#joyful drawing Annie

[libellule-ao3]

Life Links

9. Annie Thorn (MC)/ Brother

Summary: An impromptu visit interrupts Annie's final preparations before the battle.

⚠️Warning: Alcohol use. ⚠️

Chapter index - previous chapter (Jae Kim) - next chapter (Diego Caplan)

Alone.

Her boyfriend is safe in Ireland. She sent her partner to France, and her brother has abandoned her... Again.

Annie checks her equipment and buckles her bag. Through the window, her gaze wanders over an indistinct horizon in the night. Indistinct. Like her future.

When was the last time she asked herself what would become of her?

The answer that comes to her clenches her heart. It was at the beginning of her Auror training, after she had known passion. The one that consumes you until you leave only a heart in ashes.

The witch had to rebuild it, piece by piece. During this time, Annie and Jae were everything to each other. In turn, partners, lovers, friends, a bit of all of this at the same time and so much more... He has always been there, never letting her storms and shipwrecks push him away, and for seven years, they experienced everything together.

Jae deserves to be happy, to embrace a companion more joyful than loneliness. That’s why Annie did everything she could to ensure him a bright future with Penny, regardless of the outcome of the Battle.

Her mind drifts to Sam, her boyfriend whom she learned to love deeply after having given in to his advances out of spite. When she asked him to leave England because she could not fight without being sure of his safety, he obeyed without complaining about being left out. Because he believes in her, and that confidence is worth its weight in gold.

After the war, maybe she could talk about marriage... By making sure that the idea comes from him, of course!

“I miss you,”

But not as much as Jacob. They haven’t seen each other for months and he’s already disappeared. As usual. He disappears, she looks for him; they find each other and he runs off into the unknown. Oh, never for the sake of hurting her. A goal always justifies his actions. A goal more noble and ambitious than staying by her side. Always. She exhales her tension with a sigh and pours herself a glass of Firewhisky, which she drinks in one gulp, alcohol burning her bitterness.

She’ll kick his ass when they win.

The witch clenches her fists. Projecting herself into the future will strengthen her resolve to survive in a succession of battles where every wizard who falls under her spells will ensure her survival and everyone else’s. She hopes not to have to fight Barnaby or Ismelda.

A cracking sound startles her. She turns around, drawing her wand and putting it away. It’s Jacob. A shower and clean clothes, and he is back at his best. Only his face keeps the watermark of the last ordeal he endured.

“I haven’t been here for a long time...” he says, his eyes staring disapprovingly at the couch that moved here along with Sam. Jacob never liked him.

“Yeah!” Annie confirms, her voice heavy with reproach.

“Pip... It was too risky. I was undercover!”

Annie has a small incredulous laugh.

“I didn’t see an undercover wizard. I saw a guy we had to get out of a jam! That said, it’s becoming a habit...”

“Your nerves are on edge! Don’t take it out on me, Pip!” he says in a tone that commands respect.

The witch winces. He is right. This is not the time for a brotherly joust. She pours two glasses of Firewhisky and they toast to a ceasefire.

“So you and Merula... Since when?”

“Never mind, it’s over... She betrayed me, tortured... I hate her!”

It is rare for Annie to see Jacob bare his soul. The years of separation because of the cursed vaults have seriously marred their complicity. They tried to find it before they realized that time lost could not be made up for.

Unconsciously, Jacob had wanted to pick up where he left off. But during his absence, the little girl who saw him as a hero had given way to an accomplished witch, an adult before her time. Disillusionment, bitterness… Guilt.

“I bet she didn’t use the Cruciatus Curse?”

A stubborn silence answers.

“She said she would never have succeeded in using that magic against you... Probably because you have to enjoy the suffering of your victim to cast it,” Annie says with a falsely innocent look.

“Stop it! You’re not Mum!”

“She would tell you to listen to me!”

“Of course! You’re the heroine! Me, I’ve gone from child prodigy to the poor, undesirable bastard who is constantly reminded that he was saved by his little sister!”

The lack of recognition and the inability to forget that their parents did not look for him, or so little, after his disappearance in the cursed vaults, eat away at Jacob’s insides like acid. Bruised by these years of absence, Annie’s heart tightens. She remembers all too well the time when the world treated them as outcasts, and when their mother took calming potions to overcome each day without her son, one after the other, so much the pain of having lost him was a torment. As for Dad... Whatever! Nothing was the same after Jacob’s disappearance. Her brother can’t understand.

“They tried to turn the page,” Jacob says, sipping his drink. “it’s a lot easier to do it over a dead body than over a ‘missing’ person who might turn up at any moment! So they did nothing, while turning a blind eye to your research out of cowardice. You were a child! Do you think that’s normal?”

Jacob’s gaze pierces her, so sharp is it. Annie shrugs.

“The question never arose... I looked for you because it was the only thing I could do. Point... Don’t blame anyone for my own choices,”

An impulse pushes her to hug him. This may be the last time, after all.

“And stop blaming yourself too,” she says as he hugs her tightly. “You can’t spend your life blaming yourself for mistakes you made trying to protect me, my brother.”

[fatefought]

@seasaltsurvivor sent: [ stare ] while receiver gazes out a window, sender comes up from behind and embraces them

the summer solstice has barely gone as the beginning of july entraps panem. tomorrow is the day that is circled on everyone's calendar. capitolites begin their countdown until twenty-four fight to the death ; people from districts simply observe as a state of mourning is unavoidable and dashing at them. at twenty-five, it still rattles annie cresta. not even the summer sun bleeding into the soft pink and blue horizon that eventually meets the sea can steer her attention from the impending dread. there's a small comfort though in seeing a group of young friends frolicking in the corner of her eye. they're safe this year. maybe these joyful strangers will be aged out by the seventy-sixth. annie only hopes.

parents don't need to hold their children extra tight tonight. mind saunters like a sea breeze to a house only a few doors down to the one exception. if she knows of rose's intention of volunteering, natalia definitely does. ( does finn know ? ) being one of two people who can draw her thoughts away in a moment, it's unsurprising that odair wanders into the room just as effortlessly as he does into annie's mind. his arms wrap around her frame, and she welcomes it. " hey, " she greets softly. the sun might still be flickering above the water, but it's close to nine. their son is fast asleep. and even if walls are thick made from fine materials provided by the government, she'll always be mindful of their little cas.

finnick is warm as his skin had been kissed by the sun's rays today. father, mother, and son enjoyed the beach together today. caspian looked for shells and attempted to help baby turtles. ( babbles of encouragement and grabby toddler hands are best means of getting the animals to the loch ! ) giggles and grins galore trailed out of him, blissfully unaware of what tomorrow brings. annie prays he keeps those rose colored glasses to match his cheeks for as long as possible.

breathing finn in, it's like the ocean clung to him knowing that he leaves for the city tomorrow. the waters are a cruel mistress, incredibly jealous unlike her. ( though annie is guilty of wanting to keep him near to her and far from the capitol. ) specifically, it's the freshness of the salt that sprays over land from the tide that nips at the shore. it smells of home in the same way her better half and their sweet son felt like home. she leans into his embrace. " do you think he'll do okay ? cas hasn't had us both gone for this long before, " she openly ponders. the hands that will cradle the little guppy are safe and trusted ones. but if the young parents blink, what will they miss in that time away from caspian ? ( if only either knew what was to come. )

[musemash]

CELEBRATING THE 25 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS – intro by David D. Fowler, the Canuck Crank – playlist by Aeon 999, the Lone Antifa – updated & expanded Jan 18, 2023

Most everyone in this culture has heard The Twelve Days Of Christmas way too many times. It's played to death during this season, and ain't exactly my favourite Xmas ditty; but it does serve as a good reminder that this grandest of all holidays should properly be marked by more than one paltry day. So I have evolved a perfectly logical way to extend my personal revelries to a foolhardy extreme.

It's well known that Protestants and Catholics honour 12 days, from December 25 to January 5. Less well known is the fact that Eastern Orthodox believers mark the occasion from January 7 to 18. So some years ago, I had a brain wave: Why not combine the two traditions into one big blowout, lasting 25 days? Being a non-denominational believer has its advantages!

Accordingly, if y'all wanna prolong your celebrations in like manner, MFF is here to help with links to many highly entertaining resources, designed to enhance your own private 25 Days Of Christmas – by offering access to well over 250 carefully curated festive videos. They start in this post, and continue in the newly revised and updated editions of our best previous holiday posts.

You can watch complete editions of A CHRISTMAS CAROL, HANDEL’S MESSIAH, IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE, THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS, THE POLAR EXPRESS, THE FOURTH WISE MAN,  THE SNOW QUEEN, BACH’S CHRISTMAS ORATORIO, THE NUTCRACKER BALLET, A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS IN WALES, RUDOLPH THE REINDEER, and HOW THE GRINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS.

We also feature a wide variety of comedy, ranging from MONTY PYTHON, STEPHEN COLBERT, LAUREL & HARDY, ROWAN ATKINSON, CHARLIE CHAPLIN, SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE, and BETTY BOOP, to PORKY PIG, STEVE MARTIN, the MUPPETS, the BEATLES, DAFFY DUCK, HOME ALONE, the PEANUTS GANG, JIMMY KIMMEL, and lots of cartoon SANTAS.

As for music, you can enjoy everything from ELVIS PRESLEY, BOB DYLAN, BARBRA STREISAND, JOHNNY CASH, BJORK, LOREENA McKENNITT, FRANK SINATRA, PRINCE, and ANNIE LENNOX, to LUCIANO PAVAROTTI, BILLIE HOLIDAY, CELINE DION, KATE BUSH, EMMYLOU HARRIS, DAVID BOWIE, DOLORES O'RIORDAN, JOAN BAEZ, CAROLYN ARENDS, and NAT KING COLE.

So we cordially invite y'all to enjoy MFF's YULETIDE CORNUCOPIA. The following items provide a good cross-section of the kind of stuff we like; and the links in the bottom section go to our earlier posts. We especially draw your attention to our 2020 epic, JOYFUL CHRIST MASS AMID A CATASTROPHIC YEAR. As Elvis was fond of saying: MURRY KRIMMUS to y'all, muh friends.

Naughty Or Nice 1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3mFDXl4KQE O Holy Night 1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n3YBq0QWmbU Mary, Did You Know? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1DZA_TdBBI God Rest Ye Merry https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3b3WjMhtuNo All I Want for Xmas Is A Movie Mashup https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crMryxgCg-s Philomena Cunk's Xmas Moments Of Wonder https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hNA6b66bILk Dave Cooks The Turkey https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1WSBcJ5LpOw The Hanukkah Song #4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rFcbF4flCT4 Theme Time: Xmas Extravaganza https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXN0A_htsWY Best Christmas Superhero Movies https://www.cbr.com/best-christmas-superhero-movies-batman-returns-iron-man-3/ Neil Gaiman's Christmas Carol https://www.nypl.org/blog/2019/12/19/listen-neil-gaiman-reads-christmas-carol The Queen's Xmas Broadcast 1957 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mBRP-o6Q85s Beatles Xmas Messages https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZpztFevztnk https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwW8KMy9Nn0 https://www.culturesonar.com/merry-christmas-from-the-beatles/ The King's First Speech 2022 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JW7PV8cfiiM 2,000 Miles https://vimeo.com/248782483 All Alone On Christmas 1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfkdbGQE1xc Father Christmas & The Goblins https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1kjPAiP_5M ------------------------------------------------------------------- Naughty Or Nice 2 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i5McMPNr24g Bad Santa https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xQvaoRScND4 The Season's Upon Us https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qTx-sdR6Yzk Father Christmas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPPCPqDINEk The 12 Pains Of Christmas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dB08UdIpHR8 Twisted Silver Bells https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHAsw_aswlM A Very Shining Christmas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVGnyOkQiY4 A Lehrer Christmas Carol https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DtZR3lJobjw The Night Santa Went Crazy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSs3FyeThM0 Violent Night https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a53e4HHnx_s The War On Christmas 2022 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sjj4cxvLtSU Christmastime For The Jews https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGzO1ghRKp4 A Very Goldblum Christmas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwnMZdOBF64 Bob Dylan Sings Jingle Bells https://www.facebook.com/watch/?ref=search&v=1898663183799810 The Best Christmas Pageant Ever https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icZwm6Aact8 Christmas Movie Supercut https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhDBwy_rJTI New Year's Day 1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDr9B5sQi0g ------------------------------------------------------------------- Naughty Or Nice 3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KG8rYm_vuho Yes, Mary Fricken Well Knew https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tqLz8nGdOn4 The Only Xmas Carols That Are Any Good http://www.blairthornburgh.com/the-only-christmas-carols-that-are-any-good-a-definitive-and-absolute-list-fight-me/ Xmas Songs Banned In The Past https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/637970/banned-christmas-songs-past Ayn Rand's Rudolph The Reindeer https://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/ayn-rand-writes-rudolph-the-red-nosed-reindeer Black Christmas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ISfeVysYBYE Liberace Christmas Medley https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8HLMW5wU4M Linus & Lucy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00gXEn1ehDg The Mouse Family Christmas https://terryscotttaylor.bandcamp.com/album/a-mouse-family-christmas-the-christmas-miracle Nazareth: A Hamilton Parody https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wInPtkpjnZ8 Downey's River https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxjQfFsQKuw Christmas Lullaby https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqbOCmFQkKQ Orson Welles' Christmas Carol https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gJ3jINcTR0 Best Christmas Movie Moments https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XBJWo_91noA Christmas Every Day https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpkAtfIkgic New Year's Day 2 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U8QV5fa7xa4 A Year At The Movies In 30 Minutes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kiROS9hHrRI https://oblations.blogspot.com/2022/12/a-year-at-movies-in-half-hour.html ------------------------------------------------------------------- Naughty Or Nice 4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_oebgwJioU Merry Christmas To The World https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dsx8Py3F0g8 A Nightingale Sang / Joy To The World https://www.facebook.com/perlabatallamusic/videos/1270196156882103 My First Christmas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AR7dFVolk58 Follow The Star: The Great Invitation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uglkRXWOZak Strange Wonders https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_RLQ1LvT4c&list=OLAK5uy_mVZPB8ztABkZen-kwf6_wXuaMXi2wFZSo Magnificat: Mary's Prayer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-Hrrw_FAyU The Chosen https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tZ7cg4D_z8 Is Bethlehem Too Far Away? https://www.facebook.com/watch?v=830848780811630 The Heart Of NIght (Christ Is Born) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RWZzL7NlD0I The Holly And The Ivy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ck5Xw9I1FdE Hope Awakes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eoaCRtrA8A8 All Alone On Christmas 2 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JcVcshPvTzQ Praise The Lord, My Soul https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MmhUPuiTpPg 12 Minutes Of Christmas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55icTnuEFNQ O Holy Night 2 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Sco6ndMNkY New Year's Day 3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mKZa4IYT-oI Auld Lang Syne https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fAG2yv-o5A

JOYFUL CHRIST MASS AMID A CATASTROPHIC YEAR https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/638702098005016576/image-gallery-1-gods-favorite-ornament-2-the GHOST OF TREASONS PAST https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/671325173472018432/xmas-2021-trilogy-part-1-ghost-of-treasons-past GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENTS https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/671325487007776768/xmas-2021-trilogy-part-2-ghost-of-christmas GHOST OF SAVIOR FUTURE https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/671325758462083072/xmas-2021-trilogy-part-3-ghost-of-savior-future JESUS: THE TRUE MYTH VS ATHEIST FAN FICTION https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/154953263965/jesus-the-true-myth-vs-atheist-fan-fiction-by HAVE YOURSELF AN ORTHODOX LITTLE CHRISTMAS https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/672791046078578688/happy-new-year-friends-mff-offers-our-earnest

Credit: Image #4 JOSE Y MARIA by Everett Patterson

[eurythmics]

Annie Lennox's Christmas offering, A Christmas Cornucopia is far from a saccharine packaged selection box. It offers an abundant track listing drawn from British, French and German traditions covering the well-known alongside lesser known songs. It encompasses a wide range of narratives and emotions – from joyful and celebratory thorough melancholic and haunting to poignant and timely. On “Lullay Lullay”, for example, Annie draws direct links between the Nativity and the plight of Africa’s child soldiers. @officialannielennox #annielennox @officialannielennox From The Ultimate Eurythmics Archives : https://eurythmics-ultimate.com

[fatefought]

there's a gentleness from katniss that she does not deserve. it's not as simple and foolishly forgivable as merely forgetting. you cannot forget something if you never even learned to begin with. " i hadn't spoken to him during training, or much of the other tributes to be honest. me and percy were gonna take on the arena ourselves. " there's a chuckle that comes. not because anything is humorous. no, it's at the lightheartedness of the last bit. taking it all on, like a fun item on a friends' to-do-list. " by the time the tour came around, three was one of the last stops. it's kind of blur. " she hates the mad label that clings onto her. the train ride to three and encountering his family led to waterfalls of tears, an inability to breath, and her stomach to be the most empty it has ever been.

" i warned him when some career were nearby, bought him some time. we ended up in nearby trees for a little while. " he had a playful glint in his eyes that she normally never saw from three. she liked people from that district, but a lot of people had dry humor and a directness that she always assumed was their culture. but annie was never made to jump hoops for their victors, which made her fond once she was able to keep eye contact with them again. " he seemed like a nice boy, very young. " too young for the arena, but surely annie doesn't need to acknowledge that. " when the flood happened ... i found him. he'd been trapped underwater. some enhanced seaweed, i guess, at least that's what mags told me. he wasn't going to make it out from there, so i "

she draws off, and she blinks away tears that threaten to spill. ( and thankfully, she prevents them in time. ) just the thought of the kill reminds her how the vaguely chilly waters turned warm as it mixed with the boys ichor. it spilled so fast and got so warm so quickly. wiress once acknowledged it as a mercy killing, but it doesn't feel merciful when everyone's deaths means she lives. " percy was a nice boy too, " she adds. she might be twenty-five now, but percy will remain frozen at twenty-one. " we were suppose to look out for each other. i just wanted to help out long enough that it'd be easier for him at the end. " i was a bad teammate, lingers in her thoughts. but she's not looking for sympathy or pity, so that doesn't need to be shared. anyone who watched her games could easily come to that conclusion on their own anyways.

but spirits are lifted as she tells her tale of a young percy, where she wonders if one day her sweet boy will have that same brazen qualities. he's lively, like his namesake. maybe like finnick's percy too, though annie would never have the chance to meet him. but her little guppy must look like him, because her son is the spitting image of his dada. soon, katniss is speaking however, and annie always finds herself listening extra when she does. she's a bit taken aback at first until everdeen adds more. " four is wonderful, but we're all biased for home, aren't we ? "

it's not perfect, the district has its flaws like any other. there's an undeniable truth in the fact that annie grew up comfortable due to her grandparents' business ; and now she has never-ending victor's stipends that means she never has to work like the fisherman, sailors, people who sell their goods, etc. but people seem joyful there, even with the government happily wrapping a hand around four's throat. a lot whisper their distrust of the city. but nevertheless, district four has a sense of community for their people. maybe the sun makes them even happier. she's heard sailors talk about how weather plays a deep subconscious role in moods. is that true or just more high seas nonsense ?

" we have a lot of color in four. i'm right by the water, which is the most wonderful blue. then you have sand which is so warm, and like a reddish yellow. our grass isn't the greenest though, sometimes it's really dried out if the weather is a bit more unforgiving. " had she been given an option of where to grow up or where to remain even if panem truly was unified, it's hard to image being anywhere else than four. " the sun sets in the west. so we get the craziest sunsets it's even more beautiful over the water. " she's rambling, katniss. please stop her. " twelve is pretty far east right ? i bet your sunrises are otherworldly. " talking about four and learning about twelve is a lot easier on the soul than reminiscing about the hunger games.

it's easier than watching katniss revert back like a baby turtle finding escape within its shell like annie's a crab looming. she turns to look at her, and volume is the lowest it has been for annie since talking with the girl on fire. " but you did mean it, and that's okay. you just ... you have to be careful. all you need is one person who doesn't like you to overhear. " she must sound crazy at the moment. ( she hates it. ) but for annie cresta, nobody would blink at eye at it. the same cannot be said for the woman from twelve.

she understands what annie is saying, so she nods, the funny notion of it terrifying. annie is so agreeable, so easy to talk to katniss has to bite her cheek again to stop herself from spilling out how this very resemblance between prim and rue has given her more nightmares than she can count, how just earlier she had a panic attack at the thought of having to bury her sister too. she can't tell annie that, can't tell anyone — even as the image returns to her mind, katniss closes her eyes and tries to shake it away before that unbearably emotional part of her comes creeping again and begins to choke her with tears. annie is speaking again, though and, for that distraction, katniss is thankful. it's different, hearing from others. she has been able to disassociate whenever her games are brought up, but hearing and talking about others' games is just a little bit easier, especially when she has little memory of them (they could force her to watch, but they could not make her truly see).

annie is hesitating, though. it's been five years, it's natural she doesn't remember the boy's name as much as the gore that accompanies the picture of him in her mind. or maybe she has never learned — katniss acknowledges that with a small 'oh', before grazing her bottom lip with her teeth. "d’ya forget his name? 's okay. i haven't learned anyone's, until i had to, there." she knew glimmer because it was simply ridiculous, knew cato because he boasted of it so loudly (and she heard peeta calling him that, from above the trees), knew rue and thresh. the others’ names, comes between the sheets, those first nights in the train, rehearsing and planning and dreading. "peeta told me all of them all, though. we couldn't just…call them tribute." she wants to say because they're better than the capitol, who treats them like just marked sacks of coal, but refrains, so annie doesn't think she's attacking her (it also makes katniss realize that, despite all the hassle it brought, she's lucky. had she gone through everything alone, she wouldn't have been able to hold herself together — would she have fallen apart as openly as annie cresta?) "how did you help him?" comes, at last.

katniss listens about percy, the boy she can barely put together in her mind. his death had been gruesome — several children cried, and even some adults got sick on the square, and the peacekeepers allowed people to disperse and go home and watch the rest of that awful day at home. "you'd have let him win?" annie has told her of her grandparents; there's her father, the guy that must be around these hallways somewhere, too. giving up hadn't been an option for her then, but if she went into the arena again with someone she cared for — peeta is the only boy that comes to mind — would she consider laying her life for them? katniss digs her fingernails into her arm. it will never happen, never again. she can't think about this. besides, annie is talking about the boy again, and katniss frowns a little. "that's awful." that percy's dad was all alone. she doesn't say that katniss would have considered never going by those parts again, so wrecked by guilt she would be, even if, well, annie had nothing to do with her boy's death. maybe it's different. maybe that's something you only know when it happens to you. "'m glad. that he wasn't…resentful. you ain't deservin' of that, on top of all else." she wonders if percy's dad — mr. leatworth — considers annie as a sort of replacement for his child. is that what happens? it musn't be. no one could replace her father in her heart, and the same must be for the other way around.

annie is not making much sense now. well, she is, but katniss is only half-aware of what the words mean — she thinks it must be something nautical, and she is surprised at how two eight year olds can sail like that. once more, she is overwhelmed by the freedom one would get in four, and she sighs, a little more light-hearted than she has felt in hours now. "you make it sound wonderful." it's not the most tactful thing to say of a story about a dead boy, and katniss gives annie a look, wondering if she should apologize. "four, i mean. happiness, even if brief. before…" the games, death, everything. just a boy being naughty and still having fun, even after being caught. somehow, mr. leatworth reminds katniss of her own father; had he lived, would he have supported her as she volunteered for prim? would he have cheered and hugged and comforted her, even when her hands were stained with people's blood, not just animal's? katniss swallows. annie's own father is about to stain his hands. she gives annie another look — by the corner of her eyes this time — and wonders how to bring it up. if she should bring it up. they've been skirting around it for days now, and katniss isn't sure if either of them want to actually poke at that subject.

she's still looking at annie cresta when silence reigns between them a little longer than she enjoys — normally, she thinks neither of them would mind it, but katniss' tongue has ran loose again, and though she tries to remain impassible, confident in what she's just said, it falters. katniss turns her face to the overly bright streets and tightens her jaw. "believe it or not, you ain't the first naggin' me about this today." she hopes she will be the last, but she isn't sure. maybe peeta will see how hurt she is and he won't act all mighty about it, forcing her back into the role she can not stand anymore. how much longer can she stand biting her tongue before it is ripped out? katniss closes her eyes, shakes her head again. "'didn't mean it. it was just some crazy thinkin'. i know it ain't ever happening."

[carelessannie]

Annie!!! If you're still doing prompts, can we have some puppy play with Starker pretty please 🥺

Last but not least, ty Valen for the sweet prompt! I’m... excited to try it out. It’s definitely not traditional puppy play...

Warnings: mutual puppy play, frottage and smut, puppy headspace, bdsm gear, links to specific items

---

“Alright Friday— initiate Playdate Protocol Zero Point One,” Tony instructs on his way out of the lab, grabbing both brief cases as he steps in the elevator. He knows Peter will be in the penthouse waiting for him, and can’t help but bounce on the balls of his feet in excitment.

When the doors sweep open, Peter slams fully into him, knocking the air out of his lungs. “Hey, Pete,” he smiles, dropping the brief cases to scoop his boyfriend into a hug, spinning them around in a joyful circle.

“Are...” Peter points to the cases, “Are those...?"

“Yeah, Pete, those are for us."

Wide, eager eyes are turned on him, pleading silently, and Tony huffs, “Alright, let’s go put ‘em on."

He hands Peter his case as they make their way to the bedroom, both of them skipping a bit in anticipation. The cases rest next to each other on the bed spread, and Tony asks Friday to open them, each latch releasing with a soft snick.

Both of them are speechless. Peter reaches down to trace a finger over the leather, the pretty silk and shiny metal. His mouth is open, wide, and Tony is so excited to fill it.

“Do you,” Tony starts, clearing his throat, “do you wanna try them on?"

Peter looks up at him, “Both of them?"

It’s a risk. He’s installed three or four failsafes in Friday’s programming to watch over them, to keep them from going too deep, but it’s still a risk.

But with the hopeful look in Peter’s face, Tony wants to jump, to take that risk with him.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Let’s do it."

It only takes about ten minutes to get everything on. Friday is preparing the penthouse, so Peter and Tony focus on preparing each other.

The knee pads come first, sliding easily in place. The harnesses come next— a pink one for Peter that wraps around his chest, over his shoulders, and clasps behind his back. Tony wears a matching gold harness, and Peter’s fingers are gentle as he fastens it snugly.

Tony holds up the cages next, a silent question. Peter blushes and shakes his head no. Probably best not to be in chastity for their play date.

Peter’s case has a long, pink and white tail attached to a metal plug, and Tony’s has a shorter, blonde tail. Both of them are soft and extremely realistic. There’s a sweet whimper— from one of them, or both of them, Tony doesn’t know— as Peter pulls both plugs out.

“Let’s do the collars first, Pete,” Tony suggests, his voice already slurring with the weight of getting ready, dressing in their headspace. Peter just nods, bending his head forward to let Tony clasp on the matching pink collar. He lets Peter do the same to him afterwards.

After that, it’s a blur to slide in both plugs, whining and twitching in their gear from the stimulation, from the teasing. They agree not to wear paws, but instead slide on soft, fingerless gloves— adding matching socks to their feet afterwards.

Last is the face harness. Tony opted for something a little more minimalist, leather to match their harness, but without an actual hood to keep their senses alert. It fits over Peter’s head, and snaps easily into his collar, framing his face beautifully with sleek leather lines. There’s a separate gag that Tony fastens around his neck, sliding between Peter’s waiting lips, before he turns around and lets his boyfriend to the same to him.

In front of the mirror, they look gorgeous together. A perfect match.

Tony’s eyes blink heavily, and he knows it’s time to start playing. Peter pushes against his chest, fingers already balled up into little paws, and Tony gives him a short ruff in response.

They walk to the bedroom door, and Tony takes a deep breath. He’s more than excited to start. Both of them sink to their knees, wagging their tails joyfully, as Friday opens the door to their playroom.

Peter jumps first, an excited bark leaving his lips as he scrambles forward, a little wobbly on his hands and knees. Tony bounds after him, sniffing and exploring the room as he goes.

There’s a squirrel. In the middle of the fucking room. Tony freezes and points, lowering his stance and growling to alert Peter of the threat. The other pup turns, wagging his tail happily, and saunters over— completely ignorant of the oncoming danger. Tony gives him a warning growl, and points again— thankful when Peter notices and gets down next to him.

Fuck, the squirrel is big. They move slow, crawling on their bellies, to sneak up on the bastard. Tony goes to attack, but Peter jumps first, slamming into the giant beast and pinning it with a satisfying squeak. He sniffs it, making sure it’s truly dead, before pouncing again, the creature ringing out a dozen, piercing cries.

Tony approaches to inspect, but Peter growls— picking up the catch and hopping up, onto the couch. His tails wags, playful and tempting, as he continues to draw helpless noises out of the squirrel. Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be.

With a bark, Tony tackles Peter off the couch, both of them wrestling and snarling as the squirrel drops out of his hold and hits the floor. Tony’s cock rubs against the smooth skin of Peter’s thigh, hard and straining from their chase, and Peter whines underneath him. Even better.

He spears his cock between Peter’s legs, trying to mount the smaller pup, but gets a gnashing of teeth for his trouble. Okay, not ready yet. He changes tactics, nuzzling along Peter’s ribs and chest, until he can lick a broad strip across his nipples. Peter yips and pushes him off, scampering up onto the loveseat to lick his paws, clean the taste of Tony off of him.

Fine. A waiting game then. Tony can do that.

He spots the squirrel on the ground and jumps on it, barking happily when it cries out again and again with each press of his paws. He spares a glance up at Peter— the smaller pup trying to lick his own cock and failing. It’s straining against his belly, and no matter the angle or technique, it lays untouched in front of him.

Tony wants it. He’s thirsty for it. So with one last squeak, he knocks the squirrel to the side, turning his back to Peter and bowing his back, lifting his tail with an inviting whine.

He hears Peter jump to the ground, coming close to sniff around his hole, his arousal. Delicate fingers trace his tail and start to pull, but Tony whips around, grabbing Peter’s wrists and pinning him to the floor.

Now their cocks are brushing together, and both pups moan in pleasure. Okay, this is perfect. It’s a frantic rut together as Tony grinds down into Peter, urging the his mate to meet him, forceful and desperate.

They scramble at each other’s chests, tails, pulling and tugging to wring yelps and cries out of the other. Peter rolls them at one point and gets on top, moving his hips in fast, short thrusts against Tony’s.

It takes moments, seconds like this for them to come, both pups moaning and yowling, clutching onto each other as they paint Tony’s belly with mixed stripes of cum. Tony breathes hard, panting and drooling as Peter collapses next to him in a heap.

He’s still recovering when Peter paws at his arm, whining and barking for Tony’s attention. He growls, warning the younger pup to stop, but Peter just tugs on his arm, leading him over to the fireplace where a giant mound of pillows and blankets wait for them.

They settle in close, entwining their limbs and snuggling together. Tony gives him a lick on the cheek, and Peter rumbles, the warmth slowly drawing them to sleep.

When they wake up, Friday will play soft music, bringing them back slowly. They’ll unclasp the gags and masks, drink water, and trade soft, grounding touches.

But for now, Tony sinks into his headspace, enjoying the last bits of peaceful release, and holds Peter closer. He’s gonna have to give Friday a raise.

[coconut-cluster]

Hey I'm playing around with a human au and I can't for the life of me come up with surnames for Patton and Logan. Do you have any ideas?

Oh for sure!!!

Patton:

Hughes, Cordula, Kokoro, Hubert, etc all mean some variation of ‘heart’ so you have some options depending on his ethnicity in the au

Traditional Asian families and a lot of Hispanic and Irish families put quite a bit of emphasis on family itself, in a much broader sense (i.e. extended family included) than typical western culture does, so again depending on ethnicity you could use a surname with those origins to draw on Patton’s famILY ideals

(I listed those three off the top of my head but I’m positive there’s more examples like them)

Hillary comes from Greek and Latin roots to mean happy or joyful and I think that’s cute for Pat 💕

I like naming characters off historical figures who share their outlooks/priorities/etc a lot, so for Pat:

Seligman after Martin Seligman, founder of positive psychology

Petrarca (or Petrarch) after Francesco Petrarca, the first humanist (humanism believes in the intrinsic goodness of people, in short)

Any famous humanitarian like Arthur Broome, Henriette Wegner, Peter Singer (technically not a humanitarian but a moral philosopher (who Logan mentioned in the video!!) who helped start the modern animal rights movement in the 70s so it seems doubly fitting for Pat), etc

Logan:

Glew, Heller, Raison, Fu, O’Kelly, Ramirez/Ramon, Lehrer, Daskalov, etc all mean something like wise/bright/teacher

I think it’s interesting to note, not about Patton and Logan but Logan and Janus, that studies have found intelligence in Western cultures is considered “a means to devise categories and have rational debate” whereas Eastern cultures view it as “a way to examine complexity in community and successfully fulfill social roles” 👀

Back to historical names, literally any scientist but especially astronomers, chemists, and psychologists

(Annie Jump Cannon, Wang Zhenyi, Marie Curie, Johannes Kepler, Edmond Halley, Stanislao Cannizzaro, Jean Piaget, Mary Whiton Calkins, etc)

hope that helped, anon!!!

[snk-smartpass]

Good Night, Dear and Sweet Dreams Vol. 10 Mikasa Ackerman

"…You don't smile, do you, Mikasa?"

In the few moments at the Survey Corps* barracks before sleep, Sasha tilted her head and stared at Mikasa.

"It's not like I'm doing consciously."

"Why not try making the biggest smile you can, just once? Like this, a big old grin!" Sasha said, sticking fingers into both sides of Mikasa's mouth and forcing it to go as far as it could. Before Mikasa could brush her arms away, Annie mumbled something as she passed by.

"Keep it up and you're getting sliced."

"Eeek!"

Sasha pulled her hands back in a hurry.

"We all have our own times when we feel like smiling. Why don't you leave her alone?" Annie continued.

"I know, but…"

When we feel like…smiling…

As Mikasa wiped her mouth, she thought about her facial expressions.

******

It's true…I feel like I rarely laugh out loud, too, but…

It was after lights out now, but Mikasa's mind continued to be occupied with what just happened as she stared at the ceiling.

When did that start…?

While it never got in the way of her training, there did seem to be something different about it now that it had been specifically pointed out. You could simply call it being asocial if you wanted to, but Mikasa had never thought of herself in that Wai.

I feel like…I was different as a child…

With her mind tired and unfocused from training, she muttered the following and closed her eyes.

"…When…did I smile…?"

******

"Mikasa. Help out with the vegetable harvest, okay?"

Mom!

The bright sky stretched to the horizon. Mikasa knew immediately that she was a child because of her low vantage point. The young Mikasa wore a straw hat and a dress.

She heard a nostalgic voice call out to her.

"Look what I got. We're having poultry tonight."

"That's amazing, Ackerman."

My father, and…Mr. Yeager?

She was at home with her parents, but when she saw the people whose care she would later come under, Mikasa felt that something was strange.

"Hey, Eren! You just nibbled on dinner, didn't you!"

"Ow! Why would you hit me over that?"

Eren! And Mrs. Yeager, too.

Mikasa found it even more strange when she looked back toward the fields, but it was a joyful sight nevertheless. The people who loved and cared for her were living their regular lives.

"Heh heh… I think it's fine, it shows he's an energetic boy."

"Hehe…"

Her father's laughter was contagious, and Mikasa found a laugh coming from her mouth, too.

"What's your problem, Mikasa? Why are you laughing when people are getting mad at me?!"

"Hehehehe… Well, it's just…!"

A broad smile appeared on the face of the pure girl as she laughed with everyone, still ignorant of the smell of blood and the cruelty of the world.

It'd just that my whole family is here!

******

"…Hey, get someone who's good at drawing, we need a portrait of this."

"Really, Ymir? Mikasa's right in the middle of having a nice dream. There's still some time before we have to get up, so just leave her alone."

Mikasa slight grin was visible on her sleeping face. The others looked on in surprise as they whispered to one another.

"That must be a really nice dream. Maybe it's about meat."

"She's not you, Sasha."

"But that's the kind of expression anyone would have when they see their favorite thing, right?"

"Her favorite thing, huh… I wonder what that might be."

The answer to that question could only be found in the girl's dreams and her heart. As the sun's rays began to make their way into the barracks, they slowly began to wipe away her brief, blissful fantasy.

SOURCE: Attack on Titan: Short Stories

*There might be a little error here by the Official Translator, Ko Ransom. The Fan Translation by Yusenki [ LINK ] translated the word as "Cadets' Domitary" and the presence of Annie shows that this story occurs during their Training Corps days.

[tipsycad147]

Atargatis

Atargatis is a Syrian Goddess of the moon and of the waters.1 She is also known by the names Derceto and Dea Syriae. She was born in the Euphrates, "...like Aphrodite from the foam of the sea."2 Local coins confirm that Atargatis was worshipped at Hierapolis, where she had her own shrine and rites.3

According to legend, Atargatis was the mother of the great Assyrian queen, Semiramis.4 Her mythical story tells us that, after causing the death of her mortal lover and Semiramis' father, Hadad, she jumped into a lake and assumed the form of a fish.5 The water, however, could not hide her divine nature, causing her to take the form of a woman above the waist and a fish below.6 For this reason, she has come to be known as the mermaid goddess.

In his work, De Dea Syria, Lucian of Samosata describes his visit to Atargatis' temple:

"There is too a lake in the same place, not far from the temple in which many sacred fishes of different kinds are reared. Some of these grow to a great size; they are called by names, and approach when called. I saw one of these ornamented with gold, and on its back fin a gold design was dedicated to the temple. I have often seen this fish, and he certainly carried this design. The depth of the lake is immense. I never tested it myself, but they say that it is in depth more than 200 fathoms. In the midst of this lake stands an altar of stone. You would think at first sight that it was floating and moving in the water, and many deem that it is so. The truth seems to me that it is supported by a column of great size, based on the bottom of the lake. It is always decked with ribbons, and spices are therein, and many every day swim in the lake with crowns on their heads performing their acts of adoration." (pp. 45-46)

In her day, worshippers would immerse themselves in her sacred waters to offer praise. They would keep and adorn living fish in her honour. Atargatis was an aspect of the Universal Mother and her life-giving waters.

One way modern worshippers choose to honour and connect with Atargatis is to call out to her directly. Try sitting by a body of water and opening up to receive any messages that come through. You can hold a specific question in mind, or let the goddess' wisdom flow into the quiet. Afterwards, write or draw what you experienced. Don't forget to leave a gift in her honour; consider leaving a treat for her sacred fish to enjoy.

Atargatis by Annie Stegg http://pinkparasol.deviantart.com/

I sat by flowing water one beautiful evening and asked Atargatis to tell me who she was...

I am...water I am flow I am you letting go

Roll with the waves Follow the current

I am always guiding you Moving you, gently leading you

To... where you need to be who you need to be with and what you need to do

...for your Spirit to grow.

If you listen closely, you will hear the sound of the waters rush by your ear as I advise you:

"Smile at that person..." "Go to that gathering..." "Act on that thought you just had!"

If you let me, I will guide you toward that which you already possess: a life filled with beauty, meaning, and love. If you let me, I will wash away all that you do not need: fear, worry, anxiety, hurt, shame, and the like. Give it all to me. I will wash it away. If it comes back, I will wash it away again. We will do this work together. Together, we will uncover the real you. Radiant and joyful, loving and free.

I will teach you to follow your intuition, the goddess-within. I will teach you to free yourself to go as you are guided.

To flow.

Sometimes the waters are still Then it is good to be calm. Sometimes the waters rush over rocks Then it is good to be flexible. Sometimes you get stuck on the shore Then it is good to be patient. Sometimes the waters overflow Then it is good to take the space that you need. Sometimes the rains come And it is time to be washed clean so you can begin again.

I have much to teach if you will but listen. Come to find me. Seek me at the water's edge. Dance as the rain pours down. Seek me in lakes and streams, Oceans and Rivers. Then, we can begin.

~Received by Riversong on June 17, 2014

Atargatis Chant Beads Chant beads are one way to readily connect with the energy of the Goddess. As you continue to use the beads, the chants become second nature, and the mind becomes free to journey into Wholeness.

Using a physical object, such as a string of beads, is also helpful for sensory recall. If you are able to consistently use the beads to achieve a certain feeling or mind-state (peaceful, open, focused, etc.), then before long simply handling the beads will easily bring about that sacred state of being. You will be able to go deeper, quicker.

To make your own Atargatis chant beads, you will need:

45 small shell beads 4 large shell beads One pendant to represent the Goddess (I used a mesmerising ammonite spiral) Beading wire

String your beads in 3 groups of 13, with 3 extra small beads on either side of your pendant.

Atargatis Chant Beads created and photographed by Riversong

For this sacred prayer time, I really wanted to focus on the life-giving power of water, its divine flow in our lives, and our connection with the watery realm of emotion. I wrote a chant to call in Atargatis' energy, and used pieces from other chants I learned from the Reclaiming community. http://www.reclaimingquarterly.org/web/chants04/chants04.txt

On the Goddess Pendant: Connect with the Divine in the form of the goddess, Atargatis.

On each of the next three beads, chant:

Atargatis, Mermaid Goddess, Mother of the Sea. Your waters flow through my veins, Your love surrounds me. On the first large bead, get in touch with the Spark of Divinity which resides within you. It is beautiful and radiant, just as you are beautiful and radiant. This radiance is our gift from the Goddess. The journey to self-realisation is really a process whereby we work to uncover our true divine nature, our goddess-ness. We are all on our way back to Her. Chant on each of the 13 smaller beads:

We all come from the Goddess and to Her we shall return like a drop of rain flowing to the Ocean

~Z. Budapest

On the second large bead, meditate on being Part of the Flow. Life on Earth originated in the Waters. That means that, in truth, every being is our brother and our sister. We could even say that every living being is a reflection of, or a part of, ourselves. Relax and begin to awaken feelings of compassion for yourself and others. Feel the connection. We are all in this together.

Chant on each of the 13 smaller beads:

The river is flowing Flowing and growing The river is flowing Down to the sea

~from the Reclaiming chant book

On the third large bead, focus on your Desires and Emotions. Our thoughts not only affect our experiences, but they even create them. Spend some time visualising what you truly desire - for yourself, for others, and for the world. If there is anything that is troubling or "blocking" you, give it away to the Ocean Mother, who transforms pain into growth, and makes muddy waters clear again.

Chant on each of the 13 smaller beads:

Born of Water Cleansing, Powerful, Healing, Changing, We are!

~Women's Workshop

On the fourth large bead, again call to mind Atargatis. Thank Her for her presence and any insight/comfort/support/inspiration she may have provided you in this prayer time.

On each of the three final beads, chant:

Atargatis, Mermaid Goddess, Mother of the Sea. Your waters flow through my veins Your love surrounds me.

Riversong's Mermaid Runes and Affirmations

Divination can be a powerful form of prayer. I and many others use it daily as a way to "check in" with the Higher Self or Guiding Goddess. I was inspired to make these runes with my daughter one afternoon. We each made a set with glass beads and a paint pen. Later, I asked Atargatis for a message from each form, and this is what came through. I have placed them on my altar in a glass bowl, and enjoy choosing an affirmation each day!

Atargatis Runes created and photographed by Riversong

Spiral: Look within. It is a good time to do some quiet meditation.

I go within to bring forth wisdom. I go within to find my truth.

Comb: Nurture yourself. Take care of your body by giving it enough water, healthy foods, exercise and rest.

I take the time to listen to my body and to give it what it needs.

Star: Make a wish. Voicing your wish is the first step toward manifestation.

My thoughts are powerful. My thoughts create my experience.

Calm Waters: Flow. You can be sure that you are safe and supported by the Universe.

I relax and trust that all things are working together for the highest and best outcome for all.

Fish: Friends. Now is the time to seek out the company and/or help of others.

I am surrounded by loving, kind, and supportive friends.

Moon: Cycles. Pay attention to the cycles of the moon and how they affect your body and/or emotions.

I release the old and welcome the new. The cycle continues and I begin again.

Shell: Home matters. Arrange a space in your home that nourishes your spirit. Refresh and regroup with family.

My home is a warm and loving space. It gives me comfort.

Trident: Protection. Stand up for what and in whom you believe.

I am the guardian of that which I hold dear.

Harp: Music. Sing, chant, drum, or dance your feelings.

I express myself through sacred song.

Heart: Love matters. You may be experiencing a new or renewed love. Passion and compassion are equally important.

My heart is open. I am ready to give and receive love.

Sun: Enlightenment. You have the ability to see things clearly now.

Everywhere I look, there is beauty.

Rapids: Rough going. Remember that all challenges hold within them the possibility for growth.

When the waters get rough, I will enjoy the ride.

Goddess: Atargatis. Call upon the goddess to bless and empower your intention. Atargatis, Ataratheh. Derketo, Dea Syriae. Great Goddess of the Sea, may your power flow through me like water. Bless my work. So mote it be.

Matthews, John and Caitlin, The Element Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures, Harper Collins Publishers, Hammersmith, London, 2005, p.43

Lucian, The Syrian Goddess, tr.by Herbert A. Strong and John Garstang, 1913, at http://sacred-texts.com , http://sacred-texts.com/cla/luc/tsg/tsg07.htm . Note on 52:25

Ibid.

Ibid., fn 1, p.157

Ibid., fn 1, p.157

Ibid., fn 4

http://www.orderwhitemoon.org/goddess/atargatis/index.html

Picture http://mystifyinghearts.blogspot.com

[ghostbustermelanieking]

praescitum chapter thirteen

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter ten, chapter eleven pt 1, chapter eleven pt 2, chapter twelve

casefile, season 10, season 11. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: As Mulder and Scully adjust to their reassignment to the X-Files and working together in the wake of their separation, they find themselves investigating a small town and a ghost that apparently warns people of bad things to come.

---

thirteen.

november, 2017

A couple weeks pass with no leads on the unofficial Willoughby case. Mulder and Scully don't exactly want to officially go down there and investigate—lest they draw the wrath of the Budget Office again—so they've been working on other cases in the meantime. One in West Virginia, another in Indiana. Mulder writes a letter to Jared Caruthers and sends it to the prison he's at in Pennsylvania, but they don't get a response right away. They're back to their usual routine of spending a few nights a week at one of their houses, but it's different now. Now, they're together, in whatever sense of the word.

They spend a weekend in Scully's place, walking the dog together, Mulder fighting with the technology to cook, wrapped up in blankets on the couch or in her bed. Three nights at the house in Farrs Corner, staying up too late working and passing Mulder's reading glasses back and forth because Scully left her pair in her bedside table drawer. Another night in Scully's bed, tipsy and giggling like newlyweds. They buy each other breakfast or lunch at work. Mulder insists she take the desk chair. They keep things relatively peaceful with Skinner, despite past tensions. It's almost idyllic.

They're at Scully's one weekend morning, wrapped up in her sheets and comforter, huddled over on one side of the bed because that monstrous dog of hers is taking up the entire other half of the bed. Sprawled out by the pillow, taking up just enough space so that they can't lay there. Mulder didn't know a dog that small could take up that much space. “We need to renegotiate this space issue,” Mulder says into Scully's hair, his arm around her waist.

She shifts in bed, the top of her head landing just below his chin. “Mulder, I never expected you to argue about a situation that landed us sitting this closely in bed,” she says coyly. She's teasing him.

“Maybe not, but I didn't expect to have our space reduced to the size of a twin bed.” He nudges her side through the blankets. “Maybe the dog should have his own room, Scully.”

She scoffs. “Well, that seems a little excessive.” Next to her, Daggoo yawns—admittedly adorably, that little fucker—and Scully scratches his belly contentedly. “You and your dogs,” Mulder murmurs, kissing the part in her hair, and she shifts against him again, snuggling into his chest.

On the bedside table, his phone beeps with the email alert. “Some important case?” Scully mutters huskily against his shoulder as he reaches for his phone.

“Hmm. It's from Jared Caruthers, actually,” he says with surprise, opening up the email. “I included my email in case he wanted to forgo letters. Looks like he did.”

Scully props herself up on one elbow, scooting to the other side of the bed and pushing Daggoo away. He crawls into her lap, wriggling and yipping, and she scratches the top of his head. “Really? What did he say?”

Mulder scans the email. “He's willing to meet with us,” he says. “He mentions the possibility of us coming down sometime next week.”

Scully cranes her neck to read over his shoulder. “That sounds good to me,” she says. “How far away is the prison?”

“Couple hours. Up in Pennsylvania. We could drive up after lunch on Monday if there's no new case.”

“Mmm.” She rubs her nose briefly against his neck. “That makes sense. We can stay over here again Monday night if you want; I think it's closer.”

“That's sweet of you.” He kisses the top of her head again. “Although the mutt and I may need to have a discussion before then. I think it's ironic that he likes to sleep on my side of the bed.”

“Oh, hush, you big baby.” She pats the side of his face. “You'll be just fine.” He kisses her abruptly before she can finish.

---

The weather this fall has been kind of sporadic: hot one day, freezing the next. Tonight, it's freezing. Ryan hates the irony in that; the one night he'd wanted to spend outside.

He finally has his driver's license, but he has to borrow Annie's car if he wants to go anywhere. She said that he could have hers when she got a new one next year, but he suspects she's still sort of suspicious of him after the fire. That the suspicion will never completely go away. She says she isn't suspicious, that she trusts him, believes him when he says it was a stupid mistake, but he doesn't believe her. It probably doesn't help that he is technically going back to the scene of the crime tonight. If he gets caught, he'll never live it down. That'll end any chance he has of ever regaining his reputation in this stupid town.

He borrows his aunt's car because it's freezing and about to rain, and because he's tired of riding his bike around town like a little kid. He's trying to avoid suspicion, so he parks it at the nearby church and walks, up the street, past the houses near the church and to the site of the original apartment building. The place where his parents died. It's gone now, of course, but they're building some new house on the property. Ryan can't decide how to feel about it, but it's not like he has any sway over the decision. Especially considering he burned the original place down. (It seems so stupid now, thinking about why he burned the building down—to try and stop the Specter. It seems so childish. You can't stop the Specter that way. He's trying to find another way.)

The new house can't be called a house; it's a skeleton, only the frame and part of a wall in place. The chunk of wall faces the street, and Ryan gratefully ducks behind it. It's already dark, but he doesn't want anyone driving by to see him inside and get suspicious. Aside from this being the scene of two Caruthers family crimes, he's technically trespassing. He turns on his flashlight and props it up against the wall, leaving him a small yellow-white light to work with. From his backpack, he pulls the folded-up board from under his wallet. Finds the planchette and pulls that out, too. A Parker's Brother Ouija Board, bought for two bucks at the Goodwill in the next town. It's a fucking cliché, but it's all he's got.

He's never played with one before. He's been terrified of them all his life. (He sees a ghost all the time; why the fuck would he want to summon another one?) A friend of his had one at a sleepover, and he refused to play, and got called a weenie until he cried and called his aunt to come and get him. This feels like a rite of passage, a fulfillment of everything he's checked out of all of his life.

He pulls out the video camera he stole from the closet and sets it up facing the board. It's probably stupid, considering that people probably still suspect him of faking the house in class last year (and probably only let it go because Mrs. Seers got into that accident, and Agent Scully never let on that she saw him in the school), but he wants video proof. If this works, he's going to send it to Agent Mulder, who probably believes in this shit. A witness testimony of sorts. Ghosts are real, and the Specter really did possess my uncle. It's all real. He makes sure it's recording, sees that the little red light is on, and moves back to his spot before the board.

He pulls one more thing out of his pack and tucks it under the corner of the Ouija board: his parents’ wedding photo. Takes a deep, shaky breath. Come on, Ry, one of the kids at the sleepover had said—Ryan still doesn't know if he was trying to be nice or cruel. We can contact your parents. Don't you wanna talk to them again? He hadn't then. He was too scared.

He inhales, exhales, places the planchette on the board. Places two fingers on it. He takes two more shaky breaths, shakes shaggy bangs out of his face as he moves the planchette around the board a couple of times. Thunder crashes off in the distance.

Ryan’s fingers are cold on the plastic, hands shaking. He presses his shoulder against the bricks. “If there are spirits here tonight,” he says in a low voice, “please make yourself known using the board and only the board.” It’s probably not much protection against the Specter, but it’s something. And he has his old washable cross tattoo habit going again, and he’s wearing a crucifix that Jared sent with his last letter under his t-shirt. He offers up a quick prayer that this won't go badly, even though he's never prayed in his life.

Nothing happens. The planchette sits still in the center of the board.

Ryan sighs, chewing at his lower lip. It's childish, but he starts to move the planchette around the board. Swirling it back and forth. He spells out M-O-M and is on the D of Dad when the planchette yanks off one side. It rapidly spells out H-E-L-L-O.

His heart speeds up, fluttering hard, pounding against his ribs. “H-hello?” he stammers. “Mom, Dad? Is that you?”

The planchette slides again, violently, over to YES.

He laughs, a little terrified, a little joyful. He's heard stories about his mom and dad all his life—they met in college, they danced the Macarena and the Electric Slide at their wedding, they were so happy when they found out they were pregnant. His dad used to read to him every night while his mom fed him, his mom took him on long walks every day in the stroller, they both sung to him and neither of them could sing at all, they were as tone deaf as he is. But he has never once had a conversation with them. It's frightening, it's overwhelming. He can feel tears on his face.

Above him, lightning flashes across the sky.

“A-are you okay?” he whispers. “Is it nice, wherever you are?” He doesn't know if he believes in heaven, but if there's an afterlife (and there must be), he hopes it is good for them. His mom and dad. He has so, so many questions.

The planchette swirls, lands on YES again. And then it keeps moving, spelling out words. W-E L-O-V-E Y-O-U.

Ryan gulps. Wipes his face with his free hand. “I love you too,” he whispers. He doesn't know if teenage boys are supposed to tell their parents that they love them, but he's going to. He's never gotten to before, aside from the visits he and Annie paid to their graves when he was a kid. (Crouching in front of them, his hands covered in dirt and grass stains, his eyes sticky with tears as he told the stones everything he wanted to tell them.) This video is going to be embarrassing as shit.

Thunder rumbles again. Ryan clears his throat, wiping his eyes again. “Mom, Dad…” he says carefully. It feels so strange to say those words to them, even if he can't see them. “I need to ask you something. If you remember it.”

The board says nothing. The planchette is still. Ryan continues, “That night… uh, with Uncle Jared… did he…” His words break off, quivering. He doesn't know if he can say it. “Did he… did he mean to kill you? O-or was it not him?” He's stammering, weeping, blinking at the flash of lightning. He can barely articulate it, but she forces it out. “Was it the Specter? Was the Specter using him?” he whispers. “D-did the Specter kill you?”

The planchette yanks again. NO.

Ryan's mouth drops open. There's no proof, he has no proof, Jared won't tell him anything and no one else will believe him, but he was so sure… “He did?” he whispers. “Mom… Dad… he killed you?”

YES.

He shakes his head hard, his jaw clenched. “N-no, he couldn't,” he whispers. “He didn't. He…”

The planchette yanks again and again. YES YES YES YES.

The thunder booms, louder this time. A tear drips down Ryan's face. “Why?” he murmurs, his voice wrenched free of all noise. “Why did he kill you?”

The planchette loops around the board again, sharply. B-E-C-A-U-S-E O-F Y-O-U. Ryan gasps hard, yanking his hands away from the board, but the planchette keeps moving. Y-O-U Y-O-U Y-O-U Y-O-U… And Ryan suddenly understands that this isn't his parents, or not solely his parents, and he grabs for the board, for the planchette, to shift it over to GOODBYE, but the planchette moves before he can grab it. It goes flying, directly at him, and hits him in the forehead. He jerks back in pained surprise, and his head bangs hard against the unfinished wall.

He can hear the rumble of thunder again as he collapses on the ground, his head pounding.

His vision is funny, swimming, his stomach turning; he feels like he is going to throw up. His ears are buzzing with faint things, words, voices, and the sounds suddenly sharpen into something clear. Screams. Blood curdling screams, a woman's screams. A sharp, pained, deep-voiced groan, a whimper. Why, the voice pleads. Why are you…. The voice breaks off into another moan.

The screams break off into sobs, whimpers, pleas. Please, don't, don't, don't… another voice, a woman's voice, begs. Don't do this, please… Another scream, this one full of pain. Why? the voice pleads. Jared, why? Why are you doing this?

The responding voice is familiar, scarily familiar. It's different, though, darkly-toned, stiff, nearly mechanical. I have to.

More screams, more sobbing. Please, Jared, please… the voice pleads. Please don't hurt our baby. Please don't hurt Ryan. More screaming. Ryan, screaming. Ryan, crying out until his throat hurts. Ryan, lurching off to one side and vomiting hard.

His head hurts. Thunder is rumbling again, and his head, his throat, his eyes hurt. He knows what his parents sound like, Annie and both sets of grandparents have videos. But he's never heard them sound like that. Begging for their lives, for his life.

He wonders if any part of that was real, or if it was all the Specter. If just once in his life, he could hear his parents actually say that they love him.

He picks himself up off the ground, groaning and checking the back of his head—no blood, thank God. He checks the camera, too, and the little red light is on. Thank God for that, too; this is the best proof he could ask for. He puts the camera and the planchette into his backpack. But when he reaches tentatively, cautiously for the board, it yanks away from him as if shoved by an invisible hand. Seems to quiver in place, rattle on the slats of unfinished wood. Ryan reaches for it again, and the whole thing bursts into flames. He yelps, scrabbling back across the floor until his back hits the wall again. He blinks hard, as if expecting the image to go away, but it’s real. The board is ablaze. He can feel the heat of it seeping through his jeans.

He fumbles in his backpack until he finds a water bottle and dumps it over the board. A few sparks of fire remain on the board, and he stomps it out with his sneakers. His hands are shaking, his head is pounding. He stamps on the Ouija board until it stops smoldering, reaches down and grabs it, ignoring the heat. He throws it out of the skeleton of the new house, shakes his hands hard in the air to try and relieve the pain. Grits his teeth. He hurts all over, his head is pounding.

He finds the picture on the ground, soggy, blackened and charred around the edges. But he can still see his parents’ faces. He can still see them. He slips it back into his backpack and walks away.

Thunder claps again as he is walking back to the car. The sky opens up, and it starts to rain.

---

Annie is on the couch when Ryan gets home, absorbed in a Netflix show. She jumps when he walks in, fumbling for the remote and pausing it. “Hey, Ry,” she says, her shoulders relaxing in relief—that he's not a burglar, he supposes. Or a ghost. “You're home sooner than I expected. Did you see the movie?”

He shrugs. His head is killing him, and he's exhausted. And the fear hasn't completely left him, is wedged under his skin. His heart is still pounding too hard. You'd think that after seeing those ghost for most of his life, he'd be immune to all this fear, but he isn't.

“Do you want to watch a movie now?” Annie asks, motioning to the couch. “Make some popcorn, some candy? You can pick.”

He shakes his head, somewhat reluctantly. “I'm going to bed. Thanks, though.”

“Sure.” She shrugs. “There's some pizza in the fridge, help yourself.”

He nods, yanks his fingers through his hair and grimacing at the burst of pain. “Night,” he says, and walks upstairs. His hands are trembling. He just wants to go to sleep.

He pins the picture back up on the wall, first. Annie will ask what happened, but he doesn't care. Next, he hooks the camera up to his laptop and backs up the video three times—twice in the cloud, and once on the laptop itself. He fast-forwards through it; he doesn't want to watch it, but he wants to make sure it's all there. He types out an email to Agent Mulder and attaches the video. This is proof, the email says, and he'd wanted it to be proof that Jared didn't murder his parents on purpose, but this works, too. It is still proof—proof that the Specter is anything but angelic. It's something. He thinks this is plenty of stuff to convince the guy, he seems pretty open to this stuff.

He presses send, shuts his laptop and curls up in bed. Checks his phone and is responding to a text when it buzzes to life with an email alert. The email didn't send. It doesn't say why.

Reopening his laptop, Ryan tries again. And again. Each time, he gets an alert, and each time, it doesn't explain why. Usually, it'll say that the address is invalid, or the file is too big, but these say nothing. The file won't send, no matter what he does.

Ryan slams his laptop shut and puts it away, flopping on his stomach and burying his face in the pillow. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to do. That was his chance, to convince the FBI agents that Jared didn't murder his parents, or that the ghost was malevolent, or any of the above, but he's pretty sure he's lost it, if the email won't go through. He digs his fingernails into the mattress until the skin underneath stings. He stuffs the corner of the pillow in his mouth and screams in frustration. He keeps the light on even though he can't sleep with the light on, because he's too afraid to turn it off.  

---

On Monday, Mulder and Scully drive up to Pennsylvania to meet with Jared Caruthers. They call ahead to the prison, who seem surprised—because Jared's about to go on parole, Scully supposes. (Mulder told her a couple of weeks ago.) But the visit is approved, and Monday afternoon, they find themselves in a visiting room with Jared Caruthers.

He stands as they come in the room, reaches across the table to shake their hands politely. “Agent Mulder, right?” he says. “You're not, ah… you're not here to mess up my parole, are you?” He chuckles, but Scully can tell he's a bit nervous.

“Not at all,” she says. “I'm Agent Scully, Agent Mulder's partner. We'd just like to ask you some questions.”

Jared sits back down as they do. Scully has seen mugshots of him from back in 2002, and the man changed a lot: he is older, less disheveled. He's grown a beard. There's a certain amount of weariness in his eyes. He says, “So in your email, you mentioned knowing my nephew, Ryan.”

“Yes, we've run into Ryan a few times in investigations of Willoughby,” says Mulder.

“He's mentioned you a few times in his letters. I remembered the unit from when, uh, when my friend died in 2002. I think I talked to some people from it. But I don't think that was you two.”

“No, you would've spoken with our colleagues,” Scully offers. “Agents Doggett and Reyes.”

Jared nods. “Yeah, that sounds familiar.” He sighs a little, shutting his eyes briefly, rubbing at his mouth with one hand. “I’m sorry, it's just… hard time to think about. You had some questions for me? I'm assuming about what happened with my brother?”

“Yes,” says Mulder. “If you don't mind talking about it.”

He offers them a grim smile. “It's not like I haven't been asked to talk about it a million times before.” He folds his hands on the table, regards them politely. “What do you want to know?”

Scully clears her throat, shifting in her seat. “Could you talk about that night?” she asks. “What you remember?”

“Not very much, I'm afraid.” His voice is as grim as his smile.

“Anything you can tell us is helpful,” Mulder offers.

Jared sighs, shutting his eyes again. “I'll… I'll tell the story if you want me to,” he says. “It's a difficult story, but I'll tell it. Everything that happened that year… with Holly… and then Ian and Marion… it's hard to think about.”

“I understand,” Mulder says. “Take your time.”

Jared sighs again, presses his hands briefly into his eyes. “Okay,” he mutters. “Okay. Um, after Holly died, things sort of went downhill. Nobody would believe me that Holly wasn't responsible for her death, that the ghost would involved. Maybe her boyfriend believed me, a little, but he was in pain and he didn't want to hear it. Those agents came in and investigated, and they didn't really find anything, and I didn't know what else to do. I got fired from my job. I got recommended to several therapists, and hell, I probably should've gone. But I don't think it would've changed the outcome of that month. It just might've changed my involvement with it.”

“What do you mean?” Scully asks.

“Marion called me. She had taken a year off of work to stay home with the baby—she taught middle school English—and I knew she'd been bored lately. And she knew what a hard time I'd be having. We'd always been… friends. Pretty close friends. So she would ask me to keep her company after Holly died, let me play with Ryan or whatever, so I wouldn't be thinking about Holly. So I figured she was calling because of that.” He grits his teeth, staring down at his hands. “But she wasn't. It wasn't that. She was calling because she'd seen the ghost. Seen it three times, in fact. And she was scared. I-I don't think it was just because of Holly, I don't know if she believed me about Holly before she saw the ghost. But other people had been seeing the ghost, and other people had been experiencing bad shit because of it. And I think she started believing me then. She was scared for Ryan, that something bad was gonna happen to him. And she wanted my help.”

He's quiet, fidgeting with his hands. Mulder prods gently, “Wanted your help with what?”

“With the ghost,” says Jared. “She… she wanted to get rid of it. I don't know if it was more because of fear or boredom… but she wanted to get rid of it. We joked about it, before Holly died… we'd meet Marion and Ryan sometimes for coffee, and Holly would play with the baby, and we'd talk about Holly seeing the ghost, and the research her boyfriend was doing, and Mar would joke about exorcising it or something. But she was serious this time. She asked me if I was interested in helping her, and I said yes, absolutely. After what that thing did to Holly, I wasn't willing to risk it happening to anyone else. Especially not my family.” He winces, as if realizing what he's said, and drops his head into his hands. “So that was when it started,” he mumbles.

They sit in silence for a moment before Mulder speaks. “So… you and Marion were going to exorcise the ghost?” he asks. “What about your brother?”

“Ian… Ian was hesitant, but he agreed to help us after Marion asked him a few times. I'm not sure if he was being indulgent of our fears, or if he was actually concerned, but he helped when he could. We… we researched exorcisms, Marion went and got ordained online… It all seems so fucking juvenile now, but we were so young. Mar and Ian… they were so young.” Jared shakes his head, his face still hidden. “The, um… the night it happened… we were going to try and do it. The exorcism.”

That explains the state of the crime scene, Scully notes. The occultish and religious paraphernalia.

Jared presses his hands harder against his eyes briefly before pulling away. His eyes are damp. “Um, Mar and I set up. That day, we… we hung out with the baby, and we set up. Ian was weird about the whole thing, but he came. After work, he came home and agreed to do it. We… we had a plan. We were gonna summon the ghost with… with a fucking Ouija board, and then we were going to try to exorcise it. Get rid of it. To protect my nephew. God, it all sounds so fucking stupid now. I don't know what I was thinking. But I… I didn't know what else to do.” He wipes his eyes, sniffling. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Scully looks at the ground, uncomfortable. It's hard not to think about her sister, listening to Jared tell this story. She tries to remind herself that this is a murderer, that what happened to Melissa is very, very different than this, but it's hard to remember that when she's experienced every emotion she sees on his face. The guilt, the regret, the wondering what you could've done differently. She knots her fingers in her lap, presses her palms together.

“We, uh, we tried the Ouija board and nothing happened. Ian and Marion thought it didn't work. Ian wanted to quit, Marion wanted to try again… they were bickering about that. Ian went to check on the baby. Marion decided to make some food, I think… she was gonna make a salad. She was chopping tomatoes. She said we should eat something, and maybe try again. I decided to take a smoke break. I went outside to take a smoke break, out in the hall. That's… that's the last thing I remember.” His voice breaks. “T-the next thing I know, I'm waking up in the hall. Ian and Marion are on the floor, and they… they're just covered with blood… I had the knife that Marion used to chop tomatoes, and it was in my hand, and I remember thinking that the blade was red from the tomatoes, but it wasn't…” He makes a soft choking sound. Scully lets her eyes slip shut.

“Take your time,” Mulder says gently. Scully feels his hand cover hers on her knee, gently, and she wonders if he is thinking of Samantha. She tightens her jaw and opens her eyes, but she doesn't pull her hand away.

Jared takes a few deep breaths, rubbing at his face. “I guess you know the rest of the story,” he says dryly. “I… I called 9-1-1. I went to check on the baby, and by that time, I'd figured out what had happened. What… what I'd done. So I ran. I-I don't think I really thought about it, I just… I just did it. I didn't want to leave Ryan alone, but I didn't know what else to do. I just ran.”

Scully takes a few steady breaths, tapping her foot softly against the floor. Mulder says, “So… you don't remember the murders? If you don't mind me asking.”

Jared shrugs. “No, I don't. I don't remember a bit of it, and I think I'm happier that way. Living with the whole thing is bad enough.”

“I understand,” Scully says kindly—more kindly than she expected.

Mulder fidgets next to her, a sign that he wants to ask more questions but also doesn't want to push too hard. He says, “I don't know if Ryan has mentioned—”

“He has.” Jared smiles grimly at them. Cynical. “I appreciate my nephew's support,” he says. “Even if it's not necessary. After everything… not seeing him for thirteen years, or know if he was okay… I was so surprised that he didn't hate me. I know that my sister hates me.” He grimaces, rubbing at his jaw. “His ideas… I don't want to dismiss them. For a long time, I thought I was possessed that night. With what happened to Holly… I thought it was the only thing that made sense. I didn't want my brother and sister-in-law to die. But I didn't want to make excuses.” His teeth grit. “I am responsible, even if I didn't want to be. I pulled them into the problem with the ghost, after Holly… and I did the killing. Even if I don't remember it. Making excuses seemed cheap. It didn't seem fair, not to my family or to Marion's. I deserved not to have a chance to start over because of what happened. I deserved to have my life ended, too, in a sense.” He stares off into a corner, his eyes nearly glassy, like he's going to cry again. “Ryan… he's a good kid, and I love him, and I hate myself for what I did to him. I don't deserve his loyalty.”

There's an unexpected lump in Scully's throat; she didn't expect to be moved by the testimony of a murderer, especially a murderer she doesn't particularly believe. She nods and looks back down at the table, clearing her throat.

“I appreciate you talking to us like this, Mr. Caruthers,” Mulder says after a few beats of silence. He sounds like there's some emotion in his voice, too. If there's any language they both understand, it's guilt. “I just have one more question, if you don't mind.”

“Sure.”

“When you were arrested… you were found in the cemetery near your brother's home,” he says. “What were you trying to do?”

Jared laughs, and it has a touch of humor in it. Just a bit. “What do you think, Agent Mulder?” he asks. “I was trying to finish what we started the night before.”

---

“There's no way to prove he was possessed, you know,” Scully says as they pull away from the prison.

Mulder throws her a wayward grin from the driver's seat. “I knew you were going to stay something like that.”

“Well, there isn't,” she says matter-of-factly. “Whether or not I believe that theory, there isn't. It could just as easily be a lie to gain sympathy from his nephew.”

“He seemed to have plenty of guilt and grief about the whole thing,” Mulder says, having his thumb over his shoulder at the prison like a hitchhiker.

“That means he's guilty and he's grieving. That doesn't mean he's possessed.”

“So, what would be your alternative theory, then, Scully?” He's mostly teasing, but there's just enough seriousness in his voice to let her know he wants to know her theory. “Why is all of this happening in Willoughby?”

Scully considers it for a second, tapping her foot against the floor. “Do you remember when we first got called to Willoughby and I suggested that the town might be affected by some kind of a mania?” she asks. “A psychological response, possibly to the legend itself, or to the attention gained from claiming sightings?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what if that's part of it?” she offers. “And the things people see… the real things, not the stories that people make up… are the result of some sort of hallucinatory substance affecting the town?”

“The way ergot caused the Salem Witch Trials, you mean?” Mulder says slyly.

“I meant more along the lines of that mushroom field in North Carolina,” she replies dryly.

“Is the town of Willoughby being digested?” he says in that stupid not-spooky spooky voice that she secretly loves.

She nudges him in the side. “You know what I mean,” she says, and he makes a face at her. She laughs, quietly, because she really has missed this. They've been working together for two years now, and she doesn't think she'll ever stop missing this. “I don't know, Mulder,” she adds. “Hallucinations seem like the only way to rationalize everything that's happened.” That we've seen.

“Not everything,” he says softly. “Not quite.”

He's still smiling at her, sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye. She loves him. “No,” she says, reaching out and putting her hand over his knee. She squeezes his kneecap. “No, not quite.”

---

Ryan makes a trip to the grocery store after school and races home to beat his aunt. It's not a bad trip if he rides his bike; not far from school, not far from home. Sometimes he can appreciate this tiny-ass town.

He got the package from Amazon yesterday, it's sitting upstairs on his desk. The white sage, and the cheapest gemstones he could find. He puts those on his desk and dresser, lights some sage with his lighter. Then he rips open the bags from the grocery store. More crosses, the type he's seen in tacky decorating. Maybe they work better than the cheap plastic ones from Vacation Bible School, he doesn't know. He nails those on the wall. Annie will probably notice, but maybe not, she doesn't come in his room a lot. He hopes not. He doesn't want to have to explain this until it's all over.

The last thing left is the salt. He opens the bag and pours it in a line in front of the door, just like in the movies. Pours it in a circle around his bed. Along the windowsills and the door to his closet. Stores it in the closet for safekeeping.

The woman in the store had given him the strangest look when he unloaded his cart onto the conveyor belt. Probably only increasing his shitty reputation, but it doesn't matter. None of that matters, none of the banal, unimportant stuff. All that matters is ending this. He wants to finish what his parents started.

Ryan checks his salt lines, checks his sage. The sage smell is not great, but he wrinkles his nose and ignores it. He wants to make sure everything is right. He wants to make sure that it can't get in here.

It's the only way to keep himself safe.

[thepermanentrainpress]

UNDER THE RADAR: JULY 2022

July’s Under the Radar brings new releases from Josh Bogert , Burning Juniper, Madame Daley, mekel, Fairything, and Jonah Ocean.

1) Josh Bogert - “Dreams”

Bogert is my local go-to fix for fresh pop/electronic that makes me want to dance, and “Dreams” is no exception. It is a reflective piece after the loss of a partner – “about finding a happy moment within a more tragic story.” Details of moments from time together that seem insignificant (“you’re still getting ready in my bathroom mirror”) draw empathy towards the narrator; we’re privy to the love shared. Self-produced, his use of keys, guitar and production is uplifting while beckoning to days past. His tone is excellent in carrying the song’s ebb and flow, and while amplified by the final cut’s production, I can also see it being performed well in a stripped down acoustic setting.

The music video (directed by Mark Gustov of Creation Station) was shot in Tofino, the perfect west coast, lush scenery for Bogert’s dialogue. “Dreams” is about a special location, person, and chasing a feeling that can never be replaced.

Written by: Chloe Hoy

2) Burning Juniper - “She Changes The Weather”

Feel lost in starry and downcast eyes, it’s not a difficult feat in “She Changes The Weather.” Like an ode to growing apart and the deviation that can’t be ignored in a relationship, out emerges the bittersweet indie rock cut. It’s reminiscent in few words, a tad lethargic but oh so sentimental in sound. Framed by “guitar-driven, post-punk hooks,” it is well-paced with hollered vocals that swell in anticipation. The impact of another is felt beyond a separation, continuing to alter our environment and the way we see the world. I sensed both resentment and appreciation, although the former may take precedent. 

I can hear the reproach in the words – a connection to the music and each other years beyond the band’s young tenure. An impressive debut and showcase of awareness, there’s much promise for the South East London rockers.

Written by: Chloe Hoy

3) Madame Daley - “Annie, Sing Your Heart out Anyway”

What do you get when you mix a theatrical show-tune approach to music, with the gut and heart of a voice like Duffy or Pat Benatar? You get Madame Daley, the intersection of glam, rock, and feminist empowerment. Celebrating the release of Classic, her first EP, comes the release of the track “Annie, Sing Your Heart out Anyway.”

Daley’s vocals are alluring and deep. Accompanied by a constant thrum of the guitar, and slappy, punchy drums, this song is a lesson in pop-rock. It’s a rumbling, heart-felt romp in music. A joyful ode to her “badass” and tone-deaf grandmother, “Annie, Sing Your Heart out Anyway” feels like dancing in your bedroom, screaming your favourite retro tunes at the top of your lungs without a care in the world. The track is so fun to listen to, and possesses a quality I value when it comes to music—the ability to sing along to it. It’s actually a rarer quality than you’d think!

Written by: Alexa Tarrayo

4) mekel - “Would-Be Memories”

Caught in the thick of heartache, and the opportunity to rediscover oneself. mekel – the moniker of Montreal-based Mickey Green – co-wrote “Would-Be Memories” with Eli Garlick after ending a long-term relationship marred by infidelity. Her soft vocals glide over playful electronics, accentuated at just the right moments and easy to get lost in.

The lilting pop tune has a confident delivery despite a bittersweet pulse: “You take the sting out of every lie, then fake a smile for the last time / I’m like a kid waving goodbye to a clown.” It recognizes that some connections are best left in the past. Buy yourself a bouquet of roses and promise yourself forever, instead.

Written by: Natalie Hoy

5) Fairything - “Desperate & Dazed”

Are you addicted to the playful, sing-song tracks from cartoons like Steven Universe and My Little Pony (Generation 4, obviously)? Then you need to listen to this tune from Fairything. It highlights the best of the bitpop genre, bringing forward simple yet impactful lyrics enveloped with jingly synth and omnichord progression.

I think “Desperate & Dazed” is exactly what folks into this genre will love. It is a relatable piece about, from my perspective, manic manipulation and love-ridden submission. Although the track doesn’t address anyone in particular, it feels like a cry for help against love or life itself. Even so, it's swathed in a cutesy, innocent soundscape that adds to the chaos and hopelessness of the track’s narrative. The track also feels raw and not overproduced. You can tell that this piece means a lot to Fairything as an artist. Those are the best tracks to get stuck in your ear—and trust me, with this one, you will.

Written by: Alexa Tarrayo

6) Jonah Ocean - “Demons”

There’s an alleviating quality in “Demons” despite the darker subject matter. Playing with the concept of duality, the artist finds space to pull in mythical folklore steeped in corruption and death—whilst invoking wonder in an oscillating soundscape. Inspired by his own experience with mental health and isolation during the pandemic, there is an enduring fear and desperation felt (“I just wanna feel alright”). Sonically, the layered synths, vocal harmonies and percussion textures are transcendent together; an effervescent quality that almost made me forget of the pained origins. I like the creativity in an alternative meets electronic genre that is fast-paced and constantly innovating.

"Demons” surrenders to the light and dark, allowing a certain relief in its alluring wake. The Vancouver-based artist’s self-produced debut EP Swimming is due for release this September.

Written by: Chloe Hoy

[eurythmics]

Annie Lennox's Christmas offering, A Christmas Cornucopia is far from a saccharine packaged selection box. It offers an abundant track listing drawn from British, French and German traditions covering the well-known alongside lesser known songs. It encompasses a wide range of narratives and emotions – from joyful and celebratory thorough melancholic and haunting to poignant and timely. On “Lullay Lullay”, for example, Annie draws direct links between the Nativity and the plight of Africa’s child soldiers. @officialannielennox #annielennox @officialannielennox From The Ultimate Eurythmics Archives : https://eurythmics-ultimate.com

[carelessannie]

tony x ofc (maybe it goes like this: dating and mating)

Bucky x Clint | Steve x Annie | Tony x Clint | Bucky x Peter | Tony x Annie | Clint x Steve | Bucky x Annie | Peter x Steve

Read on A03

Read the main story on AO3 and Tumblr

Read the Stuckony backstory

Word count: >900

Before bonding, all six packmates are determined to get to know each other. Tony is fascinated by the woman who shares his mother’s scent, and they share a sweet moment together

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, excessive PG-rated PDA

---

Maybe it goes like this:

“Who’s your favorite, Tony?”

He takes a moment— looking between each of them and carefully considering his options. It’s hard, but he knows instantly what his answer will be.

“Here— come with me.”

Tony tugs on Annie’s hand, leading her down the hall, around the corner, past the staircases and photographs and sculptures.

19th and Early 20th Century European Paintings and Sculpture is printed on the welcome banner, and Tony picks up his pace, smiling as the quick maneuvers cause Annie to giggle in delight.

“Where are we— Tony!” She squeals, hanging on tighter as he starts to search the walls.

Aha!

“Here! Here, look— come look, Annie,”

They step closer, taking in the crowded row of paintings. There are seven frames, and Tony is enraptured by the second painting from the right side.

“Oh, Tony,” Annie breathes out, leaning against his arm and clutching onto his hand.

His mom had stopped him in front of the paintings— both Roses and Irises hanging together— and told him, “The predominant color in these paintings is white— but you should know, Bambino, van Gogh painted both of them in pink, which then faded over time, until all you can see now is a whisper of the original intent.”

His mom had stopped him in front of the paintings— both Roses and Irises hanging together— and told him, “The predominant color in these paintings is white— but you should know, Bambino, van Gogh painted both of them in pink, which then faded over time, until all you can see now is a whisper of the original intent.”

He hears his mother’s voice now as they stand close together, and Annie’s scent— Strawberry and dark Caramel, so close to his mother’s— brings tears to his eyes.

She turns towards him, blatant concern written in her expression, “Tell me about them, Tony?”

And so he does. He tells her about the paintings— showing her both the Irises, and then the Roses in the next room. He shares the memory of his mother, and watches as her expression goes soft with understanding. She listens as he talks aimlessly about his Mamma, and he has to pause a few times to stop himself from crying, overwhelmed by the memory.

Annie just waits, listening to his stories and giving him soft kisses on the cheek, under his jaw, when he tries to keep his composure.

They stay for a while, thankful that most of the MET is empty on a Tuesday afternoon. He learns that Annie has a passion for drawings and printmaking, and they spend almost an hour in the Robert Lehman Collection, admiring the artwork and sitting outside in the courtyard.

“What about your family, Annie? Who are you closest to?”

She laughs, “You mean other than Clint? My mother and father fostered a lot of pups growing up, so I have a large pack outside of my immediate family. If you count them, I’m closest with Clint, of course. If not, probably my mom. She’s an Omega and I’ve always related most with her.”

“Do they still foster kids?” Tony asks, carefully playing with her curly hair, wrapping and unwrapping the soft strands around his fingers.

“Yes,” she stares off into the distance, “but I barely know them. It’s hard to keep up with everything now that we’ve moved out.”

“Peter mentioned… basically, he mentioned that the three of you are intimate together. Did that exist with Clint while he was still a foster brother?”

Annie’s nose scrunches up, “That’s gross, Tony. No. I’ve never seen Clint as a brother, and my parents were always really careful to draw that line, in case if something ever happened between us. I presented my junior year of high school, right as Clint was graduating, and before he presented Beta. After that, he went to college and the Olympics, so I didn’t see him that much. I mean, not until we moved in together and met Peter. I’ve only ever been intimate with the two of them, and it’s pretty rare,” she pauses, glancing up into Tony’s eyes, “we’ve all been looking for something to complete our pack, I think.”

“I know what you mean,” Tony says, low and promising. They’re only an inch away, and he can hear her breath catch. Both of them rock forward, slightly, and Annie moves her head, exposing her neck to Tony.

“Annie… can I—”

“Please, Tony— Beta, please.”

With permission, Tony wraps his arms around her waist, carefully tucking her curls behind her shoulder, and sinks into the embrace, scenting her deeply. Her fingers trace up his spine and into his hair, scratching lightly behind his ears and tugging on a few strands. He holds her tighter.

As much as he loves Peter’s scent, and Bucky’s scent has come to mean home— something about Annie scents just like family, like his mother.

And maybe it would be weird, but the sharp contrast of Caramel means that Annie just smells like a compatible mate, already bonded and familiar. He wonders, not for the first time, if she feels the same about him.

They stay like this for a few more moments, enjoying the simple intimacy, until Tony realizes the acceptable time for PDA has passed. He withdraws, slowly, and Annie dots a sweet kiss on his cheek.

He feels his cheeks heat up.

“You’re sweet, Tony,” she whispers, eyes flicking down to his lips.

Tony chuckles and stands to his feet, guiding them out of the courtyard. Once they’re headed out the doors and back towards 5th Avenue, he returns her whisper, “Will you consider bonding with me, Annie?”

Her laugh is vibrant, warming Tony from within. Annie keeps them walking across the street as her scent turns HappyPleasedContentOmega.

“Yeah, Tony,” she breathes, her smile wide and joyful, “I think I will.”

[pennyfarthingjellyfish]

The Working Class: Capitalism Visiting my parents in Marco Island, I took my dog for a walk. As she galloped down the street, joyful, I could almost hear her singing “I’m Free” a la The Who; due to her allergies, I rarely let her outside, and every time she gets to go out off her leash, I am reminded: I frequently forget what freedom looks like. Far be it from anyone to think that because I have a small dog, and my parents have a house on Marco Island, that we are affluent. Small dog and vacation Monday on Marco Island, these are facts that could draw this conclusion, but it would be hasty. My parents and I are very much part of the proletariat, a fact my friend Shane reminded me of the other day. I recently changed careers from education to cinematic production after making a short film that did well in festivals. It even won an award. Currently, I’m spending my time editing my second film and I am grateful to be able to use my parents’ small house on Marco Island to work on it when I can between paid gigs, so that when I can take a break I’m able to go down to the beach. Because, I’m a poor independent filmmaker and don’t have money for much else when it comes time for a well-needed respite after sitting in front of the computer for hours other than the “sun in the morning and the moon in the evening” (thank you, Annie). My father has a part time seasonal job on Marco Island that necessitates him having a residence both here and on the east coast of South Florida where he resides off-season, and during the week in season. Weekly, he makes the two hour drive from one side of Florida to the other, works a few days, and returns home. It’s a great chance to listen to music, catch up on current comedian recordings, but it definitely establishes that my father – in his somewhat retirement – is not the normal Marco Island citizen: he is not ridiculously affluent and living in a mansion off the water. He’s not poor, either, though. He’s a working dignitaries in a small, sleepy community.

Sometimes, when I attend events with him I find myself cringing, now that I am not a teacher. When I was a classroom educator  and was introduced to people, the conversation went as follows:

Them: What do you do? Me: I’m a high school English teacher. Them: You’re so brave. Me: Ha. They then either spoke about their fond or distressing memories from high school English, or their own work. Now, when I meet new people, the conversation is different: Them: What do you do? Me: I’m am emerging filmmaker. Them: Have I seen anything you’ve made? Me: Probably not. (Pause with awkward silence) Me: My first film won in award in New York, and I’m working on a second film now. There seems to be judgment in the awkward silence that follows, since I’m not doing what normal adults do or can relate to, and I have taken to venting to my artist friends, the people I went to school with who may have taught but have been actively pursuing their art and craft since graduation. Shane is one of them. Shane observes these dialogues establish both parties as being part of the proletariat. He points out that very affluent people, no one questions what they do, as it’s obvious they have made enough money that it would be almost rude to ask how it was obtained. A person who looks poor is not asked what he does, for fear of insulting or being perceived as looking down on them. I consider this. I am a bit humbled: I appreciate the lack of assumption. Although, I do wish people would ask questions that better allow me to reflect who I am as a person. Children when they meet ask each other if they like to color, or play with blocks. I wish someone would ask upon meeting, “what’s your favorite movie? “, or “if you had the opportunity would you teleport? “ The house whose driveway sports this rhetorical message is not large, it is not a mansion. Are the tenants trying to state they are proud to be part of the working class? They are proud to be neither poor nor rich? My tradition teaches work is holy, Sabbath a gift. Is this message a prayer of thanks without pious language that would be desecrated if driven over? Or an ironic criticism and f--- you to the wealthy neighbors across the way? I think now of the houses made of tin pieces leaning against each other in Bangkok, cool in the shadows towering over them across the street. That contrast was startling. Here, well - it’s just smaller nice houses compared to larger nice houses. Do these folks feel the are the same as the Thai, even though they have windows that keep out the mosquitoes?  Officially, I don’t mind work when I am employed for an entity I respect, and I support people who are kind in their professionalism. However, I don’t think I would graffiti my driveway with enthusiasm over it to say so. What made these people mark up their driveway? Perhaps I will bake some neighborly muffins, go over, ask them if they like to color on paper, too, and see if I can figure it out without asking what they do for their bread.

[softpastelheart]

Pass the happy! 💐When you get this, reply with 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people in your notifications.

1. My friends, family, and petsThey’re my support system, it’s always nice to just be with your friends at home or go out somewhere and just talk. My pets are always there for me, and they’re so cute and loving! 💕

2. My hobbiesI like drawing, listening to music, writing, stretching, watching anime, etc. It gives me time to process my emotions, express my feelings and creativity, and it’s just calming.

3. Cute and soft thingsI love pastels, soft and fluffy things, and all kinds of cute things, they’re just nice to look at, they’re pleasant and give you a warm feeling. ☺️

4. Animals Animals are compassionate, and often friendly. They share and show emotions, and they’re cozy and cute! I adore being with animals, they’re funny and joyful, and they’re all unique.

5. Nature Nature is so pretty and peaceful- flowers, sunshine, snow, rain, forests, the ocean, rivers, mountains, etc. Taking a walk or hiking in nature is just kind of therapeutic and refreshing.

@sunnyhoneybun@michaela-annis@ange1do11y@petite-pastel@failpanda@cheonsaagi@pinkchocolatemilk@strawberrylollipopkisses@darkconstellation-s@sweetsorrow-love

[k00263287]

21.02.21

PATTERN DESIGN: [GDC TASK]

We were asked to share some designers who dealt with pattern who inspired us, included here are:

Saul Bass - I love his simplistic bold forms and I took a lot of inspiration from his colour use. Mike Perry - Perry makes the most gorgeous and intricate drawings, and his way with colour is so joyful. I love his illustrative style.  Anni Albers - Textile / print patterns. I will hopefully draw inspiration from her for my project. Yayoi Kusama - Although more conceptual, her style of painting is often based on repetitive pattern.