dynamic, and I’m conscious of that. So in the beginning, I let them state their case and get comfortable with me. Often they’ll just call me, “Jerry” and the producers will have to tell them, “For decorum, call him Judge Jerry.”

Based on the cases that you’re hearing, what’s your sense of what life for ordinary Americans is like right now?

Generally, the things that people are most angry or upset about are the things that happen in their everyday lives. Stuff like, “Why won't the neighbors cut that tree down?” Or, “That person insulted me.” That stuff tends to make you more angry than reading about legislation that Congress may have passed that has more worldly impact. Most often people are — for better or worse — most concerned with the things that immediately touch their family. So you can’t really judge a nation on what makes them angry in the moment.

But you can judge a nation based on what policies they tolerate, and that’s why this election is, in a sense, more about the voters and what we tolerate in our country from our government. I think people are going to the polls to say, “Does Trump really represent our country and our values?” And so, on election night, the whole world will be watching to find out what America is really like and what we tolerate. Because if you tolerate someone who is in a position of power, then what does that say about you? Aren’t you basically just driving the getaway car for this person who assaults our values?

Are you supporting Joe Biden?

Yeah, I’ve already voted for him. I think this election has nothing to do with being a Democrat or a Republican, and the best evidence you have is that if you talk to a friend who says, “I’m voting for Trump,” there’s always an explanation. They always start the sentence by saying, “Well, I know what he's like,” or, “I don't approve of his values,” or, “I wish he wouldn't use that language.” There’s always a qualification, which should be a red flag. Character matters: in fact, I would argue that character is the single most important trait of any president because you can delegate everything else. What you can’t delegate is character. You can get the smartest people on the world to be on your staff, but if you have bad character as a president, you will get the smartest people to figure out ways to do bad things, and that’s exactly what we're witnessing now.

What we’re also seeing is that an incredible number of people that worked for him have been coming out with books, articles and political statements saying something bad about his character. So at some point, aren’t we all agreeing — even if we're lifelong Republicans — that this was not the right pick? Go back to being a Republican later, but at this point, be honest enough that America is better than this. Tom Brokaw would never write a book about this generation that would say, “This was America's greatest generation.”

As someone who defined reality television in the 1990s, do you recognize those tendencies in Trump?

Well, yeah. And you know what? I have nothing personally against Trump, I just don’t think he should be president. I was the host of the Miss Universe Pageant back in 2008 when he still owned it, and he was only nice to me. So this isn’t a personal vendetta. We ought to be able to separate that. Hopefully, we’ll stand up and say, “Enough of this. This is wrong and we know it’s wrong. Let’s move on.”

Character matters: in fact, I would argue that character is the single most important trait of any president Jerry Springer

We’re having a larger conversation right now about the racial inequities built into the American justice system. What’s your take on where we are in that regard?

I don’t think there’s any question that we live in a society where almost everything has been set up to give white men — particularly wealthy white men — the advantage. That's the whole system. I’ll give you an example: I graduated from Northwestern University’s law school in 1968. Mind you, this was a major university in Chicago. We had 190 students in my graduating class, and of those 190 students, two were women and one was Black. I mean, think about that! This wasn’t some rural community in the South someplace. And these are the lawyers that become our judges and politicians.

So how do we even pretend that race hasn’t been a factor here? So if I've got African-American parties before me on the show, and I’m sitting up there on the bench as this old, rich white guy, of course I'm conscious of that. That’s why I keep telling them: “I am no better than anybody here. Get it? And so here’s why I’m reaching this decision.” But that’s not something I do just because I became a judge. I think you grow up with those values. One thing my parents taught me, and which we teach our children and grandchildren, is that you never ever judge someone based on what they are. You only judge people based on what they do. If you can live your life like that, you will never be prejudiced.

Does it frustrate you to see cases like Breonna Taylor, where no police officers were charged with her death despite widespread protests?

Sure, you question that. The system is such that there are always particular details that we don’t know in terms of what happens before a grand jury. So the reason that decision is reached may have been built into the system, not because of anyone on the grand jury. But the rules are inevitably set up to protect a white society. I don’t care what laws you change now: it still hasn’t been an equal competition for several generations. You've been having this race in our country for 240 years where people have a cinder block around their foot as they're racing the white guy.

Then you say, “You know what? Take that cinder block off his legs. Now let's continue the race.” Well, the white guy is already halfway around the track! So when people say, “Look, we're not discriminating now,” maybe you’re not, but you're still living with the benefits of having had that discrimination for 200 years. That's what the institutional racism means. It means that you haven't leveled the playing field; you’ve decided to try to level it now, but you're not making up for what happened before. And that's what this moment is all about.

The worst kind of racism, sometimes, is the polite racism, not the wacko white supremacists. They’re evil, but they’re wackos and everyone sees that. It’s the polite racists that dress up, and then just justify policies that when they’re alone in the room with just God, they know are mean and not fair. Why do they support making it difficult for Black people or Hispanic people to vote? What possible justification do you have for doing it? Because you know that if you can stop Black people from voting, the Republican has a better chance of winning.

We live in a society where almost everything has been set up to give white men — particularly wealthy white men — the advantage. Jerry Springer

One interesting side effect of the Trump era seems to be that political sex scandals seem to be having less consequence now. As someone with a scandal in your own past, do you think that’s changed now?

When people voted for Trump, I think they made that clear. Society has changed altogether, especially with social media. Behavior hasn’t changed, but people's reaction to it has, just because we live in a different world. I remember when The Jerry Springer Show first aired, it was considered outrageous. Nowadays, it seems so ridiculously tame compared to what's on social media.

Have you adjudicated any cases where the pandemic is a factor? And are you seeing a frustration with quarantine restrictions?

Yeah, we’ve had some. We’ve dealt with cases of people being evicted from their homes because they couldn't pay rent, which may violate a local ordinance or a state law. When you watch the show, you won’t be able to tell that I'm in the courtroom in Connecticut, but the plaintiff and defendant are elsewhere in the country. Because of the magic of television, it looks like they’re standing in the courtroom with me. Of course, people are getting upset with this whole [quarantine] situation, but what we have trouble understanding is this is the United States of America and we have the worst performance in terms of getting a grip on this virus than virtually any country in the world. I mean, how did that happen? How could we be the one country in the world that couldn’t make enough masks, and that couldn’t get enough ventilators?

I mean, look at what FDR did to mobilize America when we were attacked at Pearl Harbor in 1941! Every factory was turned into making the planes and the tanks we needed, and we won the war. This administration couldn’t even mobilize to have masks made. And frankly, if Biden wins, it won't be due to any of these social issues. Trump will lose because of his being unable to deal with the pandemic: that’s what is doing him in. It’d be nice to say it happened because people had a social conscience, but I think it’s more likely to be because of his failure to handle the pandemic.

[polss]

Political Swizzlestick: Seema Nanda and Tom Perez - DNC Heads - need to rid the DNC of its bullshit....Or get fired when the Dems lose to Trump.

As anyone who followed the train wreck that was the Iowa caucus knows, Tom Perez is the head of the DNC. 

Let me throw another name out for you. Seema Nanda is his boss, the CEO of the DNC. 

 And they are both on their way to helping Donald Trump get reelected. 

 How can I say such a hateful and unfair thing? 

Because it's neither hateful nor unfair. 

It's truthful. 

 In the 2016 election, the GOP and the DNC gave us two candidates that we hated more than any other candidates in the history of US elections that we've tracked. So we had an election where everyone in the liberal-leaning states voted their asses off against Donald Trump and everyone else in America voted their asses off against Hillary Clinton (and to a lesser degree against President Obama's economic policies, which most of us will admit we didn't particularly like.) 

It's now four years later. People in the liberal states who hated Donald Trump have four years of evidence showing that their hatred was justified. 

People in the conservative States and in the Swing states have seen Donald Trump address probably 80 to 90% of his campaign promises, far far far more than any previous Republican president. Republicans are on board , even most of the 2016 "never Trump" Republicans have realized that it's four years later and their skin has not been melted off by a nuclear disaster. They are on team Trump now. 

 So, what does that mean for the 2020 election? 

Well It means that again The Electoral College will decide the winner and victory will be dependent upon which candidate wins the Rust Belt states (as well as North Carolina and Virginia). 

Trump won those rustbelt States in 2016. While the DNC can probably count on Michigan moving back into the DNC column, There is no guarantee on the rest of the Rust Belt. 

Now Trump will have a few more votes as moderate Republicans realize they can tolerate Trump or just fall under the sway of Trumps continuous 4 year long disinformation campaign. 

It's no given that the Democrats can win. 

In the face of that, people who want to vote against Trump who aren't Democrats and don't believe in the ethics of the DNC, have just seen what appears to be an attempt by a candidate to steal the Iowa election. 

"Whoa! Whoa there!" you might say. "There is no evidence that Pete Buttigieg's people were cheating In Iowa and hope to cheat again in Nevada in that caucus!" 

Well, then, why did embattled DNC had Tom Perez call for a manual recount of Iowa's results? 

That action makes my point. He did it because there was the PERCEPTION of fraud that threatened to drive away non-reliable Democratic voters like myself.

Tom Perez is the replaceable COG of the DNC . He gets that. Calling for a recount Is something he can do. If Trump wins re-election, Perez will be gone. 

Nanda should be gone too but Perez is in the position that would certainly take the fall. 

Really in that instance anyone with over 20 years of experience working in the DNC in management should be removed. 

Why can I say such an unfair thing?

Because there is a culture of corruption in the Hillary and Bill era DNC operatives. That corruption needs to be scrubbed out. And at that point it would make a lot of sense to simply cut out the infected tissue, if the leadership cannot self-correct. 

Every action that the DNC leadership has taken over the years is designed to protect their ability to push down on the scales for one candidate over another that the public has chosen. 

When I cast my vote In a primary for a Democratic candidate, the DNC does not count my vote as one part of however many total votes are cast. 

That's a fuzzy statement. Let me explain this another way. 

I'm going to throw some numbers out there to keep the math easy. 

If I am one of 10,000 people who vote for a candidate in a state where 100,000 votes are cast. My candidate has gotten only 10% of the vote. AT BEST, my candidate will get 10% of however many delegates the DNC has assigned to the state. I could be in a state with a population of say 3 million people that tends to vote Democrat in the general election. 

 My neighboring state also has 3 million people in it, but may always vote Republican in the general election. Given that the GOP dominates that state, Democratic turnout is always low because they have no ability to affect government. They have 50,000 people who turn out and vote in the Democratic primary. The candidate I hate gets 10,000 of those votes in that state (20%).

With fewer people supporting that candidate, that candidate is likely to get more delegates.... possibly twice as many. 

That is an unfair system. 

And it gets even more unfair. The DNC weights the system to cheat for the leading vote getters.

Many/Most/all? state democratic primaries and caucuses have rules about “viability” of candidates.  Google your state’s primary or caucus and read the rules.  Basically if your candidate earns less that 15% in a certain region of the state, they are considered unviable in that region and barring a change are mostly inelegible to secure actual delegates using the votes placed in that region. It’s like those votes were never counted.

If it is a caucus state (an entirely deeper level of clusterfuck) you and your fellow participants are actually told you need to vote for another candidate or not have a voice at all.

The candidates who are viable in various regions and them alone split the actual state delegates.  How fucked is that?

Applying the viability rules to our example, it is entirely likely that despite 10,000 people voting for my candidate in my state of 100,000, there is statistically a great chance that our preferred candidate didn’t clear 15% in ANY of the state’s various regions. For all of our efforts, our candidate is likely to walk away from the state with zero delegates.

We probably should have stayed home and played nintendo instead.

That not piss you off yet?  Wait until you look at the neighboring state.  In that state the candidate we hate pulled 20% of that state’s total 50,000 votes. Their candidate actually won the state with 6 other candidates splitting the rest of the vote. That candidate won 100% of their “pledged” delegates.

So while each state has say 25 pledged delegates, my candidate who earned twice as many actual votes gets 0 delegates and the candidate I hate gets all 25 of my neighboring state’s delegates.

That is fucked up logic.

So why don't we just count the existing votes? If between two states with 3 million people, 150,000 votes are cast and the candidate that I like gets 10,000 of those votes and the candidate that I don't like gets 10,000, both of those candidates would get the same number of delegates. And both me and my neighbor in the next state over would have the same ability to choose our candidate. 

"But we have to do this to protect small states!" 

Do we really? If someone who lives in Iowa has the same ability as I do living in Texas to cast a single vote with exactly the same value, how exactly are they being hurt? 

Is it worth more to the DNC to give say, Iowa a state where 90% Of the population is white, a much greater ability to affect the nomination, then it is to have unrepresented voters in a large red state with blue State demographics (Texas) feel like they finally have the ability to exercise a political voice and a reason to get registered to vote? 

I think if you look clearly at that picture, the former gives you the ability to ensure that your candidate is a lily-white candidate who fully agrees with the values of the DNC core. 

The latter gives you the ability to force the GOP to change their tactics. No more obstructionist government. No more underhanded dealings. No more talking in racist dog whistles. 

The former has been what the previous leadership of the DNC has valued. The latter I would argue is what the DNC leadership from here on out should value.

In the latter instance, if the GOP wants to win future elections at minimum, they have to treat either Black or Mexican voter with respect --- like they're valuable humans too. Default current operating practices of the GOP would have to change. And our society would benefit from it. 

So the question becomes do you want control of the nomination process? Or do you want to win? 

The argument for delegates is the same argument for the Electoral College. "The US was designed to be a republic." That statement is regularly made to defend the status quo. 

When it is made in that context what that is actually saying is that the US was designed where people vote for convention delegates or electoral voters who are "smarter or make more capable than them" to cast an actual vote that mean something on their behalf. 

That is, not surprisingly, a republican argument. 

But if you told Americans back in the Revolutionary War who thought they were fighting against taxation without representation that that's what they were fighting for, trading the British House of Lords making decisions for them for rich Americans making decisions for them, the Civil War might have come a lot quicker. 

Americans were promised democracy. This is why they supported the new US government. This is why those who are willing to vote for the Democrats expect democracy to be delivered. 

 It boils their guts every four years when they read about how the DNC has “super-delegates”, party insiders whose opinions are on their own worth several delegates.

I am pissed when I think that my vote and likely several thousand of my Texan neighbors' votes are required to get one single DNC delegate , but superdelegate Hillary Clinton's opinion, directly and indirectly, is probably worth more delegates than some states! 

Hillary has blown two freaking presidential elections ----  two opportunities for the dems to run the show....and yet here I am beholden to her sensibilities. 

That is not democracy. That is corruption. 

The DNC only won in 1992 because Ross Perot split the Republican vote. Without that, Bill Clinton would have been curb-stomped. 

Barack Obama won in 2008 because he was running against a second Great Depression. George Bush was totally unable to address the problem with the standard Republican tactic of trickle down economics and John McCain ran on continuing Bush's economic policies. 

Obama's people did run a brilliant campaign in 2008 but let's not overrate winning when you're running against a second Great Depression. 

You have to go back to 1976 to see the last time some random Joe Schmoe Democrat cleanly won their way INTO the white house. 

So let's not overrate our chances or give the Clintons, the Obamas, or some hoity-toity career DNC operative, the ability to select "winning candidates" against the will of the voting public. 

And the superdelegates are just one objectionable piece. The pool of delegates alloted to a state is usually divided into pledged and unpledged delegates.  The unpledged delegates are just like super delegates --- totally unbeholden to the voters.

And, the DNC makes it even worse. My vote and everyone who sees the candidates like I do's votes don't give us a single delegate "chip". 

No, we get a “pledged delegate” chucklehead who doesn't really even have to vote the way we voted. This is slimy. It's underhanded. It's disgusting. ....And it's the DNC today.

"But the GOP does the same thing" you might argue. 

The GOP believes America is a republic. They have a built-in argument for their corruption that their voters accept. 

The DNC believes America was founded on democracy. Democratic is part of the name. So why not be democratic? 

Since 2016 a huge chunk of the democratic voting base has argued to get rid of the Electoral College and embrace a direct popular vote because it's more democratic. 

Maybe you can't do that in the actual election, but you sure as heck can do that in the selection process. 

I have this advice for Seema Nanda and her employee Tom Perez. Be different from all of the other people who have had the positions that you're currently in. 

Discover ethics. 

Be Democratic.

Spend your political capital changing the rules to make the party successful. Instead of pushing down for one candidate against another and pissing off all of us “non-reliable” DNC voters that you need to win the Rust Belt and the other swing States in order to defeat Donald Trump in 2020, push down on the scales to help the DNC against the GOP. 

Meet with all of the presidential candidates and get the majority of them to sign off on shit canning delegates. 

The candidate with the most votes will be the nominee at the convention. 

With the possible exception of Mayor Pete, I think every other candidate will gladly concede to those terms in order to remove the perception of corruption that has dogged the party in this election. 

Count every citizen vote in the primary season. Give us totally transparent running vote totals after each race, and then celebrate the totals at the DNC convention. 

Give me exactly the same voting power as someone in Iowa, New Hampshire, New York City, California or anywhere else in the country and you'll increase Democratic registration countrywide, turning a lot more States purple and blue.

You, Seema Nanda and Tom Perez, will get to be seen as the white hats of the DNC. You'll be seen as once-in-a-lifetime leaders --- the reformers who permanently dragged the party out of corruption. 

These are controversial changes, No Doubt, but they are changes that increase the party's chances of defeating Donald Trump. 

Your reputations will get the benefit of the doubt when the DNC defeats Donald Trump. 

And if the DNC loses to Donald Trump....you're in exactly the same boat you'd be in if you do nothing. 

Tom Perez can call for recounts, but Seema Nanda is going to be required to change the culture of the DNC. 

 There was a guy you might remember by the name of Barack Obama who talked about being on the right side of History. You two are currently on the wrong side of History. 

Don't think that you can't get rid of this 20th century corruption that is inherent to the party rules, because someone in your positions eventually will. 

 If you don't do it, your replacements will or your replacement's replacement will. It's just inevitable. 

The Democrats are losing too many presidential elections for things not to change. 

Or you can stay the course and be unemployed in a year.... another disgraced scandal-ridden failure in those positions, reduced to writing books because your political careers in the DNC are over. The choice is yours.

final note

I thought about not writing this piece because it might hurt turnout.  People might read this and think, “why even vote in the primaries?” But then I thought, “that is actually a great reason to publish this.  If people don’t vote in the primaries that puts the screws to Perez and Nanda.”  

People have to register to vote in the primaries.  People not registering in time costs the party votes in the general election.  They want strong turnout in the primaries because it shows you are registered. I want them to sweat bullets. (Please register to vote now even if you chose not to vote in the primary because your candidate will fall short of your state’s viability thresholds.)

And then there is the Bernie factor.  Bernie is running away with this race to the chagrin of the DNC leadership.  Bernie voters are loving this.  They are going to vote. His turnout is guaranteed.  The only way Bernie could lose is if the DNC has strong turnouts for an alternate candidate. They need turnout.  

And if Bernie is the nominee he also would benefit from the most possible registered democratic voters ahead of the general election.

Everyone gets what they want if you do the right thing, so why not maximize turnout?

[cantstopthesignal2005]

kill yr gods

                                                 kill yr gods

              Anton Stewart sat transfixed by the panels of the graphic novel he recently checked out from the school library. The odd, melancholic spell cast by the kitchen-sink realism of the story was broken as his Journalism teacher, Ms. Combs, snapped her fingers.  “Anton. Anton! Excuse me! Hello! Thank you!”   “Yes, ma’am?”   “How are you coming along with your story? Kali needs it by Friday for the paper.” Anton looked over to Kali Wheatley, who sat hunched over with a large iced coffee, feverishly editing papers and adding comments.   “Uh, I’ll have a rough draft tomorrow, Ms. Combs,” he replied.    “Tomorrow? What happened to tonight?”   “I’m going to the concert tonight.”   “A concert? What?”   “The Canceled Alcohol show,” he brusquely informed her, his voice carrying an unmitigated bite to it. “It’s the concert I’m covering for the story. And since I haven’t gone to where the story is yet, I don’t have the story.”  Anton caught a few side-eyed glances and expressions of incredulity.    “Smart ass,” she blithely retorted. “See where that gets you in life. See where it gets you in school, or even in this class.”    Anton shook off his teacher’s cautionary attack with a brief, involuntary shudder. He returned to his poor posture and resumed the story. Comics were an integral part of Anton’s life. As a young child, he found solace in the altruism of the muscle-bound men and women who, burdened with great powers, sought to look after the meek and timid. He aspired to similar feats of greatness, albeit without any supernatural ability. Throughout middle school, Anton would obsessively write the phrase “I Will Grow Wings,” filling the lines of his composition notebooks. This was his mantra to remind himself of his personal endeavor to grow stronger and feel capable, soaring above his feelings of impotence. After discovering the cruelty of unprovoked violence and the ecstasy of masturbation, Anton rabidly tore apart the pages of his superhero comics, marking an estrangement from what he began to feel was the mythos of morons and losers.    Reality bloomed as Anton reached tenth grade, where he was fearful of the impending future and consistently horrified by the mistakes of the past. Without a car or a job, he didn’t have money of his own and would constantly depend on his mother for rides or pocket change, a chip on his shoulder regarding his own lack of agency had spread like a fever. The stories to which Anton gravitated were confrontational and brutal, concerning entropy, alienation, and depravity.  Unable to reconcile his anxieties and a lust for debauchery, Anton would vicariously approximate the insanity and genius of drugs by reading journals about the rough side of an acid trip at the devil’s hour.     The bell rang and Anton somberly ambled down the steps of building three to the courtyard. It was his lunch period and he planned to meet his friend, Peter. Peter was a friend whose binding tie was a similar love of literature and art. They would occasionally skip school and go to their local dollar theater and movie hop. Anton was unnerved as he saw Peter surrounded by people peripheral to their social circle, holding court at a brick wall, waxing poetic about the perils of too much vulnerability and compassion. He was wearing a black shirt with an image of Joe Strummer with bloodied knuckles and a towel carelessly draped around his shoulders. Peter looked over the circle of friends and nodded Anton over.  Characteristically overzealous, he extended his hand to shake Anton’s. “What’s popping, bruh?”    “I’m good. How goes it?”    “Yo, these are . . .  this is Larry. This is Dom. This is . . . oh wait, you know Chaz, right?”    “We’ve met,” Chaz curtly confirmed, gritting his teeth. Anton bristled at what he felt was an unmerited disdain.   “Uh, yeah. Uh, we’ve met,” Anton said, through staccato bursts of nervous laughter.   “What’s good, bro?” Peter asked, flashing his toothy smile, which appeared closer to demented than charming, as he hoped.   “Um. Just . . . just saying hey?”   “Well, you said Hey, kid,” Chaz said, rolling his eyes.   “I’m talking to Peter. If I wanted to talk to you, I would look at you. Chaz. Your fucking parents named you Chaz! What kinda shit is that?”   “You’re a fucking asshole, Anton.”   “Aight, aight, chill, chill.” Peter locked eyes with Anton and with a nod, dismissed him. Anton walked off, shaking with the rage of rejection. He fought the urge to, as he had when he was younger, scream, curse, and beat his fists against the ground into bloody pulps.  He wondered if remaining with his circle of friends was worth it.  He tolerated the occasional hectoring and outburst if only to stave off loneliness; his friends were a means to an end, and whether they knew that was unimportant. Anton was made to feel little, but always assured himself that they were even lesser than him since he never needed them.      The rest of the school day was an interminable slog, the only saving grace being that he would attend his first show later that night. As he approached the exit doors to the bus loop, Anton felt a firm tap on his shoulder. Violently whipping his head back, he saw his friend Alex, wearing a shit-eating grin. “Anton. Buddy. What’s up?”   “What’s up, what’s up?”   “What’s up. We were supposed to go to the diner, right? This is every Tuesday, we had plans, no?”   “Fuck, you’re right, I was just . . . it didn’t feel like a Tuesday.”   “Yeah, alright. So, we’re good to go?”   “Sure are.” The two walked over to the school parking lot, which Alex was grateful to have a spot in. He was the subject of great envy in their orbit for being the first to get a car, a job, and a girlfriend; there had been innuendos of him losing his virginity before his teen years, though no one asked to verify.  Alex’s relatively advanced social acumen inspired overzealous praise and myth making from his friends.     Alex drove at reckless speeds to Lynn’s Diner, a 1950s Americana themed coffee shop. There were black and white images from the days of yore for much of the wallpaper, framed photos of notable figures like Frank Sinatra and Benny Goodman occupying what little wall wasn’t taken by signs that said  “M A L T S,” “S H A K E S,” or “F R I E S.” Alex fiddled with the cylindrical straw container, delighting briefly in watching them umbrella.  The two walked over to a booth in the far corner, the seats cherry red, the table was eggshell white with sporadic bursts of dots making no discernible pattern.  Alex and Anton made it a habit to attend Lynn’s Diner every Tuesday at 3 PM, directly after school.  Tuesdays was when the waitress, Greta, would be working, and they were as much a part of her ritual as she was a part of theirs, having become one of her regular guests, to the point where staff would tease her about it. (“Hey Greta! Your boyfriends are here!”)    Alex and Anton waved off offers of menus, fully aware of what they wanted. Greta walked up to them, her hair a lot shorter than it used to be, dyed a fluorescent orange.  “Hey, loves,” she said, putting her hand on her hip. “Two doubles, no onions, extra cheese, pickle spear on the side, two cherry colas?”    “You practiced that,” Alex smirked.    “You know I did,” she smiled coyly.  “I ever tell you I was in theater?”    “No, but I saw you as Puck when you did Midsummer Night’s Dream with my sister, Shirley.”      “Your hair’s a lot shorter,” Anton abruptly remarked. Alex and Greta cocked their heads back, shocked by the jarring, unprompted comment.    “Uh . . .  yeah,” she said, visibly perturbed.  “Yeah, it is. I uh, I cut it . . .” She self-consciously primped the ends of her hair and shook her head.  “Uh, I’ll . . . I’ll be right back with your orders, love.” Alex shook his head disapprovingly, rolling his eyes.  Leaning in, he whispered, “Probably shouldn’t just like . . . shout something out while two people are talking. You know what I mean?”    “Yeah, but you said . . . you said it’s normal if someone like . . . it’s okay if someone inserts themselves into a conversation.”    “Yeah, but you have to know when to do it.”    “How would I know that?”    “Trial and error. This? Not the right time. Now you know for the future.”  Anton found himself resentful of the way people like Alex could float through life, aware of the right thing to say, when to say it.  He would often conflate their confidence and sociability with arrogance.  “I think I could get her number.”      “Isn’t she in college?”    “And you’ve never wanted to date a college girl?” Alex paused. “Or guy?”    “I mean, yeah. But guy or girl . . . I don’t think it would be, you know, appropriate.” Greta brought out their order on a plastic blue tray, forcing a grin. She dropped the order off and left without her usual parting banter.  Alex observed as Anton anxiously peered over to his watch.  “That’s maybe the third time I’ve seen you check the time since we got here,” Alex said, his mouth full of fries. “What’s going on?”    “Sorry. I have a show to go to tonight,” he explained.     “Who are you seeing?”     “Canceled Alcohol. I bought the tickets from Crates.”    “Crates . . .  Crates . . .  Crates, the record shop, Crates?”    “Yeah. Canceled Alcohol doesn’t really have a website or internet presence. I couldn’t cop them except locally.”    “I’ve heard of them. I know their shows are supposed to be like fucking super intense. I heard someone got knocked into a fucking coma there once.”    “Really?”    “This is what I hear,” he shrugged. Anton began to panic, his mouth drying up, his heart palpitating. He forgot to bring anyone for support to the show, and if he met harm as he was sure he would, there would be no help.    “Do you want to go?” he asked earnestly.  “I’m sorry, I should have asked you earlier. I can buy—”     “Nope,” he replied, unfurling a mischievous smile.    “Why not?”    “I think you should go this one alone. This one. I think, anyway.” The unspoken tension between the two was palpable, and so they completed their meal in silence. Anton became anxious with anticipation, expecting unspoken acts of violence to be visited upon him.  He’d realized that, upon stepping foot into the venue, he surrendered his control to the crowd and to the band; Canceled Alcohol was a band Anton was used to listening to at his own control.   He could turn their volume up, down, or truncate entire verses. The dynamic at the show would be diametrically swapped, his body now having to bend to the sway of the crowd and the ferocity of the band, which he assumed would be mighty; if his ribs were crushed, Anton was certain that the show would proceed without mercy.     Alex drove Anton home, generously playing Canceled Alcohol before ultimately deciding they “weren’t my cup of tea.”  Anton heard a vicious argument between his mother Marina and his brother Juan as he reached the front door. Knees shaking, he braced himself for the unfolding maelstrom.   “You’re a fucking cunt!” Juan yelled. Whipping his head back, he saw his little brother and dismissed him with wave. He returned to the object of his scorn and balled up his fists.  “You don’t have any idea what it’s like!”   “You still have to work, Juan!”    “Fuck you, bitch. I’m trying so fucking hard!”    “Smoking resin out of PVC pipes with your drop out buddies isn’t effort! You don’t do anything! I didn’t raise you like this!”    “You didn’t raise me at all! Abuela did! You lazy fucking bitch!”    “You’re so ugly . . .  you’re fucking . . . you’re just like him.  You’re stupid and you’re lazy. And angry. And you’re angry because you know there’s no place in this world for stupid, lazy people.” Marina shivered and shrieked as Juan tossed a cup of stagnant water at her. She stood, frozen with indignation. “I fucking HATE YOU!” Juan made a beeline for the door, shoving Anton against the wall.  Shriveling inwardly, he bit up the nerve to walk over to console his upset mother. Though Anton’s upbringing had been rife with turmoil, he failed to grasp the dialect of conflict and found himself at a loss for words. “Hey,” he said, his voice breaking. “Sorry.” Marina, wearing the humiliation of disrespect by her son, looked over to Anton with a fury scorching her face, her eyes bloodshot, her teeth jutting out from her lower jaw like a diseased dog; Anton went pale, unable to find his mother beneath her anguish. He rubbed his chest softly, hoping to nurse his racing heart back to normalcy.    “I hate you!” she exclaimed. “You’re ruining my life!”  Anton was fatigued from the day behind him, unwilling to contend with the mercurial tempers flaring in his house. While times spent with his mother were not all bad, he was frightened by how swiftly she could vacillate between Victim and Tormentor, just as he towed the line from Caretaker to Whipping Post.    “Mom, I love you,” he said, disgusted at his impish attempt to placate her.      “Yeah, your kind of love I don’t need.”  She walked up their stairs, groaning.  Anton took note that it was an hour and a half until doors.  Despite having negotiated the ride several months prior, he was aware that it would take an immeasurable amount of consoling to get his mother to drive him there now. He’d considered his options briefly before grabbing his ticket and darting out the door to catch the number 48 bus going to Ardenton, a town he knew by reputation (their high school football team often beat his) only. The venue, he read on a worn and faded flyer, was The Empire, 1709 Waterhead Boulevard, Ardenton. (“Real Hole In The Wall Shit,” as crudely promised at the bottom.)  He looked for any signs assuring him that he was on the right path, to no avail. As he shuffled through the streets, scanning the buildings for addresses, he came across a couple adorned in pelts, leather, and chains, and summoned the strength to approach them. As he neared, his eyes began fluttering, much to their bewilderment.     “Excuse me,” he said, gentling his voice. “I was . . .”   “Speak up, youngin,” the older woman said.    “Yes, hi. I was um. I was seeing. I was. I was wondering if you knew where The Empire was?”    “The Empire? Is that a store?” she asked.    Her partner, a much younger woman, chuckled.  “No, babe. It’s a concert place.”    “I don’t know this shit.”    “Sweetie, you’re gonna go up a block and two over.”    “Oh, okay. Thanks . . .  thanks so much.”    “Who’s playing?”    “Uh, Canceled Alcohol?”    “Roughneck shit,” she grinned, nodding approvingly. “First show?”    “Yeah.”    “Fuck shit up, dude.” Her partner admonished her with a playful slap to the back of her hand. “Be careful!” she’d warned him, shaking her head. He politely laughed and walked off.      Anton walked the blocks and clocked the addresses, most of the buildings’ aluminum numbers tarnished or fallen off completely.  He was uncertain of the directions given to him until he noticed a procession of people walking in unison, murmuring amongst each other. Latching onto them, he made it to The Empire, a narrow building with a towering spire piercing the swiftly migrating clouds overhead. The marquee read: Princess Annie & Canceled Alcohol. 7 PM. Sold Out.    A few groggy, disgruntled men wearing shirts bearing the venue’s name set up barriers, prompting Anton to look at his watch; noticing it was a quarter to doors, he grabbed the ticket and felt his heart flutter. His stomach began to churn, his mouth drying, gluing his tongue to the roof. An older, obese man began tearing tickets and allowing people inside, nodding happily at each person. Anton was swiftly approaching the front of the line, and he excitedly handed his ticket and made a beeline for the door before the formidable man’s hand blocked him.  “Hold up,” he said, screwing his face. Anton felt innately that there had been a mistake, that he needed identification or a parental guardian, neither of which he had. “I gotta search you, first.” After a brief pat down, he was ushered inside. The walls were lousy with graffiti, faded stickers, and flyers from past shows. Stale cigarette smoke stuck to the walls as a reminder of past shows, the granite floor was sticky with the residue of spilled lagers. The air was thick and muggy, he struggled to catch a breath, which was exacerbated by the space becoming occupied to the point of congestion. Anton centered himself by navigating a way to the back, where there were life-size banners of Canceled Alcohol’s most recent album, Gag And Bind—a ghastly image of a dominatrix caving a hole into an old man’s head, bloody gray matter spilling onto the white backdrop, his eyes replaced with shimmering gold coins, his tongue hanging slack from his gaping mouth, spittle pouring out. As he looked at the sensational image, he felt immense feelings of guilt and desire, which he couldn’t reconcile. To his left, he saw two slovenly dressed young lovers under the spell of some dangerous pill they couldn’t pronounce, idly peeling paint from the wall, near catatonic.      A tap at his bicep sent him shuddering, spinning around rapidly which elicited a laugh from the two young women who’d tapped him. Dressed in mainly all black, with the exception of some red stripes on their track pants and the white pentagrams on their shirts, one had aqua blue hair which reached just above her hair, the other had bleach blonde hair, the left side of her head shaved entirely. They both donned piercings across their face, the woman with the aqua blue wearing a nose piercing with a chain that reached to her ear. “Hi! Can you take our photos?” He obliged and took a few pictures of them: them holding their hands above their heads, them hugging, them kissing each other, them confrontationally staring into the camera with stoic fierceness. Handing it back, he smiled. “Thanks so much!”      “Was that like, a photo set?”     “We just wanted some photos of like, gay love. We’re a gay couple . . .”   “Right.”    “And we just felt like this was our non-violent protest. This was us, showing we can be gay and feminine and super sweet and hardcore and we can also enjoy the music.  It’s not binary and we felt like it would be cool to show it.”    “It’s for a project she’s making,” her partner explained. “She’s trying to normalize gay love by documenting it in unconventional places. This is her part where she puts us in the middle of it.”    “I always show up in my art,” she said, defensive.  “It’s my art and, intentional or not, I’m gonna be in it in some way or another, I can’t emancipate my expressions from myself, so I might as well implement myself.”    “That’s fucking rad.”    “Are you here for Princess Annie?”    “Uh, no. Just . . .  just Canceled Alcohol.”    “They’re okay, we’re here for Annie, cause you know, they’re a really great part of the gay community in Seattle, so it’s kinda rad that they’re here.”    The lights dimmed and the background music stopped. Everyone did an About Face and directed their gaze to the stage, which was massively unimpressive, being composed primarily of driftwood, electrical tape, and worker’s spit. Feet began to stamp on the ground, and aimless cheering and applause erupted. Princess Annie took the stage and the lead singer demurely waved to everyone as her bandmates readied themselves and took their positions. “Hi,” Annie Sutton, the lead singer, greeted everyone. “We are Princess Annie. And uh, we’re very happy to be here, thanks very much for having us. Um. Do you guys mind if we fuck shit up?” Her facetious request was met with thunderous approval, a mischievous grin unfurling on her face. The bass and drums began rolling out, cymbals being hit with great ferocity and Annie began to roar the lyrics to their song, The Stranger. The words were fully realized as she threw her body into the anguish of the song, her torso contorting, her arms wrathfully throttling the microphone. The orchestral hook allowed for some time to beat the device into her head, a bloody gash opening as she shouted:  

                        If I catch you!                         If I ever fucking catch you!                         Death will be too good!                         But I’ll never be good!                         No, I’ll never be good!                         I’ll never be good again!                         I’ll never be fine again!                             Never go to bed again!                         Never again, not never again,                         Never again, not never again                         Not never-FUUUUUUUUCK     Annie motioned for the crowd to make way for her to descend downwards and she gracefully stepped down. Anton was taken aback at how readily the crowd parted as though it were the red sea. Annie sewed sutures on the wounds she opened every night she sang the song which she knew would keep her honest. They washed her bloody face with love and adulation, crying with empathy, holding her to keep the panic away.  She concluded the song by saying, off mic, “Thank You. Thank You So Much. I Love You So Much.”   Making her way back to the stage, she sat hunched over at the edge, breathing heavily into the microphone. “Hey, our set is gonna be like me, it’s a little short. We only have about five songs left. Then you guys get to see Canceled Alcohol!” She held for applause, which filled the room.  “You guys are gonna love ‘em. We’re so so so so so honored that they brought us out on tour with them, they’re so fucking cool. Really. They’re real roughnecks on stage but total sweethearts in person. They’ve even invited us to join their knitting circle.” Jessica, the drummer, etched a hammy smile on her face and played a rim shot. “This is our 49th state. First time in Florida!”    “I’m sorry!” one person yelled out, which received some chuckles from the audience and an admonishing finger wag from Annie.    “Hey now! We like it here. We like what we’ve seen. Well, we’ve only seen the inside of this venue. But, hey. It’s a nice venue. This uh . . .  this next song is called Stupid Bitch. It’s about white guys. And please, all white guys. Don’t get upset when we play this, it’s never a good look.”      Anton felt at home with the warmth of her generous stage banter. Everyone was experiencing exactly what he was, there was a truth to this moment in time and it was a sweaty, blood drenched woman believing in herself and engaging with four hundred disparate people. He knew he would never be alone if he remained in the comfort of human body odor and weed smoke. They soon left the stage which was to be empty for another forty minutes.  Then, the lights dimmed once again and the crowd showed their love by bleeding their throats dry. The band swaggered on stage, and simultaneously Anton was delighted to be in proximity to such greatness and crestfallen to discover that they were a little short and appeared to be unassuming men, ready to do their job. However, once the front man, Sean, looked out to everyone, his eyes were searing and demented, striking fear. He took the pulpit and delivered his sermon:

                                                Kill God if you feel like it,                         Kill me if you feel like it,                         Just make sure you know why,                         I’ll never be anything other than that which I am,                         I’ll only be a part of the plan,                         My body is a prison,                         Break me out of this prison,                         Take me out of this prison,     The fury of the crowd reached a fever pitched, everyone being pushed to the front and shoving elbows into each other. Everyone edged everyone else out and a swirling vortex of pain erupted, young men in cargo shorts performing spinning kicks, their chests slamming into one another. Anton was reminded what it was like to feel vitality coursing through his veins as he was pushed into a snake pit of antagonism. He recalled placating his mother, contending with supercilious teachers, recoiling from his brother’s wrath, and how tired of it all he was. Something atavistic responded to the busted, bloody lip he suffered. He found his voice in pushing back and visiting violence onto others and receiving it, becoming baptized by pain. He screamed until his lungs felt on the verge of collapse. He knocked his head into someone else’s and gripped the back of their neck, being met in kind with an identical grip.    “I love you!” he yelled, locking horns, knocking into him, shoulder first.    “I love you too!”     The ritual eventually petered out and the show concluded as plainly as it began, the band members departing with a cold casualness. Anton felt beautiful as he walked home drowning in a pool of collected sweat, the wind whipping against him as he shivered waiting on the bus.     Creeping into his room, Anton confronted the new, primal version of himself and noticed a congealed patch of blood on his face. Removing his shirt, he was thrilled to observe the black and blue tattoos he received. The bumps, bruises, and scars served as a reminder of the fight he had to keep in his heart to refrain from timorously occupying the fringes of life. Galvanized to report on the part of the world he just saw, he swiftly grabbed the composition notebook and a pen from the computer desk, his foot anxiously tapping a hole in the ground as his hands, tremulous from adrenaline, wrote:

                          Tonight, I found God in the grooves of a combat boot.

[dpinoycosmonaut]

A BREAKTHROUGH TRIUMPH

by Bert A. Ramirez / November 18, 2018

               Everybody knows by now that the Magnolia Hotshots beat arch-rival Giñebra 112-108 in Game 4 of their semifinal showdown for a slot in the finals of the 2018 Governors’ Cup.  Everybody knows as well that the Hotshots had to work hard and overcome seemingly insurmountable odds (both import Romeo Travis and star guard Paul Lee were hobbled by injuries and the referees, as expected, tried to help the Gin Kings in crucial stretches) in order to survive this game and hold on for the win.  The victory, of course, clinched for the Hotshots this semis matchup and eliminated the two-time defending champion Gin Kings in the season-ending conference 3-1 while laying to waste the “three-peat” bid of Giñebra coach Tim Cone, Justin Brownlee and company.

               What people didn’t fully realize is the fact that the series victory represented a breakthrough for Magnolia.  This is because this is the first playoff matchup win for the franchise over the Gin Kings since Tim Cone was pulled from its bench and handed over to Giñebra in the 2015 offseason obviously to try to end the latter’s eight-year championship drought.

               Just look: in the 2016 Philippine Cup, Giñebra knocked the then-Star team out in the quarterfinals, coming from behind an 18-point fourth-quarter deficit to force overtime and eventually win it 92-89 on LA Tenorio’s buzzer-beating three-pointer.  Then in the 2017 Philippine Cup, the Gin Kings came from behind 2-0 and 3-2 deficits in the semifinals to beat the Hotshots in seven games and frustrate the latter’s bid to get into their first finals since Cone left.  After losing the last two games of that series, the Hotshots would lose five more games in succession to their arch-rivals in the ensuing conferences, extending their losing skid in their Manila Clasico rivalry to seven games.

               It was only in this just-concluded semifinal matchup between them that the Hotshots finally snapped that seven-game losing streak to Giñebra, beating the Gin Kings in the first game 106-98 and in the second 101-97 before the Gin Kings came back to pull out a 107-103 victory in the third.

               The Gin Kings in Game 4 then looked like they were going to extend the Hotshots to a fifth and deciding contest, and, quite possibly, prolong their playoff frustration against them as they led by as many as 10 points in the opening period.  But Travis, who carried the Hotshots on his shoulders in this game with a career-high 50 points just after finishing with a career-low 12 because of a pulled left hamstring in the previous contest, kept Magnolia in the game with 20 points as Giñebra took a 53-51 lead at the half.

               It was obvious, however, that the referees were at least willing to help extend this series to the limit, calling touch fouls on the Hotshots while allowing the Gin Kings to get away with more than what’s supposed to be tolerated.  Jio Jalalon, for example, was tagged with three early fouls right in the first quarter while Marc Barroca had five by the end of the third period.  The Gin Kings, meanwhile, did whatever they pleased, perhaps knowing that the refs, as is usual in big games, were on their side. In one blatant sequence, for instance, Tenorio sent Barroca sprawling on the floor as the Gin Kings guard intercepted the ball, but the refs let it go as if there was no contact at all.  They then called a foul right on the next play against Lee.

               The Hotshots, not surprisingly, got into penalty way early in every quarter while Giñebra hardly had any problem at all in that regard, as borne out by the 19 total fouls called on the Gin Kings and the 31 called on Magnolia.  In the third quarter, for instance, the refs put the Hotshots in penalty as early as the eight-minute mark while allowing Giñebra to foul with hardly any call, and this no doubt helped the Gin Kings keep it close despite PJ Simon and Robbie Herndon heating up for the Hotshots to keep them ahead 81-79 at the end of the period.

               This went on in the fourth quarter as the Gin Kings capitalized on the Hotshots’ getting into penalty with more than six minutes left, cashing in from the charity stripe (they were 25-of-31 from there compared to the Hotshots’ 19-of-20) to erase a six-point Magnolia lead and inch ahead at 92-91 before Travis put the Hotshots back on top with a three-point play 97-95.

               But the worst call (or non-call) of the evening came with a little less than two minutes left.  With Giñebra ahead 103-101, Lee drove on a fastbreak play and banked in a layup, but Brownlee (as the TV replays confirmed) swatted it away after it hit the backboard.  The refs, however, never made a goal-tending call to the chagrin of Magnolia coach Chito Victolero, who almost instinctively entered the court in reaction and got a technical foul that Tenorio converted into a free throw to make it 104-101. Brownlee then added two more freebies after a Lee turnover to pad it to five 106-101, time down to 1:44.

               If anyone expected the Hotshots to capitulate at that point, that would be understandable.  The world and the refs, after all, seemed to have conspired against them under the circumstances.  Except that Travis and his mates still had one big fight left in them.  Travis scored inside for 106-103, and Jalalon then made two clutch free throws to make it 106-105.  After another stop by the Hotshots, Travis then scored his 48th, 49th and 50th point on a three-point play to put Magnolia back up 108-106 with 44 seconds to play.

               One more stop led to two more pressure-packed free throws by Jalalon for 110-106, and though Brownlee scored with 15 seconds left to end that nine-point binge by Magnolia and make it 110-108, Lee countered with two clutch free throws of his own to seal the outcome with 14.7 seconds to go as Joe Devance and Scottie Thompson both missed desperation three-point tries in the end.

               Travis, of course, was the big difference in this landmark victory for Magnolia, but the rest of the Hotshots also contributed big time, particularly Lee who could have partly shed off that bad reputation in the clutches, Jalalon, Ian Sangalang who chipped in 14 points, six rebounds and six assists (including that feed that led to Travis’ lead-regaining three-point play near the end), Simon and Herndon, whose three-point shots kept the Hotshots in the driver’s seat in the third period.

               The 33-year-old Travis, a high-school teammate of LeBron James who got a congratulatory message from the NBA great right after his 50-point, 13-rebound, three-steal and two-assist performance, really defied the odds as he shot 20-of-26 from the floor, punctuating that performance with 21 points in the final quarter despite having been a game-day decision because of that hamstring injury.

               “It’s definitely a special day for me.  I’ve never had scored points like this before in my life,” Travis said even as he revealed he just decided to keep his cool even when things seemed to have turned bleak for the Hotshots.  “Just stay the course.  Throughout the game, there will be good times and bad times.  As long as you stay the same, and you stay to your principles, everything will stay out fine.”

               Former Purefoods franchise coach Ryan Gregorio, meanwhile, believed that the Hotshots showed their fighting heart after that non-call on the goal-tending infraction committed by Giñebra.

               “Great fight-back!” RG said.  “Fantastic turnaround after the no-call goal tend.”

               For the Hotshots, the real journey has now begun.  They’ll be shooting for the crown and trying to prove they can win without Tim Cone on the bench when they tangle with Alaska in the best-of-seven championship series that starts on December 5.  And for those who have witnessed their series against Giñebra, it will be hard to bet against them.  That’s what breaking through against a heavily-favored team and proving one’s toughness against the odds does for you.

 (Photo from ESPN)