#its 2018 and we still use those to dry our hands

[omegaremix]

April 5, 2018.

A venture into New York City is always a good thing. Give me any reason - a doctor’s appointment, family, or a show in Greenpoint - and I’m there. This time it was a check-up on the pricier Lower East Side. I asked the team to give me an early time because I knew something else was going on behind the clinic. I know because my old man drove me home all the time and took a specific rote to do so.

The chilly 35* temperatures bit like any early April would. The sharp white sun constantly cut across the passing white clouds drifting through the dry blue sky. I stand at the Deer Park platform for a few minutes and anticipate its’ arrival. The iPod Classic (160GB) is still holding up. It’s been my only companion that comes with me for Christ knows how long, ever since it’s not-as-capable brother (30GB) took it’s first ride with me supplying Whitehouse’s Racket, Vincent Gallo’s When, and various Boards Of Canada and Roy Ayers cuts. That was another springtime trip where Cath- and I joined forces at Penn Station to go to the Brooklyn Museum and back home on the Ronkonkoma line for what was one of the most significant days ever lived. I loaded up the 400 or so finds to it of songs I never heard of before, songs then in the auditioning phase for Omega WUSB’s airplay. Train rides on the Deer Park line are usually prime-time to cycle through it all with no distractors around. My other companions? A Sony kit and a tripod.

I board and sit on the outer left aisle facing forward. No window seat this time. Public Image Ltd.’s “Poptones” couldn’t have come at a better time as the Deer Park line slowly rolled down through Farmingdale. None more fitting when those loopy dangling notes of Keith Levene’s Veleno moved perfectly with the slow floating crawl of the car. I’m not even paying attention to the motion blur of the graffiti or the industrial buildings usually experienced when looking out of the window. Another song plays, it’s The Plugz’ “Satisifed And Die”. It was a gift from Holly, a Brooklyn goth girl who followed me here. She’s made me roused and stimulated like no other. We been trading recommendations for a couple months based on our equivalencies of industrial, noise, punk, and other artists. I never heard of Plugz until she told me that “Hammy” from The Pee-Wee Herman Show was in the band.

The music still spun in my ears. Each song that played was saved to the day’s on-the-go playlist. No skips or fast-forwards. Eventually there’ll be seven or ten songs out of thirty that will follow me around forever out from the 400 chosen for April 5th. They kept going, and so was I on the way to Penn Station. Final track to end the ride? “Hold On To Your Genre” from Les Savy Fav, a band I’ve heard about over the years, and maybe a mention from former selector Xtina who used to run The All Ages Show before I took over her timeslot. Holly’s hits kept on parading through.

Penn Station here. I save my energy taking the A/C/E connecting me to the N/Q/R/W line to Lexington Av. and walk up 3rd St. to the clinic. Here I am! I’m directed to go upstairs and angle myself for some x-rays before heading downstairs to see the silver surgeon who saved my life eighteen months ago.

“Wow! What’s that?” excitingly ask Renee, the surgeon’s assistant. She saw my kit and tripod and told her I was going to shoot after our appointment. She was happy to see me. They’ve seen them all come and go during all their years in practice. It was a treat for them to see me have this new energy from when I was either blacked out on the hospital bed or frustrated and itching ready to go. But here I was. That’s the most important thing for all of us, right? Silver took his hand and pressed his tips on my shoulder to feel any changes. Looked over the film and saw no changes. Asked me how I was doing with this British / Irish roll and was pleased to hear that I was doing great. An hour later, I was good to go. Show’s over for now. See you in six months.

I haul my inventory out of the clinic and head towards where my old man would start our path home. It’s the Grand Army Plaza at the southeastern corner of Central Park. Look up and you’ll see the golden monument of William Tecumseh Sherman riding high on a stone pedestal with Victory guiding the way. I take several photos of all their heroic glory. A few horse-and-carriage jockeys were all around me with their furnishings dressed in white, red, and purple with gold trim. I see many overseas families make the best of their time taking photos for mementos forever to be remembered by, not knowing if and when they’ll have another opportunity to return again. But I don’t stop there.

Forward I go into Central Park, because I had all the time in the world to tread into uncharted territory. I walk past the disused zoo and end up at the Balto statue. How cute. I stop and snap away for more test shots before some former aspiring Aron Kay wanna-be rode his bike past me and said something about Balto being a liberal conspiracy, and self-declared it a debacle that was worse that seeing Oprah’s goatse. I walk away from his trailed stench of shit and dried blood and now here I am walking right down the middle of The Mall and Literary Walk. It literally welcomes you in with its pathway, where its generousity is measured by its wideness.

It was at that exact point where I started feeling euphoric again. I’ve beaten cancer to see my final benefits loaded into savings. Three paychecks in March, the tax refund hit, and our company gave us full-timers a surprise $1,000 bonus. Minimal and synthwave finds connected me with some of my best followers here, good times with me and twenty of my other co-workers at my neighborhood arcade, and the record-store victory tour just started. All of my on-going projects at Ω+, VMFX, and WUSB kept me going and proud. My nerves straightened themselves out and for once in my life I was on top of everything. There were no worries, no stress, no pressure. There was only hope. I hit the sweet spot that I been trying to acquire for so long and this was it. I felt like I was the person I always wanted to be. Keep going.

To my right is the Naumburg Bandshell where I did my best to preserve whatever dynamics it presented me with a press of a button. Further I go and I encounter the Besthesda Terrace, a dazzling array that’s been around for almost 175 years. Greeting me is its accompanying fountain where The Angel Of The Waters looks over all of us. A Danish family of four wanted their picture taken together so they asked me kindly to snap them with their camera, which I happily obliged.

It’s 5PM. Joggers and bikers are imminent. Young couples are sitting on the hills admiring the skyscrapers to the south and west side. I let myself get lost as I head north. I reach the Bow Bridge to see a young Filipine couple in their wedding threads have their photos taken. I continue to wander through all the winding pathways and steep hills to find myself at Belvedere Castle which was gated off and closed indefinitely. A few thousand feet later, I stop short at the 86th Street Transverse to catch my breath and pause to experience the current moment of clarity. Robert Viger’s “Limpidite” started to play. The sun’s about to set and it’s getting dimmer. Now was the time to head back.

I didn’t remember the path I took to get here, so what fun I had when I got lost and realized I had to walk the equivalent of thirty city blocks to even reach East 59th Street again which I returned to. I was exhausted and was tempted to take the N/Q/R/W line back to Penn Station, but no. It’s rare for me to be in the city, so why not make the best of it and walk it all back to Grand Central? My time was limitless because I didn’t have to be at work until 1PM the next day. Let’s reverse the process.

I take part in the crowded hustle and bustle of Manhattan. I walk 30 blocks south back to Penn Station for the ride home eastward, still bathing in the new euphoria and pending Spring renewal I just felt. I arrive five minutes to my train, but no big deal. I’m more than happy to re-hydrate with a $2.50 bottle of water and wait around until the Ronkonkoma line arrives. I have another relaxing 65-minute train ride back to Deer Park to cycle through more auditions and selections for the day’s forever soundtrack before it’s gone forever. I arrive on the Deer Park platform and step off the train. I step off the platform and walk through the aluminum overpass and steps onto the parking lot. I get in my car and drive away to sweep up the rest of the way home through the Brentwood streets. 10:30PM and I’m home for the night.

**********

There’s a message waiting for me after I walked in. It’s Holly. She asked how my day was and what I was up to. It was real nice for one of my all-time favorite followers to even ask. I had to reply to her before heading to bed. I also sent her the day’s photos and then asked to see if we could finally meet up. The momentum was stronger and now more essential than ever. I’m thriving for more.

Ghost Spell: “People On The Street”

This Is Hell: “Anarchy On The Atlantic”

Stars Are Insane, The: Versus

Ramleh: “Soundcheck Changeling 2”

Alan Shearer: “Dark Is The Color”

Public Image Ltd.: “Poptones”

Ghost Spell: “Tzz”

Plugz, The: “Red Eye #9″

Jan Jelinek: “They Their”

Pan Daijing: “Female”

Candy: “Rain In Spetember”

Pierre-Alain Dahan & Slim Pezin: “Slim Bertha”

Pisschrist: “Fatal Control”

Alan Shearer: “Only For One Girl”

James Clarke: “Silent Summer”

Thomas Leer: “Saving Grace”

Paul Dupont & His Orchestra: “Lovelorn”

Boy Harsher: “Modulations”

Zola Jesus: “Bound”

Errorsmith: “Superlative Fatigue”

Pisschrist: “Fuck The World”

Alan Shearer: “Generation V”

Joanna Brouk: “The Space Between”

Grey Hairs: “Emergency Banger”

Hogan’s Heroes: “Drugs”

Plugz, The: “Touch For Cash”

Kap Bambino: “More Machine“

Leon Gardner: “Farm Song”

Les Savy Fav: “Hold On To Your Genre”

Marijuana Deathsquads “All Deep”

Red Apollo: “Knife Party”

Stars Are Insane: “I Stayed Up All Night Thinking Of You” (ver.)

Wolf Alice: “Sad Boy”

76% Uncertain: “Coffee Achievers"

Kedr Livanskiy: “Sunrise Stop”

Haircut: “Shutting Down”

Keiji Haino: “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean”

Cabaret Voltaire: Extended Play EP

Candy: “Bears”

Frumpies, The: “I Just Wanna Puke On The Stereo”

Pan Daijing: “Overdose”

Ajax: “Paper And Steel”

Les Savy Fav: Inches

Robert Viger: “Limpidite”

[veralorraine]

You don't know what time this is. This is the year 2013. I am in the year 2013, it is my son's birthday and he hasn't been born yet.

[causeiwanttoandican]

Harry, Meghan and me: my truth as a royal reporter

I've covered elections and extremism, but nothing compares to the vitriol I've received since I started writing about the Sussexes

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor27 March 2021 • 6:00am

It is probably worth mentioning from the outset that I never, ever, planned to become a royal reporter. I mean, who does? It’s one of those ridiculous jobs most people fall into completely by accident.

I certainly wasn’t coveting the position when I first found out how bonkers the beat could be after covering Charles and Camilla’s wedding in 2005. Desperate for ‘a line’ on what went on at the reception, journalists were reduced to flagging down passing cars in Windsor High Street and interrogating the likes of Stephen Fry about whether they’d had the salmon or the chicken.

Watergate, this wasn’t.

Yet when my former editor called me into his office shortly afterwards and offered me the royal job ‘because you’re called Camilla and you dress nicely’, who was I to refuse?

Having planned to get married myself that summer, and start a family soon afterwards, I looked to the likes of Jennie Bond and Penny Junor and figured it would be a good patch for a working mother as well as being one I could grow old with. Unlike show business, when celebrities are ‘in’ one minute and ‘out’ the next, the royals would stay the same, making it easier to build – and keep – contacts.

So if you’d told me that 16 years later, I would find myself at the centre of a media storm over a royal interview with Oprah Winfrey, I’d have probably laughed in your face. First of all, only royals like Fergie do interviews with Oprah. And since when did journalists become the story?

Yet as I have experienced since the arrival of Meghan Markle on the royal scene in 2016 – a move that roughly coincided with Twitter doubling its 140-character limitation to 280 – royal reporters like me now find themselves in the line of fire like never before.

We are used to the likes of Kate Adie coming under attack in the Middle East, but now it is the correspondents who write up events like Trooping the Colour and the Royal Windsor Horse Show having to take cover from the keyboard warriors supposedly defending the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s ‘truth’.

Accusations of racism have long been levelled against anyone who has dared to write less than undiluted praise of Harry and Meghan. But even I have been taken aback by the vitriol on social media in the wake of the couple’s televised two-hour talk-a-thon, in which they branded both the Royal family and the British press racist while complaining about their ‘almost unsurvivable’ multimillionaire lives at the hands of the evil monarchy. And all while the rest of the UK were losing their loved ones and livelihoods in a global pandemic.

Having covered Brexit, general elections and stories about Islamic extremism, I’ve grown used to being sprayed with viral vomit on a fairly regular basis, but when you’ve got complete strangers trolling your best friend’s Instagram feed by association? That’s Britney Spears levels of toxic.

Having a hind thicker than a rhino’s, it wasn’t the repeated references to my being ‘a total c—’ that particularly bothered me, nor even the suggestion that I should have my three children put up for adoption. At one point someone even said it would be a good idea for me to drink myself to death like my mother, about whose chronic alcoholism I have written extensively.

No, what really got me was the appalling spelling and grammar. I mean, if you’re going to hurl insults, at least have the decency to get my name right.

Yet in order to understand just how it has come to pass that so-called #SussexSquaders think nothing of branding all royal correspondents ‘white supremacists’ regardless of who they write for, or sending hate mail to our email addresses, offices – and in some cases, even our homes – it’s worth briefly going to back to when I first broke the story that Prince Harry was dating an American actor in the Sunday Express on 31 October 2016. Headlined: ‘Royal world exclusive: Harry’s secret romance with TV star’, the splash revealed how the popular prince was ‘secretly dating a stunning US actress, model and human rights campaigner’.

Despite my now apparently being on a par with the Ku Klux Klan for failing to acknowledge Meghan as the next messiah, it was actually not until the fifteenth paragraph of that original article that the ‘confident and intelligent’ Northwestern University graduate was described as ‘the daughter of an African-American mother and a father of Dutch and Irish descent’.

Call me superficial, but I was genuinely far more interested in the fact that Harry ‘I-come-with-baggage’ Wales was dating a former ‘briefcase girl’ from the US version of Deal or No Deal than the colour of her skin. A ginger prince punching well above his weight? This was the stuff of tabloid dreams. Little did I know then that covering the trials and tribulations of these two lovebirds would turn into such a nightmare.

The online hostility began bubbling up about eight days after that first story, when Harry’s then communications secretary Jason Knauf issued an ‘unprecedented’ statement accusing the media of ‘crossing a line’.

‘His girlfriend, Meghan Markle, has been subject to a wave of abuse and harassment’, it read, referencing a ‘smear on the front page of a national newspaper; the racial undertones of comment pieces; and the outright sexism and racism of social media trolls and web article comments’. Meghan’s mother, Doria Ragland, had apparently been besieged by photographers, while bribes had been offered to Meghan’s ex-boyfriend along with ‘the bombardment of nearly every friend, coworker, and loved one in her life’.

Suffice to say, I did feel a bit guilty. Although I hadn’t written anything remotely racist or sexist, I had started the ball rolling for headlines like the MailOnline’s ‘(Almost) straight outta Compton’ (referencing a song by hip-hop group NWA about gang violence and Meghan’s upbringing in the nearby LA district of Crenshaw), along with her ‘exotic’ DNA (which I subsequently called out, including on This Morning in the wake of ‘Megxit’ in January last year).

Omid Scobie, co-author of Finding Freedom, a highly favourable account of the Sussexes’ departure from the Royal family, written with their cooperation last summer, would later insist that the couple knew the story of their relationship was coming out and were well prepared for it.

I can tell you categorically that they weren’t, since I did not even put a call into Kensington Palace before we went to press for fear of it being leaked. (I did later discuss this with Harry, when I covered his trip to the Caribbean in November 2016, and to be fair he was pretty philosophical, agreeing it would have come out sooner or later. But that was before the former Army Captain decided to well and truly shoot the messenger, latterly telling journalists covering the newly-weds’ tax-payer-funded October 2018 tour of Australia and the south Pacific: ‘Thanks for coming, even though you weren’t invited.’)

The royal press pack is the group of dedicated writers who cover all the official engagements and tours on a rota system, in exchange for not bothering the royals as they go about their private business. It was a shame this ragtag bunch, of which I am an associate member, was never personally introduced to Meghan when the couple got engaged in November 2017.

I still have fond memories of a then Kate Middleton, upon her engagement to Prince William in November 2010, showing me her huge sapphire and diamond ring following a press conference at St James’s Palace with the words, ‘It was William’s mother’s so it is very special.’

I replied that she might want to consider buying ‘one of those expanding accordion style file holders’ to organise all her wedding paperwork. (Reader, I had given birth to my second child less than four months earlier and was still lactating.)

Not meeting Meghan did not stop royal commentators like me writing reams about her being ‘a breath of fresh air’ and telling practically every TV show I appeared on that she was the ‘best thing to have happened to the Royal Family in years’.

As the world followed the joyous news of the Windsors’ resident strip billiards star having finally found ‘the one’, the couple enjoyed overwhelmingly positive press culminating in their fairy-tale wedding in May 2018, which we headlined ‘So in love’ above a picture of the bride and groom kissing. I tweeted the wedding front page, along with the original story breaking the news of their relationship with the words, ‘Job done’. Yet, as Meghan would later point out in a glossy Santa Barbara garden, that was by far the end of the story.

According to the Duchess’s testimony before a global audience of millions, the seeds for their royal departure were actually sown by an article I wrote in November 2018 suggesting she made Kate cry during a bridesmaid’s dress fitting for Princess Charlotte.

Claiming the ‘reverse happened’, the former Suits star railed, ‘A few days before the wedding she was upset about something, pertaining to, yes, the issue was correct, about flower-girl dresses, and it made me cry, and it really hurt my feelings.’

She then went on to criticise the palace for failing to correct the story – suggesting that royal aides had hung her out to dry to protect the Duchess of Cambridge.

All of which left me in a bit of a sticky situation. As I told Phillip Schofield on This Morning the following day, ‘I don’t write things I don’t believe to be true and that haven’t been really well sourced.’

Having seemingly been completely bowled over by Meghan’s version of events, Schofe then went for the jugular: ‘I have to say, though, that’s all addressed in that interview, isn’t it, because she [Meghan] couldn’t understand why nobody stood up for her?’

Yet someone had stood up for her, on that very same This Morning sofa: me.

As I told Phil and Holly on 14 January 2019, as more reports of ‘Duchess Difficult’ started to emerge, ‘I think she [Meghan] is doing really well, she looks amazing, she speaks well. She has played a blinder.’

So you’ll forgive me if I can’t quite understand why Meghan didn’t feel the need to correct this supposedly glaring error once she had her own dedicated head of communications from March 2019 – or indeed when she ‘collaborated’ with Scobie, who concluded in his bestselling hagiography that ‘no one cried’?

Moreover, how did the Duchess know a postnatal Kate wasn’t ‘left in tears’? And if she doesn’t know, what hope has the average troll observing events through the prism of their own deep-rooted insecurities?

It appears the actual truth ceases to matter once sides have been taken in the unedifying Team Meghan versus Team Kate battle that has divided the internet.

Make no mistake, there are abject morons at both extremes spewing the sort of bile that, ironically, makes most of the media coverage of Harry and Meghan look like a 1970s edition of Jackie magazine.

It perhaps didn’t help my case that the day before the interview was aired in the US, I had written a lengthy piece carefully weighing up the evidence behind allegations of ‘outrageous bullying’ that had been levelled against Meghan during what proved to be a miserable 20 months in the Royal family for all concerned.

The messages – to my Twitter feed, my email, my website and official Facebook page – ranged from the threatening, to the typical tropes about media ‘scum’ and the downright bizarre. Some accused me of being in cahoots with Carole Middleton, with whom I have never interacted, unless you count a last-minute Party Pieces purchase in a desperate moment of poor parental planning.

Another frequent barb was questioning why the press wasn’t writing about that ‘pedo’ [sic] Prince Andrew instead – seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one would know about the Duke of York’s links to Jeffrey Epstein if it wasn’t for the acres of coverage devoted to the story by us royal hacks over recent years.

It didn’t matter that I had repeatedly torn the Queen’s second, and, some say, favourite son to pieces for everything from his propensity to take his golf clubs on foreign tours to that disastrous Newsnight interview.

Contrary to the ‘invisible contract’ Harry claims the palace has with the press, royal coverage works roughly like this: good royal deeds = good publicity. Bad royal deeds = bad publicity. We effectively act as a critical friend, working on behalf of a public that rightly expects the royals to take the work – but not themselves – seriously.

So when a royal couple preaches about climate change before taking four private jets in 11 days, it is par for the course for a royal scribe to point out the inconsistency of that message. None of it is ever personal, as evidenced by the fact that practically every member of the monarchy has come in for flak over the years.

If Oprah wasn’t willing to point out the discrepancies in Harry and Meghan’s testimony, surely it is beholden on royal reporters to question how the Duchess had managed to undertake four foreign holidays in the six months after her wedding, in addition to official tours to Italy, Canada, and Amsterdam, as well as embarking on a lengthy honeymoon, if she had ‘turned over’ her passport?

While no one would wish to undermine the extent of her mental health problems, could it really be true that she only left the house twice in four months when she managed to cram in 73 days’ worth of engagements, according to the Court Circular, in the 17 months between her wedding and the couple’s departure to Canada?

And what of the ‘racist’ headlines flashed up during the interview purporting to be from the British press, when more than a third were actually taken from independent blogs and the foreign media? The UK media abides by the Independent Press Standards Organisation’s Code of Conduct ‘to avoid prejudicial or pejorative reference to an individual’s race’, as well as by rigorous defamation laws. And rightly so – the British press doesn’t always get it right. But social media is the Wild West by comparison, publishing vile slurs on a daily basis with impunity.

Some therefore find it strange that such a litigious couple would claim to have been ‘silenced’ when they have made so many complaints, including resorting to legal action, over stories they claim not to have even read. There is something similarly contradictory about a couple accusing the tabloids of lacking self-reflection while refusing to take any blame at all – for anything.

In any normal world, informed writing on such matters would be classed as fair comment, but not, seemingly, on Twitter where those completely lacking any objectivity whatsoever are only too willing to virtue signal and manoeuvre.

As the trolling reached fever pitch in the aftermath of the interview, veteran royal reporter Robert Jobson of the Evening Standard called me. ‘Don’t respond to these freaks,’ he advised. ‘It’s getting nasty out there. Watch your back!’

Yet despite my general sense of bewilderment at the menacing Megbots, I can’t say it didn’t appal me to discover a close friend had received online abuse, purely by dint of being my mate. After discussing the lengths the troll must have gone to to track her down, she asked me, ‘Do you ever worry someone might do something awful to you?’ Er, not until now, no.

Of course it’s upsetting, even for a cynical old-timer like me. Worse still are people who actually know me casting aspersions on my profession on social media. Often these are the same charlatans who would think nothing of sidling up to me for the latest gossip on the Royal family, while publicly pretending that reading any such coverage is completely beneath them.

Most pernicious of all though – not least after Piers Morgan’s departure from Good Morning Britain following a complaint to ITV and Ofcom from the Duchess – is the corrosive effect this whole hullabaloo is having on freedom of speech. When you’ve got a former actor effectively editing a British breakfast show from an £11 million Montecito mansion, what next?

I cannot help but think we are in danger of setting race relations back 30 years if people are seriously suggesting that any criticism of Meghan is racially motivated. It’s the hypocrisy that gets me. When Priti Patel was accused of bullying, the very same people who willingly hung the Home Secretary out to dry are now the ones defending Meghan against such claims, saying they have been levelled at her simply because she is ‘a strong woman of colour’.

Of course journalists should take responsibility for everything they report and be held to account for it – but Harry and Meghan do not have a monopoly on the truth simply because the close friend and neighbour who interviewed them in return for £7 million from CBS took what they said as gospel.

If she isn’t willing to probe the disparity between Meghan saying someone questioned the colour of Archie’s skin when she was pregnant, and Harry suggesting it happened before they were even married, then someone must. There’s a name for such scrutiny. It’s called journalism.

The public reserves the right to make up its own mind – with the help of the watchful eye of a free and fair press. But that press can never be free or fair if journalists do not feel they can report without fear or favour. I’m lucky that a lot of the criticism I face is more than balanced out by hugely supportive members of the public and online community who either agree – or respect the right to disagree. Along with the hate mail, I have had many thoughtful and eloquent missives, including those that good naturedly challenge what I have written in the paper or said on TV, which have genuinely given me pause for thought.

I am more than happy to enter into constructive discourse with these correspondents, who are frankly sometimes the only people who keep me on Twitter. I mean, let’s face it, I wouldn’t be anywhere near the bloody thing if this wasn’t my day job.

With the National Union of Journalists this month declaring that harassment and abuse had ‘become normalised’ within the industry, never have members of Britain’s press needed more courage. As Winston Churchill famously said, ‘You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.’

Who would have thought that the preservation of the fundamental freedoms that we hold so dear should partially rest on the shoulders of those who follow around a 94-year-old woman and her family for a living?

If I’d known then what I know now, would I still have written the bridesmaid’s dress story?

Yes – doubtlessly reflecting sisterly sobs all round. But after two decades in this business, I am clear-eyed enough to know this for certain: whatever I had written, it would still have ended in tears.

[starlit-scarlet]

Healing

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Wherein Levi comforts reader after the lost of a loved one.

A/N: This fic is also posted on ao3 and is dedicated to @artistic-resonance and another reader from ao3, as well as anyone who has ever lost a loved one. I lost my grandma last fall, two other grandparents in 2018, and I felt like we could all use a little comfort from the sweet, gruff man that is Levi Ackerman—that's how I see him at least.

I'd like to preface this with the following: if you feel that reading this would make things worse, please do not read it. The last thing I would ever want is for something I write to make it hurt more. I did this as a way to help, but my feelings will not be hurt if you decide not to read.

In any case, I hope you enjoy this little bit of comfort from our favorite spinny boy.

It was dark, the curtains drawn in tight, not letting a single ounce of sunlight into the living room—matching your current mood. Curled up on the couch under your favorite throw blanket—one they’d knitted for you—and all you could do was stare blankly out into the room in front of you. The cozy, woven material reminded you of them, somehow still smelling of them, remembering how their scent used to bring you peace—though that may have just been your wishful thinking. Your phone lay on the floor where it had slipped out of your hand the moment you’d received the news.

The five stages of grief, and you were in denial, having trouble believing that they were no longer with you, that you would never see them again, that beloved family member of yours that you’d been so close to.

That’s where he found you when he stepped into your home, lying on the couch, and his concern for you was so sudden that his keys slipped from his hand to land on the floor, the tinkling sound resounding through the quiet room.

“Baby.”

It was the only word he whispered before he moved. By your side in an instant, he lay down next to you, pulling you close against him, tucking your head against his chest.

The presence of him had the first of many tears slipping out of your eyes as your hands curled into fists in his shirt. You whimpered as you tried to explain to him that someone in your family had passed away through the sobs and hitching breaths that hit your body. Simply murmuring sweet nothings to you, he pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head, stroking your hair and back, his touches tender, ginger, supporting you as you grieved.

“They’re gone, Levi, they’re just gone ,” you wailed, snuggling closer to him.

“I know, baby, I know.” He was the type of man who struggled with emotions, with poetic words, yet he always tried for you. It was a testament to how much he loved you.

Never once did he let you go, never once did he cease the comforting caresses within your hair as you sobbed in his arms, the well of grief threatening to never dry. He was your rock, the one person who could provide you peace, and you didn’t know what you would have done if he wasn’t in your life at that moment.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wonder.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the tears began to dry, and you nuzzled in closer against him, your lips somehow curling into a faint smile at the way he kissed the top of your head again. It had taken ages for him to become comfortable with these forms of affection, but he’d learned, and though he still floundered at times, he always did his best.

And that was all that mattered to you.

“Why, Levi?” Your breath hitched. “Why did this have to happen?”

He sighed, massaging at your scalp in a way that made you want to purr against him. “I wish I had a reason, but these things just happen in life.”

His words had you sniffling, more tears threatening to spill. “I wasn’t ready to lose them, Levi.”

“We never are.”

That was part of what was so reassuring with him, that he knew what it was like to lose family, having lost Furlan and Isabel so long ago. You’d been there to help him through it, to help him through his grief, the way he was doing with you now.

“What do I do, Levi?”

“You get through it, and I’ll be here with you, every step of the way.”

It warmed your heart to hear him say that, shivering when he brushed his lips across your forehead. Some people perhaps would wish he was more poetic, more heartfelt. But the simplicity of his responses rang louder than any profound, rhythmic verse could ever dream of being. Somehow, he always managed to give tell you exactly what you needed to hear.

Rising from the couch, he pulled the blanket off of you, scooping you up into his arms, your own coming to wrap around his neck as you cuddled close against him. He carried you into the bathroom, setting you down gently onto the counter while he turned to fill the bathtub with water and some bubble bath before directing his attention back to you once again.

Hands gentle as he removed your clothing, he placed you into the bathtub, your frame engulfed in the water and the soothing fragrance of the bubbles.

He crouched down next to the tub, ruffling your hair in a way that always made you want to hum and purr like a cat. “Do you want me to sit with you, or do you want to be alone?”

“Please, Levi, I...I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He nodded, stripping himself of his clothes, folding them neatly and setting them on the counter next to yours. Stepping into the fragrant bath, he settled in behind you, drawing your back up against his chest and wrapping his arms around your waist.

Head falling back against him, you let yourself enjoy the simple comfort that was Levi holding you. His strong, sturdy arms against your waist, holding you close, reminding you that he would always be there for you. The gentle kisses he pressed along your neck and shoulders, reminding you that he loved you, more than anything in the world. For only you were able to see this soft, sweet side of him, the one that had been locked away before you’d both met.

Tilting your head back, he used a cup— one he kept in the bathroom for this purpose— to pour streams of water down your hair, wetting it. This was his domain, where he was most comfortable. It was how he showed you he loved you, the way he took care of you. You knew it was because his mother had done the same for him when he’d been a young boy.

Her way of making him feel better when he was little, had been to set him in a bubble bath and help him scrub away the day. He’d always been close to her, but had lost her when he was a teen, taken in by his Uncle Kenny shortly after.

A calm sigh slipped through your lips when he scrubbed at your hair with some shampoo, his hands tender, and sweet as he washed away the day, just as his mother had with him. It was a ritual the two of you had shared time and time again, the meaning of it different than between mother and son, but the bonding, the affection, all of that was still there.

Blocking your forehead with his hand, he carefully rinsed out the suds, making sure none slipped down to sting your eyes, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple that had your heart fluttering as you turned to gaze up at him. The warmth in his blue eyes lit up his entire face, the warmth that was only ever there for you.

His hands were ginger and sweet as they caressed down your body, scrubbing and cleaning, seeking to soothe and comfort, not entice and seduce. The gentleness of his hands had you relaxing further into him, reaching a different form of bliss, feeling completely safe and at ease with him.

The two of you stayed that way, relaxing, relishing in the comfort of each other until the bubbles fizzled away and the water cooled. Only then did he rise, lifting you back into his arms and setting you on the floor so he could gently dry you, giving your wet hair a little ruffle before running the coarse fabric through it. Of its own volition, your hand lifted to caress the side of his face, and he simply turned his head to kiss your fingertips.

And people thought him cruel and callous.

Hardly, you mentally scoffed.

Gruff. A bit of an ass. A neat freak. Yes, he was all of those things.

But cruel and callous? How could you ever think him to be that way when he treated you this way? So kind and gentle and sweet. As if you were the most precious thing in his life, and sometimes...sometimes it felt as if you were.

He wrapped the towel around you, moving to dry himself off, though he tutted in amusement when you tried to step out of the bathroom.

“Let me take care of you, alright?”

That had your heart fluttering again, the wings threatening to send it flying, soaring, to land straight into the palms of his hands. As if you could ever resist him.

So when he scooped you into his arms once again, you simply nuzzled into his neck, pressing loving kisses along the skin, already feeling immensely better. The grief in your heart ran deep, but his tender love and care was already helping you heal the wound. It felt as if you were floating, and you almost didn’t want him to set you back down—though the thought was hardly reasonable.

Despite knowing you were perfectly capable of dressing yourself, he helped you anyway, pulling your shirt over your head, followed by a pair of comfortable shorts, chuckling at the way you rolled your eyes at him. That was something else only you and a few select others were worthy enough to see and hear.

His smile.

His laugh.

For only those he felt truly comfortable with was he able to put down his guard enough to enjoy the simple things of life such as humor.

“What do you want for dinner?”

The simple question drew you out of your thoughts once again, and you managed to draw out another chuckle from him when you told him what you wanted. Food from your favorite delivery place, something that meant not having to go out, and meant that he wouldn’t have to take time away from holding you, which is what you needed most.

Once he’d placed the order, he didn’t hesitate to cart you into his arms again—spoiling you to no end—and carrying you out into the living room, where the two of you could settle in on the couch, cuddling close with your legs draped over his. He tossed the blanket over you—the one he knew meant everything to you—and switched on the TV, putting on your favorite show. It was one you knew he hated, but that he was willing to watch if it meant helping you.

That was why he was your sweet, gruff Levi.

As you sat together, you slowly could feel the wounds beginning to mend further.

With him—through helping him through his own losses—you’d come to learn that grief is the love you held for a lost loved one persevering.

You didn’t know how long it would take for you to heal, but you knew that as long as you had him by your side, that you had your friends…

You could get through anything.

One day at a time.

Back to Fluff/Comfort Menu

[dzamie-oc]

04 - Stained Glass

Bright "Dork" Penny is actually from a few /tg/ threads in late 2018, in which we had the fun idea of an adorkable dragon, and steadily built a town around her. This is from pretty early in her introduction to the town, before most of the suggested campaign plot hooks.

Length: 2100 words Rating: E (though contains brief mentions of violence) Summary: A dragon is enamored by a stained-glass window, and wants some of her own.

-----

Clearwater was a fairly average port town; according to the fishermen, it was even idyllic. When the wind blew just right, the smell of fresh fish and bread filled several streets. When it blew just wrong, of course, the farms managed to be perfectly upwind, but such were the risks. It was situated on the coast of the Great Crystal Lake, a veritable sea full of water so fair it sparkled like an enormous, polished sapphire when the sun found a good angle. In years past, several traveling poets had said of Clearwater, “it was exactly the sort of town an epic tale would begin in, only to have an unfortunate encounter with a dragon to start things off.”

And, well, they weren’t exactly wrong. But neither were they right.

The morning sun fell on the town, and in particular an old barn kept apart from the rest of the farmed plots of land. The front of the building was missing, and for several reasons, never replaced. One such reason poked her red, scaly head out into the outside air, with the rest of her soon to follow. Dorakathen Azurakluzzelenark Nur Zulauknagh, or “Bright Penny,” looked around, noted that someone had dug up her latest attempt at planting a sheep again, and gave her wings a nice, big stretch and flap. A soft groan from within the barn caught her attention, so she turned around to face the slowly-rousing woman within.

“Oh, Gwendolyn, did I wake you? I guess it is kinda early, still.”

The young woman sat up and waved her off. “No, no,” she said, “I’m used to being up with the sun. Do dragons usually sleep later?”

“Well... I do. My mother would always head out before the sun rose, said something about making sure she’s back before humans usually tried to steal from her.” The dragoness drew in and let out a big breath, taking care to keep the fire out of it, this time. “I never knew what she meant by that. You guys are pretty friendly, and with how often the ones around her lair seemed to gift her their old, claw-marked armors, I can’t imagine any human trying to take something from her lair.”

Gwendolyn thought for a few seconds on that, opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and instead asked, “so, Dork, how long is this happening, again?”

Bright Penny’s mouth curled into a smile. “Oh, the kidnapping? Just a week, same as how Mom would do it.”

“The, uh, the same?” the human said, paling. While the young dragoness seemed friendly, if a bit misguided and, well, inexperienced, her mother, Bloodstained Ruby, was an entirely separate matter. If any tale of life under her claw managed to escape her grasp, it was always one of terror and bloodshed. Her lair was filled with glittering, shining treasures and adorned with colored glass as red as her scales, all gained through pillaging, extortion, or both. While nobody knew for sure, any fool would guess that, if a ransom wasn’t paid, the hostage would serve as the main course for her dinner. Gwendolyn’s mouth went dry as she looked at the cheerful dragoness with her sharp claws and sharper fangs. “How... how would Bloody Ruby...?”

The red dragon sat back on her haunches and put a paw to her chin. “Well, sometimes humans would visit her with a big pile of gold and stuff for her hoard - and now that I’ve seen how much you guys usually have on yourselves, they must’ve really liked her! - and she’d go get her kidnap-ee, and then the humans would all leave together and Mom would have a nice smile for a while. Um, and then other times, humans wouldn’t come, or they would but I guess they weren’t the ones the kidnapped human knew, because Mom would shoo them away, or claw them if they went crazy and tried to stab her. I always thought that was too strict, since her claws are half the length of their bodies while their swords were pretty small to her.”

Gwendolyn glanced around the barn, looking for an exit that the dragon would have trouble following her through. “And, what about the kidnapped human after a week of... no visitors?”

“Oh, she’d ask whether they’d like to leave or get eaten - I guess she didn’t really have patience for long-term visitors, especially seeing as how she kinda did technically kick me out of her lair eventually.” She furrowed her brow. “It was weird, though, humans could definitely go up and down that mountain, but they always seemed to get eaten. ...is that a human thing? Because I don’t think I’m up for it with you. I hope that’s not rude.”

The woman’s brain fizzled for a moment. “Um... okay, I’ll... we’ll talk later, but as long as leaving after a week is one of those options, I’m fine.”

“Of course!” The dragon nodded vigorously, then got to her feet again and made her way out of the barn before looking back. “I’m gonna go see around the town for a while. I know I don’t really have all the actual kidnapping stuff like a fancy dress for you and a pole to lean against, but I’m trying my hardest, so please don’t escape?”

Bright Penny took a few steps away, then froze, spun, and stuck her head back under the barn roof. “I mean, unless it’s an emergency, of course.”

Her fears momentarily assuaged, Gwendolyn let out a laugh. “Of course. Have fun, Dork, I’ll be right here when you get back.”

“Great! Okay, see you, Gwen!” Bright Penny trotted away - this time, without turning back - and wasn’t able to see Gwendolyn put her head in her hands, trying to process what the dragon had oh-so casually said about her mother. Instead, the dragoness hummed a wandering tune and let her feet carry her to a rather interesting-looking building.

As she approached, she was drawn to the beautiful stained-glass windows in each wall. One showed a sheaf of wheat, its opposite showed a few fish hanging by lines, and the third had a woman in a plain dress, holding a sickle in one hand and a net in the other. Bright Penny circled the building a couple of times, then took a seat in front of the fish one and stared at it, admiring the way the sun pierced through the glass, giving a strange sort of energy to the art. She moved her head back and forth, playing with her shadow on the glass.

After a few minutes, a man exited the door on the unadorned side, and peeked around the corner. “Uh, excuse me, dragon? You’re the one who’s been staying at Brown’s old barn, right?”

Bright Penny turned towards the voice, looked around for a couple of seconds, then smiled when she saw the face. “Yes, that’s me. I’m Dorakathen Azurakluzzelenark Nur Zulauknagh, nice to meet you.”

“Dora Kathen Ashoora... er, pardon me.”

“Oh! Sorry, I’m still not used to being around people who don’t speak Draconic. It means Bright Penny, but some helpful adventurers said I could be called Dork for short!”

The man looked unconvinced, but slowly stepped out from behind “cover.” He was dressed similar to many of the Clearwater residents Bright Penny had seen, though his body was less toned or worn, so she guessed he did something that didn’t require much heavy lifting. “Well, Dorakathe- uh, Dork, what brings you to our town’s temple?”

“I just thought, if I’m going to go about figuring out how to be a proper dragon, I should know more about the town I’ll be- what was that word Mom used? Not terrorizing, uh... monitoring?” She shook her head. “Anyway, I kinda got distracted, and seeing these really pretty jewels made me remember that a dragon should have a hoard, and I don’t. So, may I please have one of these?”

One helpful thing about outlandish requests is that they are superb at making one forget that the one who asked was a dragon. As a prime example, the man replied, “what? No, they’ve been part of this temple for generations,” before his brain finally caught up to the rest of her words, so he quickly added, “uh, t-terrorizing? Where does your mom do that?”

“I’m pretty good with my claws; I’m sure I could help patch up the hole,” the red dragon cheerfully replied, then caught herself. “Oh, you mean ‘part of’ as in ownership. That’s alright, then. Where can I get one, then? ...also, what’s your name? I don’t remember if you said.”

“Abraham, I’m sort of this place’s priest. I’m not sure where you’d get something that big or intricate - again, it’s been generations - but you could ask the smithy. I know he can do regular windows.” Abraham said, then took a step back. “Also, what was that thing about terrorizing?”

“Oh, yeah, my mom’s Bloodstained Ruby. I think she’s just dramatic with that, though; it’s hard to believe she causes terror, with how many presents people keep giving her. Kept. But she probably still gets them after kicking me out, too.” With a destination in mind, Bright Penny unfurled her wings and crouched, preparing to take off. “I’ll go check the smithy out, then. Thanks, Abe!”

The words “Bloodstained Ruby” and “mom” were still sinking into Abraham’s head while he watched her go. He fell back against the temple wall, breathing heavily, then ran inside to begin praying to more gods than usual.

A peaceful stroll down an empty street and one abandoned-and-therefore-free fish later, and Dork found herself at her destination. Luckily for her, a red, fire-breathing dragon was not enough to scare away the blacksmith, who insisted that he’d weathered a lot worse - and she agreed, seeing as she was going to be pretty good at dragon things and therefore easy to be worse than. Although initially dismayed that she had nothing to pay for glass with, her enthusiasm soon swayed him to teach her how to make some, herself.

“Look, I’m sure it’ll wear down eventually, and until then, having a solid boulder of glass IN the beach is a bit of a novelty,” he said, “but I must admit, that may have been the most effective way I’ve ever seen to teach someone to make sure molten glass should only exist in something that can hold it.”

Bright Penny nodded and tried again, breathing fire around a large, metal cup filled with sand. Once its contents got nice and soft, she carefully dumped it into a mold she’d carried from his workshop. It was slow to spread out, so she reached out...

“No! Don’t!” the blacksmith shouted in a panic. When she looked at him, worried, he remembered that she wasn’t just another foolish human apprentice, but rather a foolish dragon. Waving his hand, he said, “nah, you’re fine. I’d burn myself doing that, is all.”

As they waited for it to cool, the dragoness looked down at her shadow, then up to the sky. “Oh! I’ve been out awhile, I should head home soon, after a quick stop by the bakery for Gwendolyn.”

“Gwen? The baker’s daughter? Whatever for?” A tough old smith like him, he could see hanging out with a dragon. But Gwendolyn? She was closer to a proper lady - in her mannerisms, if not by her upbringing and hobbies - than near anyone else in the town. “Also, take yer glass. It’s still hot, so don’t go touching it to anything, but it oughta keep its shape, or near abouts. Wouldn’t use it for a window, but it’ll look fine.”

“Oh, I kidnapped her, so her dad’s helping me make sure she can eat right.” The dragoness lets out a rumbling laugh. “You should’ve seen her reaction to him cutting shapes into her sandwich.”

In his mind, the blacksmith went over the locations of several swords, spears, and other weaponry that might prove useful in a rescue. “Kidnapped, eh?”

“Well, I did ask her first. Then I made sure to carry her and fly away, so I’m pretty sure it still counts as a real dragon kidnapping.” Bright Penny picked up her glass in one scaly paw and looked at it. “By the way, how do I get it to be all colored like the temple has?”

The man put his weapon-finding thoughts on hold until after he talks to the baker. “Hm. Well, tell you what. I’m busy tomorrow, but come by the day after and I’ll show you.” Either way, that would give him time to organize a few good men if need be. “I’ll get the mold back, myself.”

“Okay! Thanks so much for the help. My hoard’s gonna be so pretty...” With a leap and flap of her wings, Bright Penny was airborne again, thoughts of stained-glass dragons in her mind.

[haillenarte]

white day 2020;

Here is a full translation of the (thus far) Japanese-exclusive White Day 2020 Developer’s Blog post.

First, the dry translator’s disclaimers: I acknowledge that this post is four months old. Once upon a time, I was the sort of fan translator who would have rushed to get this done within a week of its posting, but in this case, I was busy with the Ishgardian Restoration Skybuilders’ Ranking when it was first posted, and then after that... well, I just busied myself with other things. I was tempted to skip doing this one completely, but then I felt obligated to complete the series given that I’d translated the post from 2018, so... goodbye to my Saturday morning and afternoon, I suppose.

This post is intended as a polished translation on par with official content. As such, I have taken certain liberties with the text: though it was originally in more or less a script format, I embellished it to make it a prose post consistent with other English developer’s blog posts. Most of the moogle’s narration was invented by me in order to preserve humor and narrative flow. This is nothing that the localization team itself does not do. I can assure you that the core details remain essentially intact and untouched.

If you would prefer to read a more literal take on this text, I am sure that more than a few rough translations exist of it already, so please look for someone else’s post if you want something that’s more of a word-for-word take.

Special thanks to the person I trust best to write Urianger’s dialogue for helping me with Urianger’s dialogue, and then to a second good friend for Elizabethan grammar-checking the both of us!

Happy White Day, Kupo!

March 13, 2020

It’s ever so nice to speak with you again, kupo!

Do you remember me from the last report, perchance? ‘Tis I, the ever-industrious deputy postmoogle’s apprentice! The rising star that’s, ahem, still training to become a full-fledged postmoogle... kupopo...

This Valentione’s Day — like every Valentione’s Day — we postmoogles were once again entrusted with delivering confessions of love all throughout the realm. So I’m here to give you an exclusive rundown on how my deliveries unfolded, kupo!

First, I tapped into my considerable experience as an aspiring postmoogle to... erm... take care of the most difficult delivery on my list before all the rest. A-As any professional would, obviously!

...Phew!

Oh, it was such a relief that he was asleep when I dropped by, kupopo... I thought my heart was going to thump straight out of my fluffy chest! My paws might have been severed... my pom plucked...

Honestly, I was of the distinct opinion that I had done more than my fair share of the year’s work after that, kupo, but of course I tirelessly flew away to my next destination without complaint!

The second set of Valentione’s Day packages in my delivery satchel were meant for Lord Hien of Doma!

Lord Hien greeted me himself, kupo, friendly as ever. "Ah, the postmaster — right on time as always!” he said, a little breathlessly. “You have my thanks. Would you just leave your deliveries on that table so that they come to no harm?”

What harm? I was more a bit confused, but then I realized that he was in the middle of some sort of... game?

He was running around, being chased by the leader of the Buduga clan, kupo. I suppose they were in the middle of an extremely spirited game of tag! How fun! I remember when I was a young moogle playing tag with my friends, floating in circles with the wind in my whiskers... Oh, for those halcyon days! 

Daidukul received a fair bit of stuff from his admirers, too, kupo. More than Magnai, that’s for sure...

Then Isse looked at me as I was laying out everyone’s packages. “Oh, the postmoogle’s arrived?” he asked. “Um, by any chance, are you the one who delivered the year-end gifts from last time? I meant to give my thanks to the person who sent me something then...”

Of course, I told him that would be perfectly fine!

After all, even when it’s not Valentione’s Day, it’s the responsibility of a delivery moogle — or delivery person — to ensure that all the tender feelings they’ve been entrusted with reach their intended recipients. That’s why there’s no better job for me than being a postmoogle!

After my business in Doma was concluded, I flew back to Eorzea, kupo.

I’m a real go-getter — and someone really ought to tell the deputy postmoogle of my great work ethic — so I darted straight to the Black Shroud to unload my paws of all the packages I had for the people there. And what luck! As fortune would have it, I met one of my delivery targets on the road: Sanson Smyth!

“Happy Valentione’s Day, Sanson!” I chirped. “I have some very special deliveries for you and your usual companion!”

“Companion?” Sanson repeated. He sounded a little incredulous. “Er, no, that’s not quite right — it would really be more accurate to call him a vexing subordinate... Regardless, if it is Guydelot you seek, he is no doubt at his usual tavern. Would you like me to walk there with you?”

Oh, but of course I did, kupo! Sanson’s such a thoughtful, helpful man, isn’t he? It was so very nice of him to ask.

Taverns are where travelers go to rest, so they seem like such wonderful places to meet other people, kupo...

Once I’d finished with my deliveries in the Shroud, I let the cool northern winds carry me straight to Ishgard, kupo. And what change it’s gone through! The city was just bustling with the reconstruction effort!

I told Edmont (Count Edmont? Lord Edmont? So confusing!) that I’d come to deliver joyful tidings of love to everyone in House Fortemps again, kupo!

And to Ser Aymeric as well, of course!

And... well, I had a whole sack of things to give to Estinien, but just like last time, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Since writing his name on it and leaving it by the window seemed to work last Valentione’s Day, I asked Aymeric if I should do the same this year, but... kupopo... He didn’t quite seem to approve of the idea. 

“We’ve received word from our men afield that Estinien may no longer be operating in Ishgard,” Aymeric explained, “so it may not be enough merely to leave his gifts by the nearest window and expect him to come across them.”

My pom drooped a bit at this pronouncement, kupo. After all, how was I going to deliver Estinien’s presents if even the Ishgardians couldn’t find him? Was it all hopeless, kupo?! All those packages to be returned to their senders... What a waste!

“No, well... Another report indicated some success in luring him with the scent of roasted kraken, seared by dragon’s breath. We might try that, if you’d like.”

I thought that seemed like a reasonable suggestion, but Edmont looked a little concerned. “Ser Aymeric, do you truly think — ?” he began, but then he seemed to change his mind. “...No, forget that I spoke. That being said, the restoration of the Firmament is proceeding apace, so I would exercise caution around undue use of fire...”

Well, I am nothing if not a cautious moogle, so I very carefully cooked up some delicious grilled kraken over an open fire, kupo. We postmoogles truly go above and beyond for our work!

I left his packages with the salted cephalopod as it was roasting, so I’ll bet he was thrilled to find everything set up for him!

I didn’t forget to make deliveries to this place either, kupo.

Whenever I come here, the atmosphere of the room feels so... so holy, kupo. As if the very air is clear... but empty, too. Do you know what I mean?

I cleaned up my posture before I left, kupo, and then it was off to finish the rest of the deliveries!

I had successfully shared everyone’s expressions of love with all sorts of people in Eorzea, and now it was time for... um... the impossible, kupo. You see, I still had a whole stack of especially challenging deliveries to make to the First!

We moogles have a lot of special tricks up our poms, kupo, but even I can’t possibly visit another shard without a bit of help... 

I really hadn’t the foggiest idea how to get there, so I wound up consulting the helpful folks at the Eighteenth Floor to ask them how I could get to the First!

And do you know what? They were so nice, kupo! They said that because Valentione’s Day was such a special day, and because they wanted to accommodate everyone’s heartfelt feelings, they’d let me use a special door that would take me safely to the First. Though it was not without... stipulations...

They handed me an enchanted pocket watch and said that if I failed to return before the hand on the watch made a full turn around the clock, I’d never be able to go back to Eorzea again, kupo.

Terrifying! Utterly terrifying! What other job would possibly ask you to put your existence as you know it on the line, kupo?!

But I am, as I’ve said, a professional beyond compare... so I made up my mind and zipped right through that door!

...I admit, I passed out and lost consciousness as I was traveling between the worlds, kupo. But when I came to, I was in a beautiful purple forest, and I could vaguely hear someone calling for me!

So I bounced back into the air and fluttered off to the Crystal Tower, kupo!

Naturally, the first First resident I delivered packages to was the Crystal Exarch. I had things to give him as the Crystal Exarch, and... other things to give him, too, kupo. Presents from a different time, from when he went by a different name. 

Now, I must admit, I’ve never quite understood his situation, but I did dutifully deliver his Valentione’s Day gifts each and every year! I simply wasn’t able to enter the Crystal Tower, so I would leave them at the entrance, kupo. I told him this, and then I asked him if he’d received them.

...But he didn’t answer me, kupo! He just started crying!

What was a poor moogle to do? I mean, you’ll notice our paws aren’t exactly great for wiping tears away. Had I made a terrible mistake after all? Should I not have done that?

“No,” the Exarch said, shaking his head. “No, you... you have done nothing wrong, little moogle. Forgive me. Let us move on. We must needs formulate a plan to keep you safe as you navigate this shard.“

I was very grateful to have made the acquaintance of such a cooperative colleague, kupo! With his help, I charted a path through Norvrandt that would let me finish my deliveries in time.

Next time, though, I hope I’m given a bit more time to take in the sights. I still think of those beautiful flowers in Il Mheg, and all the sights and sounds in that luxurious seaside city, Eulmore...

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn were there on some sort of business trip, I suppose, and of course they received as many gifts as ever, kupopo. I was very pleased to meet young Ryne for the first time, though!

She was delighted to meet me too, I do believe, and when I explained to her what Valentione’s Day was all about, she smiled and said, “It’s so wonderful that there are such beautiful holidays on the Source!”

“I’m sure Norvrandt will begin celebrating its own holidays before long, now that it isn’t under threat of the Light,” Thancred told her. “If you want, you can start a holiday of your own, with your friends.”

“That’s true,” Ryne giggled.

Urianger was especially pleased to see Ryne smile, kupo! Er, what was it he said again? “Pray enjoy thy gifts, to the delight of those who give thee affection.” Something like that, kupo? And also, um... “Have care lest thou shouldst cross paths with pixies and their kin, for therein lieth a penchant for mischief most troublesome.”

Yes, that was it, kupo!

Seeing everyone smile made my heart feel all warm and fuzzy too, kupo. I realize I’m always warm and fuzzy, but I mean extraordinarily so!

After ensuring that all of my packages arrived in the hands of their recipients on land, I then had to travel all the way to the bottom of the deep blue sea. It still boggles my mind that people on the First live beneath the ocean waves, kupo!

It took me some time to find someone who would respond to me, but I managed it eventually. “Why, hello there!” I said. “Yes, you, the tall fellow over there! Do you know where I might find someone by the name of Emet-Selch? I’ve a long story that I haven’t the time to tell, but to cut it all short, I have a pile of presents that I must see into his hands!”

I couldn’t quite make out the tall fellow’s face behind his mask, but I got the impression that he was smiling at me, kupo. “You are troubled, little one. Yes, I understand... If you would deliver these glad tidings to him, then let me give you a helping hand. Here.”

Poof! 

I couldn’t believe my eyes, kupo! With a snap of his fingers, the tall man made all my packages for Emet-Selch disappear into bits of light!

This wasn’t in any of the procedural manuals the deputy postmoogle made me memorize back-to-front, so I admit I might have panicked a little bit... but the tall fellow calmed me down soon enough.

“Even sweet gifts such as those you bear are only masses of aether,” he explained. “Once reduced to their base components, they will go to where he is — where all life eventually arrives. Be at ease, child. Whatever his faults in character, our lord of the dead and king of the underworld is an exceedingly clever man. No matter how vast the sea of life may be, he will surely be able to pluck his presents from the aetherial flow... supposing he desires to do so, that is.”

Now, I didn’t truly understand the finer points of this explanation, kupo... but the masked man seemed sincere about getting those gifts to Emet-Selch, so I decided to believe that he hadn’t done any harm.

I wanted to thank him for his help, but then he was gone in the blink of an eye! Even though I was in the middle of speaking with him when he vanished!

The citizens of that place are so mysterious, kupopo...

After all that was said and done, kupo, I had one final delivery to make. Just one last addressee to track down, and then I’d be finished, kupo!

And I really put my all into it. I swear upon my postmoogle’s cap and bag! I looked everywhere, every mountain high and valley low, but I simply couldn’t track him down.

The time left on my pocket watch was starting to run out, kupo, so I had to accept defeat. Disappointed, dragging my drooping pom behind me, I made my way back to the door between worlds, which already looked like it was in danger of disappearing, and leapt through the gates...

Mayhap I had cut it so close to the last second that something went wrong, kupo?

I passed out again, and when I came to, I was rolling around on an unfamiliar grassy knoll... while someone was poking at me to wake up, kupo!

What luck! What incredible luck! It was the very person I’d been searching for, for all that time, up until the very last second — Ardbert!

I almost cried and threw myself at him, I was so happy! To think that I would find him like this! “Ardbert, Ardbert!” I said, like he was an old friend. “I finally found you! I had all these presents to give you, kupo!”

He laughed and took it all in stride, though this must have been greatly puzzling to him. “What’s this? Another reward for the quest we just finished?”

“No, it’s not, kupo!” I replied, perhaps a little more crossly than I should have. “Here, this is for you! Take this, and this, and this! It’s all yours, kupo! Each package represents someone’s feelings for you, kupo! Everyone loves you so much!”

“Careful, now — oh, these look delicious!” he exclaimed, affably embarrassed as he sorted through the boxes I was admittedly pelting him with. “And this is all for me? You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, kupo! Eat them all up and have more faith in yourself, Ardbert!”

His eyes crinkled at their corners when he smiled. “Hahah! You’ve got a point. Then I’ll share these with my friends just over there. My thanks for bringing them all this way here, postmoogle. You’ve done a great job.”

...

...

I don’t quite remember what happened after that, kupo...

When I came to, I was lying on the counter of the Seventh Heaven, evidently having dozed off next to that Wandering Minstrel fellow. At first, I thought perhaps meeting Ardbert in that strange world had been nothing but a dream, but when I checked my postmoogle’s bag, I realized that it was much lighter, kupo!

So I really had met him, and I really had completed all my deliveries!

This year’s Valentione’s Day deliveries were arduous and difficult, kupo, but at the end of the day, I really did have a lot of fun. 

I delivered all of your love to everyone else, kupo... and now I’m here to deliver their love back to you!

One more time, for everyone’s sake: Happy White Day, kupo!

[popculty]

52 Films by Women: 2020 Edition

Another annual challenge complete!

Last year, I focused on diversifying my list. This year I kept that intention but focused on watching more non-American films and films from the 20th century. Specifically, I sought out Agnès Varda’s entire filmography, after her death in 2019. (I was not disappointed - What a filmmaking legend we lost.) 

I also kept a film log for the first time and have included some of my thoughts on several films from that log. I made a point of including reviews both positive and negative, because I think it’s important to acknowledge the variability and breadth of the canon, so as not to put every film directed by a woman on a pedestal. (Although movies directed by women must clear a much higher bar to be greenlit, meaning generally higher quality...But that’s an essay for another day :)

* = directed by a woman of color

bold = fave

1. The Rhythm Section (2020) dir. Reed Morano - Not as good as it could have been, given Morano’s proven skill behind the camera, but also not nearly as bad as the critics made it out to be. And unbelievably refreshing to see a female revenge story not driven by sexual assault or the loss of a husband/child.

2. Cléo de 5 à 7 (1962) dir. Agnès Varda - If you ever wanted to take a real-time tour of Paris circa 1960, this is the film for you.

3. Little Women (2019) dir. Greta Gerwig - Still my favorite Little Women adaptation. I will re-watch it every year and cry.

4. Varda by Agnès (2019) dir. Agnès Varda & Didier Rouget

5. Booksmart (2019) dir. Olivia Wilde - An instant classic high school comedy romp that subverts all the gross tropes of its 1980s predecessors.

6. Girls of the Sun (2018) dir. Eva Husson

7. Blue My Mind (2017) dir. Lisa Brühlmann

8. Portrait of a Lady On Fire (2019) dir. Céline Sciamma - Believe the hype. This film is a master thesis on the female gaze, and also just really effing gorgeous.

9. Belle Epine (2010) dir. Rebecca Zlotowski

10. Vamps (2012) dir. Amy Heckerling - With Krysten Ritter and Alicia Silverstone as modern-day vampires, I was so ready for this movie. But it feels like a bad stage play or a sit-com that’s missing a laugh-track. Bummer.

11. *Birds of Prey (2020) dir. Cathy Yan - Where has this movie been all our lives?? Skip the next onslaught of Snyder-verse grim-darkery and give me two more of these STAT! 

12. She’s Missing (2019) dir. Alexandra McGuinness

13. The Mustang (2019) dir. Laure de Clermont-Tonnere - Trigger warning for the “protagonist” repeatedly punching a horse in the chest. I noped right out of there.

14. Monster (2003) dir. Patty Jenkins – I first watched this movie when I was probably too young and haven’t revisited it since. The rape scene traumatized me as a kid, but as an adult I appreciate how that trauma is not the center of the movie, or even of Aileen’s life. Everyone still talks about how Charlize “went ugly” for this role, but the biggest transformation here isn’t aesthetic, it’s physical – the way Theron replicates Wuernos’ mannerisms, way of speaking, and physicality. That’s why she won the Oscar. I also love that Jenkins calls the film “Monster” (which everyone labels Aileen), but then actually uses it to tell the story of how she fell in love with a woman when she was at her lowest, and that saved her. That’s kind of beautiful, and I’m glad I re-watched it so that I could see the story in that light, instead of the general memory I had of it being a good, feel-bad movie. It’s so much more than that.

15. Water Lilies (2007) dir. Céline Sciamma – Sciamma’s screenwriting and directorial debut, the first in her trilogy on youth, is as painfully beautiful as its sequels (Tomboy and Girlhood). It’s also one of the rare films that explores the overlap of queerness and girl friendships.

16. The Trouble with Angels (1966) dir. Ida Lupino – Movies about shenanigan-based female friendships are such rare delights. Rosalind Russel is divine as Mother Superior, and Hayley Mills as “scathingly brilliant” as the pranks she plays on her. Ida Lupino’s skill as an editor only enhances her directing, providing some truly iconic visual gags to complement dialogue snappy enough for Gilmore Girls. 

17. Vagabond (1985) dir. Agnès Varda – Shot with a haunting realism, this film has no qualms about its heroine’s inevitable, unceremonious death, which it opens with, matter-of-factly, before retracing her final (literal) steps to the road-side ditch she ends up in. (I’m partly convinced said heroine was the inspiration for Sarah Manning in Orphan Black.)

18. One Sings, The Other Doesn’t (1977) dir. Agnès Varda – Probably my favorite classic Varda, this film feels incredibly personal. It’s essentially a love story about two best friends with very different lives. For an indie made in the ‘70s, the diversity, scope, and themes of the film are impressive. Even if the second half a drags a bit, the first half is absolute perfection, engaging the viewer immediately, and clipping along, sprinkling in some great original songs that were way progressive for their time (about abortion, female bodily autonomy, etc) and could still be considered “bangers” today.

19. Emma (2020) dir. Autumn de Wilde

20. Black Panthers (1969) dir. Agnès Varda

21. Into the Forest (2016) dir. Patricia Rozema - When the world was ending (i.e. the pandemic hit) this was the first movie I turned to - a quiet, meditative story of two sisters (Elliot Page and Evan Rachel Wood) surviving off the land after a sudden global blackout. Four years later, it’s still one of my favorite book-to-screen adaptations. I fondly remember speaking with director Patricia Rozema at the 2016 Chicago Critics Film Festival after a screening, her love for the source material and desire to “get it right” so apparent. I assured her then, and reaffirm now, that she really did.

22. City of Trees (2019) dir. Alexandra Swarens

23. Never Rarely Sometimes Always (2020) dir. Eliza Hittmann - To call this a harrowing and deeply personal journey of a sixteen-year-old who must cross state lines to get an abortion would be accurate, but incomplete. It is a story so much bigger than that, about the myriad ways women’s bodies and boundaries are constantly violated.

24. Paradise Hills (2019) dir. Alice Waddington

25. *Eve’s Bayou (1996) dir. Kasi Lemmons – I’ve been meaning to watch Kasi Lemmons’ directorial debut for many years now, and I’m so glad I finally have, because it fully deserves its icon status, beyond being one of the first major films directed by a black woman. Baby Jurnee Smollett's talent was immediately recognizable, and she has reminded us of it in Birds of Prey and Lovecraft Country this year. If merit was genuinely a factor for Oscar contenders, she would have taken home gold at eleven years old. Beasts of the Southern Wild has been one of my all-time favorites, but now I realize that most of my appreciation for that movie actually goes to Lemmons for blazing the trail with her story of a young black girl from the bayou first. It’s also a surprisingly dark story about memory and abuse and familial relationships that cross lines - really gutsy and surprising themes, especially for the ‘90s.

26. Blow the Man Down (2019) dir. Bridget Savage Cole & Danielle Krudy - Come and get your sea shanty fix!

27. Touchy Feely (2013) dir. Lynn Shelton - R.I.P. :(

28. Hannah Gadsby: Douglas (2020) dir. Madeleine Parry - If you thought Gadsby couldn’t follow up 2018′s sensational Nanette with a comedy special just as sharp and hilarious, you would have been sorely mistaken.

29. Girlhood (2013) dir. Céline Sciamma

30. Breathe (2014) dir. Mélanie Laurent

31. *A Dry White Season (1989) dir. Euzhan Palcy

32. Laggies (2014) dir. Lynn Shelton

33. *The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood – Everything I’ve ever wanted in an action movie: Immortal gays, Charlize Theron wielding a labrys (battle axe), kinetic fight choreography I haven’t seen since the last Bond movie…Watched it twice, then devoured the comics it was adapted from, and I gotta say: in the hands of black women, it eclipses the source material. Cannot wait for the just-announced sequel.

34. Morvern Callar (2002) dir. Lynn Ramsay

35. Shirley (2020) dir. Josephine Decker

36. *Radioactive (2019) dir. Marjane Satrapi – The story is obviously well worth telling and the narrative structure – weaving in the future consequences of Curie’s discoveries – is clever, but a bit awkwardly executed and overly manipulative. There are glimpses of real brilliance throughout, but it feels as if the director’s vision was not fully realized, to my great disappointment. Nonetheless, I appreciated seeing Marie Curie's story being told by a female director and embodied by the always wonderful Rosamund Pike.

37. *The Half of It (2020) dir. Alice Wu - I feel like a real scrooge for saying this, but this movie did nothing for me. Nothing about it felt fresh, authentic or relatable. A real disappointment from the filmmaker behind the wlw classic Saving Face.

38. Mouthpiece (2018) dir. Patricia Rozema - I am absolutely floored. One of those films that makes you fall in love with the art form all over again. Patricia Rozema continues to prove herself one of the most creatively ambitious and insightful directors of our time, with this melancholic meditation on maternal grief and a woman’s duality.

39. Summerland (2020) dir. Jessica Swale - The rare period wlw love story that is not a) all-white or b) tragedy porn. Just lovely.

40. *The Last Thing He Wanted (2020) dir. Dee Rees – As rumored, a mess. Even by the end, I still couldn’t tell you who any of the characters are. Dee, we know you’re so much better than this! (see: Mudbound, Pariah)

41. *Cuties (2020) dir. Maïmouna Doucouré – I watched this film to 1) support a black woman director who has been getting death threats for her work and 2) see what all the fuss is about. While I do think there were possibly some directorial choices that could have saved quite a bit of the pearl-clutching, overall, I didn’t find it overly-exploitative or gross, as many (who obviously haven’t actually watched the film) have labeled it. It certainly does give me pause, though, and makes me wonder whether children can ever be put in front of a camera without it exploiting or causing harm to them in some way. It also makes one consider the blurry line between being a critique versus being an example. File this one under complicated, for sure.

42. A Call to Spy (2019) Lydia Dean Pilcher – An incredible true story of female spies during WWII that perfectly satisfied my itch for British period drama/spy thriller and taught me so much herstory I didn’t know.

43. Kajillionaire (2020) dir. Miranda July - I was lucky enough to attend the (virtual) premiere of this film, followed by an insightful cast/director Q&A, which only made me appreciate it more. July's offbeat dark comedy about a family of con artists is queerer and more heartfelt than it has any right to be, and a needed reprieve in a year of almost entirely white wlw stories. The family's shenanigans are the hook, but it's the budding relationship between Old Dolio (an almost unrecognizable Evan Rachel Wood) and aspiring grifter Melanie (the luminous Gina Rodriguez) that is the heart of the story.

44. Misbehaviour (2020) dir. Philippa Lowthorpe – Again, teaching me herstory I didn’t know, about how the Women’s Liberation Movement stormed the 1970 Miss World Pageant. Keira Knightley and Gugu Mbatha-Raw’s characters have a conversation in a bathroom at the end of the film that perfectly eviscerates well-meaning yet ignorant white feminism, without ever pitting women against each other - a feat I didn’t think was possible. I also didn’t think it was possible to critique the male gaze without showing it (*ahem Cuties, Bombshell, etc*), but this again, invents a way to do it. Bless women directors.

45. *All In: The Fight for Democracy (2020) dir. Liz Garbus and Lisa Cortes – 2020’s 13th. Thank god for Stacey Abrams, that is all.

46. *The 40-Year-Old Version (2020) dir. Radha Blank – This scene right here? I felt that in my soul. This whole film is so good and funny and heartfelt and relatable to any artist trying to walk that tightrope of “making it” while not selling their soul to make it. My only initial semi-note was that it’s a little long, but after hearing Radha Blank talk about how she fought for the two-hour run-time as a way of reclaiming space for older black women, I take it back. She’s right: Let black women take up space. Let her movie be as long as she wants it to be. GOOD FOR HER.

47. Happiest Season (2020) dir. Clea Duvall - Hoooo boy. What was marketed as the first lesbian Christmas rom-com is actually a horror movie for anyone who’s ever had to come out. Throw in casual racism and a toxic relationship treated as otp, and it’s YIKES on so many levels. Aubrey Plaza, Dan Levy, and an autistic-coded Jane are the only (underused) highlights.

48. *Monkey Beach (2020) dir. Loretta Todd

49. *Little Chief (2020) dir. Erica Tremblay – A short film part of the 2020 Red Nation Film Festival, it’s a perfect eleven minutes that I wish had gone on longer, if only to bask in Lily Gladstone in a leading role.

50. First Cow (2019) dir. Kelly Reichardt – I know Kelly Reichardt’s style, so I’ll admit-- even as I was preparing for an excellent film, I was also reaching for my phone, planning on only half paying attention during all the inevitable 30-second shots of grass blowing in the wind. (And yes, there are plenty of those.) But twenty minutes in, my phone was set aside and forgotten, as I am getting sucked into this beautiful story about two frontiersman trying to live their best domestic life.There is only one word to describe this film and that is: PURE. I’ve never seen such a tender platonic relationship between men on screen before, and it’s not lost on me that it took a woman to show us that tenderness. Reichardt gives us two men brought together by fate, and kept together by a shared dream and the simple pleasure of not being alone in such a hard world; two men who spend their days cooking, trapping, baking, and dreaming of a better life; two men who don’t say much, but feel everything for each other. The world would be a much better place if men showed us this kind of vulnerability and friendship toward each other. Oh, and it’s also a brutal take-down of capitalism and the myth of the American Dream!

51. Wonder Woman 1984 (2020) dir. Patty Jenkins - My most-anticipated film for the past two years was...well, a mixed bag, to say the least. Too many thoughts on it for a blog post, so stay tuned for the upcoming podcast ep where we go all in ;)

52. *Selah and the Spades (2019) dir. Tayarisha Poe

I hope this gives you some ideas to kick off your new year with a resolution to support more female directors!

What were your favorite women-directed movies of last year? Let me know in the tags, comments, or asks!

[pbandjesse]

Today was great and Im only frustrated that my lip has gotten worse again. I think from the friction from my mask and the heat all day made it worse. But my whole mouth area hurts and it sucks. Honestly, I am also just very sore. We did a lot of walking in the sun today!!

I didn't sleep great last night. I had weird nightmares again and I woke up with my lip all covered in dry blood. I was pretty upset about it and it would only get worse. I tried my best to baby it but there was only so much I could do.

I got washed up and dressed though. I was super excited for costume. I would end up wearing my corset open because it was a lot warmer then I expected. But I felt so cute. I loved how I did my hair, with two twisted braids under my headband. I was very pleased. My makeup would mostly wear away half way through the day but I still felt really good about it. James put on their costume so we could see how it looked before we left, just in case something had to change. But I think they looked great. The new shirt is so good and loots great on them. They would wear a regular shirt for the drive, so I put all our accessories and their costume in a tote bag to bring with us.

I was in a really chill mood overall. Jess was texting me all upset about feeling rushed and things not working the way she was hoping but I was chill and tried to give her some of that energy.

We left here and went to Mcdonalds before we drove the hour and a half to the ren faire.

And it was a good drive! The way there we made great time, we listened to a few episodes of the story podcast we listen to on long drives. We had lots of laughs because I kept saying dumb shit and James would tease me but in the best way. It was a good ride.

Jess was worried about the parking line but we got there a little after 1030 and there was no line at all! And they pulled in minutes after us!

It took us all a few minutes to get our costumes right and get ourselves together. But Jess and her brother and sister-in-law would come over to us and then we would all go in together.

We got in really fast. And for real it was barely crowded. Like there were crowds but nothing like Ive experienced in the past. We barely had to wait for anything. When we first got there we got lemonade and played with some photo opp things. I had a great time walking around and was for sure the leader of the day.

I would just lead us to what I thought was good. James was there for whatever and Jess didn't have anything specific. We didn't know what any shows were so we only ended up going to one. Which was the mud pit show. Which I always love. We caught a little of a few other shows but we should have probably planned that better. We did get to see the mermaids which was very cool though. She even had fangs.

I loved seeing people's costumes. And we ate a lot of different things. I had a smoothie. Me and Jess shared a pickle. Jess and James each had turkey legs. I had a baked potato. We would have kettle corn and I got a little sandwich. They got coffee and James shared an apple muffin with me. It was such a food day and it was great.

We didn't buy much beyond food. I did get to do things I never got to before. I got to do the gemstone panning thing. I have always wanted to do that but it always seemed expensive but it was $15 and I got some awesome stones and really had a great time. And James got me one of those copper roses and I always wanted one of those. So it was pretty great.

We would do a lot of walking. A lot of people watching. Going in shops. Enjoying the company. We watched the glass blowing demo. We got James sized for a kilt and the men who ran that place were so excited that were getting married. They apparently also do rentals and gave us their card so we can get something for James that we know is nice. I think we even know the color.

I really had a great day. I was tired but like in a good way. We went to the dungeon and read about all the scary things people did to each other. James found someone's wallet?? So we gave that to the woman at the front. I hope it made its way back to the owner.

We did see a poor girl who was wasted wasted and an actor came to check on her because she was double over on her self, looked asleep, but then security staff and first aid came and checked on her to get her some water and find her friends. I hope she is okay.

We surprisingly didn't see to many embarrassingly drunk people, for being Octoberfest. It was fun seeing people in all kinds of costumes though and I was having a great time.

Jess was moving very slow because her feet hurt and we kept losing her. So to keep James slow I held their hand and to keep Jess with us I held her hand and we were a little train. A man at a booth laughed at us and said we needed a leash when I told him why we were doing this. But it worked!!

Jess got a precious hat. And then we bought honey products. We ran into her brother and sister in law and it was decided we wouldn't stay through the end and instead leave at 530ish.

So we got our last snacks and headed to the front to wait.

Me and Jess talked for a while while James filled our water bottle. And then we went out to sit in a gazebo and take some costume pieces off. It was just a wonderful day. I am so glad we got to go. Lookign through my posts we haven't been there together since 2014, me and James went to the Maryland one ins 2018. But it has been forever so this was just the best. And I get to see Jess again next Tuesday so it wasn't even that sad saying goodbye.

I was excited to go home. But we had some issues. We ended up going on the wrong exit on the turnpike and had to go twenty miles out of the way to turn around. And then we had another wrong turn and it was another 20 minutes added.

But we stopped for donuts and tacos after that. Donuts for James and tacos for me. And we listened to more tanis and enjoyed the sunset.

We got home around 830. Washed up and now were in bed. My lips are hurting really bad and have split open again. Im going to get actual neosporn tomorrow. Auquafore just isn't cutting it.

But now is time for rest.

I hope tomorrow is beautiful for all of you. Goodnight everyone!!

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Four

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: I promise I'm not doing this on purpose...I'll see you guys on Monday. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains vivid depictions of gore and minor allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]

"Well, there's our ride." Ezra observed, sounding relieved. You didn't blame him. The two of you had pushed yourselves hard to get to the camp with enough time to spare for harvesting after your short rest. Night had slowly fallen as you moved, so it had been a blessing to see the large fire from the mercenaries' camp.

"Let's go then, c'mon." You murmured, striding forward. A hand on your sleeve stopped you in your tracks, and you turned back to give him a look of confusion.

His eyes had gone wide, deep brown reflecting the greenish-yellow gleam of the fire. "Damon spoke of Karolclan mercs. He conveniently forgot to mention that they were the Karolclan mercs. The only ones that fucking matter." Ezra hissed, "That's fuckin' Mikken's crew, gentle soul, or I will eat my haul."

You hadn't actually been concerned about the mercenaries until Ezra resorted to dropping 'fucking' every other word. He hadn't cursed this much when you had taken a chunk out of his arm.

"Martyr's malfeasance, we are in the shit." He continued, sounding panicky. "See that woman? Inumon, the fuckin' Krebine defector. The fabled blood-soaked bloodhound from that whole mess with the Second Illumination."

Your stomach knotted nervously despite not even knowing who (or what) the Second Illumination was. "I...maybe I should go in alone?" You suggested. Ezra fixed you with an incredulous look, those heavy brows drawn tight enough to carve furrows in his forehead. "Look, I'm...I'm not threatening, right? If I go in first..."

"You wander into that camp of Fringeling mercs, raw at the end of tour--" He stopped, shaking his head grimly. "Gentle soul, the outcome of that particular negotiation technique has less and less favor as the seconds pass."

You swallowed hard. "They might be more willing to accept our terms if I...if I offer them something first. Damon said I-" You closed your eyes, not wanting to repeat what Damon had said about you and your potential bodily bargaining capabilities. "M-Maybe I could-"

"Damon is dead for a reason, gentle soul. And if that man did anythin' to you regarding something like that, he deserved every slug Number Two and myself placed in his churlish, thieving junkie guts." Ezra snarled. "Did he-?"

"I told you not to ask." You reminded him in a whisper. His fury made you feel warmer even as your stomach dropped out.

"That...you did." He allowed reluctantly. "I apologize. Intrigue will always be the death of my good sense." He pulled himself up a bit, squaring his shoulders. "All the same, no. I am not throwin' you into that lions den alone. You are no Daniel, gentle soul. Stay clear and close and I'll talk us through." Ezra bumped his helmet against your own, his tone serious. "When it comes time to dig, I'll need you sharp. I've never harvested one-handed before. I'm gonna' need some help. But we'll keep it creamy, and it'll all be fine." He assured you with a wan smile.

You did your best to smile back, but you were certain it looked more like a wince. Ezra gripped your arm tight, almost like a hug. 

"Alright, gentle soul. Deep breaths."

…

The fabled Mikken's reception was...less than warm. As Ezra haggled carefully with him, all easy smiles, bowing and scraping, you watched the man's second in command slink closer in the light of the fire. Something about her eyes set off warning bells in your head; now this was a Krebine. She had the lethal grace, the jammer belt, and on her flank hung a red canvas square with a faded, complex insignia. 

Inumon, Ezra had said. It sounded almost like inhuman.

You weren't particularly surprised when she lunged at you, but that didn't stop you from being scared stiff. Your back hit the ground hard and you felt her body press down on you, the square angles of her helmet skidding against the round dome of your own. Her eyes flicked back and forth, like she was waiting for you to start struggling. Prey, that was all you were to her.

"Inumon here has been lookin' for a way out since touchdown." Mikken remarked calmly to Ezra. "I'd reckon you'd best jump to it if you're tryin' to keep your pay...and your partner."

Inumon was muttering under her breath in Vayok, those eyes watching you as she palmed roughly over the front of your helmet. You didn't make a sound. You weren't sure if you even could have at that point, her weight concentrated on your abdomen all but cutting off your ability to breathe. 

Ezra crouched next to your head, his knee rubbing your shoulder as he fixed Inumon with a fierce gaze through his helmet. "I am the gatekeeper to more wealth than any of us have ever seen." Gone was his easy smile, his words as strategically aimed as thrower shots. "And you've been wastin' in the Green for far too long to let that slip away."

Inumon slid Ezra's confiscated pistol beneath your chin. You cringed, giving Ezra a panicky look.

The prospector seemed unaffected by Inumon's threat, the knee pointedly digging into your shoulder the only indicator that he took note of your fright. "I'm afraid I am the only means to the successful end of your venture." He tipped his eyes up to Mikken. "And I say the terms have changed." Ezra rose to his full height once more, his voice firm. "Thirteen points, plus a ride for me and my partner on your handsome craft, or no deal. Find a way." 

Inumon ground her helmet down against your own and you could feel the thrower pressing up into your gorget gasket. The chiclet of Brism popped free from its tape, landing somewhere behind your head inside your helmet. The side of Ezra's boot rested against your arm and you closed your eyes, attempting to center yourself with the steady pressure. 

"Now, I do not intend to breach my station," Spoke up one of the other mercenaries, his voice humming mechanically. "But perhaps the secondary hydrogen four offers a viable solution to this stalemate." He hesitated, then continued, "one that will keep us all in pay."

"My boy, this is a winner." Ezra agreed, his genial smile back. "I think a little backup thrust is an easy drop under the circumstances. What do you say, boss?"

Mikken waited for what felt like an eternity before growling out, "Fine."

Inumon jerked away from you at the sound of his agreement, spitting more Vayok. It was clear that she was dissatisfied with this arrangement, and she made that lack of satisfaction abundantly clear when she grabbed hold of Ezra's filter and switched it off.

The man began to choke almost immediately, coughing and struggling for breath while Inumon just stared at him impassively through her helmet. You inched your hand towards her ankle. If you pulled, she would at the very least be knocked off balance; she would probably let go of Ezra's filter and then-

Mikken suddenly spoke up in Vayok, barking some sort of order, and Inumon reluctantly released the switch. She hissed something at Ezra that made his back go rigid even as he gulped air, the prospector glaring at her venomously before he seemed to be able to stop himself. 

"Well…" he drawled, his tone dripping with forced joviality as he reached down to help you up from the ground, "gentlemen...and women, let's get rich." Acting like he was assisting you in dusting yourself off, he pressed the side of his helmet to yours and muttered, "too close, sorry about that. Glad you would have helped though." Obviously he had noticed your intent to go after her ankle.

You gripped his good arm tightly, nodding as you kneaded at the exosuit sleeve. You didn't trust your voice, certain that if you opened your mouth you would start crying and wouldn't be able to stop. 

Ezra patted the back of your helmet and then pulled away. "Ready to dig?" He asked brightly.

...

It was indeed the Queen's Lair, or as close to it as reality could get. Rows upon rows of small mounds dotted the shallow crater, each one promising aurelac pearls that dwarfed whatever you had harvested previously. 

Ezra was as giddy as a child, his exhaustion forgotten as he scampered around the dig site examining everything while you prepared the diffuser and the fazer squeeze bottle. 

One of the hummocks had been pierced, the blood spattered around it serving as a clear indicator of the excavationary skill Mikken's crew possessed. "Somebody already gave her a go?" Ezra queried curiously, tugging free the knife that was still embedded in the hummock.

"We found it diggin' for tie-downs." Mikken tilted his head back towards the fire, indicating the mercenary in the red exosuit. The empty left sleeve of his suit had been knotted and pinned at the shoulder. "Our boy dove in fist first, and it ate his arm." 

Ezra shook his head, ruefully drawling, "That's the price of a dry breach." He seemed a touch too self-assured when he continued, "but my chem will calm the brine." He began using the knife to test the area, carefully tapping the hilt against the hummocks. 

It was important to know how filled with brine each mound was, as the prudent prospector would begin with the least full and work their way up, nullifying and draining the brine as they went to reduce the potential risk. Of course, you had never seen a cluster of this particular magnitude. You were uncertain if there was even a way to safely 'runoff' the no-doubt copious amounts of brine, but you were game to try if Ezra was.

"Hello, sweetheart." Ezra crooned as a hollow noise rang out from beneath the knife's questing grip. The older man flipped the knife around and stabbed into the mounded earth, slicing it open gingerly. He was solely using his left hand, the right hanging limp at his side.

You pressed the square container of diffuser into his hand when he gestured you over, and you could feel him shaking. Whether from excitement or weariness, you couldn't say. 

"You got the cocktail mixed, gentle soul?" He asked idly as steam issued from the hole, the nuller working its magic to render the gear-dissolving brine impotent. 

"Of course." You replied, all business. This was what you knew how to do. "Are we pulling them all and then de-blistering and fazing, or are we fazing as we go?"

Ezra hummed contemplatively, working his jaw. "I'd say a bit of both." He murmured. "Lest our gracious hosts grow impatient with us." He cocked his head surreptitiously over at Mikken, who was looking back towards the campfire. "We'll pull a few, faze, rinse and repeat." 

"How's your hand?" You asked softly.

"It is...not suited for delicate work." Ezra grimaced. "I can feel it again and it is not festerin', mind you, but I know better than to try and use it for anythin' important."

You nodded. "I'll handle the skinning, then."

The two of you worked nearly in silence for a time. You constantly checked your watch, the red indicators at the top blinking to warn you that the second cycle had long since shifted into the third. 

Ezra was slow, almost too slow. The minutes between pulls seemed to be stretching longer and longer as he struggled along left-handed to extract the aurelac sacks, and you noticed Mikken beginning to get antsy. 

"Want to swap?" You offered, climbing down into the crater. "Skin a few, rest." 

"No, n-no no, I'm fine." Ezra waved you off with that easy grin, but his eyes were grave. "I would not be of any particular use for the de-blisterin', my hands...I'm not up to snuff, gentle soul." He sighed. "This is the more prudent option. I am simply weary due to our forced march, you can sympathize."

"Is there a problem?" Mikken asked, his thrower rifle whining as he primed it.

"We're just discussing a switch, maybe taking a short break." You squeaked before Ezra could pipe up. 

Mikken shook his head. "No breaks. You work through to the end or you don't get on the rock jumper. Simple as that." The thrower remained primed, aimed lazily to the side of you.

"Indeed." Ezra replied dryly. "We'll get back to it then." His hand caught your own and he squeezed it, whispering, "I will endure, gentle soul. I have no choice. Salvation beckons."

The hours dragged by, that mercenary with the voice modulator (who apparently went by Jack) wandering over every now and then to collect the extracted pearls and package them up. Your neck and back ached, fingers cramping from how tightly you had to hold the scalpel. But if you wavered you would puncture the blisters of carrom acid that protected the aurelac, ruining the pearls beyond any hope of salvage.

Ezra's breathing was dissolving into hacking coughs yet again. His battered filter had clearly given out. You rose from your spot beside the crater and nearly toppled in, pins and needles flooding your body. 

Mikken leveled the thrower at you and you raised your hands. "I-I'm just going to tether to him! If he can't breathe, he can't harvest." You reasoned frantically, tapping your tether tube and then gesturing down at the wheezing man. "We have enough length that he can still work, I promise. I can always move closer."

Mikken muttered something under his breath, but lowered the gun. 

You stumbled into the pit, moving as fast as your half-sleeping limbs would allow. Ezra didn't even seem to notice your presence until the tube had been hooked up for several seconds, the man starting violently and stepping back from you. "Martyr's malfeasance gentle soul, don't creep up on a man unawares." He said blearily. "Liable to get perforated."

You scooped the large knife off the ground where he had dropped it and gave him a gentle nudge towards the lip of the crater. "I know you don't trust yourself to faze right now, but I'm sure you can at least skin a few. Hop out. I'll extract."

"Gentle soul, I-" Ezra shook his head, extending his left hand to you. His whole arm was trembling and jerking wildly, muscles in spasm from the prolonged toil. "I can assure you that is a poor choice." He said through gritted teeth. 

"You need to rest." You insisted.

"No, I need to get the fuck off this pestilence-ridden Nessus before I lose the last tenuous fragments of my sanity!" He snapped, raising his voice in frustration. You cringed at his volume and Ezra swore again, closing his eyes tightly and taking several deep breaths. "I-I apologize, gentle soul, it's not you that I'm-"

"Hey." Mikken said sharply. "You're here to dig, not have a damn conversation."

"And how much longer do you expect us to do so, praytell?" Ezra queried angrily, attempting to pull himself up out of the shallow crater. "The shadows are growin' heavy. We were hardly a dose away from the freighter pass when we arrived, and it has been--" 

Mikken interrupted him with a shrug. "Don't take more than five minutes to prime the jumper for takeoff. And Jack's been loadin' as you harvest, floater." He spat the term like a curse.

You could pinpoint the exact moment where Ezra entirely lost his composure, the prospector seizing your scalpel and wordlessly sawing it into Mikken's heel. The mercenary toppled into the pit, his thrower going off as he did. Hideously silent aside from his struggling breathing, Ezra caught the back of the man's neck and forced his entire head into one of the many open wounds on the Queen. The brine hissed and sizzled as Mikken thrashed, then everything was still.

You stared at Ezra, who was staring down at the still-twitching body at his feet. "The...the shot will bring the rest of 'em in." He choked out. "Don't say anythin'. I'll do my best to salvage this, alright?" 

You nodded dumbly, setting the knife back down on the ground and instead grabbing the small squeeze bottle of fazer. If worse came to worst, you at least knew you could use the fazer as a distraction.

Ezra launched into a string of profanities under his breath, each one more creative than the last. The man was clearly furious with himself for losing his grip on his temper, but you could hardly blame him. Floater.

You heard the distant clatter of gear approaching, catching sight of Inumon and Jack storming past the campfire. Your heart leaped into your throat as the mercenaries clustered around the crater, throwers aimed at you and Ezra.

"Greedy fool!" Ezra announced, his smooth grin back on his face. "Couldn't help himself. Took a stumble gettin' a closer look." He gestured down at Mikken's remains. "Now, time presses! And I am going to need assistance if we are to-"

Whatever he would have said was drowned out by the deafening music and static from Inumon's jammer belt, the woman circling the pit as the sound overrode the transmission from Ezra's helmet com. Your ears rang at the sudden auditory assault, making you shake your head in a vain attempt to dislodge the noise.

Inumon knelt at the edge of the excavation, her eyes trailing down the length of Mikken's body. You clutched the bottle of fazer tightly and, as you heard the primer on her gun shriek to life, you yanked Ezra's arm and pitched the fazer into the nearest open mound. Ezra grabbed hold of you, pinning you to the side of the pit and shielding you with the bulk of his suit. 

The resulting chemical reaction rocked the ground and kicked up a massive cloud of dust. Ezra snatched Mikken's gun, cradling it in the crook of his bad arm and then grasping your hand to all but fling you in front of him. A thrower shot whizzed past your helmet and Ezra shouted, "go, go!" 

His heavy boots thundered on the ground behind you as the two of you fled into the surrounding woodland. The prospector jerked you down into a bush and you heard the thrower prime as he checked the ammunition. 

"Fuck, how fortuitous." Ezra groaned, "best hope they come in singles." 

As if in response to his comment, that merc named Jack emerged from the dust cloud, yelling, "over here!" when he caught sight of your headlamps. His shot went wide, but Ezra's didn't. 

The older man jettisoned the empty thrower as Inumon came careening forward over Jack's body, her shots not nearly as haphazard as Jack's. Half-blind, you and Ezra ran through the woods while she pursued. 

You finally skidded to a stop behind a large tree, gasping for breath and turning off your headlamp. Ezra began fumbling, like he was looking for something. You heard the whining buzz of the scalpel.

He suddenly said, "If we uncouple, you can run a distraction, opening me up for the backstab." You nodded quickly, already trying to undo the tube. Ezra grabbed your hand, halting you. "Are you sure?" He rasped, the concern in his tone causing your eyes to tear up momentarily. "I know that you are-"

The jamming signal blared through your coms again, making Ezra flinch and stiffen in pain at the ear-shattering volume. You, on the other hand, ripped yourself free and slammed your fingers down on your comm-box, killing the radio in your helmet. You then reached over and muted his channels as well, effectively nullifying the blaring jamming. Ezra seemed to stagger at the silence, grabbing onto the tree to steady himself before he turned back to you.

"I can do it!" You assured him, yelling so he could hear you through your helmet. Without the aid of your com, you had to resort to analog measures. "I can do it."

He looked torn for a moment, then leaned down to shove his helmet against yours. "You run fast, and you don't stop. You keep plenty of trees between you and her. You come straight back here as soon as I make the kill, so we can recouple. Clear?" He demanded, his own voice raised. His eyes met yours fiercely and you nodded, letting him know that you got the message. You switched your filter over into his purifier hurriedly before he could protest or stop you, and then you uncoupled from the tether.

You sprinted off, keeping low as you watched Inumon's headlamps advance through the trees. A shot rang out, but she wasn't aiming at you. It sounded like she was headed for Ezra. 

No time like the present, you decided, and you quickly threw your head forward to locate the lone piece of Brism. A few shakes later and the gum tumbled against your clear dome for you to scoop up with your tongue. The second the smooth coating hit your mouth it was like something exploded behind your eyes. Chewing furiously, you felt energy surge through your body. Despite your weariness, your dwindling oxygen and your fear, the woods around you flared to new and vibrant life. And through it all strode Inumon, her attention focused wholly on where she thought Ezra was.

You bolted forward, keeping the trees between yourself and her for as long as possible, letting her get as close to Ezra as you dared before you finally lunged at her. The clumsy scuffle of your boots in the thick underbrush obviously alerted the woman to your presence, too late to change course now though. Her body swung around to face you as you charged in.

You hadn't realized she had a bayonet on her thrower. The deadly blade pierced your stomach, your own headlong motion aiding the plunge. The Brism cranked the pain bright, sensations dulled and heightened at the same time. You shakily dropped your hands to the barrel of the rifle, about to try and push yourself backwards off the bayonet, but then…

Inumon started cackling at you, more Vayok words you didn't understand laced in with her scornful laughter. It was plain to see that she was mocking you though, mocking your pitiful attempt at stopping her. She probably thought you were useless, a useless little floater--

You're a floater, who the fuck would even care?

The fledgling pride in your timid belly roared to life like a bonfire at her taunting and you leaned into it with every ounce of the Brism burst, slamming your helmet against hers with enough force to stagger the both of you. You didn't recognize your own voice when you screamed, "don't you fucking laugh at me, bitch!" Blood and saliva spattered on the inside of your dome and you gritted your teeth, continuing to bear down on her head with your helmet. 

Her eyes went wide like you had startled her, and she began fighting to free up her thrower from your abdomen. You snapped one arm beneath the barrel, the other above it like you had done a hundred times before to get the rifle away from Damon and you managed to jerk it out of her grip with the superior leverage of the bayonet, staggering back a step.

Ezra loomed out of the darkness behind Inumon as the two of you struggled, the man brandishing the laughably-small scalpel with deadly intent. The blade stabbed into the gasket on Inumon's helmet, whirring wildly through the rubber gorget and then piercing the skin beneath it. 

Her maniac gaze landed on your face inches from her own and she shrieked, clawing frantically at your suit and then at Ezra as he punched the knife home again and again.

You took another step back, sinking to your knees as you tried to maintain your hold on the gun so it didn't end up doing even more damage...

The next thing you knew, you were being eased back against a tree trunk. Ezra was fumbling with your suit, trying to retether the two of you and working around the thrower. 

You pawed weakly at his arm and he jolted, staring wide-eyed through his helmet. "Go." You rasped, shoving the tube back into his violently-trembling hands. "Go…" His jaw worked and he turned his head away, seemingly to look at Inumon's body. Then back at you. "Leave, dammit!" You spat, slamming your fist into his good arm. "Don't let--all of this be f-for nothing!"

That appeared to do the trick. Ezra staggered to his feet, grabbed his confiscated pistol from Inumon's corpse and took off towards the fire of the dig site without so much as a goodbye. 

Tears welled up in your eyes and your vision blurred, your body working harder and harder to pull what little oxygen it could from the air left circulating in your suit. Now that the Brism burst had faded you could feel every inch of the bayonet, and each quivering, shallow breath served as a painful reminder that you hadn't died just yet. Inumon's headlamps were all but blinding, exploding starry across your eyesight every time you blinked back the tears.

You had always assumed, somewhere, deep down, that you would die alone. Being a floater, you had been alone for the majority of your life, and after enduring Damon's noisome company, you had hoped to be solitary for the rest of your days. As you watched Ezra's form dissolve into the haze of your tears, however, you couldn't help but wish that, just this once, you didn't have to be alone.

Part Five

[insanityclause]

Guillermo Del Toro is no stranger to widespread acclaim, especially from his ride or die legion of fans. Pan’s Labyrinth, the Hellboy duology, the list of genre-bending, timeless masterworks goes on. Coming off his 2 Oscar wins for The Shape of Water in 2018, and moving into finally releasing his animated Pinocchio film from the pits of development hell along with an adaption of Nightmare Alley next year, this couldn’t be a more thriving time for the Mexican auteur. Though amongst all the praise and glory, something has still felt missing these last handful of years. Besides his Oscar-winning film, Del Toro’s works prior to the 2010s are what generally buzz conversations of his genius. Those aforementioned films did, after all, skyrocket his name to fame. His titles from the last decade, however, are just as crucial to the Del Toro canon and emphasize his greater influence as a filmmaker. One, in particular, has seemingly gotten by in its young life at the hands of few. But now that Crimson Peak has officially turned 5, it’s time to turn that few into many.

Del Toro’s trifecta of the 2010s (not counting his work on television) stand out vastly from one another. Pacific Rim, Crimson Peak, and The Shape of Water: all love letters penned from the ‘nichest’ corners of his mind. These 3 arguably boast more diversity in genre than Del Toro’s 5 films of the 2000s (3 comic-book adaptations and 2 Spanish-set fantasies). Not a criticism, as established, those films now flaunt an immovable place within the cultural zeitgeist. Though with a career notoriously marked by a slew of unrealized projects (more on this later), it’s not often recognized how the ideas that did make the cut still lead a crystal clear trajectory in Del Toro’s growth as a storyteller. In the eyes of many, Del Toro pulls ideas out of a hat and gambles on which one actually sees the light of day. Humorous sure, but this is far from the truth.

Each Del Toro project feels like a pivotal step for what would come later, take his work on Trollhunters paving the way for his upcoming first animated feature for instance. Despite this trajectory, Crimson Peak feels criminally unsung 5 years later. Pacific Rim continued its life with a sequel and more planned spin-offs. The Shape of Water literally set a new bar for the Academy. This leaves Crimson Peak feeling like the pushed aside middle child of this trio. This isn’t a call for a sequel, and ‘underrated’ gets tossed around very loosely in modern film discussion. But for cinema as quintessential as Crimson Peak, it just doesn’t feel like it gets enough recognition – especially when the current film industry is seeing less big-budget, R-rated projects heavily steeped in genre.

You can easily trace Crimson Peak‘s short-lived spotlight back to its marketing. The timely October release and scare-heavy trailers sold a classic ‘Haunted House’ horror, when in reality, Del Toro’s film is a Gothic Romance. Set in the early 1900s, an aspiring American writer, Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska), is swept away by a promising English baronet, Thomas Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston). They discover true love and marry, leading the young newlywed to her husband’s decaying mansion in the English hills. The age-old manor is slowly, but surely, sinking in red clay – the very source of Sharpe’s wealth. Here Edith is forced to live with her new sister-in-law, Lucille Sharpe (Jessica Chastain), a reserved yet commanding force who works to hide the true nature of the house and its endless secrets. Mystery lingers as untamed lust, envy and greed unfold between the mansion walls, not leaving enough room for the restless red-colored spirits who haunt them. When it snows on this cursed hill, the clay surfaces, making it seem as if the land bleeds. Given more than just red clay rises from beneath, a deeper meaning is given to the place locals call ‘Crimson Peak’.

Just like the clay at the center of its mystery, Crimson Peak is an amalgamation, but of genre. It would be novice to expect anything less from Del Toro. The Gothic elements call back to many classic tales, such as Alfred Hitchcock’s adaption of Rebecca and, of course, Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. On the horror side, homage is paid to Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and Jack Clayton’s The Innocents. It’s a devilish blend that only this filmmaker could pull off so beautifully. And oh is Crimson Peak so god damn gorgeous. To contrast common period pieces that go for muted or sepia-toned color palettes, Del Toro turns the saturation on high. The result is an eye-popping picture that heightens the core emotions at play: fear, pain, and more importantly, love. Simply mesmerizing, avid fans will be quick to recognize the same shades of golden yellows, sea greens, and ruby reds found in Del Toro’s other works. It feels right at home in his filmography visually, while packing its own unique punch.

Red, a color mainly associated with passion, here instead intricately represents endless bloodshed. A twist that would suggest Crimson Peak is just as equal a horror film as it is a love story. Regardless of what might have been initially marketed to audiences in 2015, this film is a Gothic Romance from start to finish. Del Toro himself made this distinction clear to the studio from the get-go and repeatedly draws the line whenever given the chance. Yet, much like the rest of his repertoire, Crimson Peak utilizes horror not as a means to an end, but as a means for introspection. Yes, there are classic horror conventions such as jump scares, but it couldn’t be more obvious that Crimson Peak isn’t trying to evoke the same kind of high and dry fear other films heavily rely on. Del Toro is actively trying to get under your skin to achieve a hell of a cathartic viewing experience.

The ghosts of our past and how we let them define us is a core theme in Crimson Peak. The film opens on a flashback in which Edith is visited by the charcoal black ghost of her recently deceased mother. The nature of this visit sets the groundwork for the rest of the narrative. Mother Ghost, dreadful in appearance, doesn’t necessarily come to haunt her child, but to warn her. “Beware of Crimson Peak,” she says. The way Edith takes in this otherworldly occurrence, and those that follow, sets her apart from everyone else in the film. Wherein others flee from or lock away the ghosts of their past, she learns how to wear them on her sleeves – reaching out to the dead multiple times in the story, each attempt more confident than the last. Not too dissimilar from what Del Toro was playing with before, Jaeger pilots confronting past trauma in their quest to defeat Kaiju. At the same time, the transformation that occurs in Crimson Peak when neglected demons consume you from the inside – humans becoming the true monsters of their supernatural tales – would only be amplified in Del Toro’s next film.

Every minute detail coincides with this strategized, therapeutic use of horror. And to the everyday moviegoer trained by common tropes, Crimson Peak is quite deceptive. Just like Mother Ghost at the beginning of the film, the red spirits never manifest with the intent to cause physical harm, but instead to give messages and guide. Red clay seeps down the walls and the mansion ‘breathes’ as the country winds burst in. The house feels alive in the most cinematic sense possible, but the case as to it being ‘horrifying’ is not so black and white. Expertly designed to every inch, there is plenty of beauty to be found in the manor. Much of it has just been corrupted by a debauched affair – keeping this story rooted as a Gothic Romance. Subversion has always been the name of Del Toro’s game, and it’s within Crimson Peak that he uses it to mix genre so well while still staying true to his vision.

Though Crimson Peak saw Del Toro take subversion to a new level, notably with his main character. This film is a key chapter in his overarching legacy; not the first of his works to be lead by a defiant woman, but the first to have the female hero entangled in an unabashed love story. Effortlessly played by the brilliant Mia Wasikowska, the not so damsel in distress at the center of Crimson Peak is one of the most significant characters of Del Toro’s career. In discussing Gothic Romance with The Mary Sue in 2015, Del Toro explains: “This is quintessentially a female genre, that was written with characters that were very complex, very strong. I wanted to make a movie in which to some degree I recuperated and, maybe if possible, enhanced all that.” And enhanced he did for every central male character acts in more distress than Edith ever does, even when she is literally at the edge of death. A more than welcome change of pace that makes for a more resonating film.

Edith’s willingness to tackle the unknown is captivating and her vigor inspiring. But she isn’t absolved of frailty. For someone who comes to terms with facing the dead, her sheer vulnerability to heartbreak and suffering brings great humanity to the role. Hardly recognized, but Edith is one of Del Toro’s most self-reflective protagonists. A marginalized writer, inspired by the great Mary Shelley no less, in the midst of drafting her magnum opus, she immediately faces backlash from her novel’s inclusion of the paranormal. “It’s not [a ghost story]. It’s more a story with a ghost in it. The ghost is just a metaphor… for the past,” she says – giving Crimson Peak a rare Del Toro tongue-in-cheek quality that he utilizes until the credits roll. Meta enough given that the crimson ghosts Edith later encounters are, in fact, echoes of the past, but when looking back on the public’s initial perception of the film, it creates a charming, albeit ironic, wit only found here.

Additionally, when tracing back to Crimson Peak‘s pre-production days, you’ll find something even more profound. Penned by Del Toro and an old collaborator, screenwriter Matthew Robbins; this was the first script completed after the release of Pan’s Labyrinth in 2006. The two first worked together an entire decade earlier on Mimic, which has now gone down as the only film Del Toro has truly lost to studio interference. Del Toro was supposed to direct Crimson Peak in the late 2000s, but along came Hellboy II and his involvement in launching The Hobbit (another R.I.P). Through this hectic time, Del Toro would reunite with Robbins in writing 2010’s Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, directed by Troy Nixey. However, the two also spent time together writing something else: an adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness.

For those unfamiliar, At the Mountains of Madness is by far one of, if not, the most tragic of this filmmaker’s unrealized projects. After spending years trying to get this dream off the ground, Del Toro had the following to say to Empire in 2010: “It doesn’t look like I can do it. It’s very difficult for the studios to take the step of doing a period-set, R-rated, tentpole movie with a tough ending and no love story.” The payoff of Crimson Peak being a period-set, R-rated, tentpole film only 5 years after that statement couldn’t be sweeter. In the film, Edith is told to insert a love story for the better of her novel. Del Toro is obviously commenting on expectations tied to gender here, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s also referring to one of the biggest thorns in his own writing career – one that also ties back to writing partner Matthew Robbins.

When faced with the question, Del Toro has consistently said that all of his films carry an inherent Mexican touch just from the utter fact that they come from him, and Crimson Peak is no different. Whether if deriving from his personal experiences with tackling genre, both on and off paper, or from actual events tied to his life – Del Toro reimagines two separate ghostly encounters experienced by him and his mother through Edith – this film beams with the very essence of Del Toro’s soul. Perhaps most personified when the marginalized writer gets bloody and fights back with nothing but her pen, a visual that cements this as an important stepping stone in his career. It’s a fascinating through-line, connecting to very different segments of his canon while still defining a clear path. The mending of our wounds and subversion of gender roles is continued from Pacific Rim, while setting a bold new course for delving into unfiltered, mature romance in The Shape of Water.

This is only a fraction of what makes Crimson Peak quintessential Guillermo Del Toro. Gothic Romance has long been part of this auteur’s framework, and you would be remiss not to indulge in all of its glorious melodrama. Even if it isn’t your cup of tea, Del Toro will make it so. Reaching its 5-year anniversary, the film hits stronger than before. The intricate motifs, compelling use of practical effects (complete with the involvement of Del Toro veteran Doug Jones), and cathartic use of horror make for something that has yet to be replicated by a major studio. Its lacking box office performance suggests that maybe the world merely wasn’t ready for this masterwork? But just like its characters, we hold the power to define what comes next. Del Toro himself has previously ranked Crimson Peak as one of the 3 best films he’s ever made, and straight-up called it the most beautiful. Take his word and dive in no strings attached, because who knows when we’ll get another large scale, unapologetic Gothic Romance with this much grandeur.

[24suga]

Agust D’s 5 year anniversary was yesterday, August 15th, and I feel obligated to gush about all of it. I really don’t feel like any word that spills out of my fingertips will cover any of the surface, but I want to try for him. 

Agust D was the line that I had walked over that brought me to Yoongi’s corner when I became an ARMY in early 2018. I remember listening to the mixtape before reading the lyrics and thought to myself , “damn, this all sounds very heavy.” I then read the lyrics. 3 1/2 years later, we are here, and I still never get out of a listening session with dry eyes.

D-2 caught us by surprise 4 years later in the early months of a global pandemic that plagued us all in every way one can feel fatigued. The timing of such a gift meant a lot, considering it initially was supposed to be at our fingertips in late 2019. But as it’s written in the stars, Mr. SUGA takes his time and every second more he spends on his art, the more it blooms into something beautiful. Much like a reflection of him, but a reflection of all of us, too.

We hear the titles that listeners, other musicians (both at home and abroad), publications, basically anyone who can interpret music and its meaning, refer to Yoongi as; Hand of Midas and king of the Korean music industry, just to be humble and name a couple. It's very exciting as a fan seeing those things. But what I believe to be the most honorary is the way that we all feel comforted by him, especially that side which he shows under the title of Agust D. The different ways we interpret his words and the fact he allows us so graciously to do that. 

Personally, both albums are my greatest comforts. In major part because the man behind it is simply my favorite human being to ever walk this earth, but also equally because of how naturally and candidly he speaks about things that many turn away from. I feel as if lots of artists want to play it safe and focus on brighter subjects because it’s a good way to make listeners feel good, to get away from all of the bad things. All of that is okay, but it feels so much more comforting seeing and listening to someone such as Yoongi just call things by what they are. 

It took me a long time to be able to even say the words “depression” and “anxiety” to myself. I don’t think I understood it fully all that time, but I also felt ashamed and that that should be something I kept in secret no matter how much it hurt me. But hearing him speak about his past and even his present and how he has hopes for his future instilled a type of bravery within me that will absolutely never fade. All because of him. I began to slowly chip away at my walls and exposed bit by bit my vulnerability to which others could see. If I never had a hand in doing that, I don’t even have a clue where and if I would be in this position today. Mentally, emotionally, physically.

The point of all this blabbering is to express immense gratitude towards him and towards any person that has felt the warmth from Agust D, whether it be every album or just a single song, lyric, word. I feel lucky that we can be here with him and I know for a fact he always feels lucky that he can be here with us in more ways than one.

Thank you :) 

[millennial-star-gazer]

Tantric Flames: Chapter: 9

Tantric Flames

Nalu lovefest 2019 Prompts: Magic, Worship, Reckless , Forbidden and Cravings (All Implied)

Genres: Romance, Humor, New Adult Fanfiction

Pairing:Nalu (Natsu x Lucy)

Rating: M for language, steamy and mature adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Direction is advised.(You've been warned!)

Summary: One look, one smouldering hooded gaze, one word, one fiery kiss, one magnetizing touch was all he needed for her to completely unravel at his mercy alone, succumbing to the sinful temptation of her inhibitions, his love, his feral passion, his raw, insatiable desires, his "Tantric Flames". Originally an Submission for Nalulovefest 2017 (on previous accounts) in which Natsu gives his mate a tantric massage-after much persuasion- she won't soon forget when it turns into so much more. Also previously featured in Nalu lovefest 2018 (on current accounts) , as well as Nalu Week 2017, Nalu Fluff Week and Nalu lovefest 2017 (as stated) with first three chapters on my previous celestialgeekmage accounts . Chapter 7 was also an entry for nalu week 2019 and Chapter 8 for Nalu Lovefest 2019. ( Nalu-centric) (Slight Au).

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 9: Tempted by A Tantric Touch

A/N: Hey guys, it's your girl Millennial StarGazer! This time I'm returning with another long-awaited installment of Tantric Flames. Once again, a major thanks to and koodos to @bmarvels, @mannyegb, @animezing-fandoms/princess-starry-night, and @allie-and-her-fandoms for helping me edit and further develop this chapter! Now without further ado, here's the story-enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Fairytail which belongs to the one and only Hiro-sensei instead!

(Note: Scroll down pas the keep reading button/ cut for the designated links, legend and actual chapter.  The tagging feature and keep reading button might not show up or fully work on the desktop site but should function just fine on the app and mobile version.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Read More of Tantric Flames and the rest of my writing on here and other plaftorms.

)Note: You may need to Copy and paste designated links into a new browser tab or window if reading on the desktop site)

1. Tantric Flames

A. Tumblr Version

(Previous Chapter:) (Click Here:)   (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/188352271948/tantric-flames-chapter-8-tantric-art-of)

Chapter: 9          (Next Chapter ) (Coming Soon)

B. Fanfiction (Click Here:) ( or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13114990/1/Tantric-Flames-reupload-from-cosmicdragonwizardaccounts)

C. A03 (Click Here:) ( or here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17063882/chapters/40123739)

2. Master  Post Of All My Writing (Click Here:)  ( or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/179665258923/master-fic-rec-post)

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Legend:

Italic: Song Lyrics/Quotes (or flashback dialogue)

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: Empathized Word(s)

Bolded Italics (Within and Outside Bracket) including for author's side notes also known as (A/N:) within brackets (though none for side-notes in this chapter ).

-------------------------------------------------------------------

"You run your fingers over every part of my body and tease me with your touch".

(Source Unknown)

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh God, those love bites. So many love bites that decorated the blonde's creamy skin like jewels; far too numerous to count that always sent a red-hot line fire rippling through her nerves with with every nip, every suck; each every and stroke of Natsu's velvet tongue. Plus, he's usually doing other things at the same time. Racy images of the couple's steamy moments together from the last soak flooded Lucy's mind.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Flashback

-------------------------------------------------------------------

The celestial mage's back arching of its own accord into Natsu's touch from robust hands cupping her breast; Blazing digits kneading the twin peaks in time with lips sucking along Lucy's pulse with so much skill that she couldn't help the heady moan that escaped her throat.

"Ya feel that, Luce?" Nastu growled in his princess's ear, the dark undercurrent of his territorial voice pulling a tingly shiver from her. "My marks all over that perfect body of yours— and not just the permanent one when you swore your heart to me . All of those are symbols of my essence, my claim, my love. That you belong to me and me alone. My mate and queen, forever and always. And those sounds you're makin'? Hot as hell."

Pretty sure, dude leaves marks on me as his way of announcing to the world I'm off limits as his mate. Explains why he's always quick to leave a fresh one in its place even after I cover them— not that I'm complaining. Plus, it's not only for his benefit but mine. It's great that he knows how much I love receiving hickeys and gets off from it.

Seriously, what more could I ask for?

Not to mention how lovely it always was to unwind with Natsu after each bath. The wizard was often keen in his offer to dry the blonde's damp hair with a towel or fire-magic-powered steam; from her perch on his lap or between his legs. 

Much more relaxing than using a hair dryer if you ask me.

 The dragonslayer would sometimes even hum or sing a familiar tune from days past in that appealing, gravelly baritone of his; would usually lull the already-zen mage into the world of dreams when combined with the sooth dual sensation of fingers combing through her hair, .

"I tell you, I tell you, the dragonborn comes ..."

Anyother guild member who might be eavesdropping, however, would often be quick to lightheartedly goad the blonde mage ( much to her chargin). Natsu no doubt would find this hilarious of course; which would serve for Lucy's cheeks to flush an even deeper shade of crimson than she already was.

"Say Luce, is that a blush I see?" he once crooned, a teasing edge to his words; though the affectionate mirth sparkling in his eyes warmed her heart just a little. "Aw, is my girl a little embarrassed? That's okay though— makes ya all the more adorable and endearing than you already are. You want me to make it all better? Cuz I can! Got plenty of kisses! Come on, you know you want some which I'm more than happy to give. God I love ya' so much, you know that?"

It's amazing really... Lucy ruminated in fond awe. How Natsu can switch between the different roles and sides to him with relative ease. From Romantic and tender to dominant, playful and affectionate; then back again on top of everything else all seemingly at the drop of a hat. All an innate part of his overall nature I guess— essentially what makes up who he is. Some people may find this a bit confusing to keep up with— but I don't. Just makes him all the more complex.

Though those people would also be right when they say that the dude still has a devious streak, she couldn't help but add with wry smirk. Even with me, though never with malicious intent. German suplex, non-stop tickling, dumping me in a tub of freezing cold water during one of our baths— too many pranks to count really. At least he's always quick to follow up with plenty of affection ever since we became an item— can't complain about that."

"You ready to get started Lucy?" Natsu's keen voice broke through Lucy's reverie.

"You know it!" The celestial mage chirped, unable to mask the pure enthusiasm in her voice; earning an amused chuckle from the dragon wizard . "Can't wait. I take it you'll be hoarding me for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Mhmm" Came his content hum in response." That really a bad thing, though?"

"No, definitely not."

"I figured. Why don't we get you up on that massage bed?"

"Sure thing!"

A buzz of anticipation was practically thrumming in Lucy's blood from such tantalizing implications of his words; the stunt Natsu pulled next , though— that was what really shot a thrilling jolt up her spine.

"Let's finish what we started later, yeah?"

The dragonslayer's proposal was punctuated by a light tap on the summoner's ass for good measure,; which resulted in a delighted squeal.

"O-okay!" was said female's response in the form of a breathy giggle.

"Let me get you that towel while I'm at it."

"Sure— thanks."

"My pleasure."

-------------------------------------------------------------------

A Few Minutes Later

-------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ugh...do me a huge favor and burn this towel. Will ya?"

Lucy couldn't help but let out an audible groan along with the heat rising in her cheeks. Good god was the particularly moist spot on the white towel a truly mortifying sight to behold. Basically tell-tale remnants of liquid arousal that had been wiped clean from her legs just moments before.

Mavis only knows what would happen if Levy or Cana noticed during laundry duty.

" Okay... why though?" Natsu questioned, brows drawing together in mild confusion. "As in why do you want me to?"

"Guild Laundry day" came Lucy's automatic reply."That's why."

"Not following ya.' Natsu blinked owlishly in uncomprehension.

"Levy…..and Cana….." Lucy supplied, a finger twirling an errant strand of blonde hair in :a self-conscious display." "I... uh.."

"Still don't know what you mean here, Luce."

"It's their turn to do laundry duty." She attempted to break down what was apparently such an abstract concept into simpler terms; not able to help the aggravation rising in the back of her mind.

"Yeah? So?"

"They'll probably see the moist stain on the towel." Lucy clarified, forcing her voice to remain level.

"I see— don't see the problem though."

"Think about who'll most likely be with them ."

"Gajeel and Laxus but…...ahh—"

Realization dawned on Natsu's face. "I get it now. What you're saying is that they'll probably catch a whiff of your arousal? "

"Well, the lingering remnants of the scent anyway. Seriously though?" he tacked on, lifting a questioning brow."That's what you're worried about?"

"Yeah... I am," Lucy admitted, nerves leaking into her voice. "Aren't you?"

"Not really, no." Natsu gave a shrug of his shoulders—seemingly unfazed.

"Why's that?" Lucy couldn't help but shoot him a puzzled glance. 

"Cuz it'll show everyone how much I rocked your world." Natsu replied, flashing his mate a cheeky grin. " And what's not to love about that?"

"Pervert — of course you'd say that!" Lucy screeched, skin flushing a deep shade of crimson.

"That's me!"

"Ugh, still don't know what to do about the moist spot— those four are never gonna let me live it down."

"You know if you're that worried, I could always use my tongue to clean ya up instead." Natsu drawled with a lazy smirk that set her heart all pit-patter .

"And of course, you'd suggest that," Lucy quipped with a slight roll of her eyes. "Did I mention how much of a horn dragon you are? "

"Yeah, but only for a certain gorgeous blonde of mine and she loves it."

"Oh, she does, huh?" Lucy raised a challenging brow.

"Yep. Don't bother trying to deny it, Luce".

"Ugh fine... you're right. I do. Seriously, you and your colossal ego though."

"Why, thank you! If you're impressed by that, you'd really should see my co—"

The rest of Natsu's words were cut off by Lucy's hand swatting him with a pillow which was met with a snicker.

"Pervert" Lucy deadpanned with another eye roll. "By way, you would've found yourself in the proverbial dog house if you actually meant the other kind of 'fighting earlier."

Only for Natsu's face to instantly fall in response to her statement.

"What?" Natsu objected, gaping at her with wide eyes. " And deprive me of the chance to wake up to your beautiful face each morning for that long?!"

"Yep." Lucy gave a nod by way of reply.

"But why? You know that's not the type of fightin' I met!"

"Well yeah, I know that now. But not earlier when you originally brought up. Just be glad that you didn't bail on our date earlier."

"I didn't though! And never would— honest Luce!" Natsu's voice lifted into a petulant whine.

"Hmm.. Okay, good to know. " Lucy responded, raising her hands to placate him. "Though you'll have to be without me for a few days anyway.

"Wait, seriously?" Natsu faltered , bewildered panic flashing in his eyes. . "Come on! What is it this time?"

"Camping retreat in the woods next week that Cana, Mira, Lisanna, and Erza are organizing— ladies only."

"W-ha?" Natsu continued to sputter, his poor brain no doubt short circuiting by now." But Elfman said that it was open to anyone who's free to go!"

"Really? Lucy mused in thoughtful interest. "That's not what I heard... huh."

"What am I supposed to do without you?"

"How about something fun with the guys? Should be nice, right?"

"Yeah, but so is spending time with you Lucy! It's always more fun when we're together like you said."

"And I don't disagree. Doesn't change anything though. The trip's still happening."

"Didn't say it wasn't but it'd still suck here without you! Natsu moaned, that desperate sense of longing bleeding into his voice. " I'd miss ya' too much! So would our little buddy! Can't we tag along? Maybe Even share an air mattress in a decent-sized tent? I'd gladly help set up and keep you cozy in my arms at night."

"What about Happy?" Lucy questioned, intrigued by his suggestion. His offer does sound really tempting.

"Obviously he'd share the tent with us but would have his own sleeping bag and could hang with Wendy and Carla whenever we wanted alone time. Plus there are all these cool spots I could take you to on nature hikes!."

"Sounds great."

"Course it is! So whaddya say? You onboard?" Natsu wheedled, flashing her what could only be described as the most flawless puppy eyes she'd ever seen.

"Aw that's really tempting and" Lucy gushed, heart contracting at the adorable pout he was throwing in too. Normally I'd say yes"— but it'll have to wait. Thank you though! I'd love to take you up on that offer another day."

"Oh come on— please I wanna go!" Natsu huffed,stamping his foot as if he were a child pitching a fit over being denied a coveted toy- quite an amusing display to say the least.

"Not this time I'm afraid. Sorry, them's the brakes."

"Lucyyyyyyyyy!" Natsu whined again, dragging the syllables of her name with such melodrama that she finally decided to let him off the hook

" Jeez.. enough with the dramatics already. " Lucy yielded with an exasperated groan, You can still come— the trip is for everyone. I was only kidding after all."

Said confession was met with a noise of stunned dimsay from from the pyro.

"Wait... so ya' mean to tell me that this was a joke?! he muttered, voice coming out with a small pinch of disbelief. "You were pulling my leg the entire time?"

"Yep— consider it payback for me making think you were gonna ditch earlier."

"That's why? That's not nice, Luce— not very nice at all." Natsu grumbled, though not with any real heat.

"Oh yeah, what are you gonna do about it?" Lucy baited, a daring lilt to her words.

" Oh —- wouldn't you like to know?" Natsu rumbled, eyes sparking in a such a calculating way that it sent a electrifying chill down Lucy's spine.

"I would— ngh! Nastuuuu!"

The rest of what Lucy was attempting to say Lucy's words were cut off by the lighting- fast sweep of Natsu's velvet tongue up her thighs . Not to mention that electric high-voltage jolt of ecstasy flooding her veins.

"There! that should show ya!" Natsu let out a cackle of glee. " Not to ever play dirty tricks on a dragon I mean. Guess you're not gonna need that towel after all, huh Lucy?"

"My God..."

"Yeah, I know . Just that amazing with my tongue, I guess. Natsu purred, voice laced with am indecorous promise "Plus, hearing ya' scream my name like that just gave me another hard-on that I'd love for you to see .. "

"Jeez … of course it'd would . and no real shocker that you would say something like that."

"Yep- you know me so well, Luce. and it's not like you're complain' anyway. Want me to prove it?"

" Maybe.. But God- you're such a pompous ass, you know that?"

"Yeah but all part of my charm, sweetheart."

-------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: And that's Chapter 9 folks! My apologies for the delay by the way! I originally wanted to post this much sooner but got hit with writer's block after getting a somewhat stumped on a particular segment of this chapter. I've also been with my other ongoing fanfics, WIPs and responsibilities among other things in my life . That all aside, at least this chapter was finally posted! Now please feel free to do me a solid and let me know what you think by leaving a comment/ review! Stay tuned for Chapter 10 too! Oh and please feel free to check out the rest of my writing which can be found above, on my profiles and in master post if reading this on tumblr. All right, that's pretty much all I have to say for now! Thanks to all my mutuals/friends, readers and followers for their continuous support over the years! (Corresponding links for the master of my writing and profiles can be found above, in the navigation bar of the desktop and bio if reading this on tumblr.) Until next time-take care!

[eloquent--asshole]

My Date With the President’s Son Volume 2

a/n: So I just want to say WOW y’all have been so patient waiting for this. I was not expecting to get so many messages for a part 2 and I really appreciate everyone who has read or sent an ask! And I’ve been sitting on it for the last couple weeks because I wanted it to be well.. in my eyes, perfect. I hope you all enjoy :)

If you’ve missed it you can read Volume 1 here

I don’t remember how long I stood in that hallway in the White House. I don’t remember when I let my tears start falling. I don’t remember when Niall came around the corner and enveloped me in a hug. I don’t even remember what I saw on the drive home when my vision was blurred with tears.

What I remembered is how Harry’s normally olive eyes turned black. How his voice shook me like I was experiencing an earthquake. I remember how tight my chest felt hearing how upset he was. And I remember my breath leaving my body as I heard his bedroom door slam shut.

What once was Niall’s hard and cold attitude toward me turned warm and gentle when he dropped me off. “We’ll figure it out, okay? He just needs some time to calm down. I’ll talk to him” I recall him whispering, giving me one last hug before I got out of his car.

***

Sunday came and went as I laid in my bed, not daring to check my phone for any potential messages from Thompson.

“Hey, Y/N.” I glanced over my blankets to see Derek, Summer’s boyfriend, standing in my doorway. I moved my gaze back to the wall, barely acknowledging his presence.

I hadn’t told Summer or Ashlie about what had happened. All I said was that whatever Harry and I had was over. I heard Derek sigh before coming to take a seat next to me on my bed.

“How are you?” his voice was tender, like it scared him thinking I may throw a punch. I like Derek. He’s always been kind. When he and Summer started dating in college, he fit right in with our tight-knit group. He always knew what to say to Ashlie or me when one of his fraternity brothers would piss us off and helped us pass our chemistry exams.

“I’m okay,” I sighed, pushing the blankets from my chest. “I’ve been better.”

“Summer and Ashlie are worried about you, you know.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and quirked a grin, “Said they haven’t seen you like this since Professor Neuman wouldn’t let you take that final you missed.”

I cracked a smile with him. Of course that’s what they would compare this to. “Okay, Professor Neuman knew how badly I needed to pass that class.” I looked down at my hands sitting on my lap, “Besides, she was a bitch.” I mumbled.

He let out a cackle, “Yeah, that she was, kid. That she was.” I noticed Derek fiddling with his thumbs, avoiding eye contact with me. “Look, Y/N, I’m by no means a love expert. But whatever happened, and whatever will happen, I know that you’re tough and you can handle it. You work for the fucking FBI, dude. You need to remember who you are.”

“Derek, that’s the problem right now. I don’t know who I am. I took a mission thinking it would be a breeze because my boss and team had my back. And it blew up in my face when I couldn’t keep my personal life separate.” I paused so I could sit up against my headboard. “Am I really the girl that can’t keep up with the guys because I’m emotional? Niall has been working with Harry since President Styles got into office. How can I – “ My eyebrows scrunched, and I shook my head, trying to find the words. “I don’t want my personal and work life to be so tangled.”

Derek kept his gaze steady on me while taking in the information I just unleashed. “Okay… So untangle it.” My eyes flicked to meet his.

“What?”

“You heard me. Untangle it. Separate those again and come back to it.” With that, he got up and headed for the door. “Also, do you want some pizza? One’s being delivered in about 5.” I could only nod in response, still taking in his advice.

***

Thompson called me later that Sunday night. Should I even answer? “Hello?” I greeted Mr. Thompson.

“Hey, kid.” His voice was eerily quiet. “Niall called me.” Oh, great. Niall told Thompson everything. “He told me Harry found out… About the mission.” I felt the confusion cover my face, my mouth went dry, and a clammy feeling started on my palms.

“Oh, Mr. Thompson I – ”

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Thompson interrupted, “While I’m working on damage control this week, you’ll still be working. But I’m going to stick you on desk duty for the time being.” He grumbled. What? Not fired? “We’ll discuss your employment next week after we’re finished with damage control.” There it is.

When Thompson hung up, I lay my phone back on the nightstand. I had a few notifications from Ashlie and Summer asking if I wanted to talk, which I ignored. I should go for a run or to the gym. Something, Y/N. Something.

***

Walking into work was terrifying on Monday. Eyes followed me around the office as I went to my desk. I settled in and turned on my monitor.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” I looked up to see Thompson standing next to my desk.

“Mr. Thompson,” I welcomed him.

“Miss. Y/L/N, we’re moving you for the week.” What? “We’ll be sticking you in an office. Just for your peace of mind.” I nodded my head and picked up my bag to follow him down the hall.

We stepped into a compact room near the back of the office. The office filled with filing cabinets and papers askew from other workers. Thompson gave me a curt nod and excused himself to go back to work.

Sighing, I set my bag on the desk. The wavering lights were dim, almost dim enough to hurt my eyes. I turned on the monitor and logged into the database. Desk duty is probably the worst thing to do. All you do is research. Although, researching criminals sometimes got interesting.

I researched some of our most wanted suspects, finding where they were living, what they were doing, anything I could find. I came across a file that particularly caught my interest. Greg Patterson – Attempted assassination. Why haven’t I heard of this? Maybe it’s from a long time ago.

As I dug deeper into the file, I noticed that he had a connection to Harry, and to the government. Greg was a congressman’s son. Unfortunately for me the file didn’t have much in it except some basic information and a picture.

Last known location: New Orleans, Louisiana – December 2018.

Wanted for: Attempted assassination.

Reward: $1,000,000

I started looking at Harry’s social media connections, checking Facebook friends, Twitter followers, Instagram followers, everything.

Harry had posted nothing in the last week. Harry’s always on social media. I would know.

I scrolled through Harry’s Twitter followers, a username catching my eye. G_Pattsy. I clicked on the profile and was met with a picture of a single emerald eye; I looked back at the computer to compare the colors. Greg’s pictured shows that he has brown eyes, not green. I looked harder at the picture. Wait. That’s Harry’s eye.

I scrolled to the most recent update. It was a picture of the Washington Monument saying So good to be home😈.

Not good, Y/N, not good.

I printed the documents I had up and grabbed them, immediately going to Thompson’s office. The door was slightly cracked.

“Mr. Horan,” I heard Thompson’s gruff voice, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” I peeked into the room to see Niall standing in front of Thompson’s desk and Thompson facing the windows overlooking the 695.

“Sir,” Niall’s voice shook, “I haven’t seen him in two days. I don’t know where he could be.”

Haven’t seen who? Harry?

“Then you better fucking find him. You better get the entire TEAM sweeping this city to track him down!” Thompson roared. His voice ringing through my ears, and I’m sure Niall’s.

“Yes, sir.” I scurried from the doorway and hid behind a file cabinet. I watched Niall exit Thompson’s office and rush out of the building. My thoughts whirled to Harry. Where is he? I should call him…

I waited a minute before deciding to interrupt Thompson with this information I just found on Greg Patterson.

“Come in,” Thompson demanded after my soft knock. His face lightened only a bit when I entered the room. “Miss. Y/L/N, what do you need?” His voice is dismissive. He’s not happy with you. What had been Thompson’s relaxed demeanor from our time on the mission was replaced by his original hard exterior.

“Mr. Thompson,” I started, walking over to the empty chairs and taking a seat, “I was doing some research and I think there may be a potential threat to the Presidential family.” Thompson’s brows drew together, taking on a frustrated expression.

“What are you talking about, Y/L/N.” Thompson’s voice was so low, I almost couldn’t hear it over the soft hum of the air conditioning.

“Does the name Greg Patterson sound familiar?” Thompson glanced at the papers in my hand and reached for them. He started flipping through the few papers I brought with me before meeting my gaze.

“What did you find?” He interrogated.

“I believe he’s back in D.C,” I informed him, thinking of the picture printed on the page with the screenshot of his Twitter update.

“Damn it.” Thompson reached for the phone on his desk and began dialing numbers. “You’re dismissed, Miss. Y/L/N.” I hesitated to get up from the chair. I found this information. I want to help. “Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson stopped me, “Have you been in contact with Mr. Styles as of late?” I shook my head. He nodded and motioned for me to leave. “Get me Joe.” I heard him bark into the phone as I shut the door.

***

If it was two weeks ago, I’d be seeing Harry after work. This week, after work, I would go home and sulk in bed.

On Thursday night, I finally decided I should do something instead of sulking about how I failed. How I failed the director of the FBI because I couldn’t keep it together. How I failed Harry because of my lies. But most importantly, how I failed myself by putting my job above my feelings and letting it interfere with my personal life.

I got up and grabbed my leggings with the pistol holster in the back. I slipped the one I kept in my drawer into its holder. They trained us to carry a gun at all times. Whether it’s in my purse, my boot, or my waistband. I always had it. Harry never knew you had a gun on you.

I looked over to the hoodie laying over my chair. It’s Harry’s. I wonder if he wants his clothes back. A few times when he was over, he brought an extra shirt, hoodie, sweatpants, because “I think you’d look fantastic in my clothes.” Well, he wasn’t wrong. I grabbed the hoodie and tossed it to the pile of his things lying in the corner of my room.

I went to my closet and pulled out a long sleeve NASA t-shirt to slip over my head. Why didn’t I just become an astronaut?

“Hi, you!” Summer welcomed me happily when I walked into the kitchen area. She turned to face me, and I caught Ashlie’s eyes from her position on the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, I’m going to go for a run. I’ll be back,” I stated, opening the front door and shutting it behind me. I could just make out Summer and Ashlie having a conversation through the door, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying.

I let my feet carry me closer to the downtown area, my music blaring in my ears. I ran past an alley and saw a man limp against the brick wall. He was being cornered by 3 others in black jackets, hats, and I could just make out sunglasses covering their eyes from one that was slightly turned to the side. I came to a stop just past the alley and took my headphones out. I noticed I was stood next to an entry of a bar. I listened to see if I needed to intervene.

“Come on, Styles. We know you’ve got something on you. What is it?” The voice was muffled from facing the other direction, but it was hard, callous, and aggressive. Harry? I reached around my back and grabbed my gun, peeking around the corner of the building into the alley. I looked at the ground to see if there were rocks that would shuffle as I stepped forward.

How stupid are they? Not one of them is facing the street to see if anyone is coming by. My eyes wandered around them, not seeing any guns or knives.

“I don’t have anything, I swear.” Harry pleaded. His face was cast at the ground. He was clutching his shoulder. “Greg, I swear.” Greg? Greg Patterson? Oh, God. Help me.

I took a few more steps, so I was standing about 6 feet away and raised my gun, pointed at the man talking.

“Step away from the boy,” I muttered. Harry’s head snapped in my direction. His eyes looked thankful to see someone standing there but grew withdrawn when he saw it was me. Greg slowly turned to face me. A lopsided grin taking over his features.

He twisted his torso to face Harry again, “Hey, isn’t this that girl you were seeing for a bit? Turned out to be a narc?” He took a stride towards me, “What’re you gonna do about it baby girl?” he belittled, lifting his shirt to let the light glimmer off a knife sticking in his waistband.

“Unless you want me to shoot you, I suggest you get out of here,” I said, my voice turning hostile.

“You wouldn’t dare.” He taunted, taking another step toward me.

“Oh, yeah?” I quickly pointed my gun at the ground a foot in front of him and shot. The fire rang in my ears, “Do you seriously want to test me?”

The two other men grabbed him by the arms and started dragging him out of the alley passed me. “You will regret doing that, bitch!” I heard him yell. They started running when I aimed at the wall and released another bullet. I glanced at Harry, who was still slack against the brick wall.

“Harry,” I rushed to his side. “Are you okay?” I gripped his arm and went to put it around my shoulders.

“You didn’t have to do that,” He griped, pulling himself out of my grasp.

“Oh yeah, and let them kill you? No way.” I laughed sarcastically. Harry started walking towards the street, rubbing his shoulder.

“They weren’t going to kill me,” He brushed off.

“Harry, that guy had a knife,”

“A little nick is nothing compared to what I’ve been through recently.” He paused. Ouch. “What are you even doing here? What, did Thompson send you here or something?” His tone was demanding,

“What? No. I’m just out.”

“Sure you just happen to be passing a bar I used to frequent. And just so happen to make an appearance when I catch a bit of trouble?” His interrogation sent a chill down my spine. He turned on his heel to look at me, inches from my face. “I didn’t need you to defend me.”

“Harry, what are you even doing here? Without security? Your entire team has been looking for you for four days! And I was just trying to help…” I whispered, my eyes falling to the ground.

“I don’t need your help, okay?” His voice rattled my eardrums. I took an involuntary step back. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes were glowering, fixed on mine. “I think you’ve done enough ‘help’ in my life. And I certainly do not need your permission, or Niall’s, to leave my own fucking house.” He spat, turning toward the street again.

“Say what you want, okay?” I said, my voice shaky, tears brimming my eyes. “But I care about you, Harry. I wanted to tell you! I have cared about you the entire time. You were and are getting back to being an absolute mess, Harry. Okay, maybe I was used as a prop by the FBI, but –“

“See that’s just it, Y/N,” Harry turned to face me again. His eyes soft, glistening with a few tears. “They used you as a prop. You used me to advance yourself. I thought,” He paused and ran a hand through his long locks, looking at the ink shaded sky. “I thought you were feeling the same thing I was.”

“I was!” I shout, not caring if any passer-byes could hear me. “I was feeling the same thing you were! I wanted to tell you everything! I –“ I took a deep breath to compose myself and looked into his darkened eyes – “I was scared.” I admitted, my voice lowering to a mumble. My eyes flashed around the alley, not daring to meet his gaze.

“Scared of what?” He questioned, furrowing his brows. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “Of Thompson?”

“No.”

“No?” He affirmed, confused. “Then what were you so afraid of?”

“Well, yes. Thompson. But I was afraid of you…” My voice trailed; my eyes fixed on the pavement between us.

“Me?” He brought his palm to his chest “You were scared of me?!” His tone deepened. “What did you think? That I’d have you fired or something?”

That was something I hadn’t thought of. Can Harry have me fired? Did he have that much say in the FBI staff?

“I was scared,” I played with the hem of my shirt, “It scared me to think that you’d wonder if everything I told you was a lie. And I was scared you’d be done with me, and that you’d just…” I briefly met his expressionless gaze before settling it back on the ground, “Just walk away without getting a chance to know me. The real me.”

“Well,” Harry stiffened. “I’m sure we’re both glad we don’t have to worry about that anymore.” My gaze snapped to his. “I know exactly who you are, you’re nothing but a con artist who got exactly what you wanted.” He turned his back to me and walked out to the street.

“This is not what I wanted!” I called, he stopped in his tracks, “At the end of the day, I wanted you to know the Y/N that is compassionate and strong. I wanted you to know the Y/N that started falling for the kind, caring and utterly incredible man that you are.” Without a response, he kept moving. I waited for him to round the corner before following. I watched as his back disappeared into the boisterous bar.

I stood on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes before deciding he wasn’t coming out. I turned on my heel to continue my jog home.

***

My heart began racing like never before every time I thought about going into work on Monday morning. Meeting with Thompson. The looks I would get from my colleagues as I packed up my desk. The only contact I’ve had with Thompson since Tuesday was him texting me to tell me about our meeting on Monday morning.

Friday and Saturday brought me to the gym. Employees of the FBI had exclusive access to a gym on the north side of the city. I stepped on the treadmill and began my jog, upping the intensity every couple minutes. Beads of sweat formed on the back of my neck. I wiped them away, staring out the window at the trees across the field. My feet began to pound harder as I thought back to Thursday night and my actual run-in with Harry.

How could he be so hardheaded to think that someone sent me there?

I looked down at the moving treadmill under me. A pair of feet caught my eye, climbing onto the treadmill next to me. I turned my head to see Niall standing there. I scrunched my eyebrows at him as he motioned for me to take out my headphones.

“Hey…” I said as I pulled them out and pressed the pause button. The treadmill came to a stop, and I faced Niall.

“Hey, Y/N.” He greeted, a hint of a smile on his face. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” I panted, trying to catch my breath. “And you?”

“I’m alright.” The silence took over as both our eyes wandered around the empty room. “I’ve been wanting to get ahold of you.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Harry’s been to the office a few times, since that night.” He started, my eyes widening. That’s why Thompson moved me. So we wouldn’t see each other. “I don’t know what’s going on but – “ There’s something he’s not saying.

“Are you still working with Harry?” The question slipped from my lips before I could fully process the question I wanted to ask.

Niall harshly blinked, taken aback by what I asked. “Oh – “ he mumbled, lowering his eyes to the space between us. “Yeah. Harry was pretty upset with me, but I think he’s doing better.” I figured.

“Well, that’s good.”

“Y/N, Harry’s just really hurt. You know, by everybody. Not just you.” Niall’s sympathetic tone seeped into my mind. “And, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, Niall?” I asked, picking up my water bottle to take a sip. “It’s my fault, not yours. I should’ve known better than to let my emotions get in the way of this.” I finished after gulping my water down.

“No, it’s my fault too. I should’ve seen it.” He concluded, his eyes staring out the window at the trees. He glanced at my face before continuing, “I should’ve seen the way you two were looking at each other. I should’ve seen how real it was for both of you.”

Why was Harry at the office so often? Was more than just my job at risk now?

Niall stepped off the treadmill and headed for the front door. I watched him as he exited the building, my legs not allowing me to follow and ask more questions.

***

Do you ever try so hard to forget something, but then it keeps popping in your memory even more? That’s how I feel with my conversations with Harry and Niall. What is Niall not telling me? What does he know that I don’t? And how can Harry forgive Niall and not me?

Derek broke my thoughts when he walked through our front door, 3 friends in tow. “Hey, Y/N. How was your day?” He asked, heading towards the kitchen.

“It was – “ I glanced at his friends and felt anxiety consume my heart. I can’t place the feeling, but it certainly wasn’t a pleasant one. “fine.”

Derek nodded, filling a glass from the cabinet with water. “Oh, Y/N. These are some friends, Mike, Tyler, and Greg,” Derek said, taking in my blank expression, and pointing to each man standing in my kitchen.

I couldn’t place the faces, but I felt like I’ve met them. “Hi,” I said, giving a slight wave. “Um – Have we met before?” I asked, gesturing between me and the men I learned to be Tyler, Greg, and Mike.

Greg looked at his friends then back at me, “I – I don’t think so?” A smirk took over his features with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe in a past life.” Flashes of a knife went through my brain. Greg. G_Pattsy.

“Anyway, where’s Summer? She said she’d be home,” Derek spoke, obliviously breaking up the tension slowly building around him.

“She’s in the shower,” I said getting up from the couch. “I have to run an errand.” I grabbed my purse from the counter, side-eying the men standing there once more.

“Problem, sweetheart?” A chill ran down my spine from his menacing tone. “Don’t worry, I know the effect I have on people.” Oh, we’re going to have a problem.

“Don’t ever for a second think you’d have the privilege,” I uttered over my shoulder, slamming the door on my way out. I pulled out my phone and dialed the only number I could think of. “Hey, can you meet me?”

I hung up and made my way to the nearest bar. It was only 8 pm, so it wasn’t that packed. “Hey, you,” Louis said wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “What can I do for ya?”

“Do you want something to drink first?” I laughed, motioning to the liquor sitting behind the counter.

“Oh, yeah.” Louis waved the bartender over and taking a seat on the chair next to me. “Bumbu, rocks, please.” The bartender made his drink and placed it in front of him. Louis took a sip before turning in his chair to face me completely. “So.”

“You’ve known Harry for a long time, right?” I asked, running my fingers around my glass, avoiding his eyes.

“Yeah, since I was about 3, I think.” He said, gazing off into the distance. “I heard about what happened. That it didn’t work out, and I’m sorry. You two seemed good for each other.” Louis confessed, placing a hand on my shoulder. How though? How did we seem good for each other?

“It’s okay.”

“Anyway, yeah. A long time.” He spoke, bringing his hands back to his lap. “Why?”

“Can you tell me about his friendship with Greg Patterson?” I asked, lifting my eyes to meet his.

“Greg? Patterson?” He questioned as I nodded. “Well, there’s not much to tell. Harry and Greg were friends through high school. After that, Greg kind of fell off the grid. Got into a… a more dangerous crowd. Harry didn’t say much about what happened.”

“But what did he say then?” I pressed. Louis looked at me with a frown, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Uh – “ He ran his hand across his jaw, leaving it there for a second. “I know they got into a tremendous fight. Greg landed in the hospital, Harry walked away with a few scrapes and a broken nose.” Louis lowered his hand, clasping the glass in front of him. “Something about drugs.”

“Was Harry selling?” I asked nonchalantly. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and tucked some strands behind my ear. I took a glance at the door, eyeing the couple walking in. “Or buying?”

“No, no. Harry never got into that.” Louis waved off, shaking his head. “But he knew people that were. Greg wanted in. He didn’t believe Harry wasn’t in on the deals.”

“Have you seen him recently?”

“Who, Harry? Not since the benefit.” Louis glanced at my blank expression. “Oh, Greg? I never knew him. Just of him.” Louis knocked his fist on his chin gently, deep in thought. “You know, I think I heard from someone that he was back in the D.C. area though.”

I thought about Louis’ last comment almost the entire way home. I thought about how the man that is wanted for attempted assassination has gone this long without being found. More importantly, I thought about how that same man had been standing in my kitchen not even two hours ago and every possible way that Derek knew that man and brought him to my house. Does he know?

I pulled up to my building and shifted my car into park, taking notes of the blacked-out SUV sitting a couple of spaces away. I eyed it, warily. Many people drive blacked-out SUVs, not just Harry. I had to remind myself. I slowly got out of my car and walked towards the door, eager to know if Derek was still inside.

I couldn’t see if anyone was in the SUV, but I prayed the Thompson didn’t have it out for me now.

“Derek?” I called as soon as the door latched. “Are you here?”

“In here,” I heard him call from Summer’s room. I made my way, checking my phone for anything from Thompson. “What’s up?” he greeted when I entered the room.

They were sprawled across the floor, Boy Meets World playing softly on the TV. “Can I talk to you about something?” I asked, taking a seat on the floor next to them. He sat up and stared at me expectantly. “How’d you meet those guys from earlier?” Derek’s mouth slightly parted, confused. “Like did you meet them recently? Or have you known them for a while?”

Derek’s eyebrows scrunched together, “Do you know them?”

“No, but I was just wondering.” I shook my head, trying to laugh it off.

“Did Greg say something to you? I’ll kick his ass.” Derek slammed his palms on the ground like he was ready to track him down. “I swear if he fucking said something, I’ll-“

“Derek, no” I laughed, “I think I’ve seen him around or something.”

He raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck, “Okay, good. I met them in NOLA, actually.” I raised my eyebrows. That’s right. Derek went to New Orleans like two years ago. “They were cool, got us into all the good clubs down there,” he looked at Summer who was nodding her head in agreement. “Told him to hit me up if he was ever in DC. Guess he decided to take me up on the offer.”

“I think I may need your help.”

***

The next day, I was once again sat in the conference room. It was around 9:00 pm and my breath was hitching every other second. I’m nervous about how everything will go. Thoughts swirled my mind. How will Niall react? What are we going to do? I can’t believe I looped Derek into this. This is insane.

“All right,” Thompson started, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. My gaze shifted around to each person in the room. Niall, Joe, Thompson, Derek, and a few others from secret security I didn’t quite recognize. “Derek, first and foremost, thank you for joining us and helping us.” Derek nodded nonchalantly. “Here’s the plan.” I started spacing out. I knew I wouldn’t be a part of it. No matter how much I wanted to be. I’d be in the van, with Joe, Thompson and the others. Of course, Niall got to make the arrest. He’d be with them, watching from afar.

What felt like an eternity passed before Thompson’s voice rang in my ears again. “Understood?” His voice was loud, angry, stern. Everything you would expect from the Director of the FBI. Everyone started getting up to pack the van and move. “Y/N,” Thompson stared at me. He motioned for me to wait while everyone else filed out of the room. “You don’t have to come.”

“Sir?”

“If it will be too much. Just let me know.” He said gently.

“Mr. Thompson,” I said, my voice hinting irritation, “This is my job. I love my job. And I want so badly to see that sucker put away. I’m not letting what happened interfere with this. At the end of the day, it’s my duty to protect and serve.”

He gave me a curt nod and gestured for me to exit, quickly following suit. We made our way to the vans and got in. Niall and Derek got into their respective cars to meet up with the suspect and the bait. Everyone had their gear on, ready to intervene if need be. Everyone except me. “It’ll be for the best. He won’t be thrown off.”

When the van started moving, all the men started chatting about work life, home life, “Did you hear about Linda in the office today?”, and everything going on in the White House. Thompson’s voice kept me sane. This isn’t a crazy dream I had thought up. This is real life. I kept my mouth shut through it all. Everyone knows what happened. Niall probably told everyone at the White House what happened. Don’t dig yourself a deeper hole.

We pulled up to the dingy bar that somehow became remarkable after one encounter. Niall pulled up behind us and got out of his car. He came up to Thompson’s window to get his earpiece and mic before heading off into the bar. The static on the radio in the back of the van let us know the mics were on. The voices and music started flowing through within seconds.

“Hey,” Niall’s voice came through. “Thought I might find you here.” His voice was hard to hear with all the background noise, but I distinctly heard a chair screeching across the floor. Niall’s sitting down.

“What are you doing here?” Harry’s words slurred, he sounded far away. How much had he had to drink already? Suddenly I didn’t know how to breathe. Oh, how I missed the sweet voice that I no longer had the privilege of hearing.

“Just came to check on you. I know you’re still upset.” His voice was sympathetic. For once, I was grateful it wasn’t for me.

There was a lengthy pause. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Harry’s voice sounded beaten. He sounded rough. And though I couldn’t see him, I knew his eyebrows had a crease between them. “I mean, how could she do something like that? How could you do something like that?” Okay, going right in then.

“Harry,” Niall stuttered, “We were just trying to do what’s best. Look, I’m not here as your guard tonight. I’m here as your friend. If you want to get fucked up and party, I’m here. If you want to get fucked up and talk, I’m here.”

About 30 seconds had passed before I stopped holding my breath. “I just, I could really see something with her.” He has to be careful. Niall’s lack of response confirmed my thoughts. He knew that we were all listening. “Anyway, thanks for letting me do this, Niall. Thanks for being here. It’s been a rough week.” I could basically see the smile on his face, dimples making a full appearance.

“Hey,” Niall’s voice broke. “I know you’re hurting. But you’re not alone, okay? She’s hurting too.” A smile crept onto my face. Thanks, Niall. I didn’t dare look at Thompson, scared he would see the brokenness and weakness hidden in my eyes. I kept my face straight, fading the smile to be more serious for the situation, and for the sake of being within a foot of my boss.

“So you like this bar, huh?” A voice from another speaker broke through, much clearer than the last. A gruff voice I recognized from my kitchen. Someone remind me why I thought this would be a marvelous idea.

“Yeah, been coming here for a short while with my girl,” Derek’s voice was smooth, he had always been a talented actor. Hiding me and Ashlie in his room and straight-up lying to his brothers saying he hadn’t seen us. Pretending to be someone else’s boyfriend so a creep at the bar would back off. Sometimes I’m still amazed and the stuff he can pull off.

“Awesome.”

A couple of minutes passed as Derek and Greg made their way to the bar, we were outside of. Their voices on the speaker grew cluttered, voices from all around them being picked up. Joe turned down all the speakers, so the van wasn’t being bombarded. Soon after, Derek, Greg, and his two friends arrived and entered. Now it was only a matter of time.

The unfortunate part of tonight was, our eyes were Niall. We don’t have any cameras in the bar, or on our people. All we had to go off of were conversations. Greg and Harry were completely in the dark. But we needed them together to make the arrest. What if Harry gets hurt? You’re at fault for that. My eyes widened at the thought. But if you had said nothing, Greg might’ve tracked Harry down and the outcome would’ve been so much worse. My conscience was trying to rationalize everything happening, but I couldn’t keep up.

“Y/N, I want you to go inside.” I looked over to Thompson to see his serious face.

“What?”

“You heard me,” He reached into the center console pulling out an earpiece and a body camera. “Here, put these on. And go.” I took the pieces with shaky hands. I strapped the camera onto my torso and stuck the piece in my ear.

“Ted,” Joe leaned through the seats from the back, ‘Are you sure about this?”

Thompson looked at Joe with enough blaze in his eyes to put hell to shame. “Yes, she’s discreet enough to not be seen.”

My body was on autopilot walking into the bar. I looked around. Derek had strategically placed himself and Greg at the bar near the bathroom. Niall had taken Harry to the opposite side of the bar. Niall looked in my direction with wide eyes. I hurried to the corner, narrowly avoiding Harry’s eyes as he turned around. I could still hear everything from Niall and Derek’s mics. I was the eyes of the men in the van.

“Hey, I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” I could just make out Harry’s voice above the music and other people talking. I pulled my hood up and looked at the table, catching his feet walking passed. I angled the camera to follow him, hopefully.

I saw Greg take a glance over his shoulder at the passing body. “I gotta take a piss.” Spotted. Greg had spotted Harry. Greg got up from his stool and followed behind Harry.

“Derek, go wait about 6 feet from the bathroom, let us know what happens but don’t do anything. We don’t want you getting hurt. Horan make your way outside to the east alley. That’s the only other door to the bar. Y/N, stay there.”

“Got it” “Moving” Derek and Niall’s voices filtered through the noise. Niall made his way out the front door. My mind went to the alley. The same alley where Harry looked defeated. The same alley we fought because of my job. The same alley he could’ve been killed if I hadn’t been there.

“They’re moving, heading towards a side door,” Derek stated, making me forget anything I was thinking. I felt the color drain from my face. I saw Greg and Harry walking down the hallway.

The door burst open. The last thing being seen was Harry being shoved to the ground as it slammed shut. I felt my heart break at the scene. I couldn’t hear what was being said. Niall was too far away,

“Move!” Thompson screamed; my eardrum felt like it was about to bust. I heard a gunshot go off. Muffled voices and commotion coming through my earpiece.

I got up, grabbed Derek by the forearm, and rushed out the front, knocking a few people out of the way. People on the block were ducking for cover or scrambling into the nearest open shop.

By the time we got to the corner of the building, Greg was being put into handcuffs. Niall helped Harry up and placed his hands on his shoulder. “You okay?” Harry nodded, blank-faced.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned my head to look at Thompson. “Good job, kid.” It was short, but it made me feel secure. I did something right. “Come on,” Thompson ushered me back to the van. Derek walked towards Niall, Harry, and the other men.

I walked towards the van and clutched the door handle. I turned my face towards the alley. My heartbeat sped up as I locked eyes with familiar olive ones. I sighed and pulled open the door, climbing in.

Looking back to the alley, Niall, Harry, and Derek were walking toward the street. Niall gave a thumbs up in our direction. “Horan, you can take Harry home, or to another bar. I will sweep the area before we leave.” As Thompson continued talking my eyes glazed over, thinking about how crazy tonight had been. Derek helped save Harry’s life. Niall helped save Harry’s life. I saved Harry’s life. Who knows what would’ve happened if Greg found him out and about by himself?

I watched as the three boys disappeared down the road. Who knows where to? Harry was glancing back every few seconds. Almost as if to convince himself he saw me. And Derek, well, he had just made friends with my coworker and Harry. The men in suits walked Greg across the street towards the van behind us. “The boys are going to take Greg in that van. Do you want me to take you home?”

“Ted,” Joe spoke from the back, “I’ll take her.” My eyes shifted between Thompson, and Joe. Thompson pursed his lips, giving Joe a nod. “Come on, kid,” Joe said as he pats my shoulder. I took the body cam and earpiece off and handed them to Thompson.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Thompson spoke slowly as I opened the van door. I nodded at him before shutting the door. What happens to my job now?

“You need a drink,” Joe commented and motioned towards a bar across the street. I didn’t say a word as we began walking towards the entrance of the bar.

We sat at a table near the back, waiting for our drinks. “So,” Joe started. “How are you?” How am I? Really?

“I’m okay,” And it was true. I was okay. I had my breath back, the boy I had fallen for was safe, the guy who was wanted for trying to kill said boy was being put away, and I’d be okay if I had to transfer or be fired if it meant I could leave everything that had happened in the past.

“Y/N, I’m not your boss. You can talk to me. Person to person.” Joe smiled, putting a comforting hand atop mine on the table.

“Honestly?” I asked. Joe nodded, giving me the go-ahead. “I’m so exhausted and disappointed.”

“Disappointed? With what?” He asked, grasping his drink after the waitress sat it down. Joe thanked her before turning his attention back to me.

“I’m so disappointed in myself,” I stated.

“Why? You’ve done brilliant work. I would know. We’ve been watching you since you got hired.”

I let the confused expression on my face speak for itself. Completely ignoring his second statement I questioned him, “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Know about what I did.” It was Joe’s turn to be confused. “How I completely messed up my mission by putting my feelings above my job. How I couldn’t keep it together. How I let myself, Harry and the FBI down. How – “

“Woah Woah Woah, Y/N. Slow down.” Joe laughed. “What are you talking about? You didn’t let anyone down.” He paused, glancing at the glasses between us, “Look. I’ve worked with the Styles’ for over 5 years. Sometimes we have to do dreadful things in order to get good results. When that happens, we often forget all the wonderful things we did. You did a good job, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short. And don’t let anyone else either.”

“But what about Harry?”

“Harry? Honey, that kid's crazy about you. He’d be crazy to let you go.” I took a sip of the rum and coke I had ordered. I had grown to like them after having tasted it on Harry’s lips at the benefit. “After seeing you two gallivanting around at the benefit, we all knew.”

“Knew what?” I asked, taking another look around the room. Young couples all around. Being handsy under the table, whispering into each other’s ears, grabbing each other’s hands to pull the other towards the door.

“We all knew that something real would happen.” I let my gaze settle on Joe again. “You were scared, and that’s why you ran and caused some trouble. Stop running. He might surprise you.” Joe dropped the subject after that and refused to answer any of my cut-off questions. He brought our attention back to work and regular life. We finished our drinks and walked outside. The cool air felt nice on my warm skin.

He pulled out his car keys and unlocked the Mercedes sitting in front of us. “When Ted called me about this, I knew I was going to pull you aside.” He shrugged off my unasked question. I pulled open the door and slid in. The drive was short and quiet. The only sound being the soft playing radio tuned to the Queen station on SiriusXM. “I’ll see you soon, kid.” Joe winked when he pulled up to my building. I gave him a tight-lipped smile and got out, taking a deep breath before walking up to my apartment.

I pulled out my keys and turned to the stairwell when I heard footsteps coming behind me. “There you are,” I twisted to see Derek walking up the steps. “Been waiting for you to get back. That was crazy, right?” I laughed as I unlocked the door.

“Wild.”

***

It was exactly 8 O’clock on Monday when I looked at the clock on the wall. The atmosphere of the conference room brought me back to the first time I had an interview with Thompson. His demeanor was tough, cold, and stern. My nerves reminded me even more of that day. My legs bounced under the table, my palms were sweating, and my eyes couldn’t settle on a single object for too long. I was completely prepared to possibly turn in my badge, gun, and ID.

When Thompson entered the room, his intimidating nature followed. He closed the door and sat across from me at the table, setting some papers down between us.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson started, taking a second to clear his throat. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Thompson,” I greeted him, exhaling a shaky breath.

“How are you?” I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. How am I? That’s how you want to start my termination?

“I’m – I’m nervous,” I confessed.

“Nervous?” he casually asked. “Why are you nervous?” Thompson started shuffling the papers he had laid on the table. I glanced at them, trying to figure out if they were the agreements I signed when I first started.

“I – “ I pointed to myself, “Am I getting fired?”

Thompson snickered at my question. “Fired? Why would we fire you?”

“I thought – “ I paused, blinking harshly. Am I being punked? “since Har – Mr. Styles found out. I thought I would be fired.”

“Y/N, Mr. Styles has made it very clear we would be stupid to fire you.”

“What?” The question fell from my lips. I was taken aback. Why would Harry tell them not to fire me?

“When Niall called to tell us he let it slip last week, we called in Mr. Styles to talk about it and explain why we did it.” Thompson started, “We talked about suspending your employment for 6 months or transferring you out of D.C. He was pretty adamant about it. But Mr. Styles came in yesterday, unannounced I might add, to tell us if we suspended you or transferred you, well. We’d be out of our minds. In better terms.”

I fell back into my chair. So I’m not fired? Thompson answered my question before I could ask, “We’d be stupid to let you go. Especially after Saturday night.” My eyes flicked to his. “Y/N, one thing I noticed when we first met was how much you reminded me... of me. You are strong, ambitious, willing to do whatever it takes. Those are qualities we need in this job.”

“So, I’m not fired?”

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head. “But we’ll be putting you on desk duty for the next two weeks. For disobeying orders of the mission.” Damn it.

I nodded my head, accepting my two-week punishment. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson.”

“Don’t thank me.” He said, waving me off. “Thank Mr. Styles.” He dismissed me and I picked up my bag, ready to head for the door. “And Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson said, stopping me. “Don’t mess it up.”

I left the conference room confused. Why would Harry save my job?

I took a seat at my desk and pulled up the database. Researching was tough, but even more so when my mind kept wandering to Harry. Why’d he do it? Why would he come in here to tell them not to fire me? Maybe because you saved his life. Who knows what Niall or Derek told him? The questions filled my mind for the rest of the day. So much so, I could barely get any work done.

***

I left the office after a few of hours of researching some wanted suspects. I found myself strolling the streets, coming to a halt as I passed the café where Harry and I first met. I wandered inside and ordered a grande iced vanilla soy latte. A drink I genuinely came to enjoy from my times with Harry. When my order came up, I took a glance around the café to pick a place to sit. My eyes landed on a familiar stranger facing the window.

Stop running, Y/N.

I took a seat next to him at the bar, sitting my coffee down, and facing the man. I propped my head on my hand, with my elbow resting on the bar top. “Is this seat taken?” I asked him.

He cracked a smile at me, turning his face to me. “How’d you find me this time?” Harry probed.

“Oh, I didn’t,” I laughed. “I just came here for some coffee. I had a fantastic first ‘date’ here.” I said putting air quotes around the word date. A comfortable silence fell over us. “Why’d you do it?”

“Why’d I do what?” he asked, grabbing his cup to take a sip of his coffee.

“Why’d you save my job?” I asked, dropping my hand, so it hung over the edge of the bar.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you were pissed at me,” I stated raising my eyebrows.

“Yeah, I was.” He confirmed. “But also, after last Thursday – and Saturday for that matter – I started thinking. And I realized that everyone, at some point, is going to hurt you. Even the people who truly care about you and want what’s best for you. We can’t control that. What we can control, though, is how we react to that, and we get to determine if the person who hurt us is worth it.”

“What’d you come up with?”

“I came up with some people are. The people that make you look at yourself and want to be a better person.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, before taking a deep breath. “Harry I – “

“I don’t want you to tell me you’re sorry, Y/N. You’ve already said it.”

“What do you want me to say then?”

“I want you to tell me what you want.” I scrunched my face at his request. “Thursday night you told me this isn’t what you wanted. So tell me what you want.”

“I want us to start over. I want you to know my actual life.”

Harry stuck his hand out to me, “Hi, I’m Harry. And you are?”

I looked at his hand before taking it in my own, “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Hi Y/N, I’m the President’s son. What do you do for a living?” He let go of my hand and placed it around his cup.

“I work for the FBI,” I smirked.

“Oh, that’s nice. I’ve heard outstanding things about their work. An agent saved me.”

“Saved you?” I giggled.

“In a way, she saved me from myself, really. I was a proper mess.” He broke into a grin and laughed.

“Oh, really?” I laughed with him.

“She kind of made me realize that I was, yeah.” He looked down at his thighs before his jade eyes met mine. “Do you want to go for a walk?” I nodded as he started to get up. He held the door open for me. We walked out and he interlocked our fingers, rubbing circles into the back of my hand.

We started down the street. I pulled his hand as I stopped on the sidewalk. “Hey, Harry?” I bit my lip and looked at my feet. “Are you sober right now?”

“Yeah?” His eyes held the confusion that laced his voice. I reached for his face and pulled his lips to mine. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into him. He pulled away briefly, “At least we don’t have to worry about them,” He mumbled, nodding his head toward the blacked-out SUV sitting across the street. I giggled as he pulled me back for another kiss.

Maybe, just maybe, we could be real.

[dustedmagazine]

Slept Ons: The Best Records of 2020 That We Never Got Around To

Tattoos and shorts! How did we miss the Oily Boys?

It happens pretty much every year.  After much fussing and second-guessing, the year-end list gets finalized, set in stone really, encapsulating 12 months of enthusiastic listening, and surely these are the best ten records anyone could find, right? Right?  And then, a day or a week later, someone else puts up their list or records their year-end radio show, and there it is, the record you could have loved and pushed and written about…if only you’d known about it.  My self-kick in the shins came during Joe Belock’s 2020 round-up on WFMU when he played the Chats.  Others on our staff knew, earlier on, that they weren’t writing about records they loved for whatever reason — work, family, mp3 overload, etc. Except now they are.  Here.  Now. Enjoy.  

Contributors include me (Jennifer Kelly), Eric McDowell, Jonathan Shaw, Justin Cober-Lake, Bill Meyer, Bryon Hayes, Ian Mathers, Andrew Forell, Michael Rosenstein and Patrick Masterson. 

The Chats — High Risk Behavior (Bargain Bin)

High Risk Behaviour by The Chats

Cartoonishly primitive and gleefully out of luck, The Chats hurl Molotov cocktails of punk, bright and exploding even as they come. They’re from Australia, which totally makes sense; there’s a sunny, health-care-subsidized, devil-may-care vibe to their down-on-their luck stories. Musically, the songs are stripped down like Billy Childish, sped up like the Ramones, brute simple like Eddy Current Suppression Ring. Most of them are about alcohol: drinking, being drunk, getting arrested for being drunk, eating while drunk…etc. etc. But there’s an art to singing about getting hammered, and few manage the butt-headed conviction of “Drunk & Disorderly.” Its jungle rhythms, vicious, saw-toothed bass, quick knife jabs of guitar frame an all-hands drum-shocked chant: “Relaxation, mood alteration, boredom leads to intoxication.” Later singer Eamon Sandwith cuts right to the point about romance with the couplet, “I was cautious, double wrapped, but still I got the clap.” The album’s highlights include the most belligerently glorious song ever about cyber-fraud in “Identity Theft,” whose shout along chorus buoys you up, even as the dark web drains your savings account dry. The album strings together a laundry list of dead-end, unfortunate situations, one after another truly hopeless developments, but nonetheless it explodes with joy. Bandcamp says the guitar player has already left—so you’re too late to see the Chats live—but it must have been fun while it lasted.

Jennifer Kelly

Oliver Coates — skins n slime  (RVNG Intl)

skins n slime by Oliver Coates

2020 was a year of loss, of losing, of feeling lost. Whether weathering the despair of illness and death, the discomfort of displacement or the drift of temporal reverie, English cellist Oliver Coates creates music to reflect all this and more on skins n slime. Using modulators, loops and effects, Coates employs elements from drone, shoegaze and industrial to extend the range of the cello and conjure otherworldly sounds of crushing intensity and great beauty. Beneath the layering, distortion and dissonance, the human element remains strong. The tactility of fingers and bow on strings and the expressive essence of tone form the core of Coates composition and performance. If his experiments seem a willful swipe at the restrictions of the classical world from whence he came, the visceral power of a track like “Reunification 2018”, which hunkers in the same netherworld as anything by Deathprod or Lawrence English, the liminal, static bedecked ache of “Honey” and the unadorned minimalism of “Caretaker Part 1 (Breathing)” are works of a serious talent. skins n slime is an album to sit with and soak in; allow it to percolate and permeate and you’ll find yourself forgetting the outside world, if only for a while.  

Andrew Forell  

Bertrand Denzler / Antonin Gerbal — Sbatax (Umlaut Records)

Sbatax by Denzler - Gerbal

Tenor sax player Bertrand Denzler and drummer Antonin Gerbal released this duo recording last summer which slipped under the radar of many listeners. Denzler is as likely to be heard these days composing and performing pieces by others in the French ensemble ONCEIM, playing solo, or in settings for quiet improvisation. But he’s been burning it up as a free jazz player for years now as well. Gerbal also casts a broad net, as a member of ONCEIM, deconstructing free bop in the group Peeping Tom, or recontextualizing the music of Ahmed Abdul-Malik along with Pat Thomas, Joel Grip and Seymour Wright in the group Ahmed amongst many other projects. The two have worked together in a variety of contexts for a decade now, recording a fantastic duo back in 2014. Sbatax, recorded five years later at a live performance in Berlin is a worthy follow-up.  

Gerbal attacks his kit with ferocity out of the gate, with slashing cymbals and thundering kit, cascading along with drubbing momentum. Denzler charges in with a husky, jagged, repeated motif which he loops and teases apart, matching the caterwauling vigor of his partner straightaway. Over the course of this 40-minute outing, one can hear the two lock in, coursing forward with mounting intensity. Denzler increasingly peppers his playing with trenchant blasts and rasping salvos, riding along on Gerbal’s torrential fusillades. Throughout, one can hear the two dive deep in to free jazz traditions while shaping the arc of the improvisation with an acute ear toward the overall form of the piece. Midway through, Denzler steps back for a torrid drum solo, then jumps back in with renewed dynamism as the two ride waves of commanding potency and focus to a rousing conclusion, goaded on by the cheering audience. Anyone wondering whether there is still life in the tenor/drum duo format should dig this one up.  

Michael Rosenstein

Kaelin Ellis — After Thoughts (self-released)

After Thoughts by KAELIN ELLIS

To be sure, “slept on” hardly characterizes Kaelin Ellis in 2020. After a trickle of lone tracks in the first months of the year, a Twitter video posted by the 23-year-old producer and multi-instrumentalist caught the attention of Lupe Fiasco, quickly precipitating the joint EP House. It’s a catchy story from any number of angles — the star-powered “discovery” of a young talent, the interconnectedness of the digital age, the silver linings of the COVID-19 pandemic — but it risks overshadowing Ellis’s two 2020 solo records: Moments, released in the lead-up to House, and After Thoughts, released in October. It doesn’t help that each album’s dozen tracks scarcely add up to as many minutes, or that the producer’s titles deliberately downplay the results. And some, of course, will judge these jazzy, deeply soulful beats only against their potential as platforms for some other, more extroverted artist. “I’d like to think I’m a jack of all trades,” Ellis told one interviewer, “but in all honesty my specialty is creating a space for others to stand out.”

Yet as with all small, good things, there’s reward in savoring these miniatures on their own terms, and After Thoughts in particular proved an unexpected retreat from last fall’s anxieties. Ellis has a poet’s gift for distillation and juxtaposition, a director’s knack for pathos and dramatic sequencing — powers that combine to somehow render a fully realized world. As fleeting as it is, Ellis’s work communicates a generosity of care and concentration, opening a space for others not just to stand out but also to settle in.

Eric McDowell   

Lloyd Miller with Ian Camp and Adam Michael Terry — At the Ends of the World

At the Ends of the World by Lloyd Miller with Ian Camp and Adam Michael Terry

Miller and company fuse the feel of a contemporary classical concert with eastern modalities and instrumentation. The recordings sound live off the floor, and give a welcome sense of space and detail to the sensitive playing. Miller has explored the intersection between Persian and other cultural traditions and jazz through the lens of academic scholarship and recorded output since the 1960s. With this release, the performances linger in a space where vibe is as important as compositional structure. The results revel in the beauty when seemingly unrelated musical ideas emerge together in the same moment, with startling results.

Arthur Krumins

 Oily Boys — Cro Memory Grin (Cool Death)

Cro Memory Grin by Oily Boys

The title of this 2020 LP by Australian punks Oily Boys sounds like a pun on “Cro-Magnon,” an outmoded scientific name for early humans. It’s apt: the music is smarter than knuckle-dragger beatdown or run-of-the-mill powerviolence, but still driven by a rancorous, id-bound savagery. The smarts are just perceptible enough to keep things pretty interesting. Some of the noisier, droning and semi-melodic stretches of Cro Memory Grin recall the records made by the Men (especially Leave Home) before they decided to try to make like Uncle Tupelo, or some lesser version of the Hold Steady. Oily Boys inhabit a darker sensibility, and their music is more profoundly bonkers than anything those other bands got up to. Aggro, discordant punk; flagellating hardcore burners; psych-rock-adjacent sonic exorcisms — you get it all, sometimes in a single five-minute passage of Cro Memory Grin (check out the sequence from “Lizard Scheme” to “Heat Harmony” to “Stick Him.” Yikes). A bunch of the tunes spill over into one another, feedback and sustain jumping the gap from one track to the next, which gives the record a live vibe. It feels volatile and sweaty. The ill intent and unmitigated nastiness accumulate into a palpable force, tainting the air and leaving stains on your tee shirt. Oily Boys have been kicking around Sydney’s punk scene since at least 2014, but this is their first full-length record. One hopes they can continue to play with this degree of possessed abandon without completing burning themselves to down to smoldering cinders. At least long enough to record some more music.

Jonathan Shaw

 Dougie Poole — The Freelancer's Blues (Wharf Cat)

The Freelancer's Blues by Dougie Poole

A cursory listen might misconstrue the heart of Dougie Poole's second album, The Freelancer's Blues. When he mixes his wobbly country sound with lyrics like those in “Vaping on the Job,” it sounds like genre play, a smirking look at millennial life through an urban cowboy's vintage sound. Poole does target a particular set of issues, but mapping them with his own slightly psychedelic country comes with very little of the postmodern itch. His characters feel just as troubled as anyone coming out of 1970s Nashville, and as Poole explores these lives with wit and empathy, the songs quickly find their resonance.

The album, though it wouldn't reach for pretentious terms, carries an existential problem at its center. Poole circles around the fundamental void: work deadens, relocation doesn't help, spiritual pursuits falter, intelligence burdens, and even the drugs don't help. When Poole finally gets the title track, the preceding album gives his confession extra weight, a mix of life's strictures and personal limitation combining for a crisis best avoided but wonderfully shared. The Freelancer's Blues comes rich in Nashville tradition but finds an ideal fit in its contemporary place, likely providing a soundtrack for a variety of times and spaces yet to come.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Schlippenbach Quartett — Three Nails Left (Corbett Vs. Dempsey)

You might say that this record has been slept on twice. The second recording to be released by the Alexander von Schlippenbach, Evan Parker and Paul Lovens (augmented this time by Peter Kowald) was released in 1975, and didn’t get a second pressing — on vinyl — until 2019. So, Corbett Vs. Dempsey stepped up last summer, it had never been on CD. But this writer was so stumped on how to relate how intense, startling, and unlike any other free improvisation it was and is, that he just… slept on it. Until now. Even if you know this band, if you don’t know this album, well, it’s time you got acquainted.

Bill Meyer 

Stonegrass — Stonegrass (Cosmic Range)

STONEGRASS by Stonegrass

Released on the cusp of a tentative re-opening for the city of Toronto after two months of lock-down, this slab of psychedelic funk-rock was the perfect antidote to the COVID blues when it arrived at the tail end of a Spring spent in near-isolation. The jam sessions that became Stonegrass were also a new beginning for multi-instrumentalist Matthew “Doc” Dunn and drummer Jay Anderson, who reignited a spirit of collaboration after a decade of sonic estrangement following the demise of their Spiritual Sky Blues Band project. Listening to these songs, you’d never know they spent any time apart. The tight, bottom-wagging jams on offer are evidence that these two are joined together at the third eye. Anderson’s grooves run deep, and Dunn — whether he’s traipsing along on guitar, keys or flutes — is right there with him. There’s enough fuzz here to satiate the heads, but the real treat here is the rhythmic interplay. Strap in and prepare to get down. 

Bryon Hayes 

 Bob Vylan — We Live Here EP (Venn Records)

Bob Vylan flew under the radar in 2020 successfully enough that when someone nominated them for the best of 2020 poll in Tom Ewing’s Peoples’ Pop Polls project on Twitter (each month a different year or category gets voted on in World Cup-style brackets, it’s great fun and only occasionally maddening), most of the reaction was “is that one a typo?” Nobody had that response after listening to “We Live Here” — my wife also participates in the poll, so we just play all the candidates in our apartment, and Bob Vylan was the first time both of our jaws dropped in amazement; the song got played about ten times in a row at that point. Bobby (vocals/guitar/production) and Bobbie (drums/“spiritual inspiration”) Vylan’s 18-minute EP lives up to that title track, fireball after fireball aimed directly at the corrupt, crumbling, racist state that seems utterly indifferent to human suffering unless there’s profit in it. Whether it’s the raging catharsis of the title track or the cool, precise hostility of “Lynch Your Leaders,” Bob Vylan have made something vital and essential here, that very much speaks to 2020 but sadly will stay relevant long past it.  

Ian Mathers

 Working Men’s Club — Working Men’s Club (Heavenly Recordings)

It’s been evident these past few years that I’ve retreated from music and committed myself to the slower world of books as a way of giving my mind a break from the accelerating madness outside, but I could never really leave my radio family the same way I could never really leave Dusted. Another great example why: A fellow CHIRP volunteer played “John Cooper Clarke” in a December Zoom social I actually managed to catch, and I’ve been addicted to Working Men’s Club’s debut LP from October ever since. The quartet hails from Todmodren, a market town you won’t be surprised upon listening to discover is roughly equidistant between Leeds and Manchester; the album screams Hacienda vibes in its seamless integration of post-punk signifiers and dancefloor style. It’s easy to bandy about names from Rip It Up and Start Again or even The Velvet Underground in 12-minute closer “Angel,” certainly one of the most arresting tracks of the year, but the thing that struck me immediately is that this was the record I’d always anticipated but never got from Factory Floor — smart, aloof and occasionally calculated, yet still fun enough to play for any crowd itching to move. Until the community of a dance party or Working Men’s Club live set is once again possible, patience and a fully formed first album will have to suffice. You’ll have to imagine the part where I corner you at the party to rave about it, I’m afraid.

Patrick Masterson

[justforbooks]

Here’s how coronavirus spreads on a plane—and the safest place to sit

Global travel opens new roads for outbreaks, like coronavirus and the flu—but which is more dangerous, and how can you stay safe?

WHEN AN OUTBREAK strikes, it is natural to become leery of hopping on an airplane. It is even more alarming when two serious viruses are circulating at once.

The world is gripped by a new coronavirus that started in China and has since moved into more than two dozen other countries, including the United States. Meanwhile, it is also flu season, which so far has caused 10,000 deaths in the U.S.

Major airports have begun screening passengers for the coronavirus, and more than three dozen airlines—including Delta, American and United—have cut their flights to mainland China. But those measures may not provide much solace to anyone who has to board a flight. After all, you can avoid the person who is sneezing in line at Cinnabon, but you’re more or less left to fate once you’ve strapped on that seatbelt inside a flying metal canister.

While there is still much to learn about the Wuhan outbreak, scientists do know a bit about similar coronaviruses and other respiratory illnesses like influenza. So how do those viruses spread—and specifically on airplanes? And how serious is the coronavirus threat compared to the likes of influenza? Let’s take a look.

How do respiratory illnesses spread in general?

If you’ve ever sneezed into your arm or steered clear of an office colleague with a hacking cough, you already know the basics of how respiratory illnesses spread.

When an infected person coughs or sneezes, they shed droplets of saliva, mucus, or other bodily fluids. If any of those droplets fall on you—or if you touch them and then, say, touch your face—you can become infected as well.

These droplets are not affected by air flowing through a space, but instead fall fairly close to where they originate. According to Emily Landon, medical director of antimicrobial stewardship and infection control at the University of Chicago Medicine, the hospital’s guidelines for influenza define exposure as being within six feet of an infected person for 10 minutes or longer.

“Time and distance matters,” Landon says.

Respiratory illnesses can also be spread through the surfaces upon which the droplets land—like airplane seats and tray tables. How long those droplets last depends both on the droplet and the surface—mucus or saliva, porous or non-porous, for example. Viruses can vary dramatically in how long they last on surfaces, from hours to months.

There’s also evidence that respiratory viruses can be transmitted through the air in tiny, dry particles known as aerosols. But, according to Arnold Monto, professor of epidemiology and global public health at the University of Michigan, it’s not the major mechanism of transmission. “To be sustained, to allow true aerosols, the virus has to be able to survive in that environment for the amount of time it’s exposed to drying,” he says. Viruses would rather be moist, and many fade from being infectious if left dry for too long.

What does that mean for airplanes?

The World Health Organization defines contact with an infected person as being seated within two rows of one another.

But people don’t just sit during flights, particularly ones lasting longer than a few hours. They visit the bathroom, stretch their legs, and grab items from the overhead bins. In fact, during the 2003 coronavirus outbreak of the severe acute respiratory syndrome (SARS), a passenger aboard a flight from Hong Kong to Beijing infected people well outside the WHO’s two-row boundary. The New England Journal of Medicine noted that the WHO criteria “would have missed 45 percent of the patients with SARS.”

Inspired in part by that case, a team of public health researchers set out to study how random movements about the airplane cabin might change passengers’ probability of infection.

The “FlyHealthy Research Team” observed the behaviors of passengers and crew on 10 transcontinental U.S. flights of about three and a half to five hours. Led by Emory University's Vicki Stover Hertzberg and Howard Weiss, they not only looked at how people moved about the cabin, but also at how that affected the number and duration of their contacts with others. The team wanted to estimate how many close encounters might allow for transmission during transcontinental flights.

“Suppose you’re seated in an aisle seat or a middle seat and I walk by to go to the lavatory,” says Weiss, professor of biology and mathematics at Penn State University. “We’re going to be in close contact, meaning we’ll be within a meter. So if I’m infected, I could transmit to you...Ours was the first study to quantify this.”

As the study revealed in 2018, most passengers left their seat at some point—generally to use the restroom or check the overhead bins—during these medium-haul flights. Overall, 38 percent of passengers left their seats once and 24 percent more than once. Another 38 percent of people stayed in their seats throughout the entire flight.

This activity helps pinpoint the safest places to sit. The passengers who were least likely to get up were in window seats: only 43 percent moved around as opposed to 80 percent of people seated on the aisle.

Accordingly, window seat passengers had far fewer close encounters than people in other seats, averaging 12 contacts compared to the 58 and 64 respective contacts for passengers in middle and aisle seats.

Choosing a window seat and staying put clearly lowers your likelihood of coming into contact with an infectious disease. But, as you can see in the accompanying graphic, the team’s model shows that passengers in middle and aisle seats—even those that are within the WHO’s two-seat range—have a fairly low probability of getting infected.

Weiss says that’s because most contact people have on airplanes is relatively short.

“If you’re seated in an aisle seat, certainly there will be quite a few people moving past you, but they’ll be moving quickly,” Weiss says. “In aggregate, what we show is there’s quite a low probability of transmission to any particular passenger.”

The story changes if the ill person is a crew member. Because flight attendants spend much more time walking down the aisle and interacting with passengers, they are more likely to have additional—and longer—close encounters. As the study stated, a sick crew member has a probability of infecting 4.6 passengers, “thus, it is imperative that flight attendants not fly when they are ill.”

What does it mean for the new coronavirus?

As Weiss points out, we don’t know yet the preferred way that the new coronavirus transmits. It could be primarily through respiratory droplets, physical contact with saliva or diarrhea followed by oral consumption of viral material, or perhaps even aerosols.

He notes that this model doesn’t include the transmission of aerosols, though the FlyHealthy team hopes to research this topic in the future. In the study, the researchers also warn that this model cannot be directly extrapolated for long-haul flights or airplanes with more than one aisle.

Landon agrees that we don’t yet know how the coronavirus transmits, but believes the results of this study are applicable. All previous coronaviruses have transmitted through droplets, she notes, so it would be unusual if this new pathogen was different. And indeed, the new coronavirus is behaving much like SARS in many respects. Both are zoonotic, meaning they started in animals before jumping to humans, and both appear to have started in bats. The pair also transmit from human to human and have a long incubation period—up to 14 days for the Wuhan coronavirus, compared to about two for influenza—which means that people might be sick and transmitting the disease before symptoms show up.

With all that in mind, Landon suggests following the CDC guidance for infectious diseases when you’re on an airplane.

That includes washing your hands with regular soap or using an alcohol-based hand sanitizer after touching any surface—especially since there’s evidence that coronaviruses last longer on surfaces than other illnesses, around three to 12 hours.

You should also avoid touching your face and contact with coughing passengers by whatever means possible.

What’s worse, the coronavirus or influenza?

There are many ways to estimate the risk posed by a disease, but let’s focus on two numbers often used by public health researchers: the reproduction number and the case-fatality ratio.

The reproduction number—R0 or “r naught”—simply refers to the number of additional people that an infected person typically makes sick. Maia Majumder, a faculty member at Boston Children’s Hospital and Harvard Medical School, has been tracking exactly that.

Her preliminary results indicate a transmissibility rate for the new coronavirus ranging from 2.0 to 3.1 people. That’s higher than influenza—1.3 to 1.8—but similar to SARS, which has a basic reproduction number in the 2 to 4 range. So, coronaviruses are slightly more prone to spreading between people.

The case-fatality ratio—or death-to-case ratio—is the number of people killed by disease divided by the number of people who catch it. Seasonal influenza, despite being considered a global scourge, technically kills a relatively small proportion of its cases, with a case-fatality ratio around 0.1 percent. The reason the flu is an annual public health emergency is because it infects boatloads of people—35.5 million in the U.S. across 2018 and 2019, which led to 490,000 hospitalizations and 34,200 deaths. That’s why health officials perpetually recommend that people receive a flu shot.

The case-fatality ratio also helps explain why public health agencies send up alerts over emerging outbreaks of coronaviruses. SARS had a case-fatality rate of 10 percent, about 100 times higher than influenza, and the rate for the new coronavirus is currently near 3 percent, which is on par with the 1918 Spanish influenza pandemic.

If SARS or the Wuhan coronavirus ever reached millions of people, it could be devastating. Unlike with influenza, Landon says, the entire human population is susceptible to this coronavirus because no one has ever had it before—and there is no specific treatment like a vaccine. Health officials and the public are dependent on infection control, such as washing hands, reducing contact with afflicted individuals and quarantines. Monto suggests that these public health measures could make a difference in turning the tide against this coronavirus as they did with SARS.

“That’s the hope here, that it can be controlled by standard public health measures—because that’s what we’ve got,” he says. “With flu we have vaccines, a couple antivirals. We don’t have those for this coronavirus.” Note: This story originally published on January 28, 2020. It has been updated to reflect the latest statistics and news on airline cancellations.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[newstfionline]

Saturday, February 20, 2021

One of Ten in U.S. May Have to Switch Occupations Post Pandemic (Bloomberg) One out of every ten U.S. workers—about 17 million, all told—will likely be forced to leave their jobs and take up new occupations by 2030 as Covid-19’s after-effects destroy huge swathes of low-paying positions in a labor market that was primed for disruption before the pandemic. “Covid is a big disruptor,” Susan Lund, a Washington-based partner at McKinsey Global Institute, the consultant’s research arm, said in an interview. The 17 million Americans are part of the more than 100 million people worldwide that the institute forecast will need to leave their jobs and enter new lines of work by the end of the decade. That will amount to about one in 16 workers in the eight leading economies covered by the study, which includes China, Japan, Germany and the U.K., as well as the U.S. In a more-than-130-page paper, the institute sees the pandemic accelerating three trends that will continue to upend the labor market in the years ahead: more remote work and working from home; increased e-commerce and a bigger “delivery economy;” and stepped-up business use of artificial intelligence and robots. The forces Covid-19 unleashed mean there could be a lot less demand for front line workers in food service, retail, hospitality, and entertainment.

Politics Is Seeping Into Our Daily Life and Ruining Everything (Reason) Is there anything that politics can’t ruin? The answer, it appears, is a resounding “no” as partisan conflict creeps into all areas of American life. Our political affiliations, researchers say, obstruct friendships, influence our purchases, affect the positions we take on seemingly apolitical matters, and limit our job choices. As a result, many people are poorer, lonelier, and less healthy than they would otherwise be. “Political polarization is having far-reaching impacts on American life, harming consumer welfare and creating challenges for people ranging from elected officials and policymakers to corporate executives and marketers,” according to a new paper in the Journal of Public Policy & Marketing by researchers from Arizona State University, the University of Wyoming, and four other U.S. universities. People’s partisan identities influence the range of people with whom they are willing to have relationships, the brands they purchase, and the jobs they take. The finding that everything is becoming politicized builds on a growing mountain of data. Even before political tensions hit their current fever pitch, a 2018 survey found that “Nearly two-thirds (64 percent) of consumers around the world will buy or boycott a brand solely because of its position on a social or political issue” (the number for the U.S. was 59 percent). In 2020, a separate survey reported that “83% of Millennials find it important for the companies they buy from to align with their values.”

Cracked Pipes, Frozen Wells, Offline Treatment Plants: A Texan Water Crisis (NYT) Power began to flicker back on across much of Texas on Thursday, but millions across the state confronted another dire crisis: a shortage of drinkable water as pipes cracked, wells froze and water treatment plants were knocked offline. The problems were especially acute at hospitals. One, in Austin, was forced to move some of its most critically ill patients to another building when its faucets ran nearly dry. Another in Houston had to haul in water on trucks to flush toilets. But for many of the state’s residents stuck at home, the emergency meant boiling the tap water that trickled through their faucets, scouring stores for bottled water or boiling icicles and dirty snow on their stoves. Major disruptions to the Texas power grid left more than four million households without power this week, but by Thursday evening, only about 347,000 lacked electricity. Much of the statewide concern had turned to water woes. More than 800 public water systems serving 162 of the state’s 254 counties had been disrupted as of Thursday, affecting 13.1 million people, according to a spokeswoman for the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality.

Texas Good Samaritans Are Helping Out Those in Need Amid Deep Freeze (Newsweek) From owners turning their stores into warming centers, to a mystery man handing out $20 bills to shoppers in Houston, when faced with a crisis that has left 24 in the state dead, and millions without water and electricity, Texans have instinctively turned to helping others. One such figure is Raymond Garcia of Houston, Texas, who, upon realizing he had no power at home, decided to use his time helping others. He has been visiting people in his local community, helping with tasks such as fixing burst water pipes. "I'm just trying to help the Houston community," he told ABC13. "If I can help anyone else in my close range I will.” Garcia said he was inspired by the teaching of his mother, who died recently from COVID-19. "My mom always taught me, if you help and you give to people, God will always bless you," he said. "And you know what, I've been blessed." On Thursday, Jason Spenser, the Public Affairs Director for the Harris County Sheriff's Office tweeted about another remarkable character, a man dubbed a food 'angel'. When electricity outages meant the Foodarama near 18th Street and Ella Boulevard could no longer accept credit and debit card payments, the unidentified man began handing out $20 bills to people waiting in the line. Spenser estimated the man, who did not want to be photographed, handed out a total of $500. In Elgin, Texas, Monica Nava, owner of the Chemn Cafe, put in a big order just before the storm hit. Rather than see perishable items go to waste, she boxed them up with shelf-stable good into care packages estimated to have a value of $25 each. She gave the packages out to in-need members of the community and asked for those who could afford it to pay a donation.

Biden repudiates Trump on Iran, ready for talks on nuke deal (AP) The Biden administration said Thursday it’s ready to join talks with Iran and world powers to discuss a return to the 2015 nuclear deal, in a sharp repudiation of former President Donald Trump’s “maximum pressure campaign” that sought to isolate the Islamic Republic. The administration also took two steps at the United Nations aimed at restoring policy to what it was before Trump withdrew from the deal in 2018. The combined actions were immediately criticized by Iran hawks and are likely to draw concern from Israel and Gulf Arab states. The State Department announced the moves following discussions between Secretary of State Antony Blinken and his British, French and German counterparts, and as Biden prepares to participate, albeit virtually, in his first major international events with world leaders.

The Cuba bet (Foreign Policy) Cuba may still become Latin America’s first country to design a successful COVID-19 vaccine, with Phase 3 trials on one of its four vaccine candidates set to begin next month. If the shot performs well, it is expected to be exported to other Latin American nations. Cuba and Iran are partnering on Phase 3 trials of the Soberana 02 vaccine, and Mexico is exploring carrying out a Phase 3 trial as well.

It’s mud, mud everywhere in UK’s 3rd lockdown (AP) It’s apparently not enough for Britons to endure almost 120,000 COVID-19 deaths and face a new variant of the virus that scientists say is more contagious and more deadly. Not enough to struggle through a third lockdown in less than a year, a shutdown now in its ninth week in London with no end in sight. No, all of this has to come smack in the middle of Britain’s mud season, the time formally known as winter. While everyone in the U.K. is already lacking Vitamin D, the sun chooses to take a months-long work stoppage and named winter storms kept sweeping eastward across the Atlantic. Storm Bella marched in right after Christmas, bringing gusts up to 106 mph (92 kph) and rains that dumped 3.2 inches (80.2 mm) on a village in Scotland. A sodden, freezing version of a hurricane. Storm Darcy roared in last week from the opposite side, bringing an icy Arctic blast and the U.K.’s coldest temperature in 25 years. Unlike the southeastern U.S., which floods during the summer-fall hurricane season, Britain floods in the dead of winter, bringing hypothermia alongside germ-laden waters. Rivers across England and Scotland are bursting: 73 flood alerts were in effect on Friday alone. And this year, few gyms or schools are available for emergency housing for fear they will turn into COVID-19 factories. It’s a Dickensian time.

Spain arrests 80 in 3 nights of riots over rapper’s jailing (AP) Protests over the imprisonment of a rapper convicted of insulting the Spanish monarchy and praising terrorist violence were marred by rioting for the third night in a row Thursday. The plight of Pablo Hasél, who began this week to serve a 9-month sentence in a northeastern prison, has triggered a heated debate over the limits of free speech in Spain and a political storm over the use of violence by both the rapper’s supporters and the police. The rapper and his supporters say Hasél’s nine-month sentence for writing a critical song about former King Juan Carlos I, and for dozens of tweets that judges said glorified some of Spain’s defunct terrorist groups, violates free speech rights. Besides that case, the rapper has previously faced other charges or has pending trials for assault, praising armed extremist groups, breaking into private premises and insulting the monarchy.

Heating Up Culture Wars, France to Scour Universities for Ideas That ‘Corrupt Society’ (NYT) Stepping up its attacks on social science theories that it says threaten France, the French government announced this week that it would launch an investigation into academic research that it says feeds “Islamo-leftist” tendencies that “corrupt society.” While President Emmanuel Macron and some of his top ministers have spoken out forcefully against what they see as a destabilizing influence from American campuses in recent months, the announcement marked the first time that the government has moved to take action. It came as France’s lower house of Parliament passed a draft law against Islamism, an ideology it views as encouraging terrorist attacks, and as Mr. Macron tilts further to the right, anticipating nationalist challenges ahead of elections next year. Frédérique Vidal, the minister of higher education, said in Parliament on Tuesday that the state-run National Center for Scientific Research would oversee an investigation into the “totality of research underway in our country,” singling out post-colonialism. In an earlier television interview, Ms. Vidal said the investigation would focus on “Islamo-leftism”—a controversial term embraced by some of Mr. Macron’s leading ministers to accuse left-leaning intellectuals of justifying Islamism and even terrorism.

Myanmar protests stall fuel imports, drive up costs (Reuters) Myanmar’s refined fuel imports have stalled as protests over the Feb. 1 coup have shut the banks and government offices necessary for trade, while depreciation in the nation’s currency has driven up costs, four industry sources said. The economy of the Southeast Asian nation has been pulled up short by the biggest demonstrations since the “Saffron Revolution” of 2007, with protesters taking to the streets to denounce the military takeover and the unseating of a democratically elected government. Myanmar relies heavily on gasoline and diesel imports as its refineries are too small and old to meet its fuel needs. One of the sources said imports may make up as much as 98% of Myanmar’s fuel consumption. The “economy is almost at a standstill. Almost all government ministries are closed,” the source said. “Fuel supply is running low. (The country) might run out of oil in two months.”

Jakarta’s poor fear landslides from overflowing waste mountains (Nikkei Asia) The stench is overpowering, and it only gets worse as you approach the biggest landfill site in Southeast Asia. The green grass on the embankments of the road leading into the Bantar Gebang landfill on the outskirts of Jakarta quickly gives way to trash—stacked in piles as far as the eye can see, reaching the height of a 15-story building in places. Plastic bags, food packages, rubber wheels, cardboard, drink cans, and everything else that Jakartans consume and throw away can be found here—much of which turn to sludge when it rains. The site that constantly threatens landslides is also home to thousands of impoverished families. Around 20,000 people, according to an estimate by locals, make a living from collecting trash in Southeast Asia’s largest dump. More than 100,000 live in the landfill and its surroundings. Authorities are struggling to dispose of the massive amount of waste created by the 35 million people estimated by Statistics Indonesia to live the Jakarta metropolitan area. Landslides often occur at such sites. In February 2005, heavy rains triggered a slide at the Leuwigajah landfill, which serves the cities of Cimahi and Bandung in West Java, killing 157 people and swallowing two villages, Greenpeace Indonesia said. The Bantar Gebang landfill has also taken lives.

Israel expands its nuclear facility (The Guardian) Israel is carrying out a major expansion of its Dimona nuclear facility in the Negev desert, where it has historically made the fissile material for its nuclear arsenal. Construction work is evident in new satellite images published on Thursday by the International Panel on Fissile Material (IPFM), an independent expert group. The area being worked on is a few hundred meters across to the south and west of the domed reactor and reprocessing point at the Shimon Peres Negev Nuclear Research Center, near the desert town of Dimona. Pavel Podvig, a researcher with the program on science and global security at Princeton University, said: “It appears that the construction started quite early in 2019, or late 2018, so it’s been under way for about two years, but that’s all we can say at this point.”