#like do I just have them cut off mid-sentence and use the “before jimmy cuts her off to announce that” bc like. idk

[thepandalion]

just wrote two new paragraphs in my fanfic. be proud of me plz

[m0ther-of-p3arl]

got a tendency for codependency

(robert aeor high p4)

masterpost

eyooo and welcome to part four of the robert aeor high au and it's a very special update today! i welcome you to...JIMMY POV!!!

Jimmy can feel  Shelby watching him, feel her eyes boring into his back, telling him to stop talking. But he doesn’t, because Scott looks like he’s hurting and Jimmy wants to help. All Jimmy’s ever wanted to do since he got away is to help.

or, Jimmy's determined to make friends in his new school and just kind of a chill update

(3493 words)

TW: mentions of running away, insinuated past abuse, dissociation, insinuated ptsd, panic attacks

It’s only Jimmy’s first day, and already he’s made a friend. Her name is Shelby, or Shubble to eir friends, ey use she/ey pronouns, she’s a gnome, and ey wears a really, really big hat. Jimmy’s never really had a friend before, but even so, he feels like he’s lucked out with Shubble. She’s kind and funny, and ey really listens to him when he talks.

Jimmy doesn’t know if he’s friends with Scott, though. The gorgon was kind of intimidating, asking all those questions about if he can fly or not. Jimmy supposes it’s kind of hypocritical to be thinking this, because he himself was asking some questions of the more personal variety as well. But how was he to know that Scott would be so sensitive about that kind of thing? But how was Scott to know that Jimmy hated being asked about flying? He’s checkmated himself with that one. 

Scott and the tiefling, Jimmy thought he heard Shelby call him “Owen,” have just gone into the corner where they’re having some kind of intense conversation. Scott looks really uncomfortable, his arms hugging himself tightly, and Owen seems to be quite angry about something, throwing his hands in the air. 

Jimmy can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but he does know that a while ago, he heard his name. They had both glanced back quite conspiratorially after that, and then quieted their voices considerably. Jimmy’s half-listening to Shubble’s animated chatter, half-watching the two boys in the corner. 

He wonders what they’re talking about, what it has to do with him. Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird. 

Oh, goddamn it! It’s been a year, a year, and he still can’t shake it off, that voice, always at the back of his mind, whispering the same words every time, repeating and repeating and repeating, endless looping circles. For the first couple months after he left, he couldn’t sleep, the words the only things he could hear at night, when there were no distractions to keep them from coming. 

It’s less severe now, with Beks’ quiet snores from the bunk above him, rhythmic and soothing, and her parents always there to comfort him if he needs it. Really, the voice is more of a nuisance now, a shaking reminder that makes Jimmy’s feathers poof up every time he hears it.

Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird.  

Ugh. He shakes his wings slightly, the feathers making a soft rustling sound, and turns his attention to Shubble, who’s going on about inter-species peace or something of the sort- nothing Jimmy would know about.

“Shelby?” he asks, interrupting the gnome mid-sentence.

“Yeah?” Shubble answers. He finds it amazing how ey doesn’t even seem to care that she’s been interrupted, how ey just cuts herself off, no matter what ey’s been saying, to turn her attention to Jimmy.

“Do you know what those two are talking about over there in the corner?” While he’s saying this, still keeping half an eye on the conversation, Owen’s just enveloped Scott in a hug. The gorgon’s standing still as a stone in his embrace, and Jimmy wonders why he won’t hug Owen back. The few times Jimmy’s been hugged have been some of the nicest moments of his life. He doesn’t understand Scott.

“Oh… let’s not talk about that, Jimmy, it doesn’t matter much anyway.” Shubble’s expression has changed suddenly and drastically, going from a welcoming, warm smile to an anxious frown that she’s attempting to hide rather poorly. “Plus, they’re coming back now, see?”

“...I guess so,” Jimmy mutters. He doesn’t want Shelby to get mad at him, doesn’t want to jeopardize what’s maybe the only friendship he has, so he drops it for now. As Scott sits back down in the seat next to Jimmy, Owen gives the gorgon a quick pat on the back before he slides into his seat as well.

Stealing a glance at the gorgon, Jimmy realizes that the person he’d bumped into on the hallway while trying to find his class was probably Scott- he’s about the right height, and Jimmy distinctly remembers cyan. If so, that did make trying to be the gorgon’s friend a bit awkward, especially as he’s certain that even though he doesn’t know Scott that well, he’s a smart, cunning person. If Jimmy’s figured it out, there’s no doubt in his mind that the gorgon has as well.

God, Jimmy’s such a clumsy idiot. 

He can see Scott right now in his peripheral vision, hunched up into himself and seemingly very worried about something. Now, Jimmy’s no expert on life, and especially not having friends, but he does know that he’s generally good at cheering people up- or at least, that’s what Beks says, and she took him in. Jimmy trusts her, so that means he should trust himself.

“You good?” he asks, tapping Scott’s shoulder. “You seem… upset about something.”

Scott looks over, surprised, his mouth drawn into a straight line. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He’s obviously not, and Jimmy’s brow furrows, confused as to why someone would say something if it wasn’t what they meant. What are you supposed to do after this, again? Oh, right.

“...Are you sure?” he asks the older boy awkwardly, not quite looking in his eyes, preening his wing feathers; an anxious habit he’s picked up in the last year.

“Um. Yeah. Yep. I’m just peachy,” Scott mutters weakly, staring straight ahead at nothing. Jimmy can feel  Shelby watching him, feel her eyes boring into his back, telling him to stop talking. But he doesn’t, because Scott looks like he’s hurting and Jimmy wants to help.

All Jimmy’s ever wanted to do since he got away is to help.

“What did Owen say when you were talking in the corner? It clearly upset you, and I know we barely know each other, but if you need to talk about something, you can come to me.” The words come out in a rush, cascading from his lips before he can stop them. He realizes what he’s said is probably very embarrassing and he can feel the red creeping into his cheeks, his eyes glancing upon Shubble’s tense expression, which looks like she’s certain Scott’s going to fall apart like a fragile little flower. 

On the gorgon’s other side, Owen’s back has tensed, his ears pricked. He’s turned away from him, but Jimmy can tell the tiefling’s been eavesdropping- ready to jump in at any time to Scott’s defense.

But despite what Jimmy’s expected, harsh rejection and an angry glare, one more possibility of friendship lost forever, the opposite seems to happen.

“...Thank you, Jimmy.” Scott’s voice sounds genuinely grateful, and Jimmy’s unbelievably relieved that he’s not mad. He hadn’t even realized his feathers had fluffed up until they relaxed, smoothing back down into their normal shape. He can see Scott’s eyes out of the corners of his own, hidden under glasses, the cyan irises tracing his plumage as it relaxes back into his wings, smooth and flush with his back. Jimmy feels a little shiver knowing that Scott’s looking at him, looking at his wings with such… curiosity.

Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird. Goddamn it. Goddamn it! He can’t get away from the voice, her voice, pulling and pushing and repeating and looping over and over and over and over again- Jimmy shakes his head, trying to refresh his brain, but it doesn’t work and he’s scared scared scared, he doesn’t want them to see him like this, especially not Scott, especially not Scott but 

curiouslittlebirdjimmy’salwaysbeenacuriouslittlebird- 

He’s aware of how his wings must be wrapped tightly around himself, aware of the way Shelby’s looking at him with concern, shaking his shoulder and yelling, “JIMMY!” But he can’t hear her, the voice is drowning everything else out, and he knows he should be able to feel Scott’s hand pressing against the back of his neck, making sure he’s awake, but he doesn’t feel it, he doesn’t feel anything, nothing but the voice screaming screaming screaming loud in his skull, it won’t stop, why won’t it stop-

Then something brushes his wings and he snaps out of it, shaking his head and breathing heavily. The thing that had touched his feathers, right where they connected at his back, had been the teacher’s hand- Jimmy realizes they’ve been standing over him as well, and a fresh bout of shame loops over him. He hasn’t been that bad in almost four months.

“Though that would work,” they say confidently, rubbing Jimmy’s shoulder. “You good, kiddo?”

“I- yeah, I’m fine,” he lies, mirroring Scott’s words from just a few minutes ago. Now he understands. “Don’t worry about me.” Jimmy kind of wishes someone did worry about him, obviously he has Beks, but she’s different, she’s not really his friend, exactly. He’s super grateful for her and everything, and she’s been such a help in everything, but he knows that most of her motivation to help him comes from a place where she’s just trying to heal herself, her own past wounds.

Her little brother.

“If that ever happens again,” Mx Leiverman says authoritatively, breaking Jimmy out of his thoughts, “I want you to touch his back, that spot between his wings, right? That’s one of the most sensitive spots on an avian,” they explain, “and it tends to wake them up from dissociation, which I think is what was going on here. Of course, it also wakes them up from real sleep, but I sure hope our new student won’t be sleeping in class.” The teacher sends him a wink, smiling. “Now, do you all know what we’re doing today, or were you just chatting the whole time?”

Jimmy smiles guiltily, it’s not a real smile, it’s just met to make the teacher feel better. He doesn’t want her to think he’s a nuisance. Jimmy hates being told he’s a nuisance. “I suppose it might help to have a refresher.”

The next thirty minutes go by in a blur, small talk with Shelby while doing some sort of science experiment. Everyone else seems to know what will happen, but Jimmy’s extremely surprised at the end result, an amazed gasp exploding from his mouth at the colored mushroom cloud that poofs out of the beaker. His reaction makes everyone else laugh, and Jimmy has to admit that he probably sounds pretty silly.

Plus, it doesn’t feel like they were laughing at him, it feels like they were laughing with him. That’s sort of a new feeling to Jimmy, but he decides he likes it. School isn’t as bad as he’d thought it might be- he’s already made friends, Shelby especially, who makes him laugh in a very real way, and Scott, who’s quiet but nice and after a couple more minutes with the guy, has solidly landed in the friend category. He’s really interesting to look at too, and Jimmy finds himself having to drag his eyes away from the gorgon’s snakes or hands or eyes beneath shades on multiple occasions.

Owen, on the other hand… from the outside, he seems fine, treats Jimmy just the same as Shubble and Scott, but there’s something just slightly, marginally different- Jimmy doesn’t think he likes him very much. Maybe it’s the way the tiefling glances to the side as if he wants to run away, or how whenever he thinks Jimmy’s not looking, his face twists into a scowl, or the way that when he laughs, there’s an undertone that Jimmy can’t quite pin down, but certainly doesn’t like.

But Owen doesn’t matter because now Jimmy has friends, real friends for the first time ever. Well, except for Beky, of course- but she’s a grade younger, it’s not like he’d be able to hang out with her in class. Plus, she has her own friends, El and Krow and that whole lot, and Jimmy never really got on with them. Especially Krow. It’s nice and all, but he’s just always found it a bit…intimidating, especially as it’s a siren and could be manipulating him without him ever knowing it was doing anything at all.

And El, though she’s very down-to-earth and funny, is straight-up terrifying. She’s just over eight feet tall, and while that’s short for a celestial, even the forest celestial that she is, it’s still pretty damn tall for anyone else. Of course, sky celestials get taller- they can grow to twelve feet- but Jimmy’s only five foot two. He’s really quite short. 

Jimmy just generally distrusts people who are super significantly taller than him. They remind him of Patty and he does not want to be reminded of Patty- just thinking of her sends a shiver down the center of his spine, and he has to concentrate from keeping the voice creeping back into his mind, her voice, repeating and repeating and repeating.

And then before Jimmy knows it, class is almost over, and he’s packing up his stuff with Shelby’s help, letting him know where everything should go and how to keep his binder organized. 

“These uniforms are really uncomfortable,” he mutters offhandedly, picking at the rough material of his skirt.

“YES!” Scott practically yells the word, almost causing Jimmy to jump out of his skin. “Oh, sorry. But they are, aren’t they? No one else thinks they are! Everyone’s like ‘Oh Scott, they’re fine, you just have sensitive skin,’ but they mess up my snakes too.”

“For me, it’s my feathers,” Jimmy explains. “The holes where my wings stick out from my uniform are really scratchy and they’re probably going to leave an irritation on my wingbuds, if they haven’t already.” He doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, why this dumb little conversation is making him so happy, his mouth quirking up in a slight smile.

Scott continues going on and on about the uniforms, and Jimmy just watches, nodding and chirping up with little add-ons whenever the gorgon says something he agrees with. It’s kind of nice, just sitting here and talking to this kid he’s met today. 

Plus, Jimmy just finds Scott’s snakes so interesting, the way they hiss slightly when he speaks, and how they’re always writhing across his head. The gorgon will sometimes run a hand backwards through them, taming them down for about thirty seconds before they’re back at it again.

Jimmy remembers reading somewhere that a gorgon’s snakes mimic their emotions, and from what he can recall, right now it looks like Scott’s feeling- maybe not happy, exactly- but energized nonetheless.

Jimmy doesn’t realize he’s been spaced out, staring at the gorgon once again, until Shelby waves a hand in front of his face. “Hellooo? Jimmy, you home?” 

“What? Oh, yeah, sorry, I just kinda spaced out for a bit.” He shakes his head, and turns away from Scott, feeling mildly embarrassed. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, but Scott’s just interesting to look at, with his snakes always twisting this way and that, his cyan eyes really quite hypnotizing, even through his dark sunshades. Jimmy supposes they must come from his siren mother.

Hopefully Scott doesn‘t have any of the manipulative powers that typical sirens, like Krow, possess. Jimmy would actually be pretty surprised if he did, because it seems like the only feature he’s inherited that’s not completely gorgon-ish is the color of his eyes and snakes. Oh, and the fact that he apparently can’t petrify anyone. 

Jimmy’s still curious about that, wonders why Scott wears the shades if there’s nothing within his eyes he has to protect others from. But that’s a question for later, when they’re better friends, because the gorgon’s seemed to really tense up when Jimmy’s asked similar questions.

“Well, it’s time to go,” Owen says brusquely as the bell rings, pulling Jimmy out of his thoughts. “Where to next, Jim?”

“Um, lemme check,” Jimmy mutters, opening his schedule as he feels a spike of anxiety. He really doesn’t think Owen likes him. That’s bad. Jimmy doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong that might make the tiefling hate him, but he wouldn’t know, would he? Jimmy’s new at having friends, he only just got out a year ago.

Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird. 

He shudders at the voice, still pressing into his mind, her words sharp as a knife in his mind. “Um, next class is math with a Mr Brunswick? In room 201,” he adds to clarify. 

Scott looks at him, surprised. “If you’ve read that right, you’ve got the next class with me and Joel, then.”

“...Who’s Joel?” Jimmy asks, wondering if he’s missed something.

Scott considers the question for a couple of seconds, as if he’s trying to figure out how to word the answer. “Joel is… Joel. He’s a hard one to explain- you’ll know what I mean when you meet him. Jimmy smiles uncertainly, slightly worried about who, or what, Joel is, but he gets his answer soon enough.

He follows Scott across the hall, tripping over feet and hitting people with his wings left and right, muttering “sorry”s that are met with annoyed glares from the other students, until finally, they’re inside the classroom. Jimmy heaves a sigh of relief and leans against the doorjamb, because thank god he’s out of that crowded mayhem- he’s decided he doesn’t like the hallways.

“Someone’s dramatic,” Scott smirks, turning back and beckoning for Jimmy to follow him. “So, I think your desk is next to mine ‘cause I saw it earlier, and Joel sits right behind me.”

“I don’t see a seat behind yours,” Jimmy starts, confused.

“Oh, yeah, Joel has to sit on the floor,” Scott explains, somehow just bringing up even more questions about this mysterious “Joel.”

He opens his mouth, more confused than ever, when suddenly someone walks through the door. Or more, stoops under the door frame. Jimmy’s eyes travel from their bright white shoes to their blue and mottled white legs all the way up to their head, where a scruff of brown hair with a single green streak slightly off to the side sits, a tattoo of a strand of laurel snaking down their arm.

Oh. Oh, no, he’s so tall. That’s not good.

So that’s Joel. Or at least, he assumes that’s who they are, because Scott’s waving them over, and they’re enthusiastically making their way through the rows of desks to sit on the floor behind the gorgon and Jimmy.

“Eyo, are you that new kid? The one on my bus?” Joel leaves no room for questions, his meaning blatantly clear. Jimmy supposes he has to admire that, even if he’s really not enjoying the fact that Joel towers over him even when he’s seated on the floor.

“Um, yeah, probably,” Jimmy laughs nervously, picking at his feathers and smoothing his skirt down to his knees. “I mean, I feel like I would’ve noticed you, with you being…,” his eyes take a second to trace from Joel’s shoes to his head, “That tall,” he finishes, feeling a familiar wave of nausea that always comes at times like this. “Are you a sky celestial? I’m not the best at species identification, but you guys are kind of unmistakable.”

“That I am,” Joel smirks, “and a handsome one at that, eh, Scott?”

The gorgon rolls his eyes, but Jimmy can see the hint of a smile beneath the snarky facade. “Keep telling yourself that, bestie.”

“So, Timmy, right?” the sky celestial asks, quite sure of himself as he leans towards Jimmy, who tries to hide a snicker.

“Timmy?!” He’s not sure if Joel’s joking, because even given the little he’s seen of him, he seems to tread the line between joking and being serious in every sentence. “No, sorry, the name’s Jim. So, Jimmy would be what you heard. With a ‘J.,” he adds to clarify.

“...Oh,” Joel mutters, slightly taken aback. “Well, that’s not a terrible mistake to make, is it?”

Scott smiles dryly, but doesn’t say anything.

“Um, it’s fine, I guess?” Jimmy mutters. “I really don’t care all that much.” 

“Well, good,” Joel puffs, “Because you shouldn’t. Because I’m the best. And not egotistical at all.”

“Sure,”  Scott mutters, a smirk still apparent on his face, bent down to finish his homework. Joel rolls his eyes, sticking his tongue out at Scott.

The rest of the day passes quickly. Either Scott, Shelby, Owen, or Joel are in all of his classes, and in some, all four of them are there. When Jimmy’s walking home with Beks, her owl wings contrasting directly with his bright yellow plumage, he can’t help but think that, all things considered, his life’s been so, so much better since he got out.Maybe it’s good that he is a curious little bird, because otherwise, he wouldn’t be here right now, now would he? But, even after having a day to get used to him, Jimmy just has to admit that Joel’s still too tall.

[shefanispeculator]

I'm slightly disappointed to log onto Zoom and find Gwen Stefani in Los Angeles. I wanted to see the ranch. Stefani spent most of the pandemic in Oklahoma with her fiancé and fellow The Voice coach Blake Shelton, with whom she has recently collaborated on a string of country radio hits, alongside a kitsch Christmas song. For a ska-pop superstar, it's a pivot, but Stefani and Shelton are cute together — picture-perfect in their opposite attraction.

Country Gwen exists, her urban counterpart assures me, but on this particular MacBook she's nowhere to be seen. I'm not sure what crude regional stereotypes I was expecting (Stefani spitting sunflower seeds? Shelton line dancing in the background?) but I get Californian sunshine instead, illuminating a version of Stefani more familiar from my teenage years, when Love. Angel. Music. Baby and its follow-up The Sweet Escape spawned millions of fans, haters and imitators. She's platinum blonde, red lipsticked and wearing a black-and-white outfit that matches the decor. The checkerboard pattern can be traced back to an even earlier era, when Stefani and her No Doubt bandmates were '80s teenagers obsessed with two-tone acts like Madness and The Specials.

Cowboy boots wouldn't fit this picture, and nor would Stefani's glitzy showgirl outfits from The Voice, where she just wrapped another season as a celebrity coach. As she prepares to release her fourth solo record, and enters the fifth decade of an extraordinarily successful music career, Gwen Stefani is re-re-branding as... Gwen Stefani.

Top: Local Boogeyman, Pants: GCDS, Shoes: Valentino, Earrings, bracelets and rings: Dena Kemp (The Residency Experience), Necklaces: Gwen's own, Engagement ring: Gwen's own

"But what is that?" Stefani asks with seriousness, as we consider the possibility of some essential, inherent Gwen. "Everyone's interpretation of what I am and how I sing, I mean, that's what this era is about for me."

Said era kicked off late last year, with the music video for "Let Me Reintroduce Myself." It saw Stefani playfully revisit the wardrobes of album cycles past, from the ab-bearing tomboy tank tops of "Hollaback Girl" to the club kid blue hair mascara of '90s No Doubt. Her Harajuku Girls also make a return. The entire visual is a huge flex, not only for the sheer volume of iconic career moments recreated in dutiful detail, but the fact Stefani can still fit into the clothes originally worn during all of them. She looks eerily the same, frighteningly good, ageing in reverse at the same pace as her frequent collaborator Pharrell.

"It's really a blessing to be able to have such a long career, where there really is nothing to prove anymore."

Pop stars are expected to be young forever, in looks but also in their capacity to innovate new trends. Which makes the nostalgic music video a curious choice. Doesn't Stefani know by now that the cardinal rule of pop is to avoid repeating yourself? That even the hottest artists in the world are basically required by law to create completely new eras from scratch every six months in order to appease fans and maintain maximum TikTok-ready relevance?

Of course she does, but that doesn't mean she has to participate. Stefani isn't trying to chase down her contemporaries, despite clearly possessing the physical fitness required. "It's really a blessing to be able to have such a long career, where there really is nothing to prove anymore," she says. "It's a different energy. You know, it's really just about doing it to do it, as opposed to trying to make a statement or make a mark."

Corset: Ronald van der Kemp, Bracelets: Dena Kemp (The Residency Experience), Earrings: Lana Jewelry (The Residency Experience), Engagement ring: Gwen's own

Even the Saweetie remix of her latest single "Slow Clap" happened on a whim, after the younger artist happened to post a video of herself vibing to Stefani's 2004 single "Luxurious" on Instagram Stories. They knocked out the song and accompanying video in a day. Neither seems bothered by the Old Navy meme. "It was just this little video that we did on the fly," Stefani says. "It just happened. It just feels good to put new stuff out there."

Stefani completed a two-year Vegas greatest hits residency in 2019, which gave her a sense of perspective on her own legacy. "You make a new record because that's what is exciting for you," she says. "But people really just want to hear the records after a while that were the backdrop to their lives, a 'Don't Speak' or a 'Just a Girl' or a 'Hollaback Girl,' or whatever it was for them. So, you know, it's hard — you can only be new when you're new, and that's just the truth, and I know that."

She says she was pleasantly surprised that "Let Me Reintroduce Myself" charted at all, and that she only found out it did when Shelton walked into the kitchen to show her the iTunes numbers. "I burst out crying with joy, because it was like, 'Whoa, really?' I think I'd set myself up to be quite realistic about where I'm at."

Stefani, endlessly polite and self-deprecating in conversation, which on her end mostly consists of endearingly earnest run-on monologues, says she still has "tons" of insecurities. I get the impression she has been trying harder to give herself credit lately. She recalls recently hearing Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" on the car radio and finding herself in awe of the song's timeless catchiness.

Suit: Balmain, Earrings and choker: Lana Jewelry (The Residency Experience), Necklaces: Gwen's own

"But then I started thinking," she says, in a goofy Cher Horowitz tone. "Like, I have a few of those myself." She talks of this realization as a genuine breakthrough, which is a little worrying for a woman who has sold 40 million records. No shit, she has a "few of those." More of them than Lauper, actually.

More new music is coming along slowly, but I've caught Stefani on a day when the horizon looks closer than usual, and while things haven't quite fallen into place yet, she's feeling more confident that they eventually will. "I'm at the end," she declares. "The idea of going for a session and not being with my kids or the idea of taking time away from Blake doesn't fuel my fire like it did two months ago. I need to decide, wrap it up, put out the project."

Crucially, there's no rush. The album will simply arrive sometime this year, tracklist and title currently undecided.

"You're talking to me at a weird transitional time," Stefani says repeatedly throughout our conversation, which sometimes takes on the cathartic tone of therapy. But having time in the first place is a new feeling.

Bracelet and choker: Dana Kemp (The Residency Experience), Obsession necklace: Lidow Archive, Gold necklaces: Gwen's own, Clothing: Blumarine, Boots: Philipp Plein

NO DOUBT WERE A BAND for nine years before getting on the radio. Enough time for Stefani and bassist Tony Kanal to be in a long term relationship then break up and write a whole hit album about it. All of the Fleetwood Mac drama was resolved pre-fame, which enabled the group to capitalize on the surprise success of Tragic Kingdom singles like "Don't Speak" and "Just a Girl" with a world tour that lasted almost three years. Three more albums followed, and Stefani has reinforced her household name status in every decade since, launching a solo career and multiple fashion lines while never totally cutting the cord from her original musical project.

In other words, record executives have been dictating Stefani's schedule since the mid-'90s. She even sings about it on Love. Angel. Music. Baby opener "What You Waiting For," in which her biological clock ticks like a metronome. Interscope Co-Founder Jimmy Iovine, who discovered No Doubt and continued to work with Stefani on her solo output, was quick to point out that his client's prime childbearing years were also her last opportunity to cross over into pop stardom. And after her first record went number one, it only made sense to lay down some new tracks straight away.

"Whether or not I get the response that I would hope to get — because that's what I'm used to, because I'm so damn spoiled and I've tasted the blood of success — I still got to do the creative journey."

"I had the baby, the first one, and it was only like eight weeks after I had him, that Jimmy was calling me saying, you've got to go in the studio with Akon," Stefani recalls cheerfully. "Like, Akon wants to work with you. Like, no, I'm nursing my baby. But then I couldn't say no." And then? "We wrote 'Sweet Escape.'" And then? "I went on a world tour." And then? "In the month that I got home from that one hundred and whatever shows it was, I got pregnant with Zuma. So then that was that." (It wasn't. Admittedly: "Then it was like, No Doubt, let's do another record.")

Things are different now: "You can just drop singles and you don't have to put a record out. But if you want to put a record out, you can work on it slowly." But even as she talks of slowing down, speculating that she might not even go on tour after the pandemic ends, in the next sentence Stefani's back to admitting that there's more work to be done, that she wants to write a couple more songs for her new record, "just to make sure."

Earrings: Lana Jewelry (The Residency Experience) Choker: Chanel, Necklaces: Gwen's own, Gloves: Laurel DeWitt, Top: Local Boogeyman

"The creation is the thing that fuels me so much," she says. "Whether or not I get the response that I would hope to get — because that's what I'm used to, because I'm so damn spoiled and I've tasted the blood of success — I still got to do the creative journey."

Like any good lyricist, she reaches out to her listener, hoping to convey a more universal point. "It's just probably the same for you as a writer," she guesses. "You know, it's the anticipation. You're in it now. You're getting the information. This is what you live for. You're doing the interview and then you're going to write it. And that's going to be the challenge."

GWEN STEFANI WAS PUTTING out diary entry pop when Olivia Rodrigo was still in diapers and Taylor Swift was but a humble Pennsylvania Christmas tree heiress. She struggles to pen lyrics that aren't confessional ("I'm not a creative writer when it comes to like, 'Oh, let's just write a sad song about something that didn't happen to me'"), and occasionally re-traumatizes herself when performing old hits. Return of Saturn deep cut "Dark Blue" triggers "crazy, just horrible" recollections of a past relationship. Even "Don't Speak" felt emotional onstage in Vegas.

But after releasing an excruciating divorce album, This Is What the Truth Feels Like, in 2016, Stefani is back to writing happy songs only. She's getting married, after all. She won't be releasing any of her trademark breakup anthems anytime soon. "Girl," she laughs, "I think I've had my fair share."

Bow: Laurel DeWitt, Earrings: Lana Jewelry (The Residency Experience), Bracelets: Dena Kemp (The Residency Experience), Shirt: Vintage Archive, Dress: Erdem, Tights: Capezio, Shoes: Marc Jacobs (Lidow Archive)

Stefani and Shelton's relationship has puzzled some fans. Shelton, a country radio phenomenon, never endorsed Trump in the 2016 election, but he did come close. Earlier this year, he was criticized for releasing a song called "Minimum Wage," about finding small joys during periods of economic struggle, at the peak of a recession.

Is Gwen Stefani a Republican now? She's not offended by the question, or really anything I have to ask. She has been famous for so long that she expects and even embraces scrutiny. "If you're going to be a star, that's what you get," she says. "You know what I mean? You get what you get, and you don't get upset, at all."

As for her politics, it's read-between-the-lines."I can see how people would be curious, but I think it's pretty obvious who I am," she says. "I've been around forever. I started my band because we were really influenced by ska, which was a movement that happened in the late '70s, and it was really all about people coming together. The first song I ever wrote was a song called 'Different People,' which was on the Obama playlist, you know, a song about everyone being different and being the same and loving each other. The very first song I wrote."

One of very few multi-racial bands playing stadium shows for hoardes of American teenangers in the 1990s, No Doubt did very literally embody those second-wave ska principles of inclusion. Stefani even wore bindis and saris on stage as a symbol of cultural exchange with Kanal, who is Indian-American, briefly kickstarting a white girl facial jewelry trend that it's safe to say would not fly in 2021.

Rings (left): Dena Kemp (The Residency Experience)

"The Specials and The Selecter and all those groups, and what they were doing in the late '70s was this whole kind of anti-racism, we come together, Black and white ska movement," Stefani elaborates on the band's founding principles. "And we were sort of echoing that in the '80s when we did it, we were like the third generation of ska."

Ska she's always happy to discuss, but Stefani was brought up to keep her electoral preferences personal, and that rule has held for her entire career. "The whole point of voting, is you have this personal space to feel how you feel," she explains. "I use my platform to share my life story and to engage with people and to exchange whatever gift I was giving. I'm not a political science major. I am not that person. Everyone knows that. So why would I even talk about it?"

"I don't need to go on Instagram and say 'girl power.' I just need to live and be a good person and leave a trail of greatness behind me."

It never has been. Looking back, it's weird that "Just a Girl" is so integral to Gwen Stefani's brand. She's never written anything else with remotely the same message, and or publicly identified as a feminist. To Stefani, it's just a song about growing up, and "all of a sudden you realize your gender." It wasn't meant as a protest or anthem: in fact, being her breakout hit, she didn't think anyone other than her bandmates and some local fans would ever hear it.

"I don't even know if I knew what feminist at that time was," she says. "I was very sheltered growing up with my family. I wasn't political. I wasn't angry." Even now: "I don't need to go on Instagram and say 'girl power.' I just need to live and be a good person and leave a trail of greatness behind me. Stop talking about it and stop trying to bully everybody about it. Just do it. And that's how I feel like I've lived my life."

WHEN STEFANI WAS GROWING up in 1970s Anaheim, her father got a job doing market research for Yamaha, which required frequent business trips to Japan. He'd bring home Sanrio toys, as well as anecdotes about the Tokyo district of Harajuku, where teenagers were dressing like Elvis, and "taking all these American things and making them Japanese." His daughter was entranced. "He would be telling me these things my whole life, like my whole life. I had a deep fascination."

So when No Doubt played Japan in 1996, Stefani describes, "It was a pretty big deal for me." The tour was the first time she'd traveled outside of the United states, save one trip to Italy when she was 21. "I just was inspired," she recalls. "It's a world away. And at that time it was even further, because you couldn't see it on the internet. I don't think a younger generation can even imagine what it's like to not have access to the world."

From then on, Japan became one of Stefani's biggest career motivations, especially when it came to her solo albums. If she could just write more hits, she'd get to tour there again, see the street style, visit the vintage stores. "If you read the actual lyrics [in 'What You Waiting For?'], it talks about being a fan of Japan and how if I do good, I get to go back there," she says.

In the meantime, she decided she'd bring Japan to Los Angeles. "I never got to have dancers with No Doubt. I never got to change costumes. I never got to do all of those fun girl things that I always love to do. So I had this idea that I would have a posse of girls — because I never got to hang with girls — and they would be Japanese, Harajuku girls, because those are the girls that I love. Those are my homies. That's where I would be if I had my dream come true, I could go live there and I could go hang out in Harajuku."

Earrings, bracelets and rings: Dena Kemp (The Residency Experience, Gold Necklaces: Gwen's own, Top: Local Boogeyman, Pants: GCDS, Shoes: Valentino

Dancers Maya Chino ("Love"), Jennifer Kita ("Angel"), Rino Nakasone ("Music") and Mayuko Kitayama ("Baby") would go on to accompany Stefani for her next two album cycles, dancing on stage and in her videos while also making silent, but very well-dressed, awards show appearances. Kita, who'd grown up in LA, visited Japan for the first time on Stefani's tour.

In a 2006 interview with Blender magazine, comedian Margaret Cho compared the Harajuku Girls to a minstrel show. The backlash against them has been consistent ever since. Stefani, to this day, disagrees.

"If we didn't buy and sell and trade our cultures in, we wouldn't have so much beauty, you know?" she says. "We learn from each other, we share from each other, we grow from each other. And all these rules are just dividing us more and more."

Hello Kitty merch was harder to come by when she was a kid, but in other ways, life felt easier. "I think that we grew up in a time where we didn't have so many rules. We didn't have to follow a narrative that was being edited for us through social media, we just had so much more freedom."

Earrings, bracelets and rings: Dena Kemp (The Residency Experience), Necklaces: Gwen's own, Dress: GCDS, Shirt: Faith Connexion, Tights: Capezio, Shoes: Marc Jacobs (Lidow Archive)

Stefani's penchant for rule breaking has always been apparent in her music as much as her aesthetic. Genre-wise, she's a randomista. The chart success of No Doubt's bouncing ska beats felt like an accidental post-grunge-era glitch in the matrix, and it's insane to this day that one of Stefani's biggest solo hits samples "If I Were a Rich Man" from Fiddler on the Roof, by way of '90s British dancehall duo Louchie Lou & Michie One. That another, "Wind It Up," features earnest Sound of Music yodeling.

"I just make up whatever comes out," Stefani says of her songwriting process. "I don't even know where it comes from. I feel like it just comes from the source. It's not trained, and it's not perfect, it's just real."

She looks back on the Love.Angel.Music.Baby era as unusually experimental and artistically fulfilling. "It was just a really incredible time, and a very creative time. I feel like it was just a really creative project."

STEFANI VIEWS HER CAREER success as mostly a matter of luck. Pop stardom is God-given and mysterious."Because the fact I made it, it doesn't make any sense," she reflects. "It's written in the stars. You know what I'm saying? I'm not the most talented. I'm not the most pretty. I'm not the most smart. None of those things. But I made it, right?"

Clothing: Blumarine, Bracelet and choker: Dena Kemp (The Residency Experience), Obsession necklace: Lidow Archive, Gold necklaces: Gwen's Own

Every week on The Voice she watches objectively gifted musicians fail at becoming artists. "I watched people that went through that without seeing their faces, without knowing what color they are. And I chose the ones that pulled my heartstrings. And even though they were so talented, none of them have had careers. It's made me look at myself and even feel even more amazed by the fact that anyone cared or cares."

If all of this is actually so out of her control, then Stefani feels safe stepping back a little bit. "I don't have that fuel in me like I used to, because I already won," she says. And now she has other victories in mind. "Being a good human, a good mother. I want to have a good marriage. I want to be a good wife. I want to win at finding peace. I want to win at finding other hobbies that I'm good at."

But at the same time? "If I'm inspired, I'm going to try to do something with that inspiration." That's the most fun part: whatever else comes after has always been an amazing bonus.

The "Let Me Reintroduce Myself" era, whatever form it may eventually take, isn't a desperate grab at former glory. It's Stefani refusing to evolve for the sake of it. She's poking fun at the whole idea of having to compete with past personas alongside current ones, while acknowledging the fact she's grateful to still be in the game at all.

"You don't know what you're doing," she says, somehow both confident and resigned. "You're a cartoon of yourself at this point, and you don't know what people are thinking. They're wondering, what? Why are you still here? And I'm like, I don't know. They said I could be here. So I'm here!"

Photography: Jamie Nelson Styling: Nicola Formichetti Hair: Sami Knight Makeup: Michael Anthony Nails: Carolyn Orellana Wardrobe director: Marta Del Rio Production: Katrina Kudlick Digitatech: Sean MacGillivray Logo design: Luca Devinu Story: Kat Gillespie

FROM YOUR SITE ARTICLES

[vityacristo]

Grilled Cheese

Para: Grilled Cheese

Who: Vitya Cristo & Monty Prescott @montyprescottjoy

When: June 27th, 2020

Where: Vitya’s apartment

What: Vitya, mid-manic episode, goes grocery shopping for food beyond candy. Monty is waiting, unannounced, in his dorm room. They tip-toe through conversation, yet again, unable to break down each other’s walls. That does not mean boundaries aren’t broken, though...

Triggers: Suicide, Drug use, Abuse, Sexually Explicit

VITYA

Vitya was cursing to himself as he walked to his dorm room. Something processed him that morning, something gripped his gut and it would not go away; Go buy groceries. Vitya never bothered, just eating junk food. he figured, if he wasn't going to live long, why bother taking care of himself? He had no idea how to cook, anyway, so this could be a complete failure. the only guide he had was the 'diet recommendations' his doctor had, buying everything he could find on that list. His wallet was looking thin now. He opened his dorm door, noticing a familiar pair of shoes by it; Monty had let himself in. Vitya didn't mind. It felt... nice coming back to his dorm, knowing someone was there waiting for him. Even if it was Monty, of all people. Now that he thought about it, the voice in his head, telling him to do this, was less his own just telling him to get groceries, but more Monty's voice. 'Eat some real food, asshole' was more appropriate. Knowing the other man was likely in his bedroom, he passed by the kitchen and opened his bedroom door. Unceremoniously, he dropped one of the bags on the bed, the contents of apples, lettuce, and a loaf of bread spilling out.

"Get up. You're teaching me how to cook."

MONTY

Monty had been waiting for Vitya, he was rather surprised when he'd gotten no answer at the door and part of him was worried by that. as far as Monty knew Vitya didn't spend the night with clients so it was concerning to not get an answer this early in the day. It was barely lunchtime. Monty often showed up here without any warning these days and this was the first time there had been non answer. Monty pulled a small tool from his wallet and jimmied the lock, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone who might see him breaking in but luckily the dorms were quiet because it wasn't quite official move in day yet so only returning students were even on campus.

Monty looked around the dorm as he entered quietly, toeing off his shoes so he wouldn't make much noise just incase Vitya was still asleep. Monty found the apartment empty which made his stomach fall in disappointment. He huffed but decided to wait, after all it wasn't like he had anything better to do than hang around with the younger man for the day. Not that he would admit he wanted to spend the day here, just that he had nothing else going on with no classes to keep him out of trouble at the moment when he wasn't working on his research project.

Monty took a peek in the refrigerator and couldn't even find a beer. He grumbled under his breath about Vitya having finished off the last case he'd left here and flopped down on the bed. He let his mind wander as he laid there and was half asleep, face buried in Vitya's pillow when he was shocked from his sleep by the sound of Vitya's footsteps and a bag of groceries hitting his leg.

"The fuck asshole?" He groused, voice thick with sleep and hair sticking up in every direction. "Where the fuck ya been man? What with the bag attack?" He huffed, brow raised suspiciously at the food that had rolled out of the bag.

VITYA

Vitya couldn't help but laugh to the state of Monty. His disheveled hair, the sleepy tone of voice, the huffing and puffing. "I went shopping. I actually paid for something, for once." He stepped to the edge of the bed, leaning over and petting his hair back, kissing his forehead. "Come on, you're going to show me how to make something." Vitya said, standing back up and grabbing the tossed bag and walking outside the bedroom.

"I was able to grab you a bottle, too. I had to smuggle it out, since you Americans have moronic age gates for that, but I still got it," Vitya said, placing the bags on the table and starting to unpack. An array of healthy foods, fruits, grains, meat, as well as a few bags of candy, more due to Vitya's love of sweets and impulse to buy them. "I have no idea what I am doing with all of this, so I hope you at least know something. I'd rather learn from someone in person than a Youtube video," Vitya admitted, reaching into his left boot and pulling out the bottle of bourbon he stole. He set it to the side, for Monty to go at whenever he wanted.

MONTY

Monty hummed softly in appreciation of the gentle forehead kiss that helped bring him back to the land of the living and batted Vitya’s hand away playfully. “So you’re telling me ya didn’t just raid a vending machine damn kid what is this a special occasion?” Monty laughed teasingly. He’d never see this much food in Vitya’s apartment and he couldn’t help but wonder if the younger man was finally taking his own illness seriously by actually trying to live a healthy lifestyle.

“I see! The truth is finally out. The prince of poison himself doesn’t know how to cook. that’s why he lives on a diet of candy!” Monty actually laughed out loud, messing with Vitya and using his childhood nickname against him. “I ain’t exactly master chef ya know. I don’t just eat take out around you, but Nikko did teach me some shit an’ I do have my own famous grilled cheese I can show ya real east an it looks like ya got all the stuff for it. I see ya couldn’t resist ya sweet shit though.” Monty teased as he spied the candy while collecting the ingredients for a good grilled cheese and starting to throw the rest slightly haphazardly into the refrigerator out of habit, not thinking (or more like not allowing himself to think) how helpful he was being by doing it without being asked or forced. “Good call on the bourbon.” Monty moaned eying the label. “Ya got any ice goin in the freezer or do I gotta wait to have a glass of this?”

VITYA

Vitya laughed to himself, shrugging at Monty's question. "Not sure... You're here fairly often, and we always eat, figured I can have something here," Vitya noted, still pulling out various items. He looked at a rather girthy cucumber with a twinkle in his eye. "Thought of you," he joked, setting it on the counter.

Vitya could not control his impulsive laughter, this one making his eyes crinkle, his cheeks turn pink. "Shut up, I was a pampered prick. I never lived somewhere without a personal cook until moving America- Imagine my horror!" he said with both sarcasm as well as self-reflective truth. Feeding himself was hard at first, and that challenge made his diet of candy an easy choice. Nevermind what it did to his emotional state, eating junk all the time. It wasn't the cause of it but it certainly didn't help.

"Well, I am not expecting high cuisine here. You have just... lived more than I have, and if anyone is going to teach me how to be better at this 'feeding yourself' thing, it would be you." There were little butterflies in his stomach as that sentence came out. It was tart to say, sour but sweet. Monty had such a riviting life, of mob hits and gun fights and a brother he would die to protect. To Vitya, it was a far more exciting life than his. His eyes wandered to where Monty was helping him put the groceries away, tossing them inside. Hey, as long as they were edible, he didn't care where they ended up. First step was actually eating them, not organizing them like colors of socks. "Of course I do, Red Bull with vodka demands ice. It's in the freezer," the pointed to the top compartment.

Vitya collected the plastic bags, shoving them under the sink to be used as trashbags later. He grabbed his precious bags of candy and placed them on his desk, having to move some jars of dirty water and ink to give them a spot. He walked back to the kitchen, playfully resting his chin on Monty's shoulder. "So, are you going to make me watch you make the grilled cheese, or are you going to recreate the pottery scene in Ghost?"

MONTY

"Tryin' ta tell me ya sick of take out? Fuckin' sure they can cook more than me, but unless ya highness has a money tree we do need to cut down," Monty cocked his head, and stuck out his tongue in a way that wasn't exactly common with him but he was still a little pliant from sleep in a way that was also unusual so it seemed his guard was down for a change... though it didn't last long as he made his next quip he instantly felt his own insides shatter... "or ya need ta be takin' ya ass ta work more." Monty instantly bit his own lip. There was a time he didn't care about Vitya's job, he understood doing whatever a person needed to do to make money but now the thought of Vitya going out and doing that made him feel sick in a way he didn't understand. Monty turned away feeling himself blush, he never blushed.

Monty only looked back when he saw the cucumber waiving in his peripheral vision and he was finally able to laugh again, to took the produce from Vitya and lewdly imitated the motions of a handjob on the length of it before throwing it into the refrigerator with the rest.

"Fuckin' fine. Grilled cheese it is. It's one-a the first things Nikko showed me, figure if he let me do it you can too, and I throw slices or tomatoes in there so it counts for vegetables or whatever." Monty shrugged off Vitya's comment about having 'lived more'. He didn't find his life something to be proud of something people should be interested in, to him it represented the very worst of his memories and as much as he used his mob connections as a shield; something to terrify others with, it was the thing he was most ashamed of. Monty looked away from Vitya, keeping his eyes downcast as he moved around the kitchen area collecting a glass, ice, and the bottle of bourbon. He took a deep swig before pouring a half glass and topping it with ice. Monty leaned back into Vitya's body when he hooked his chin on a shoulder, he couldn't resist pressing a kiss to the younger mans jaw. "If by that ya mean forgettin' the food and going to the fuckin' I ain't complainin' but if ya wanna eat today ya better gimme a frying pan and the bread and butter." He chuckled.

VITYA

"What, and you aren't? There are only so many fucking times I can eat chinese food, or afford to." Vitya joked again, giving Monty the middle finger at him sticking his tongue out. The playful warmth between them froze like Hell in a blizzard, for a split second, when Monty let slip his addendum. Vitya's jaw locked a moment; it had been a long time. His last 'paycheck' was three days before his hospital visit, nearly two months ago. Vitya never said anything, but he was strapped for cash. "Let me worry about that," he said, in a somber tone. The reality was, Vitya knew nothing else. He had no other practical skills beyond sex, but he was having so much fun with Monty, feeling better than he ever felt, both inside and out- He didn't want to fuck someone else. Vitya had to be rational; he needed cash. And he wasn't going to take it from Monty anymore. So, whoring himself out it is.

The tone met in the middle, lukewarm, as Vitya watched Monty pour his drink, feeling the other man's warmth against him made it so tempting for Vitya to let his hands wander, maybe jerk Monty off from behind, but he resisted, for now. He chuckled, returning the kiss on his jaw with a lick up the shell of Monty's ear, biting the lobe and then letting it go. "Alright, hold on," Vitya said, letting Monty go, searching through the cupboards for a frying pan. he eventually found one, handing it to the other man along with the items he asked for.

"Normally I would take you up on the 'skip food, just fuck' thing, but the last time I ate anything was when you were here last, so I figure I better not skip this time," Vitya admitted. It affirmed one thing; his grocery shopping today had nothing to do with Monty coming to visit. Vitya had no idea he would be there today. He didn't buy it for when Monty was there; he bought it for when he wasn't. For when Vitya was on his own, not caught under Monty's eye, who Vitya knew watched him eat...

"Tell you what; once we're done here, I'll blow you. As long as you want."

MONTY

"Fuck, fine, okay, sendin' Nikko ta LA hurt my wallet an' I'm even more on the outs with pops after refusin' ta do a job for him but I should be gettin' some cash at the end of summer for this project I'm workin' on if I get all the fuckin' math figured out. That or we go Breaking Bad in here an' I start cookin' my own shit." Monty laughed dryly. Humour fizzling out as he mentally took stock of his current savings. Yes his graduate program got him room and board thanks to the scholarship prize but it barely stretched beyond the apartment rental. Textbooks and equipment in his field were not cheep.

"Ya know, ya could think about sellin' some of this." Monty gestured to the art littering the room. He actually did appreciate Vitya's art more than he would ever feel comfortable voicing and the thought of Vitya selling that rather than his body was oddly comforting in a way he couldn't understand never mind explain.

A shiver ran up Monty's spine thanks to the heat of Vitya's breath and the kiss in return. A blush raised in his cheeks and he cleared his throat distractedly, trying to refocus himself on the task at hand.

"Fuck Vitya, it's been two full days." Monty sighed heavily, wanting to punch the other boy for his idiocy but not wanting to expose his concern, already berating himself for the words he'd let slip so he kept the anger in check as best he could as he attempted to butter the bread gently so it wouldn't tear it up.

"Al'ight sounds like a fair exchange," Monty grinned, feeling more relaxed as their easy banter set back in. "Want ya ta swallow it too, look so fuckin' hot when ya swallow it down for me, pretty boy..." Monty couldn't help the words slip out as Vitya's lips caught his eye, reminding him of the image that was Vitya's lips red and puffy...

VITYA

Vitya snapped his fingers at Monty, in a small 'told you' sort of way. Monty was stretching himself, too; all the more reason Vitya needed to get back out there and work. Monty at least had a plan, one that involved his career, uplifting himself. It was admirable. His train of thought was interrupted at Monty's suggestion, eyes rolling over the mounds of art he had made. He grimaced. "Really? It's all depressive ramblings and... I don't know, devil worship? That's a niche market if I ever heard of one." He said. In all honesty, Vitya had no faith in his own work. He only chose it as a major so then he could get into this college; it was either that or be homeless, so Vitya chose college.

Vitya could hear the concern in Monty's voice. Instead of give in, he just smiled and shrugged. "Yeah, well... I'm working on it." he spoke softly, returning Monty's concern with a hopeful optimism. A rare form, in Vitya's case, the emotional vulnerability making his heart pound. "It takes a lot, sometimes, just to get out of bed, so the fact I made it to the store and back? I call that a win," Vitya threw his hands into the air, hoping this conversation would end here. He didn't want to talk about his mental health, or his behavior, right now. He wanted to make food with Monty, and ignore the past two days entirely.

"Mmmn," Vitya teased back, licking his lips when they caught Monty's eye. "Oh, I will, if you..." Vitya leaned to Monty's ear again, sliding his hands down's Monty's arms. "...Slide your cock so far down my throat, it makes my body freeze, and my head go all fuzzy-" He cut himself off, stealing Monty's glass of bourbon a moment and backing away, taking a sip before putting the glass back where it was. "Don't get too distracted, " he teased, motioning to the task at hand. "You need to earn it!"

MONTY

"Hey stop thinkin' so hard over there, ya know I can mock up some financial documents for ya, that's how I cleaned up freshman year, been doin' ma dad's taxes an' shit for years, the man's an ass but we know how ta play the system." Monty laughed, he'd never told anyone but Nikko about this and even then it was only recently, after he started college. Yet he didn't question the way he was opening up to Vitya, it just seemed natural and somehow he knew Vit wouldn't snitch.

"Nah man, crazy old collectors go mad for this shit. An' if tryin' ta sell legitimately doesn't work gettin' ya shit inta an established gallery is a scam I could work easy." Monty winked, letting his mind wander down the road of imagination. Even if scamming was part of his horrid upbringing it was something he often genuinely enjoyed. The thrill got his heart racing. Though that could just be from Vitya's proximity... Monty cleared his throat "Got a knife for cheese or did ya get craft slices?" he asked, concentrating more than necessary on the pan heading up and melting the glob of butter he'd thrown in.

"Did someone fuckin' sneak happy pills in ya mornin' red bull? Ain't seen ya this fuckin' optimistic since the idea of havin' my cock up ya ass" Monty teased, but it was soft, almost kind, pleased to see the younger man in a light he wasn't used to. Having someone to connect with, who understood his pain was one of the best things about Vitya, after fucking of course, but seeing him hopeful did something to Monty he hadn't experienced before except with Nikko... it made him proud. But even deeper than with Nikko it also made warmth stir in his belly.

"Fuck..."Monty groaned shamelessly at Vitya's response, that familiar tingling racing through his body, making his dick twitch in response, his head fell back onto Vitya's shoulder and he pressed his ass back against the taller man's dick instinctively. His body instantly felt cold when Vitya moved away and he had to press his hands hard onto the counter to regain his composure.

VITYA

Vitya shook his head. "Temping, I don't want charity... As nice as your offer is," Vitya added on the end, not wanting to sound ungrateful at Monty's offer. It was kind of him, and Vitya had no idea what to do with that. Vitya had nothing to offer Monty beyond sex, and yet he wasn't asking for anything by offering this to him. At home it was 'Smile for the camera and you get a treat', a concept that Vitya still used to this day with his prostitution.

Vitya laughed for a moment, a air of disbelief on his face. "You would scam my way into a gallery? I went to so many useless galas and balls at art galleries growing up, the people at those were posh and snarky and... gross. You think you can trick that crowd into thinking my depraved, sexual, borderline rancid work is high class?" Vitya reached into a nearby drawer, handing him one of the knives inside. The drawer was disorganized, taking a moment to find it.

"This is just... normal," Vitya said, cryptically, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm low, sometimes really low, for a few weeks and then, boom. Really, really high for a few days. It comes in waves. My professors back home would say I was 'manic'," Vitya explained. He had never gone to a therapist, psychologist, nothing. With his physical health being so poor, he hid all he could about his mental health. But with Monty, away from home, feeling more free than ever... He was able to talk about it. For the first time in his life, someone knew he had a problem.

A tingle of power went down Vitya's spine as he watched Monty fumble before him. It made him feel so strong, like he could take on the world, when he had Monty like this. In the palm of his hand... "Don't let the thought of me circling my tongue on your tip distract you too much. Go on, I want to learn how to make your sandwich..." he teased, grabbing a jelly bean from one of his many, many candy bowls and slowly sliding it onto his tongue.

MONTY

“Ain’t like I’d be the one giving ya money, just a few fake documents ta have the school giving ya what ya need.” Monty shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal to try and scam a huge business like a university. His perception of what constituted ‘a big deal’ was extremely warped thanks to his upbringing. Kindness, selflessness, compassion were things that terrified him as much as if not more than putting a gun to someone’s head and pulling the trigger but fraud was nothing.

Monty shrugged, continuing to work on the food as if it really wasn’t a big ask. “Sounds easy enough, those bougie pricks are easy ta manipulate, they’re like fuckin toddlers always wanting new entertainment and bein possessive little fuckers.” He laughed. “We’d persuade some hot dude who can pull off that mysterious shit ta play the part of you an’ charm his way into those inner circles with a bit of blackmail and the promise of a small cut.” Monty mused, letting his mind run wild planning a con. It had been a while since he’d done anything more than running drugs and the potential had his mind buzzing.

Monty listened closely to Vitya explaining some of what went on in his head. It was similar to how he felt when he was taking drugs regularly, but those feelings were chemically induced highs and lows not his own brain chemistry and he had heard enough from Nikko to know what Vitya was describing wasn’t healthy or normal but he had no idea what to do or say and it terrified him.

He did the only thing he could think of. He put down the knife and turned into Vityas arms and placed a hand on the taller boys neck, his thumb resting on his sharp jawline and kissing him hard. Not sexually and filled with desire but firm and filled with promise even though he had no idea what he was promising.

“Fuck you!” Monty tried to sound threatening at Vitya’s teasing but it came out breathless almost like a whine and he couldn’t even gather his thoughts enough to care how pathetic it sounded.

VITYA

"And I'm telling you, I don't need it," Vitya said again, this time more firmly. "You already have given me enough money, I don't need you goading the university to give it to me, too." He said, hoping this would be the end of it. Knowing Monty, he would bring it up again, butt hat was for another time.

Vitya snapped his head to Monty, a curious, and fake-offended look on his face. "What, you don't think I could pull it off? I've played The Game before, Monty. I've wowed a crowd or two. Mainly at my father's request, but if I can convince money-hungry dogs that I was, indeed, the perfect son with full intent to take over his business, I can con some art hacks into thinking I'm some bougie personality," Vitya glanced at his art again, pursing his lips.

Vitya was shocked at first, at Monty's sudden burst of affection, but didn't refuse it. He kissed back, with a similar fervor, taking Monty's waist with one hand and his hair with the other. He gripped tightly, wanting nothing more than to strip him down, there and then. It was so hard to resist.

"You really want it bad, don't you?" he whispered, the hand on Monty's waist sliding to the obvious bulge in his pants. "Really, really bad," he continued, sliding his hand up and down. Fuck, this is what Vitya needed! That dominating power, that hold on Monty like a vice. He could get drunk from this... "Be a good boy and finish cooking. Then, whatever you want. You'll be a good boy, right?"

MONTY

"Thought I was payin' for a service." Monty raised a brow trying to read Vitya but he didn't press any further no matter how much he wanted to. To be good at illicit activities you needed at least some level of perception and he'd quickly learned when not to push Vitya if he didn't want it to turn into a fight though he was still more in the dark about this guy than he would like.

Monty laughed. "I've got no doubt the littlest prince could pull it off but do ya want all them jerk-offs knowin' ya face? Aren't ya supposed ta be hidin' from Daddy? Figured ya'd be tryin' not ta draw attention to yaself but whatever we'll throw ya ta the dogs if that's what ya want." He rolled his eyes, feeling as though Vitya was only pushing this to prove a point and he didn't feel like fighting. Monty knew all about trying to be the perfect son but his families idea was far different than the Cristo family.

Monty held Vitya tight, the hand not at his neck was wrapped tight around his waist keeping them close. He let his eyes close and leaned their foreheads together in a comforting, intimate gesture once their lips broke apart. To some sex was intimate, but to him these soft gestures were more than he could bare. Usually.

"Always want you," Monty gasped out, losing himself to the feel of Vitya surrounding him. The taller man was taking over all of his senses and the thought of cooking completely left his mind as he tried to thrust his hips forward to find more friction for his fully hard cock. Vitya had power over him like nobody else and all he wanted to do was give himself over willingly and have someone take care of him in every way. Monty shivered with the words ''good boy" and he whined shamelessly. "Y-Yes." He forced out.

VITYA

Vitya looked at Monty with an unblinking stare, a mile long, navigating the words that came out of Monty's mouth. He broke eye contact a moment, licking his lips. "You aren't giving me more money." There. Final. Done.

Vitya shook his head. "Not really hiding anymore. He paid my hospital bills, sends me these medications he wants me on, but aren't FDA approved. He knows where I am. Why he hasn't come after me... I have no idea. I think he knows if I see him again, I will make damn sure he can't find me..." Vitya stopped, his hands balled into fists as he went on. he let the pressure go, breathing his fury out. "Besides, I don't want some rando claiming my work, even if we pay them."

Vitya continued palming Monty's erection, his wrist changing the angle every few strokes, letting Monty practically hump his hand. "Good. Then," Vitya turned Monty back around, but this time, pressed his chest to Monty's back, lightly grinding his own hard cock against his lower back. His hands were on Monty's hips again, but this time, one went up to play with his belt buckle. "You keep going, and the more you do, the more I do," he said. With the pace of a snail, Vitya started pulling at Monty's belt, slowly starting to take it off. He stopped, just before the last of the belt left the metal buckle. "See? Look what being such a good boy got you... So much closer to your reward."

MONTY

Monty rolled his eyes but dropped the subject, seeing it wasn't worth fighting anymore right now.

He took a moment to absorb Vitya's words on the subject of his father trying to process it. "So no Bratva followin' ya around?" Monty tried to tease, shying away from talking about fathers, it was an uncomfortable subject and he tried to block out the memories of the the last time his father had contacted him because his threats were still hanging over his head and he was both scared and glad his father hadn't yet followed up on the threats. "We'll make ya the perfect little Russian gentleman an'  have 'em fawnin' all over ya." Monty chuckled, redirecting his attention to the image of Vitya suited and booted for a fancy party. It was a good image.

All the thoughts of scamming and scheming were driven from his mind as Monty tried his best to move his concentration back to the task at hand. The pan was smoking from the time he had been distracted, usually he was more than capable of preparing the food while the pan warmed but not today. A strangled moan left Monty's throat at the feel of Vitya's hard cock sliding against his ass. He had to clench his fists the stop them shaking from desire before he could turn down the heat on the burner and put together the sandwiches. He layered the cheese and tomato between the bread waiting for the pan to get back to a proper cooking temperature. "More, please...." He whined, trying to buck his hips up to the hands that were so close yet so far. He loved and hated how quickly Vitya could reduce him to begging. Monty Prescott did not beg for anyone. Except for this man.

VITYA

"If they are following me, they are doing a good job keeping themselves hidden," Vitya said, noticing that this was a subject neither of them wanted. Good, this was uncomfortable. Both of them had difficult connects with their fathers, and neither wanted to talk about the details too much. Yet one more thing they could agree on. Vitya smirked and ran his fingers in his hair, rolling his eyes. "You just want me in a suit," he teased.

Vitya watched Monty try so hard to keep it together. He really was doing everything Vitya said, without question. He was trembling, and each little shake made Vitya feel so damn powerful. Vitya kissed and sucked at Monty's neck, watching his hands work. When he whined, Vitya smiled against his skin. He gracefully unbuckled the last of Monty's belt, letting it dangle by the loops. His hands were on Monty's jeans, two fingers sliding up and down the length of his zipper. "Almost there," he whispered, undoing the button and peeling the zipper apart. Vitya's finger's danced over the elastic of his underwear, tracing circles around his confined cock through the thin fabric. "You're doing so well, so close. Such a good boy.”

MONTY

"We could throw a few Cugine on ya see if they find anythin'." Monty mused, though thinking how badly that ended after putting a few young idiots on Sam and it ending with him being robbed and putting him and Nikko on the outs. But it was worth it to protect someone he cared about... wait no he couldn't go that deep... but another thought cut him off as he realised it was too late now...

Monty winked, "Wouldn't say no ta that, bet ya look hot as fuck." He licked his bottom lip teasingly, letting his eyes roam Vitya's lithe body.

Standing there Monty felt completely powerless. Usually it was a feeling he hate more than any other. For his whole life he'd craved complete control because he'd been stuck under his fathers thumb doing things he hated but giving up control to Vitya was freeing. He didn't have to make tough calls and painful decisions because here was someone doing it for him, keeping him safe and steady. He didn't hate this because in the end the things Vitya was making him do were things he wanted to do, he'd just never understood how to ask...

Monty felt completely consumed by Vitya who's body was all over him; fingers, lips, chest, dick. He sloppily threw the two sandwiches into the pan and prodded them with a spatula he'd spotted in the draw Vitya had opened to find a knife so they didn't stick. Monty's body was getting hotter and hotter, every inch of him was tingling with too much not enough as Vitya touched and teased him. "Please man fuckin' touch me" He groaned, letting go of the pan handle and reaching back to fist his hand into Vitya's hair. "Been good, please, more." He keened, wiggling his hips, trying to grind back on Vitya's cock to get him as desperate for more as Monty himself was.

VITYA

Vitya cocked an eyebrow. "No. If I'm in danger, I run. Simple as that. I don't need protecting," Vitya said, in the same tone he uses when he is annoyed. The type of annoyed when someone asks how he is feeling, or if he is taking his meds. It felt like he was being babied, and having wanna-be mobsters keeping an eye on him? No, he'll brave it on his own.

Vitya's heart was pounding. He had this man, who was so loud and strong and independent, around his finger, whimpering and begging for release. He wasn't pushing, either, to get it himself, he was letting Vitya choose when. Vitya sighed on Monty's neck when he grabbed his hair, biting his lip and letting Monty rut against his crotch. The friction of the fabric made it so hard to saw no... But if anything was going to happen, he needed the energy to do so. And that meant eating before getting busy.

Vitya's fingers slid under Monty's waistband, fingers now touching the bare skin of his cock. He was warm, hard, and Vitya could feel Monty quivering. "Shh, shhh," he shushed in Monty's ear, slowly starting to pull his waistband down. "You're almost done, look," Vitya motioned to the food in the pan, cooking away. Vitya's hand coiled around Monty's cock, finally freeing it of it's cloth cage, and with an agonizing slow pace, his hand slid up Monty's shaft. "So hard for me, and waiting so patiently... Can you wait till after I eat? Just a little bit longer, for my mouth on your aching cock?"

The way Monty was shivering had Vitya's head going wild. All the things he wanted to do to the other man became possible realities, and not just his sick, twisted fantasies. And Vitya, being a man of unsound mind, grew a devilish look on his face. "If you wait, like a sweet, good little boy, then I'll fuck you, too," he whispered, his free hand slowly sliding down the back of Monty's jeans.

He made sure to give every opportunity for Monty to stop him, in case this was too far. "Would you like that? Would my good boy wait for my cock in his ass? Will he?..."

MONTY

Monty groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Fine man, whatever." He groused. Vitya was being rather stubborn tonight and as annoying as he found it, he was rather impressed with his determination and pride. Maybe Vitya would find it in himself to apply those trait to his will to live. Monty could only hope.

Monty felt as though he was quite literally losing his mind the way Vitya was teasing him. It was almost painful. He' never felt need this intense before. It was driving him wild. The praise was doing something he had never experienced before and it was maddening yet wonderful. Part of him wanted to snap and make Vitya stop talking to him like he was a kid but a far louder part of his mind was screaming for more and had fire coursing through his veins.

"Feels so good" Monty moaned when Vitya's finally touched his hard cock. It felt so much better than rubbing through his boxers even it was torturously slow. Monty bit his lip, trying his best not to let any more of those pathetic sounds out but it was a fruitless effort when Vitya began talking again. He should have hated it but he couldn't.

The dirty talk was something that should have reminded Monty of Schuyler, because it always had before now and would inevitably lead him to trying to shut the mouth of whoever he was fucking or make them leave all together, even if he did give himself blue-balls in the process. But right now there was no room in his mind for Schuy, he was completely consumed by Vitya.

Monty's body began to sing at the thought of Vitya fucking him. It had been so long since Mont had bottomed and it made him moan deep and loud, so loud that if it wasn't summer break they'd have neighbours banging on the walls to try to quieten them. "Yes, yes, fuck me, I'll do anything, please fuck me." He mewled, pushing his ass back against the hand moving over it. The word my had come from Vitya's mouth and served to make Monty evenmore desperate. The food was completely forgotten to him.

VITYA

“Yeah? Feels good?”Vitya asked, rhetorically. The shake of Monty’s body gave him all the clues he needed, every whimper a sign that Monty was enthralled with all of this. In fact, Vitya was, too. Most clients would pop in, pop out, end of story. Monty was unraveling at his touch, giving Vitya a burning passion in his gut.

Monty’s sudden moan, his cry of desperation, his begging to be fucked; Vitya nearly did it right there. His ass pushing back against him made Vitya growl in his ear, looking down at the hot stove, then back at Monty. “Fuck it,” Vitya said, turning the stove top off and making Monty put the cooking utensils. His hand was on Monty’s cock, stroking at a fast pace to keep his attention, the other hand coming around to hold Monty‘s chest.

“Listen to me. When I let you go, walk to the bedroom and strip. Get on the bed and wait for me. You can touch yourself, finger yourself, but if you come before I am inside you... Well, you’d be a bad boy. And you want to be a good boy, right?” Vitya spoke slowly. Normally he doesn’t get turned on by his own talk, but this was every fantasy he had been having about Monty since he left two days ago!

He stopped his stroking of Monty’s cock, spinning his finger around the head. He have Monty a few seconds before letting him go. Vitya turned his attention to the forgotten sandwich, deciding to leave it for now and grab an apple out of the fridge. The moment he was done with this was the moment he would follow Monty.

FADE TO BLACK

[psychadelickate]

NCIS - Gibbs: Celebrate

Title: Celebrate Word Count: 1560 Fandom: NCIS Pairing: Gibbs x Reader Rating: Teen  Requested: @anycsirp Prompt: Hey can I maybe ask for a Gibbsxreader where the reader tries to hide her pregnancy after a drunk one nightstand with Gibbs but he finds the positive test by accident? Sorry for bothering 🙊I just love your stories SM 

You feel Gibbs’ eyes tracking you as you make your way down the steps leading from MTAC to the bullpen. He doesn’t say anything to you, though he doesn’t avert his gaze until you’ve seated yourself behind your desk and start on the paperwork for the case the team has just closed. You notice as McGee looks from you to Gibbs and back at you again, but he doesn’t say anything, just goes on with his own case report.  A few minutes later Bishop walks in with a freshly brewed cup of coffee and normally that would be heaven for you, but the throbbing headache and exhaustion are already too much for you to deal with. The team has had back to back cases and with it being the middle of summer, you’re almost sure you’ve caught some form of a bug that’s probably in the air. You want to throw up at the smell of the coffee, but you don’t want to bring attention to yourself so you close your eyes and breath slowly, waiting for it to pass.  It seems some deity is listening to you unvoiced prayers and not a minute too soon, Bishop gets called to MTAC. She leaves the bullpen a few minutes later, thankfully taking her coffee with her.  “You okay “(Y/N), cause you look like death warmed over,” you hear DiNozzo ask you and you glare at him in return.  You make a mental note to go and see your doctor this afternoon. You will not miss out on fieldwork for a bug.  Home time can’t come soon enough and your first stop is an emergency visit to your doctor. Just like you thought, she does the normal exam and then takes what seems like a thousand vials of blood for testing and promises she’ll call you as soon as the results come in. Just as promised, she calls you in, two days later and you ask her to just tell you the results over the phone. Whatever it is, you’ll deal with it, but she tells you its not something that can be done over the phone and so after work you head over to her rooms. 

It’s two weeks later and another solved case, this one taking more of a toll on the team than usual. It’s DiNozzo who suggests a campout watching old movies in Gibbs’ living room to destress after that harrowing fortnight.  You decline but none of the team are taking no for an answer and you don’t see any way out of it. Bishop offers to drive you knowing that you won’t go to Gibbs’ house if you have your own car. You try and stall entering his home as long as possible, but Bishop is having none of it. She wants the best seat in the house and she’s not going to get it waiting outside for the boys to arrive.  So you follow her into the house, taking in everything you didn’t the first time you were here. Though in your defence, looking around one Leroy Jethro Gibbs’ house at that point was not high on your priority list.  “Bishop, (Y/N),” Gibbs greets the pair of you as he walks toward the sofa, bowl of some type of snack in his hand, his gaze focused on you.  The boys arrive a few minutes later and you’ve never been more grateful in your life. DiNozzo has come armed with recent movies, and you’re grateful about that too, because there would be nothing worse that sitting through a movie you don’t like. He sets everything up and takes a seat on the floor next to McGee, bowl of popcorn that Gibbs had provided, almost empty.  Unfortunately the movie doesn’t do anything to distract you or even interest you and you decide you’ve had enough. Also, it happens to be a trilogy and you’re sure as hell not subjecting yourself to that. You head to the bathroom to freshen up before you leave. As you exit the small bathroom, you come chest to chest or rather face to neck with Gibbs. You hate that you’re distracted enough not to hear him following you. “You dropped somethin’,” he says as holds the folded piece of paper in his hand.  You check your pockets to see if it is yours and find that it’s the result of the test your doctor had run two weeks ago. Your heart starts racing in your chest. This was not how he was meant to find out.  Actually, He wasn’t supposed to find out at all,” Your brain whispers.  You want to snatch it back from his hand, but you’re sure your action would prompt another reaction from him and you’re not quite ready for that.  He steps in closer to you and your eyes automatically close. He smells like sawdust and mint and sandalwood and something that is uniquely Gibbs. You need to place a little distance between yourselves for you to think clearly. You know he can see the plan forming in your eyes and so he puts an immediate stop to it by stepping closer into you.  “Gibbs,” you whisper, “We need to talk,” you tell him and he nods his head before leading you to his bedroom.  “Team’ll be able to hear us in the basement,” he tells you and you nod.  You look around and everything comes back to you with blinding clarity… 

It was almost eleven weeks ago… The team had gone out for celebratory drinks after helping Fornell and his FBI team with a particularly difficult case that had taken a toll on each one of you, all in different ways. DiNozzo had kept the drinks coming and no one protested or complained. Not even Gibbs, who had decided to join in.  Soon enough the team had started to leave, McGee saying Delilah was waiting on a skype call with the time difference and DiNozzo had a late night date with a girl you couldn’t remember. Jimmy had left a while ago, wanting to spend as much time with his daughter as he could. Bishop had been the last to leave, only waiting long enough for her boyfriend to pick her up leaving just you and Gibbs.  You weren’t drunk out of your mind and you guessed neither was Gibbs, but who could say that with certainty. And the next thing you knew was you and Gibbs were making out in the car on the way to his home. You could’ve stopped it, You should’ve stopped it, but both of you knew you wouldn’t. What did surprise you was that it seemed he wanted this just as much as you did.  He didn’t wait until his front door was fully shut before pushing you against it and kissing you thoroughly, leaving no part of your mouth unexplored.  And then he’d led you to a room with a bed, because there was no way he was going to sleep with you in his living room floor those were his words….  All you’d seen were shades of blue and gray as he flung the duvet cover from the bed and laid you down on it.  You didn’t remember much of that night, but what you did remember was that he was kind and gentle and intense. But you knew it wouldn’t last, he wasn’t interested in a long term relationship and so when you’d woken up alone in bed, you didn’t think twice about leaving without telling him. Neither of you had spoken about that nights events since.  “Is it mine?” he asks you and you nod your head. You’d thought about lying to him, but your heart wouldn’t allow you to.  “How long have you known?” he asks.  “About two weeks,” you admit.  “Which means you should be almost past your first trimester,” he says and again you nod.  “And you’re keeping it,” he asks and your gaze snaps up to meet his.  Of course you’re keeping it. You don’t have to verbally answer him, he can see it on your face.  “And when were you planning on telling me?” he asks. You note he’s not upset or angry, just curious.  “I didn’t know how,” you admit, “you’re always quoting Rule 12 and the likes and I wasn’t sure…”  but you’re cut off mid-sentence when you feel his mouth on yours. “I love you,” he says and you’re a little shocked at his confession.  “Gibbs, you don’t have to say that just because I’m –“ he cuts you off again, mid-sentence.  “(Y/N),” he calls you and you find you cannot look anywhere but at him when he says your name in that tone. “I was in love with you before I knew you were pregnant, before we even shared a bed. I was going to tell you that morning, but when I came back with breakfast, you were already gone. And you never brought it up so I assumed…” This time you’re the one that doesn’t allow him to finish talking. You press your mouth to his in a gentle kiss, hoping can feel the promise in it.  “Now lets go and finish the movie with the team and get them out of here as soon as possible. We have some celebrating to do,” you tell Gibbs and your heart soars at the sound of his contented laugh. 

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[alexsmitposts]

Of Lesser Men Imagine yourself in school. You are 8 years old and it is recess time. You look for your friends, for the boys it is baseball or football, and the natural leaders set up teams and it begins. This is humanity, from its roots as hunter-gatherers so many hundreds of thousands of years ago, this is the natural order of things. Then, some would not survive. Guile and weakness was seldom rewarded. With the onset of “civilization” that changed. Where, at one time, the natural leaders became royalty or nobility, the need to pass on power though lineage went awry and these bloodlines through inbreeding and degeneration became the Deep State, physical weaklings, moral reprobates, tasked with selecting more of the same and moving them into positions of authority. The goal has been division, entropy, suffering, and managing the expectations of those of promise, pushing them into piracy, banditry or killing them in wars. Thus, when we find ourselves, even the strongest of us, the best of the best as it were, subject to rule by our lessers, “under the thumb” of those who, as children, we shunned as cowardly or vile, why do we recoil in surprise? What was left runs Washington, London and Paris, other capitols as well, the “lesser men,” damaged, confused, inferior, pushed up the ladder, the chosen people, a class of “Untermensch.” America’s ruling elite, when examined, for the most part resemble a form of reverse Darwinism. We are going to be calling the comic tragedy of the Muller investigation what it really is, “MuellerGate.” Any possibility that there was ever an investigation of anything intended is gone but the real reasons might well startle all but the most paranoid or well-informed watchers. What began as RussiaGate is playing out as not just fakery, but a complex and well-crafted intelligence operation intended to destabilize both the United State and Russia with full complicity of the press, those who control the press from the inside. It was always not only a wrong assumption by insane as well to assume that somehow, the controlled corporate media, would declare war on a presidency that has been so friendly to the oil industry, Wall Street, big polluters and the big pharma “poisoners.” The only other force handling this much cash is the CIA/Deep State worldwide heroin ring run out of Afghanistan and Camp Bondsteel in Kosovo, with the help of well known and powerful American families, names very much like Romney, Bush and Walton, according to an FBI whistleblower who came forward in 2012. When Mueller investigators interrogated me in 2018, I brought the debriefing recordings with me and offered to play them. It nearly cleared the room. Here is what is playing out as of mid-April, 2019: Democrats who control congress are planning to subpoena the entire Mueller Report and to question both Mueller and Barr. Legal experts are saying that only a preliminary impeachment process provides needed statutory authority for this effort. The public, perhaps a majority approaching 60%, is hanging on this drama, waiting to “get Donald Trump” as though he were a masked villain in a fake professional wrestling match, which of course he is. What has been purposefully forgotten is that both Mueller and Barr are “lesser men.” Both, according to sources, were CIA recruits early in life. During Vietnam, the CIA began profiling a new generation to carry them past their roots. The CIA’s roots are Nazi Germany’s Abwehr. Their profile included intellectual ability combined with a bevy of negative traits including social psychopathy, feelings of inferiority and intense guilt, and a powerful need for approval and affirmation from authority figures. Two of my good friends, one a senior Army intelligence officer and the other a high-ranking FBI official, both “the best of the best” tried to get into the CIA and were turned away. They weren’t crazy enough. According to sources, both Barr and Mueller were “crazy enough” and for 4 decades or more, have been close personal friends while operating in and out of the corridors of power on behalf of what is now termed the Deep State. Similarly, Mueller and Comey as FBI directors were close friends. Remember, it was Comey that only days before the 2016 election put out highly derogatory and utterly unnecessary statements about the Clinton email case. That case, of course, was a fabrication of a GOP congress that spent endless millions concerned about “classified emails” that, thus far, were utterly without substance. Moreover, anything from the State Department that a Secretary of State wants to make pubic or declassify, has the full authority to do as the President does the same for the White House. Trump does this continually. Before that it was the phony Benghazi investigation and before that, Hillary Clinton was accused of personally murdering Vince Foster. Let us not forget the Clinton impeachment and the role of Kenneth Starr as prosecutor. Starr was a longtime acolyte of Richard Mellon Scaife, a typical James Bond bad guy, scion of one of the biggest Deep State banking families who simply bought Starr and spent millions hiring thugs of various kinds to smear the Clintons. Starr had been promised a seat on the US Supreme Court if he got Clinton. He failed but his “man,” Brett Kavanaugh, now holds a seat on the high court as a surrogate, we are told, for failed and disgraced Ken Starr. A key to understanding the dynamic is knowing that everything the public sees or is allowed to see is scripted. Comey went after Clinton not to damage or influence the election but to create the appearance of doing so while, as had happened in 2000 and 2004, Deep State operatives working with local election officials, literally thousands of them, simply hacked the election count. This has been investigated, studied and written of so many times and is forgotten and shelved. Everyone is complicit. Past that, every candidate is always from the same pool, either hopelessly insane like Trump or Bush 43 or deeply flawed or crippled like Bill Clinton or Barak Obama. When someone different sneaks in like Jimmie Carter, the answer is simple. The Federal Reserve cuts off the money supply, collapsing the economy and the CIA stages a coup in Iran in order to move Reagan in. Part of America’s suppressed history is the truth about Reagan, BCCI, Iran Contra and the collapse of America’s industrial economy, all done while America’s middle class disappeared. This was no accident. MuellerGate is a critical component of a “lesser man” ploy. Mueller and Barr, we assume, are in continual contact as they are constant companions, lifelong companions, who have planned and executed Deep State operations over and over during their careers. Barr exists to fabricate childishly absurd legal opinions. Read one of them. His early letter on the RussiaGate investigation, castigating his best friend Robert Mueller as dangerously incompetent, is classic deception and cover. Then, lo and behold, Mueller finishes an investigation that takes forever. The nation focuses on little else while everything that can be broken or stolen in the nation is broken and stolen. There are 3 White Houses, one in New York at Trump Tower, now a Secret Service protected home for the headquarters of the Kosher Nostra while at Mar-a-Lago, Chinese billionaires are buying America on the cheap. The White House in Washington is now “Tel Aviv on the Potomac.” Making it all work is the three-act play staged by the worst actors in the world, villain Donald Trump, Nancy Pelosi of the fake left, and a cast of thousands. It was evident what was going to happen from the get go with the public sucked in the Mueller drama, taking it all seriously, while the GOP’s control of the Senate and the generalized agreement that a sitting president cannot be indicted. In fact, there is no such provision in the constitution whatsoever. The legal concept is the creation of now sitting Federal District Judge Raymond Moss, written in 2000 at the behest of then Attorney General Janet Reno. Was Reno expecting Bill Clinton to start murdering White House visitors on live television? That is, perhaps, the only rationale for a legal opinion that has entrained itself as a keystone of Deep State security. This is from Lawrence Tribe, perhaps the nation’s leading authority on the constitution: “In a recent opinion piece, I argued that the text and structure of the Constitution, a serious commitment to the rule of law, and plain good sense combine to preclude a rigid policy of “delaying any indictment of a president for crimes committed in winning the presidency.” My op-ed argued against the Office of Legal Counsel (OLC) memos opining that the Constitution prevents the indictment of a sitting president. Nearly everyone concedes that any such policy would have to permit exceptions. The familiar hypothetical of a president who shoots and kills someone in plain view clinches the point. Surely, there must be an exception for that kind of case: Having to wait until the House of Representatives impeaches the alleged murderer and the Senate removes him from office before prosecuting and sentencing him would be crazy. Nobody seriously advocates applying the OLC mantra of “no indictment of a sitting president” to that kind of case. The same is true for any number of other cases that come readily to mind. Among those, in my view, must be the not-so-hypothetical case of a president who turns out to have committed serious crimes as a private citizen in order to win the presidency. Whether the president committed such crimes in collusion with a shady group of private collaborators or did so in conspiracy with one or more foreign adversaries, it should not be necessary for the House to decide that such pre-inaugural felonies were impeachable offenses and for the Senate to convict and remove the officeholder before putting him in the dock as an alleged felon and meting out justice.” Conclusion Are people like May or Macron or Trump little more than circus clowns? Is everything scripted, where the chance of peace breaking out, of justice and righteousness infecting the absurd global processes inoculated against? Are the current moves around the world to criminalize expression of these very thoughts an indication of how blatant and egregious the lesser men have become?

[slashersrus]

Jerome Valeska x Reader - Split Part 3

Reader grew up in the circus with Jerome. She has a split personality and Jerome helps her with it.

PART 1 PART 2 PART 4

"Right this way." A police office spoke, guiding Y/N and Jerome through the precinct until they came to an interrogation room. Pushing them in, they walked though the door, instantly spotting Jim, Lee and Mr Cicero.

"Hi Jerome, Y/N. Please take a seat. You know Mr Cicero from the show." Jim spoke once he saw them causing Mr Cicero to freeze. Y/N and Jerome sitting next to him, Jerome in the middle.

"Yes, sir." "Hello Mr Cicero." Jerome and Y/N spoke at the same time.

"Good evening Jerome, Y/N." The blind man spoke, turning and glancing in their direction.

"Do you know why your here?" Gordon spoke, looking between the three people sat opposite him.

"Did you find out who killed our parents?" Jerome leaned forward when he asked, acting clueless.

"You both killed your parents." Jerome and Y/N recoiled in shock at his words.

"Us?" Y/N's lip quivered as she spoke.

"You killed them in your trailer. Mr Cicero told you to scratch the Satanist stuff on the knife and throw it off the bridge." The bluntness in his tone shocked everyone in the room. Y/N no longer felt the same amount of sadness at killing her parents, Jerome had convinced her that she shouldn't be sad, they beat her. She still felt guilty at killing someone though. She let tears well in her eyes, trying to hide the fact she was guilty.

"Sir, that's absurd and-and offensive." Jerome stuttered, trying not to get caught.

"But it's the truth. What I don't know is why this man risked so much to help you. I think he's your father." Gordon smiled, the smile clearly fake. Y/N gasped at the statement as Jerome tried to deny it.

Jerome scoffed, shaking his head, "You don't know what you're talking about. My father was a sea captain." Y/N nodded along to Jerome's words, confirming them.

"Am I wrong Mr Cicero?" Gordon sighed.

"Yes." The short answer from Mr Cicero made Y/N doubtful, she stayed silent and let Jerome handle it.

"He was a sea captain. His name was Sven Karlsen. He died at sea." Y/N grew nervous seeing Jerome starting to get agitated, hoping he didn't break his act.

"What was the name of his ship?" Jim looked down, he actually looked regretful at having to revealing to Jerome who his true father was.

"He worked on a lot of different ships." Jerome shook his head, his tears close to falling down his cheeks.

"The one he went down in?" Jim asked, Y/N heart broke for Jerome as she realised he was speaking the truth.

"She never said." Jerome spoke sadly, shaking his head causing Y/N to grab his hand to comfort him, him squeezing her hand to show his appreciation of the gesture.

"We could do a blood test to prove I'm right. Takes only half an hour to get a fool proof result. Isn't that right Dr Thompkins?" He turned around, glancing at Lee who looked extremely uncomfortable at the situation

"Yes." She nodded, looking down sadly.

"Save yourself a needle."

"I do hate needles. I'm sorry Jerome." Mr Cicero spoke disheartened, Jerome tensed and slowly turned to face him as Y/N watched the interaction with wide eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Jerome questioned, his voice breaking, indicating to Y/N he was losing his act.

"He's right. I am you father."

"No, you're not. Why would you say that?!" Jerome shook his head, tears starting to fall down his face.

"You must have suspected the truth."

"You're not my father. My mother would never-" Jerome began only for Mr Cicero to cut him off mid sentence.

"Your mother was a cruel woman. She was often unkind to me, but she did once love me in her own way. And she loved you very much. That's why she gave you a better father." Mr Cicero spoke, reaching for Jerome's hands only for him to pull them away.

Dipping his head down, Jerome started to sob as Y/N sighed knowing he was going to reveal his true self. Insane laughter replacing his tears, Jerome looked up seeing the shocked faces of Jim and Lee before turning to Mr Cicero.

"My mother was a cold hearted whore who never loved anyone. And she'd never touch a pathetic old creep like you." He hissed, his voice returning to his usual cold, dark tone as Mr Cicero flinched at his words.

"All these years do you think I was kind to you because I'm such a good man? If I wasn't your father, would I have helped you as I have after what you did?" His words cause Jerome to look at Gordon, then Y/N, then back to Mr Cicero.

"My father. Hm. I'll be damned." He laughed, staring at Jim and Lee's horrified faces as Y/N fought to keep her other side from showing up, knowing it would make everything worse.

"Oh it's very funny," Jerome broke off laughing darkly before making drum movements with his hands, "BA-DUM-SHH. Looks like the bitch got me with a zinger in the end."

"Why did you kill your mother Jerome?" Gordon asked, a serious look on his face, forgetting about Y/N for the meanwhile.

Making dismissive hand gestures, Jerome spoke "Oh you know how mothers are. She just kept pushing. And I'm like, 'fine mom, be a whore. Be a drunken whore even. But don't be a nagging drunken whore.' You know? Don't come yell at me to do the dishes if you've BEEN BANGING A CLOWN IN THE NEXT ROOM! You know?" Jerome snapped, slamming his fist into the table before bursting into insane laughter.

"What about you?" Gordon finally asked Y/N, after Jerome's sinister laughter had ended, a tense atmosphere coating the room.

"She's innocent. It was me not her." Jerome hissed leaning forwards, wanting to prevent her from being locked up with him.

"Why did you kill your parents Y/N?"

Lifting her head to stare at him, she tilted her head slightly, "Oh, I didn't kill them. Well, not exactly."

"Y/N. Don't." Jerome warned, knowing she was close to breaking. He knew that if Gordon found out about her split personality then she would go straight to Arkham.

"If it wasn't you, then who did?" Gordon asked, ignoring Jerome's comment, focused entirely on the pale girl.

"She really wants to meet you. Won't stop nagging. I've been trying to hold her off since we entered the room. She's really angry." Y/N spoke the last part to Jerome, turning and facing him as he shook his head at her.

"Who is she?" Lee asked stepping forward.

Seeing her eyes flicker, Jerome grabbed her hand, trying desperately to protect her, "Don't."

"Mommy called me a bitch. Then my dear old dad hurled a bottle at my head. Poor little Y/N wouldn't do anything about it, so I did. It was fun." She smirked, keeping eye contact with Jerome the entire time.

"What?" Lee whispered confused and terrified.

"Y/N has a...how to put it? Split personality." Jerome turned to look at Gordon, explaining as Y/N kept her gaze on him.

"Can we go now? We were in the middle of something when you rang. Tut tut. You have no manners Jimmy boy." Y/N spoke, finally turning to look at a wide eyed Jim, Jerome grinning at her words.

"You're both insane. GUARDS!" He shouted just as Y/N pulled Jerome into a steamy kiss, making Lee turn away embarrassed.

"Take them to Arkham Asylum." He spoke, four guards pulling them apart and placing them in hand cuffs. Hurrying them away to be transported to Arkham Asylum, Jerome's eyes widened as he realised they would be in separate cells and when Y/N goes back to normal, she will wake up by herself not knowing what happened.

"Y/N!" He tried to grab her but the guards simply shoved him into the transport van, Y/N being shoved in after wards.

"Ah Arkham. I wonder what fun we'll have there?" She smirked at him, a smirk forming on his face as he leaned towards her.

"You're gonna need to try and not switch back. The other Y/N won't survive in there, you will. Don't worry dollface. I'll get us out." He winked and blew a kiss.

"Oh I don't plan on switching back for awhile, ginger." She grinned, blowing a kiss and leaning her head back against the side of the van.

They both sat, staring at each other as they thought about what the asylum would be like. One thing they knew however, was that nobody would split them up.

Nobody would ever split them up.

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

James McAvoy x Female Reader: Bloody Numpties

A/N: I had a major writer’s block these past months… Until I came across this imagine of James McAvoy that just made me sit down and write this entire thing in one go. It may feel a little rushed at times, definitely not my best work, but I had quite a blast writing it. There are no warnings, except maybe an occasional curse and my awful portrayal of Scottish accent, which I learned to really love these past months… Oh and James’ mimics, because having that much charisma should be illegal. Enjoy x

None of these gifs are mine.

“And I’m done here.”

You felt the soft ends of the brush caress your forehead one more time before you forced yourself to open your eyes. Hair and makeup were the best parts of your routine these days: sitting in front of those huge-ass mirrors with light bulbs burning bright and illuminating your features, you remembered once in a while that you were actually a human, and not some mutant with 5 kilo bags under your eyes and skin so pale it almost seemed transparent.

Mutant. Ha. James would love that. 

Quickly checking you reflection in the mirror, you gave the makeup artist assigned to you a warm smile. She smiled back, quickly putting her things away and silently admiring her work.

You turned back to face your reflection, your eyes traveling down your highlighted cheekbones to your perfectly contoured dark pink lips.

You had to give it to her, the woman could work miracles.

“So beautiful, lassie”, you almost jumped, adrenaline rushing through your veins. Chuckling slightly, Michael distanced his face from your ear before you could smack him, thus ruining all the work Kimberley the Makeup Artist had done on him.

“Fass-ass, I swear to God, if you use that fake Scottish accent on me again…” you whispered through gritted teeth, watching his shit-eating grin’s reflection in the mirror. 

“You’re up in ten, you guys”, Kimberley’s melodic voice interrupted your very improper, even downright scandalous train of thought as you turned to face her. “I’ll send James to fetch you after I’m done with him”.

Both you and Michael hummed something incomprehensible in response before she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

“Don’t,” you immediately shot Fassbender a killer look, watching him open his mouth to speak already. “We’re not having this conversation again, Michael. I knew there was a reason for you coming to my makeup station out of the blue”.

Leaning back on the table right next to yours, the actor you currently hated the most in this world crossed his arms, his whole being exuding annoyance and a healthy dose of disappointment.

“You can’t go on like this forever, you know”, he finally let out, staring at you, unblinking.

You raised your eyebrows at him as if saying watch me, before hopping off your chair and leaning closer to the mirror, running your fingers through your locks to give them some more volume.

Not that they needed it. Leaning closer to the mirror meant blocking Michael’s face from your field of vision and thus avoiding his heavy, judgmental stare.

“I have no idea what you talking about”, when it came to this kind of conversations, as always, you thought your safest bet was to play dumb; as always, Michael rolled his eyes behind your back, getting more and more exasperated with his own helplessness. 

“Y/N…” you knew that tone, just like you knew exactly what would follow. So in order to cut the crap, you turned your entire body in his direction, copying his pose by folding your hands on your chest. 

“What do you want me to say to him, hmm, Michael? James, I’m sorry, but I fucked up? I sucked at being your best friend by lying to you? By wanting to feel that jawline of yours cut my inner thighs open they are so sharp? Please,” you snorted, turning back around, biting your bottom lip hard, your teeth ruining your lipstick. 

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to spread the color evenly on your lips now and only making it worse. 

Michael snickered, looking at your pathetic attempts to fix the damage. 

“Come here, you fool,” you felt him grab your hand, and pull you closer. With millions of thoughts orbiting in your head like a hoard of fireflies, you gave in. Carefully sliding his thumb over your lip, Michael almost fixed the entire thing, making the view a lot more bearable. 

“Thanks for that”, you muttered sincerely, looking back at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes now fixed on his reflection, you swallowed hard. “He is going to hate me”, your lips barely moved, but still, Michael understood, responding with a frown. “I know him far longer than you do, and trust me, he is going to freak. I swear if you tell him…” it took you a gargantuan effort not to bite your bottom lip again. “I’ll tell Alicia all about…” you stared daggers at him as a smirk bloomed on his lips. 

Michael came closer to you, sliding his hand up and down your back, a smile that would put a Cheshire cat to shame stretching on his thin lips.

“Who’s Alicia?” he interrupted you mid-sentence, gazing into the mirror, catching your eyes with his, so wicked and full of intent. You scoffed at his lame joke and squirmed at that horrible Scottish accent Fassbender had put back on, like an old wool jumper that didn’t fit him one bit. “You are underestimating yourself, Y/N. Honest to God, if it weren’t for Alicia, I’d be thrilled to show ye how sharp my jawline can be…”

You gasped at his comment, staring at him in disbelief. Hysterical sparkles danced in his eyes as he smiled contentedly at his comment which he apparently thought was going to make you feel better. On the verge of bursting into a fit of laughter at the sight of your scandalized expression, he pouted his lips and winked at you, obviously trying to mimic James. 

Irritated out of your mind, you turned around swiftly, ready to smack him across his chest when he caught you by the wrist.

“You bloody…” the door to the room flew open, hitting the wall with a loud screech and not letting you finish. Uneasy smile vanished from your face as soon as you saw who was behind it.

“James,” you managed, your throat suddenly going dry.

McAvoy avoided looking at you, of that you were certain. His beautiful eyes, framed by those incredibly long eyelashes were now dodging you like you were fucking plague. 

Your stomach dropped as soon as your best friend spoke, his voice cold and distant, so unlike anything you’ve ever heard come out of that plump mouth of his…

“It’s showtime,” he almost spit, the venom of his tone crashing into you like a splash of acid. “Sorry tae interrupt.”

And just like that, he was out of that door again, without looking back.

You didn’t dare to look at Michael, your heart beating so frantically you felt it crash your ribcage. The shit has hit the fan. He knew.

Watching Michael crack third joke in a row in response to Jimmy’s antics, you gave them both a smile so fake you probably looked like a psychopath straight from a horror movie. Normally, you would be the one teasing both Fassbender and McAvoy mercilessly, and they would look like they are about to call for their respective mothers. Normally, you would be the one interacting with the public, making them laugh and whistle at your comments. But this wasn’t normal you. Normal you stayed in that makeup room curled in the corner crying her eyes out, humiliated by the fact that your best friend knew you dreamed of his head in between your legs. And what was worse – wait for it – that same best friend knew and wanted, apparently, nothing to do with you anymore.

Michael was obviously carrying the entire happening on his shoulders. James would throw a line in occasionally, let out a throaty laugh now and then and give those screaming girls his trademark wink. You, on the other hand, were tense and silent, like the sky right before a thunderstorm. Asking yourself again and again how much he’d heard and trying to convince yourself that you had been freaking out over nothing and imagining things, you stayed completely out of the entire conversation, smiling occasionally, not even caring enough to know why you were, in fact, smiling. 

That was until Jimmy Fallon, his prying eyes fixed on James, let the only question you dreaded most fall off his lips. His voice broke you out of your stupor, making you shudder, sending fat drops of sweat down your back. 

“So James,” his gaze switched to your face, and unable to hear anything because of the blood pumping in your ears, you managed to read his lips. “We all agree that you’ve got pretty lucky landing yourself Y/N as your love interest in this part of the franchise”, the audience screamed at Fallon’s bluntness approvingly, while all you wanted to do was to strangle the man. “What was it like to work with her? This wasn’t the first time you guys shared intense looks… I mean the chemistry between the two of you is a real deal!”

The audience yelled in approval again, yet all you could hear was your own heart beating in your throat now. 

Good lord Y/N, what are you, twelve? Get a fucking hold of yourself! you internally screamed, looking at all those people and laughing silently.

Because the entire situation was so bloody hilarious, obviously.

“I’ve got tae say…” As soon as James opened his mouth, you felt your knees go weak, and you prayed to whoever would listen nobody would notice the state you were in. You earned a bloody Oscar for this show alone.

“Marry her, James!” just when McAvoy started to speak, a male voice rang in the air, attracting all the attention. You turned around swiftly, followed by Michael, trying to spot the screaming person. Laughter erupted in waves all around you, Fassbender doubled up in his seat. Switching your gaze back to James, you noticed the Scotsman look in that exact direction from where the voice came as his lips parted in a genuine, beautiful smile you loved. He winked at the stranger, as if saying I’m on it, bro, before continuing.

You did your best not to stare at James open-mouthed but failed. Luckily Fallon found your reaction hilarious, teasing McAvoy about it, but you heard none of it, utterly stunned. 

“I’ve got tae say,” James raised his voice, interrupting Jimmy and the cheering crowd, his face still lit up with a smile. “Working with Y/N is outtae this world. I mean, look at her,” with both of his hands he motioned towards you, exhibiting your beauty. “Man, how can all that talent, elegance and splendor fit in one and the same person? She’s incredible.”

And that’s when his big beautiful eyes finally met yours. Together with what you recognized as sadness and pity, that despicable feeling you were so afraid of, you also saw hope, half-hidden behind those ocean blue irises. 

He was secretly hoping you could stay friends, you suddenly realized. He didn’t love you back and he probably never would nurse this kind of feelings for you, but maybe – just maybe – you could still be friends!…

“Jesus, James,” …and then Michael just had to bloody open that big mouth of his. “I might actually get jealous, you know”.

And just like that, that smile you’d sell your soul for, was gone. The moment was lost, together with a tiny flicker of hope you were holding on to so hard.

James’ stare suddenly grew firm as soon as his eyes quit yours. His pupils, like barrels of two guns, aimed at Fassbender’s chest. 

“O’ course ye might”, once those bullets made of pure disgust cut through Michael’s body, James turned back to face Jimmy, a smile back on his face yet never reaching his fuming eyes.

It was at this moment that you felt your blood boil in righteous anger. So he’s pissed at you for having fallen for him, whatever. This was indeed a really fucked-up move on your end. Michael, however, deserved none of the shit James was giving him. He only tried to encourage you to come clean, and honestly, this wasn’t quite an apocalyptic situation to deal with. 

With the oncoming waves of anger, rising in your chest, you forgot all about that hope you saw glimmer in James’ stare. He could be a dick to you, for all you cared, but Michael literally did nothing to deserve any of this. 

By the end of the interview you were so riled up you imagined quite graphically how you would call James out on his bullshit once you were alone. However, the minute the show was over, McAvoy rushed out of the place, barely saying his goodbyes to Jimmy and his crew, not even bothering to wait for you and Michael. 

Biting your bottom lip so hard that it hurt, you followed him with your eyes until he was out of the door, suddenly feeling tears burning at the back of your stare.

“What is his problem?” Michael frowned, standing beside you, his eyes still fixed on the closed doors. 

You bit your lip harder, keeping the answer from sliding off your tongue, the answer both you and Michael knew.

You were his problem. You and your stupid feelings.

By midnight, you have passed all stages there were to this both tragic and ridiculous situation. Wrapped in your blanket, curled up in your bed, after denial, anger, and feeling sorry for yourself you’ve finally crossed the Rubicon of acceptance.

So you fell for your best friend and he now knew it, big bloody deal. Although you still couldn’t gather up enough courage to go talk to him about it like adults that you were, you’ve pretty much made peace with him knowing about your feelings and visibly being uncomfortable with them. If he was not ready to face you from now on because he was feeling embarrassed or whatever, well, he was shit out of luck, because you were not going anywhere. You were here with him because you were doing your job and you weren’t just going to leave because some James bloody McAvoy was feeling distressed. 

He was going to have to live with his embarrassment till the press tour was over, at least.

You had to admit, it hurt like a bitch though. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t acknowledge that sometimes, in the early hours of dawn, you would think about all those ways James would react to your confession. And how you would then drive into the sunset together, holding hands and listening to Ed bloody Sheeran. 

What your imagination didn’t work on though was how you were going to react if McAvoy almost literally showed you his elegant middle finger and closed the door to his life right in front of your face for good. 

Just when you finally thought you’d come to terms with everything that had happened today, a couple of loud bangs cut the silence of your hotel room, instilling fear in you. 

“Sweet Jesus, what now…”, you whispered when the night guest continued to hit on the wailing door again and again, quickly jumping on your feet and rushing to the door. You threw it wide open, not giving yourself time to think twice about it. 

You were pretty sure Michael’s face was a tiny shade lighter than the tapestry behind him, a beautiful Bordeaux color. It didn’t become him at all though.

“What’s wrong?!” you exclaimed almost instantly, prominent lines on Michael’s forehead screaming volumes about his state of mind. 

Fassbender was furious.

“You are going to tell James how you feel”, he had hard time controlling his temper as his voice trembled greatly. “And you are going to do it right now”.

You stared at him as if Michael was mentally retarded and just said something so stupid it lowered the IQ of the entire city.

“Come again?” you spoke, your eyebrows almost reaching your hairline. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but he already knows”, you fought to keep the sarcasm in your voice at bay, but it didn’t quite work. Actually, it didn’t work at all.

Your words only seemed to aggravate Michael’s pissed off state. Barely containing the anger, he grabbed you a hand, and headed down the corridor, dragging you along.

“Hey!” you yelled in protest, only now realizing all you were wearing was a silk nightgown. Covering your breasts with your free hand, you tried if not to talk some sense into your friend, then at least learn what the hell was going on.

“What happened?” you asked carefully, following Michael – he was forty times stronger than you, plus your were pretty sure that if you refused to keep up, he’d carry you all the way to James’ door. 

“He’s out of his fucking mind!” Michael barked, as you shuddered at the sound. “He’s raving mad, poor bastard…”

“I don’t understand,” you interrupted, you voice small and sincere. 

That’s when Michael suddenly stopped and softly pushed you towards the closed door of the suite he shared with James. 

“You will,” he said, more sure of himself than ever. “Just tell him. Now is as good fucking time as any”.

And with those words, he knocked on the door so hard the entire hotel must have heard. Reaching past you, Michael turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, silently inviting you in.

“I’m going to have a whiskey”, he informed you. “And when I’m back I expect this entire madhouse to be over.”

You sighed, looking at him, searching for mercy in his eyes. Yet they remained tough, telling you that if you didn’t come in, Fassbender would carry you inside, thrown over his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes at him and stepped into the room, finally resigning to your fate.

Deep inside you knew that Michael was right and the two of you needed to talk… You just didn’t know why this embarrassing and bitter conversation couldn’t wait till morning.

“James!” you called, clenching your fists and walking into the main area of the presidential suite. “Come out, come out, whenever you are.”

Looking around, you couldn’t help but smile at the idiocy of the entire situation. You must have been dreaming, none of this seemed real. Neither you, standing in your nightgown in the middle of this huge open space with a bar corner and a gigantic sofa. Nor the sounds of the water running somewhere further in the suite. Nor that huge puddle of red wine on the floor, looking like a bloodstain littered with green bottle glass…

It was only when the sound of the running water stopped that you actually realized what it meant. 

As you opened your mouth to let James know you were there, he walked out of one of the corridors with nothing but a towel covering his hips.

Small drops of water still littered his naked shoulders and his toned torso. Prominent veins run along his hands, muscles taut and his biceps bulging. His hair stuck out as he ran his fingers through it, only now noticing you, feeling exposed for a millisecond. 

The sound of you letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding seemed to shake him out of his stupor. Lines littered his face here and there almost instantly, his eyes sliding down your frame. You suddenly realized your nightgown must have left nothing to imagination, but instead of crossing your arms on your chest in hopes of covering yourself up, you just dropped them.

Let him bloody see what he’s missing.

You noticed how his Adam’s apple moved slightly in response to your challenging glare before he turned away, biting the inside of his cheeks, obviously trying to gain some self-control.

The atmosphere in the room had shifted so drastically from the way it was when you first walked in. Everything – you, him, the puddle on the floor – all seemed real all of the sudden, and you fought with all your might not to come up to him and touch his bare skin, run your fingers down his abdomen and then…

“Wha’ are ye doin’ here?” his voice was cold and loud, too loud for the moment you were currently sharing. He still refused to look at you. “Can I help ye with anythin’?”

You cleared your throat, caught off guard. Not reciprocating your feelings was one thing. Refusing to face you when he talked to you, however, was something else entirely. Biting your lips fiercely in order not to scream bloody murder, you forced yourself to remember why you were here. Instead of walking up to him and kicking him in his balls, like you ached to do, you just continued to stare at him, burning holes in his naked body.

“Sure thing, yeah. You can start by telling me what the hell is wrong with you!” you came off strong, stronger than you originally intended, having trouble to control your emotions. 

He finally turned your way and narrowed his eyes at you but said nothing. This only served to piss you off more, his unfairness from earlier fueling your anger.

“You know what? I get it!” you felt a lump rising in your throat and pushed it down with all your might. “You think I’m sad and pathetic for falling in love with my best friend. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I fucked everything up”, you felt tears pulling in your eyes but commanded yourself not to cry, effectively keeping them back. “But you are just… You’re disgusting!” you finally found the right word and watched James’ squirm at the sound of it, rage distorting his handsome face as he finally acknowledged your presence. Before you could continue, something spectacular happened, something you’d never seen before. 

James McAvoy exploded.

“I’m disgustin’?!” he roared like a wounded tiger. “oh tha’ is rich, coming from ye! I stood by ye every time, no matter what ye did, but this… How fuckin’ could ye, Y/N! I trusted ye! I gave ye me all and ye just… It’s pretty clear ye don’t give a flyin’ fuck ‘bout me, but wha’ bout her?! She’s your bloody friend!!”

You stared at him wide-eyed. What in the world was he talking about?!… None of this added up. 

James literally just growled making two more steps towards you, his gaze leaving flash burns on your bare skin. Brushing nervous fingers through his hair again, he turned away from you, pacing back and forth. 

“I honestly have no idea what you talking about”, you managed, feeling the heat pool in your lower stomach.

Now is not the time, you thought, biting your lips and trying to keep a clear head, a burning ache for him consuming you all of the sudden. 

“Alicia, Y/N! Does tha’ name ring a bell for ye?” he turned back and you just looked at him dumbfounded, completely losing the thread of this conversation. Taking in your lost state, James threw his hands in the air in desperation. “Did ye think about her when ye thought about Michael’s fuckin’ head in between yer thighs?”

The words sounded as if he had to force them out, scarring his throat, cutting it raw. It took a minute for their meaning to settle in. 

“You are insane,” you slowly countered, realization dawning on you. “Sweet Jesus, you are such a moron!!…” 

“Tha’ I am alright!” he bellowed in agreement, disappointment and hurt in his every gesture hitting you like a runaway train. “Another fuckin’ pathetic moron ye scored for yeself, princess! All this time it has been him, all this fuckin’ time, while I’ve been livin’ for the crap ye give me!…”

“You think I’m in love with Fass-ass?! Are you shitting me, McAvoy?!” you screamed at the top of your lungs now, mad for hell knows what, a weird, warm and overwhelming feeling spreading in your chest as you finally understood the reason for him acting like an asshole all along. ““I love you, you bloody idiot!”

James was quite a sight to watch. All the anger seemed to evaporate off his body. He stood straighter now, his red lips half-parted, his eyes glowing like the surface of the sea reflecting the starlight. He looked like a man who wanted to believe yet didn’t not dare to. A deep frown still darkened his features, but it didn’t look so carved-in anymore. James looked like he needed you to give him a reason, one single reason to end this entire mess, because he’d be happy to oblige. 

He only needed one reason.

And suddenly you knew exactly what it was.

“It’s you that I want, it has always been you!” you let out, your hands shaking for some reason. “It’s your touch I yearn for, it’s your stupid head that I…”

He didn’t let you finish. All you heard was a gasp, but you couldn’t tell to save your life if it was him or you. Soft and muffled, like a secret told in the dark of the night, it slipped from someone’s lips before his mouth crashed into yours, his hands tugging at your hair as he aligned your bodies. The cold tip of his nose caressed your skin as his lips moved against yours.

You moaned into his mouth, cupping his face in between your hands. His lips seemed to be drawn to yours as one open-mouthed kiss followed another, his tongue skimming over your bottom lip tenderly but demandingly, promising so much by doing so little. When you felt him trying to distance himself from you, in order to catch his breath, no doubt, you grabbed the back of his neck and pressed your lips into his harder, feeling him smile, his breath hot on your mouth. 

“I’m so sorry, I…” James whispered, his thumbs rubbing soft circles on your cheekbones.

“Shut up,” you ordered softly as your breaths mingled together before you captured those red and plump lips with yours, your nails scratching that sensitive skin on the back of his neck, your fingers crawling down his bare shoulder blades…

“About fucking time,” Fassbender pressed his ear to the door to the room as soon as the screaming ceased. “Better fucking name your first kid Michael and make me a godfather, bloody numpties”.

And whistling some cheerful song for which he didn’t know the lyrics, he made his way down the corridor thinking now was the time to hit the bar, for that whiskey he just made sure he deserved. 

[allonsysilvertongue]

Hi! Could you write something where Joyce and Lonnie are married and having an awful fight and one of the kids calls the police department since they aren't able to stop it and Hopper comes?

Hopper saves Joyce from being attacked by her ex. She breaks downin his arms, and he takes care of her.

Hey, I’m not sure if you are taking requests at the momentbut I thought I would just leave mine here: Lonnie comes back (whether to getback with Joyce or just be a j*** I don’t care) and we get to see Hopper getprotective of Joyce. Anyways keep up the amazing work! I may or may not checkon this story every morning before I head to work to have something to lookforward to when I get home ;)

Since I had a few prompt requests circling around Lonnie, Joyce & Hopper, I decided to do them all together which resulted in this three times, one time thing which grew out of hand. It took me days to write and I’m happy it’s done!

Hawkins: The Upside - The Ex

The three times Jim Hopperstood between Lonnie and Joyce, and the one time he didn’t.

1980

The door to Jonathan’s bedroomslammed closed. Outside, in the living room, Joyce stood her ground, glaring atthe man in front of her.

“We needed the money forthe boys, Lonnie,” Joyce screamed. Her hand was fisted at her side as shetried to control this anger bubbling and clawing out of her. “Schoolreopens in three weeks!”

“Will you calm downalready?” Lonnie’s voice was sharp and loud. “There’s three weeks –I’ll get it back.”

Their argument and shoutingmatches were legendary ever since high school. Back then, people thought it wasendearing that two forces of nature that often clashed could still be togetherbut they were young and their arguments were petty, something that couldeasily be casted aside, something you could close one eye to without anyconsequences. The make-up sex at the back of Lonnie’s car certainly did wondersto smooth ruffle feathers.

Except now…

Now they were both adults withtwo children and things were real. There were consequences. His gambling andmounting debts were not something Joyce could sweep under the rug. She workeddouble shifts whenever she could, leaving her sons with babysitters, just tohave something to feed this family, cloth them and send them to school.

The last thing she needed wasto come home to find out that Lonnie had used the money to place bets in orderto pay off some of his debts… only to lose the bets. It was a vicious cycleand she was tired.

She was so exhausted.

“That’s what you alwayssay and you never get it back,” she gritted her teeth.“You’re a fucking scum, Lonnie.”

She turned to walk away butLonnie grabbed her by the elbow.

“Hey,” he snarled,his face turning ugly. “You don’t get to say shit like that to me.”

“I can say whatever Iwant to say, Lonnie. I’m the one pulling all the weight around here.You’re out there losing my money on gambling and on your whores. Oh, Iknow about them,” Joyce scoffed when Lonnie’s eyes widened imperceptiblyat that accusation. “You should be ashamed of yourself. They’re young andyou’re…”

She gestured at him only toend up shaking her head. There was no use talking to him. It was always just inone ear and out another. Besides, hadn’t she told herself years ago whenJonathan was ten that Lonnie would only end up disappointing her?

“I’m what…?”

The obvious challenge for herto finish her sentence flashed through his eyes.

“You’re trash.”

And wasn’t that the truth? Shekept having to throw him out only for him to come crawling back because ‘Joyce,I need some money’ or ’Babe, you have to bail me outta this’.

“Fuck you, Joyce,” Lonniespat, shoving her roughly away from him.

The unexpected force causedher to stumble and crashed on the table. The bottles of vodka and whiskeyshattered to the floor, the beer cans clattered noisily. When she tried to pushherself up, she hissed in pain, realising belatedly that she had cut her arm onone of the broken shards.

She looked up at the sounds ofhurried footsteps to see her children running out of Jonathan’s room. Heroldest took one look at the scene and stepped between his parents. Will wasstaring at the cut on her arm, eyes wide and in shocked. Instinctively, Joycecovered her wound, more to protect Will than herself.

“Get out of my way,boy,” Lonnie growled. Jonathan only clenched his jaws which made Lonnie laughedin his face. “You look so much like your mother like that – thought you’dbe more like me.”

With that, he pushed passedJonathan towards Joyce, sending Will scrambling away. Lonnie towered over her.

“I told you I’d get itback, Joyce,” he said quietly, crouching down so they were eye to eye.

He reached out to touch her armbut she pulled away, glaring at him defiantly.

“You didn’t have to getall pissy. None of this would have happened… right?”

She chuckled bitterly. Healways had a way of turning it around and making it her fault. It wasnever his. It was always something she did that made him act the way heacted. Joyce pushed on his chest when he tried to help her up.

“Don’t be a bitchnow,” he warned, keeping his voice low.

“I will when you stopbeing such a bastard. I want you to get me all that money back by tomorrow youhear me? By tomorrow, Lonnie! I need to get them new shoes and books.”

“If I said I’ll get itthen I’ll get - ”

He stopped abruptly at thesound of the police siren approaching the house. Lonnie looked behind hisshoulder at the two boys.

“Who called the fuckingcops?”

“I – It was me,”Will stammered, peeking out from behind the wall. “I was scared and you –you were hurting mom and - ”

“Hawkins Chief of Police,open the door.”

The pounding on the door wasloud, insistent and had the attention of all four Byers.

Lonnie shot Will a disgruntledlook, muttering an expletive that sounded suspiciously like ‘fag’ under his breath which made Joycekicked him on his leg as he stood up from where he was crouched next to her. Atthe door, he pulled it open.

“Hey, Chief,” Lonnie grunted.

“We had a call. Just here tocheck it out.”

“Oh, yeah, about that… See,the kid, he was just fooling around. You know how kids are.”

“Fooling around… Wasn’tthe impression I had, Byers. Your kid sounded scared.”

Joyce could imagine the lookon Lonnie’s face; could picture the way his eyes twitched like it always didwhen he tried to suppress the annoyance he was feeling.

“This one’s an oddball.He’s scared of everything,” Lonnie snorted. “You’re just wasting your timehere, Jimmy.”

Joyce bit her lip. If therewas one sure fire way to annoy Hopper, it was to call him by that nickname.

“Step back, Byers. Let me takea look inside. I’ll need to talk to your son, make sure everything’s fine andif it is, I’ll file a quick statement to that effect. The quicker this is done,the faster I’ll be out of here.

Still, Lonnie stood steadfastby the door, refusing to budge an inch.

“Come on, Jimmy, don’t tell meyou’ve never fought with your wife? You must have that’s why she’s an ex now, isn’t she?” Lonnie snickeredwhen he saw the way Hopper’s eyes hardened just as he clenched his jaws. “Joyceand I… We had some petty quarrel, alright. Nothing for you cops to get involvedin.”

Ignoring him completely,Hopper raised his voice so he could be heard, “Hey, kid, you alright in there?”

"Yeah,” Will answered,his voice shaking a little, “but my mom is bleeding!”

Hopper arched an eyebrow.

“Move back.”

Lonnie hung his head, exhaledin irritation but stepped aside this time round. Hopper stepped into the room,his presence suddenly felt large and looming in their small space. Still, thesudden feeling of security that Joyce felt right then was overwhelming.

Hopper took in the sight ofthe living room. His gaze landed on Joyce in an instant, standing next to thebroken coffee table, cradling her injured arm.

“Joyce,” Hopper started,taking a step forward. “Are you okay?”

"She fell,” Lonnieshrugged.

Joyce looked away, fixing herstare on her worn out shoes, suddenly ashamed to face Hopper’s intense scrutinisation.They had been quite a pair – she and Hopper. They had been uninhibited, freeand loud. They had done what they damn well please regardless of anyone oranything. Look at her now… In a loveless marriage, trying hard to meet endsmeet.

When Hopper turned to faceLonnie, it was then that Joyce raised her head, realising at once that Hopper’sbig frame had effectively blocked Lonnie from her.

“What – she just so happen tofall?”

“Yeah,” Lonnie replied,unconcerned. “Clumsy, ain’t you, babe?”

Still keeping an eye onLonnie, Hopped addressed the boys. “What happened, kids?”

Between the nervous stammersand stutters, Jonathan and Will managed to tell him of the argument they couldhear through the door and how Will had been so scared he had called the police.

“Alright, Byers, you’recoming with - ”

Hopper stopped mid-sentencewhen he felt shaking hand on his arm.

“I just need the clinic,that’s all.”

“You can press charges.You can let him rot in jail.” Hopper spoke to her under his breath so Lonniewouldn’t pick up on it. "You should - ”

“I don’t need another manto tell me what to do,” Joyce cut him off. “I got it.”

Hopper said nothing. If theside glance was anything to go by, he didn’t look like he believed her but shemade her decision and it was out of his hands.

Two weeks later, as he stoodin front of the counter she was manning, waiting for her to bag the pack ofbeers and cigarettes, she told him quietly.

“I’m divorcing him.”

Hopper glanced up but she wasn’tlooking at him.

“Good,” he muttered. “Horowitzis a better name than Byers.”

1982

It had taken a full year andnumerous shouting matches before Lonnie finally signed the divorce papers. Bythe time it was finalised, her anxiety that skyrocketed and she had beensmoking a pack a day much to Jonathan’s worry. But the boy had been her buoy, alwaysmaking her sure she kept her head up, whipping meals for his brother when shewas too distraught to even tell salt from sugar and taking on a job despite herdisagreement the moment he realised that whatever money Joyce had, she was spendingit on legal fees for the divorce.

It was summer and with schoolout, Lonnie had taken Will to a baseball game. Jonathan had gone along if onlyto be there for his brother.

That was yesterday.

Her ex-husband had promised tohave them both back by this afternoon, not that his word meant shit, but Joycehad held on to that regardless. Now, the sun was already setting and her sonswere still not home.

Naturally, she had calledLonnie multiples times but the phone went unanswered. So she finally decided tohead down to the police station.

“I think he’s kidnapped mysons,” Joyce declared, barging into the Chief’s office.

Hopper looked up from his deskand then behind Joyce to where Flo was standing there, looking at him with anapologetic shrug.

He frowned, annoyed that hisafternoon was interrupted just when his shift was about to end. “What?”

“You heard me. Thatbastard Lonnie took my sons and they’re not back yet.”

“Uh, Joyce,” hepinched the bridge of his nose, “did you call him?”

“Of course, I did,Hopper,” she huffed. “I need to file a missing person - ”

“That’s not how it works.They’re with a parent and - ”

“They’re not home yet.”

“They’re not but you knowwhere they are,” Hopper argued, “and who they’re with.”

“Are you even listening to me,Hop? They’re supposed to be back by now but they’re not. Is there anything thisstation can do? Send a patrol car out or – “

“I can’t send a patrol car outto Indianapolis, Joyce. There’s a waiting period for – “

She gritted her teeth.

“I know they’re with theirfather, Hop, but what if – what if he’s not allowing them to leave? Or – Or he’skeeping them there to spite me?”

“He won’t want to keep thosekids around longer than necessary,” Hopper tried to comfort her. “He’ll havethem back. Why don’t you – uh – why don’t you head home and try to get somesleep?”

“Is that it? That’s your bigadvise? Get some sleep?”

With a huff, Joyce stormedout. Hopper stared after her, debating with himself if it really was worth theeffort. In the end, and with a loud curse, he grabbed his hat and ran afterher.

“You’re not driving out there,” he rapped on her window. “I’ll go. I can’t senda patrol car but I can go, I’m off duty.”

“Why?” Joyce looked up at him,squinting against the bright glare from the lamp post.

He couldn’t answer her but thelast time he had seen Joyce with Lonnie Byers, she was bleeding from her arm.He didn’t want to know what she would or could do to provoke Byers in the nameof her children.

“Head back home. I’ll get yourkids.”

It wasn’t even his job. Heexhaled and yet, for the sake of an old friend…

February - 1984

“You have some nervecoming back here telling me you’re taking Will to a see a psychiatrist inIndianapolis. What would you even know about my son?” she glowered.

“I know something ain’t rightwith the boy after what happened. First they found his body in the quarry onlyfor it not to be him? Come on, babe, how stupid do you think I am? You ain’ttelling me the whole story, that’s fine, but don’t tell me the boy came out ofthat okay. So he’s coming with me.”

“He is not,” she counteredfiercely. “If you lay a hand on him I’ll – “

Lonnie’s lips curled into amalicious sneer. “You’ll what? Call the cops? Hopper’s still Chief, eh?”

Maybe she would do just that,she thought.

Hopper had been waiting for achance to knock Lonnie out cold since they were teenagers, and Hopper woulddefinitely know that Will would be better off with her. He would take steps toensure her son remain in Hawkins.

"He’s my kid too,Joyce.”

“Suddenly he’s yourkid?” She laughed. “Oh no, Lonnie, I know what you’re up to. The onlyreason you want to bring him back to Indianapolis to get checked is so you can milkit out. I don’t know how you’re going to do that but I know you, yousleazy piece of garbage.”

“Everything alright here?”

Joyce could cheer but she didn’t.Still, she was immensely glad to see Hopper driving up the school driveway. Hiscar was on idle, the windows had been rolled down and a hand was hanging out ofthe window as he leaned forward.

“If it isn’t big old JimHopper coming in to save the day,” Lonnie sniggered. “Ran out of drunks tothrow in the tank, Jimmy? What the hell are you doing at a middle school?Harrassing children part of your new hobby now?”

“Could say the same about you,”Hopper grinned mockingly. “Harrassing a woman something you’re into? Whensomeone tells me that Lonnie Byers is in town, I find that it’s my civic dutyto make sure you’re not causing trouble. Looks like I’m right about that.”

That remarked must have hit anerve because Lonnie looked like the time for disdainful exchange was over.

“Fuck off, Hopper. We’rehaving a private conversation here and it’s none of your business.”

Behind Lonnie, Joyce wasshaking her head silently. She saw the way Hopper’s gaze shifted from Lonnie toher and back to him again.

“Indianapolis finally realisedwhat kind of jerk you are and kicked you out?“

"Surprised Hawkins stilldidn’t realise that about you, Hopper. Fuck off, yeah? Not saying it again.”

The bell from the school rangout.

“You can do better thanthat,” Hopper scoffed but by then he had already alighted from his truck,planting himself right in front of Joyce and shielding her.

The school door burst open andthrongs of students filed out. Out of the corner of her eyes, Joyce spottedWill coming out of his school followed by Mike, Dustin, Lucas and Max. The rareright of the three adults standing by the street halted them in their steps. Amongsthis friends, Will recovered first. He hurried over and stood next to Joyce,behind Hopper.

Lonnie narrowed his eyes atWill clearly taking sides.

“We’re going,” Joycedeclared, ushering her son back to her car.

She saw Lonnie trying tofollow, heard his voice rang sharp calling for her name but when she glancedover her shoulder, she saw Hopper had his hand on Lonnie’s chest, stopping himfrom taking a step further to follow them.

She made a mental note tothank Hopper the next time they see each other during Dr. Owen’s appointment atHawkins Lab.

December – 1984

Somewhere between Hoppersthird eggnog and fifth, and watching the boys giggling as they tried to put up mistletoe,Lonnie Byers had barged into the house.

He swayed on his feet,watching wild-eyed in confusion at the six children and three teenagersgathered there. Hopper rose on his feet, his first instinct was to protect El.He stood next to his girl, hand on her shoulder.

“You having a party?” Heturned, waving an accusing finger at Joyce. “When was the last time we had a Christmas party, babe?”

“Get out of my house,” Joycedemanded.

It was beautiful, the thoughtcame unbidden to Hopper’s mind, to see Joyce stand up to Lonnie. It wasbeautiful to see the way her eyes flared in anger, to see her stand tall. Shehad gone to the ends of the earth and battled monsters to get to her son.

This man, standing confused atthe sudden authoritative attitude, was no match for her. He knew it. Jonathanknew it. Everybody else in the room could sense it but not Lonnie.

“Look,” Lonnie slurred, “justcame to ask if I could get a grand. I’ll get it back soon as I hit a jackpot.”

“Screw you, Lonnie,” Joycesaid before she landed a punch on her ex-husband’s face.

Hopper heard the sickeningcrunch. He had been in enough fist fight growing up to know a broken nose whenhe heard one. Seeing Joyce knock Lonnie out was one of the best things ChiefJim Hopper had ever witnessed.

He wasn’t even going to bookher in for assault.

As Jonathan stared and Willtried to make sense of what just happened, Hopper laughed.

Lonnie Byers deserved it forbarging in during Christmas dinner as if he was still living in that house.

As usual, you can leave me Jopper prompts!

[donheisenberg]

Worst/Most Disappointing TV of 2017

As I explained in my top 20 shows of the year post, its been fantastic year for television, but not one without missteps and disappointments. Here are the shows, episodes and other, that most frustrated and disappointed me this year in no particular order.

Sexual Harassment/Misconduct Scandals: By far the biggest story concerning the entertainment industry this year or for that matter ever. The seemingly never-ending string of sexual harassment and misconduct allegations is something that has rocked the TV world and the TV landscape will be a very different place in 2018. It was a story none of us wanted to hear but one we all had to I suppose. Outside of the actual horror of what these men did, I guess fans are still processing whether or not it is possible for them to appreciate the shows these people worked on, or if you cannot separate the art from the artist. Whatever the case there is no doubting that this was the biggest disappointment in the world of television this year. 

Curb Your Enthusiasm Season 9: By the standards of just about every other sitcom season 9 of Curb is consistently funny and overall a strong outing, but when placed against the other 8 seasons of Curb it feels like a broad, self-parody of itself. David for years said he’d only return if he had the right ideas and watching season 9 I was never sure he did. A lot of it felt like it was retreading old ground and on some level it felt like he had lost sense of what made the Larry David character so great. The thing about Larry in the past is that although he could be an asshole often he was in the right and other people were the real assholes. In season 9 90% of the time Larry was just being a bit of a dick and that is a less interesting show and character.

Transparent Season 4: Putting to one side all the stuff concerning Tambor on the set of the show, Transparent season 4 was a bit of a tough watch anyway. I think it was telling that each episode ran for just about 20 mins, there just was not a whole lot of story here. Maybe Soloway and co would have benefited from taking more time between seasons to craft ten fully realized episodes of TV, rather than what we got. It has also got to a point with the Pffermann kids were they just never progress. Transparent would not be the first great show concerning characters who keeping on repeating the same old cycles, but the thing with those shows is that they are really about how people don’t change whereas with Transparent it just strikes me as lazy writing. I’ve loved this show dearly but with all that has happened with Tambor and the quality of the show’s latest season it might be time for Soloway and co to cut their losses.

Shadow Moon in American Gods: American Gods is another show in disarray (although for very different reasons) after Bryan Fuller’s departure. Which is a pity because there were a lot of good things about its first season but it had two big problems, 1 the whole season is essential a long pilot- we should find out who Mr Wednesday is after episode 1 not after 8 hours. The bigger problem though was Shadow Moon, performance issues aside I’ve never seen a clearer case of the main character having absolutely no influence on the plot. It is insane how ancillary he, as a protagonist, is to the narrative. You spend all season waiting to see what made him significant and the show had no answer. 

Game of Thrones S7 Ep6 Beyond The Wall: What an amazing looking complete mess of a TV episode. The final moments of this episode are key, because as the ice dragon wakes up it signals the moment I realized just how this whole season of GOT had been reversed engineered around that moment. Season 7 began with a problem, how do we create jeopardy around the question who will end the show on the iron throne, when one character has dragons? So Thrones had its characters make a series of absolutely ludicrous decisions so that they could get to a point where the white walkers also had a dragon. It was dumb, really, really dumb.

You’re The Worst S4 Ep10 Dad-Not-Dad: You’re The Worst season 4 was at best a mixed bag at worst a disaster. There were good episodes and moments particularly at the start of the season but by the mid-point the show was just churning out terrible episode after terrible episode, none more so than Dad-Not-Dad. I know it’s called You’re The Worst but it’s treatment of its characters in this episode goes beyond anything the show has done before. How could they make me dislike Edgar? I thought that was impossible but they do it here. Also why I’m I suppose to care about Becca, she is nothing short of a cartoonish villain. Also all the stuff with Gretchen seeing Jimmy with another woman and then masturbating outside his house is really just taking her misanthropy to a level that is not true to the character. This was an awful episode that embody so much of what was wrong with this season.

Veep/Silicon Valley Finales:  Veep had a good year, good enough to see it find a place on my top 20 shows post, Silicon Valley on the other hand was somewhat below par. What they both had though were finales that just stunk of the show completely running out of ideas. Seeing Selena out of office was definitely interesting, maybe it could only be for one year but to just have her run again seems uninspired. Silicon Valley has always been repetitive but this season really took that to another level. In addition to this the whole Richard-Walter White-arc was so misjudged and never added to the show at all. In the end I just hated Richard and I’m not sure how that benefits the show.

Orange is the new Black S5 Ep10 The Reverse Midas Touch: I didn’t dislike this season of Orange quite as much as everyone else, although I’m not sure I would go as far as too say that the-almost-real time experiment worked. What I can tell you for sure is that the tenth episode of this season-the one with the Piscatella flashbacks-definitely did not work. It is an offensively bad hour of TV. Every aspect of this episode is horribly misjudged. How is Piscatella’s backstory suppose to inform our understanding of him as a character? Are we suppose to somehow sympathize with him or are the flashbacks just there to underline what a one dimensional, badly written monster he is? It is about as close to a jump the shark episode as you can get without completely ruining the show forever.

Sherlock S4 Ep3 The Final Problem: The Final Problem is a fitting title for a season-possibly series-finale as awful as this one. Sherlock post-Moriarty was as a show continually finding new lows. The Empty Hearse was pretty terrible but that was nothing compared to The Abdominal Bride which was only slight more stupid than The Six Thatchers, but The Final Problem puts them all to shame with just how ridiculous it is. Coming off the back of one of the best episodes the show has ever done I had some new found hope for the finale but The Final Problem starts badly and just gets worse. Summarizing all that is stupid, uncomfortable and unbelievably convoluted about this episode in a few sentences is impossible but suffice to say this is the worst episode of television I saw in 2017, in a year where I watched The Reverse Midas Touch as well, it was that bad.

[imagininghim]

Chapter 26

A/N: Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Where she went Masterlist

For anyone reading Where she went

It had been a few days since I told Jax that I loved him. The tension between us raised higher and higher every day.

Jax went outside to use the phone while I stayed in our shared room. I was lost in my thoughts until the sound of someone knocking at the door tore me away from them.

“So, you finally marked your territory?” I looked up to see Ope leaning in the doorway. I sighed and nodded my head.

“I did but I also fucked up.” Ope furrowed his brows at me before coming into the room and sitting on the bed with me.

“How?”

“Well, I was proud of myself for actually having sex after everything with Liam.” Opie nodded as I continued. “And, I might have a little too proud because I also told Jax I loved him.” He stared at me wide-eyed.

“You did what?!” I felt panic rise in me. “Oh, my God! This is so bad! Jax will never talk to you again! Let alone have sex with you!”

“What the hell am I going to do?!?!” I yelled at Ope as he just chuckled.

“I’m kidding.” I stared at him with daggers while he just laughed. “No, really. I was talking to Jax and he told me about what happened. He’s not mad he’s… Shocked.” This time it was my turn to furrow my brows.

“Shocked? Why would he be shocked?” Opie just shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t really know but maybe you should talk about it with him.” I nodded in agreement.

“Do you know where he is?” Ope nodded his head.

“He’s getting ready to do some club business. When he gets back I’ll tell him to find you.” I nodded as Opie went to walk out of the room.

“Hey (Y/N/N)?” I looked up at him.

“Don’t let him go this time. Fight for him.” I smiled at Opie.

“I will.” And with that Opie was gone.

Time Skip:

The boys had just arrived home and I walked out to greet him. Jax climbed off his bike while Trinity and a Sambel member went to talk with them.

Jax began explaining that he needed to go to a hotel to check out something that had to do with Abel and I thought that this would be the perfect time to get him alone.

“I’ll go!” I yelled out as everyone turned around.

“I think it would be better if just I went.” Jax protested as I shook my head.

“It will look less suspicious if the two of us go. If we’re questioned we’re just a young couple looking for a room.” Jax sighed and nodded.

“Fine, hop on.” I smiled and climbed onto his bike before taking off down the road. We arrived at the hotel and took off our helmets. Parking the bike, we went into the hotel when Jax spotted them. We saw that they were leaving so almost immediately Jax rushed back to the bike and climbed on.

Living in this life I knew not to question Jax on what he was doing. I just followed him.

We followed the young couple to the market place as I watched Jax stare at them with curiosity and for a moment happiness.

We continued following them, I stood a few feet back from Jax. Knowing his needed this space. We stood there for what felt like hours. Soon enough, they passed us. Sharing a gentle smile with us. Jax just stared at Abel, a broke look his face.

When they were out of our view, I walked beside Jax and took his hand in mine.

“Let’s go sit down.” Jax didn’t say any words he just took my hand in his and followed me to a table. I went and got us coffee while Jax just sat there, lost in his thoughts. I walked over to him laying the coffee on the table when he finally spoke up.

“Do you think I’m a good father?” I was taken aback from his question at first.

“I think you’re an amazing father.” Jax just stared at me.

“I’ve got to let him go.” I choked on my coffee as I looked up at him.

“What?” He sighed.

“I don’t want him to live this life. Lose his father to the club. Lose his own life to the club.” I took Jax’s hand in mine as tears streamed down his face. “I want him to be with a family who can give him more. Who can give him a better life.” I reached over and wiped a tear from his face.

“I want you to do what you think is best. My opinion, the club’s opinion. None of them matter. What matters is what you think is best.” Jax nodded. He stood up and I did the same. We walked back to his bike and back to the club.

The club went straight into church. Gemma following. I sat on the picnic table overlooking the evening sky when Trinity approached me.

“How are you?” Her thick Irish accent tore me from my thoughts.

“I’ve seen my better days, how about you?”

“I’m good.” I nodded continuing to look at the sunset. “I wanted to apologize for trying to get with Jax. I later found out we’re half brother and sister.” I tried my hardest to not burst out laughing as she continued to speak. “You guys make a perfect couple.”

“We’re not a couple, we’re…” I stopped mid sentence while I tried to figure out what to say.

“Well, I see the way he looks at you… He does feel something for you.” Before I could respond the club walked out of church.

“Jimmy’s got, Abel. The priest and I are going to meet with him.”

“What happened to that couple?” I questioned as Jax sighed.

“They were murdered.” I was shocked but I nodded my head, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Be safe and bring our boy home.” Jax smiled climbing into the van with the priest.

Hours had passed when Jax pulled up the club. He walked out, holding Abel as Tears filled my eyes. All of us cheered while Gemma made her way over to Jax taking Abel from him. I walked over and hugged him.

“Where’s the priest?” I questioned while Jax just shook his head.

“Long story.” I nodded knowing to leave it at that. The boys all began to file themselves into Maureen’s while Jax and I staggered back a little bit.

“It’s so great to finally have Abel home,” I said turning towards Jax, he nodded with a smile. We walked into the house as Happy handed Jax a beer and I a whiskey.

“Cheers to the little lad! Welcome home Abel!” Chibs yelled as we all raised our glasses and yelled out welcome home. Everyone spilled up into the conversation while Juice and Happy decided to go put the bags in the car.

Trinity made her way over to us.

“You have such a beautiful baby Jax.” Jax smiled and thanked her. “Is he yours too?” Trinity questioned as I shook my head.

“Oh no, that’s a long story,” I said winking at Jax while he chuckled.

“Well, he’s still beautiful. I want you guys to have a safe trip home. It was nice to meet you both, especially you (Y/N).” Trinity said holding out her hand. I smiled at her before pulling her into me.

“You’re family and family doesn’t shake hands.” She smiled once we pulled away.

“Take care (Y/N).”

“You too.”  Trinity walked away as I turned back to Jax.

“You see, I can catch on really quick.” Jax chuckled.

“I saw, listen. Can we take a walk?” I nodded. We made our way outside and began walking.

“Did you want to talk about something or?” I questioned with curiosity.

“Yeah, I did. I wanted to talk about what you said to me a few days ago,” I felt my stomach drop.

“Oh…” Jax stopped walking and stood in front of me with a smile.

“I wanted to tell you that I love you too.” I looked at Jax shocked. Was this sick joke? Was he kidding?  

“What?” Jax chuckled before answering.

“I think this will clear everything up…” Jax said putting both his hands on the side of my face and pulling me into a kiss. Our lips moved in sync while the two of us smiled at it. We pulled away shortly after.

“That cleared up almost everything,” I said while Jax looked at me confused.

“Almost everything?” Jax questioned confused.

“Are we dating or are friends with benefits? I mean…” Jax cut me off again by pressing his lips against mine. This time it was like time melted away. Jax and I stood there, lips pressed together and not a care in the world. He pulled away again.

“If you really want to put a name on it then I guess you can call yourself the princess to my prince.” I smiled at him as the sudden realization hit me.

“Wait… I’m your old lady?” Jax just smiled at me. A smile came to my face.

‘I’m your old lady.’

Tag list:

@homicidalteenagedream @crystalbaby12 @dashesoflipstick @i-am-the-luna @divisionlunar @kacilove26 @mac5323 @cakemonster1113 @woahhhhaily @when-darkness-falls @make-things-beautiful2 @alittlerosebud 

[placetobenation]

SmackDown on Fox Episode #25 SmackDown Episode # 1,074 Orlando, FL – WWE Performance Center 3/20/20 We open the show with the intro video and then go to the ring where Michael Cole tells us what we have to look forward to tonight on the show. Michael Cole talks about WrestleMania being spread across two nights and then hypes up the fact that Rob Gronkowski will be hosting on both nights which leads to a video package on Gronk. Mojo joins Michael Cole in the ring after the video package and introduces Gronk. Gronk says that he is hyped about WrestleMania despite the fact that no fans will be in attendance. Mojo says that he is here to watch Gronk’s back and his front and then Gronk starts chopping Mojo for some stupid reason.  King Corbin makes his way to the ring and runs down Gronk saying that the WWE isn’t for Gronk because he is just a party guy and he’s used to wearing pads and a helmet but there is none of that in WWE. Corbin says that Gronk better fall in line if he wants to have a good time at WrestleMania because if not he will make sure the party is over.  Elias then comes out and he plays a song that he has been trying to play for Corbin for weeks and Corbin allows him to play but then cuts him off mid-song. Corbin gets in Gronk’s face and then Gronk shoves Corbin and he ends up tumbling over Mojo who is on all fours behind Corbin. Corbin tries to attack Gronk but Elias comes in the ring and throws Corbin out of the ring. Gronk says that as the host of WrestleMania he can’t make matches, but he is advocating for Elias to face Corbin at WrestleMania.  While I detest both Mojo Rawley and Rob Gronkowski with a passion I thought this was a decent segment to start off the show as it was a way to get everyone watching at home excited and “hyped” for the show right from the start due to the over the top energy that both Mojo and Gronk bring to everything they do. I think it would’ve been better if Gronk had just shoved Corbin to the mat by himself without Mojo because the way they did it came off looking both childish and a bit heelish. Like I said weeks ago I am fine with Elias vs Corbin at WrestleMania as it gets both guys on the card in one match.  We cut to the back and Zayn is making his way toward the ring with his boys. Daniel Bryan & Drew Gulak make their way to the ring as they will be in action after the break.   Match #1: Daniel Bryan & Drew Gulak vs Cesaro & Shinsuke Nakamura w/ Sami Zayn Sami Zayn joins Michael Cole on commentary for this match.  We get some chain wrestling to start the match out between Bryan and Nakamura and then Bryan tags in Gulak. Gulak tries to work over the arm, but Nakamura is able to rake the eyes and drag Gulak over to the heel corner so he can tag in Cesaro. Cesaro takes Gulak down with a headlock takeover but Gulak immediately escapes by scissoring the head of Cesaro, but Cesaro rolls through and attempts to lock in a bow and arrow but Gulak escapes and then grabs the leg of Cesaro before making a tag to Bryan. Bryan runs off the ropes and jumps on the leg that Gulak has stretched out. Cesaro quickly gets back to his feet and hits an uppercut on Bryan before tagging Nakamura back in. Bryan sends Nakamura into the ropes and then ducks his head which allows Nakamura to kick him while at the same time Cesaro makes a blind tag. Bryan side-steps a running Nakamura and sends him to the outside of the ring and then hits Nakamura with a tope suicida which sends Nakamura crashing into the announce table. Bryan goes up top and goes for a crossbody, but Cesaro catches him and hits a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker and then Cesaro boots Gulak off the apron as we go to commercial.  We come back from the break to see Cesaro and Bryan trading uppercuts in the middle of the ring which Cesaro comes out on top of and then he tags in Nakamura. Cesaro gets Bryan into position so he can hit the sliding German suplex. Nakamura snapmares Bryan down to the mat and then hits a knee drop which gets him a 2 count. Nakamura tags in Cesaro who hits Bryan with a deadlift gut wrench suplex. Cesaro steps on Bryan’s hand and then hits a series of running uppercuts in the corner, but he goes for one too many as Bryan catches him with a dropkick. Both men make tags to their respective partners and Gulak takes down Nakamura with a running dropkick and then some strikes before following up with a bridging German suplex that gets a 2 count. Gulak attempts to lock in the Gulock but Nakamura rolls through and attempts an armbar but Gulak rolls into it to try and get a pinfall, but Nakamura kicks out at 2. Nakamura catches Gulak with a spinning heel kick and then tags in Cesaro who press slams Gulak across the top rope which sets Nakamura up to hit a running knee to the ribs and Cesaro finishes off the sequence with a pop-up uppercut which could’ve got the win but Bryan broke up the pinfall.  Cesaro and Nakamura throw Bryan to the outside and then work over Gulak in the corner. Nakamura hits a gourdbuster on Gulak and then looks like he wants to hit the Kinshasa, but Gulak side-steps and then delivers a desperation lariat. Nakamura tags in Cesaro who looks to backdrop Gulak, but Gulak lands on his feet and attempts to get a sunset flip but Cesaro grabs Gulak’s head and breaks the bridge. Cesaro hits a boot that sends Gulak back into the corner where Gulak blind tags Bryan. Gulak dives off the middle rope and is caught by Cesaro, but Gulak escapes and tries for a full nelson but Cesaro switches into one of his own and this allows Bryan to dive off with a sunset flip and this catches Cesaro by surprise to the point where he is unable to kick out. Winners: Daniel Bryan & Drew Gulak via Pinfall  Match Rating: **¾ This was a really good match that could’ve been even better if the camera didn’t keep cutting to Sami Zayn every five seconds.  We go to Michael Cole who tells us that for the next three consecutive Sundays ESPN will be airing three WrestleMania shows (30, 32, & 35) in full to get everyone hyped for this year’s WrestleMania and also to give people something to watch on TV while they are in quarantine, and also probably to give ESPN some content to air seeing as all sports have been canceled.  We then go to break When we come back we cut to the back where Gulak and Bryan are going over the match they just had and are doing some post-match stretching when Zayn and his boys walk up. Zayn starts complaining about how all Gulak is teaching Bryan is to squeak by and this leads to Bryan challenging Zayn for the Intercontinental Championship match at WrestleMania, however, Zayn says he will only put his title on the line against Bryan if Gulak can beat Nakamura in a match next week.  We go to the ring where Michael Cole introduces Paige who is coming to us via satellite but before she can even finish a sentence she is interrupted by Bayley and Sasha Banks.  Bayley wants Paige to go ahead and say whatever she has to say and get it over with so everyone can go back to ignoring her. Paige says she has had a hard time hearing Bayley and Sasha tear down the SmackDown women’s division and follows up by saying that any woman who has laced up a pair of boots has had courage which Bayley and Sasha lack.  Paige says that it hurts her every day that her passion was taken from her and she wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Paige says she looks forward to seeing who takes the title from Bayley, she was looking forward to it so much that she went to Fox and asked them if she could be the one that announces Bayley’s WrestleMania match. Paige then says that Bayley will defend her SmackDown Women’s Championship against Lacey Evans, Dana Brooke, Tamina, & Naomi, at this point Sasha starts complaining that this isn’t fair to Bayley and then Paige tells her to hold on because she hasn’t announced the final person Bayley will be facing and that person turns out to be Sasha Banks. Sasha stares Bayley down and Bayley bolts from the ring as she is frustrated over everything that just happened.  Usually, I would get upset that the Women’s title was being defended in a multi-woman match, but I’m ok with it this time seeing as we already have two big Women’s singles matches in Becky vs Shayna and Charlotte vs Rhea and we are also most likely getting a women’s tag title match. Another reason why I am fine with this is because Bayley has gone through the entire women’s division with the exception of Sasha, but there is no way they could build up a meaningful feud between those two with only two weeks until WrestleMania, although it would be kinda cool if over the next two SmackDown shows Sasha takes out the other four women in the match and that is how we get to Sasha vs Bayley, but the likelihood of that happening is slim to no chance in hell. Poor us and poor Carmella, as I have to imagine that she was supposed to be in this match over Tamina but perhaps something involving the virus has caused her to not be available for the show and now we have to watch the charisma vacuum that is Tamina, while we are talking about Tamina I think Sasha was channeling Tamina’s dad Jimmy Snuka as her outfit tonight was wild.  We come back from break and go to our “we don’t have enough new content” match of the night which is John Cena vs Bray Wyatt from WrestleMania XXX.  After that match is over we get a replay of last week’s Bray Wyatt promo.  The Miz and John Morrison make their way to the ring for an edition of “The Dirt Sheet” which is coming up after the break.  We come back from break and go to the back where Kayla Braxton interviews Alexa Bliss and Nikki Cross about last week when Asuka attacked Alexa. Nikki is fired up about what happened and Alexa has to take the mic away from her. Alexa talks about how Asuka had to come in through the backdoor to attack her so if Asuka wants to play like that then that’s fine because she has played that game before except she did it better. Alexa challenges Asuka to a match next week and says this time she can come in through the front door.  I liked this promo because it was an Alexa promo that we don’t see that often as Alexa was more serious than usual as she is usually talking about coffee or being best friends with Nikki, but with this promo, she was pissed about what happened to her and she wants to get her hands on Asuka as she is tired of Asuka’s shit. I really hope they keep the dynamic of Nikki being the funny one with the one-liners while Alexa is the more serious one.  We go back to the ring for The Dirt Sheet where Miz and Morrison talk about how they have no real challengers to face at WrestleMania so they ask the crowd who they should face at WrestleMania and we cut to a pretape where Miz and Morrison are in the crowd dressed as parody versions of fans of the New Day, The Usos, & Heavy Machinery with the Heavy Machinery fans dressed as bacon although everyone else keeps saying they are dressed as hams. The three fan groups start to bicker with each other on why their team deserves to face Miz and Morrison. Miz & Morrison eventually just decide they will take WrestleMania off since they have no challengers.  Heavy Machinery makes their way to the ring as we go to commercial.  Match #2: The Miz & John Morrison vs Heavy Machinery Miz and Otis start the match and immediately Otis throws Miz across the ring. Miz recovers and goes for a rear waist lock and then locks in a side headlock and tries to take Otis over, but Otis picks up Miz and slams him to the mat. Miz tags in Morrison who kicks Otis in the mid-section but Otis no-sells and starts to dance around so Morrison lays in some strikes and then tries to send Otis in the corner, but Otis blocks it and sends Morrison into the corner instead. Otis runs toward Morrison but is able to stop himself in time as Morrison had moved out of the way. Morrison slides under Otis’s legs and then leaps back to the outside where he lands a kick to the head and then springboards over Otis and rolls through only to be taken down by a shoulder block. Otis picks up Morrison for a vertical suplex and then Tucker tags in and Otis hands Morrison off to him and Tucker slams Morrison to the mat. Tucker sends Morrison into the ropes and ducks his head which allows Morrison to roll over his back and make a tag to Miz.  Miz runs right into a hip toss and then gets crushed with an avalanche in the corner and then is hit with another one followed by a shoulder block from Otis. Heavy Machinery squish Miz between their bellies and then hit Morrison with a double shoulder block and then a double headbutt. Otis clotheslines Morrison to the outside and then Tucker flips off the apron onto Miz and Morrison. Tucker throws Miz back into the ring and then runs off the rope, but Miz side-steps him and Tucker goes flying over to the outside as Morrison pulls down the top rope. Miz taunts Tucker and then hits Otis with a wrecking ball dropkick. Miz rolls Tucker back in the ring and then Miz and Morrison hit the catapult backbreaker and slingshot elbow drop combination which doesn’t come off looking as smooth as it usually does, but it does get a 2 count.  Morrison runs off the ropes and connects with a knee to the face of a seated Tucker and then he locks in a chin lock. Tucker fights his way back to his feet but is quickly cut off with a knee to the gut and then Morrison tags in the Miz and then they hit a double gutbuster. Miz and Morrison get him in their corner but he starts fighting back out of nowhere and knocks Morrison off the apron and then takes Miz down with a desperation clothesline. Tucker crawls toward his corner but just as he is fixing to make the tag we hear the music of Dolph Ziggler and this distracts Otis which allows Miz to knock him off the apron and then Miz hits a snapping DDT on Tucker but only gets a 2 count. On the outside, Otis gets back to his feet only to be taken back down with a superkick from Morrison. Ziggler joins Michael Cole on commentary as we go to commercial.  We come back to Morrison in control as he has Otis grounded and is laying in on him with punches. Tucker gets to his feet and tries to make a comeback but Morrison lands a kick to the head that sends Tucker crumbling to the mat. Morrison tags in Miz and they look to hit a double suplex on Tucker, but Tucker suplexes them instead. Tucker crawls over to try and make a tag and we get the mysterious blue glitch. Tucker makes the hot tag and Otis takes both men down with shoulder blocks and then hits Morrison with a slam and a flapjack on Miz. Otis stacks both of his opponents in the corner and then hits them with an avalanche. Otis does the caterpillar but before he can drop the elbow Ziggler gets on the mic and says that he has some pictures he wants to show Otis and the pictures are of Ziggler and Mandy Rose having fun and this brings Otis to tears. Otis goes after Ziggler who tries to get away, but Otis brings him back over the barricade and then grabs a chair but before he can dish out any punishment Miz and Morrison grab the chair and then beat on Otis before sending him back in the ring, but Otis gets to his feet and clotheslines Miz and Morrison right back out of the ring.  Otis sends Morrison into the steel stairs and then sends Miz into the ring post and by this point, Otis is royally pissed. Morrison dives off the announce table but Otis catches him and rams him back first into the ring post. Otis looks back toward the tron where the picture is still up and then Otis shoulder blocks Miz and Morrison through the barricade. Otis picks up another chair and looks to hit Miz with it, but Tucker comes over and tries to calm Otis down but this time it doesn’t work as Otis bashes the chair over the back of The Miz and this is enough for the referee to call for the bell. Winners: The Miz & John Morrison via DQ  Match Rating: **½ After the match, Otis continues his assault on Miz and Morrison until Tucker is finally able to get Otis to drop the chair but then Otis picks up one of the rolling chairs and throws it over the barricade as Ziggler looks on terrified from the top of the ramp. Tucker grabs Otis and consoles him as he is overcome with emotion.  I really thought that with all the craziness going on they would end up dropping this story and we would never get a payoff, but I am happy to see that they are continuing the story as I am more invested in this feud than I am the Universal Title match. I thought the ending of this match was great with Otis losing it at the sight of the picture of Ziggler and Mandy and taking it out on Miz and Morrison. I will say that whatever they do involving this feud could be one of the matches most hurt by not having a crowd as I’m sure the pop of when Otis gets his hands on Ziggler as well as the eventual reuniting of Otis and Mandy would’ve been huge. I do hope we find out who sent the text to Otis that Mandy was going to be late that night.  Michael Cole says that next week we will have Gulak vs Nakamura with Bryan’s shot at challenging for the Intercontinental title on the line, The Usos vs The New Day for the right to challenge Miz and Morrison, Asuka vs Alexa Bliss, and finally an episode of Firefly Firehouse.  We go to the ring where Michael Cole introduces both Roman Reigns and the WWE Universal Champion Goldberg for their contract signing. Cole asks both men to take a seat, but instead they both throw their chairs out of the ring. Cole asks Goldberg if he was expecting Roman Reigns to come to the ring when he asked “Who’s Next” a few weeks ago and Goldberg said he was hoping it would be Reigns, but he didn’t think Reigns had the balls to come out there and challenge him. Reigns says that Goldberg will be the next in the long line of legendary names to lose to him.   Michael Cole brings up a tweet that Reigns wrote earlier in the year in which he took a shot at Goldberg’s stupidity when he concussed himself by headbutting the locker room door. Reigns calls Goldberg a “little bitch bulldog” and then signs the contract, Goldberg responds by calling Reigns a punk and says he has been headbutting doors all around the world and come WrestleMania he will do the same to Reigns and then Goldberg signs the contract.  Goldberg flips the table over and we get a staredown between Reigns and Goldberg to close the show.  Unlike last week’s closing segment this segment didn’t do anything to make me care any more about this match than I did before the segment. The segment felt really rushed and both guys just resorted to cheap juvenile insults and I need more than that to get me interested in a match that is happening in less than three weeks for one of the top two titles in the WWE.   It’s kind of surprising how much better SmackDown is being booked during this empty arena situation considering that Raw has been the best show of the year up to that point, but SmackDown did a lot more to build toward WrestleMania than what Raw did as they built up four new potential matches for WrestleMania (Corbin vs Elias, Bryan vs Zayn, SmackDown Women’s Title, & a match involving Ziggler and Otis) and on top of that we also got a lot announced for next week’s show. We also got two pretty lengthy matches that were good which is more than we got from Raw in terms of new in-ring action. While we didn’t have Triple H on commentary this week the show still felt a lot more fun and light-hearted than what we got on Raw. I also want to give Michael Cole props just as I did last week because this week he did the majority of the show by himself and did a really good job as the lone man at the announce table. Overall I thought this was a really good episode of SmackDown given the circumstances in which it was held.  That’s it for this week I will be back next week as the road to WrestleMania starts winding down as we will only be 9 days away from WrestleMania. 

[anneedmonds]

Shoes That Would Probably Kill Me

I often lust after very high-heeled shoes when I’m browsing the internet – the temptation to make my legs look impossibly long, to be teetering over the rest of the world, to get that near-vertical arch to my foot that is so inexplicably sexy often threatens my good sense. But I know from experience that these skyscraper heels would all eventually kill me.

Because if a heel height exceeds that with which my chalk-boned ankles are comfortable, teetering becomes swaying and every step becomes lethal. In high-high heels, my ankles give way, my hamstrings and calf muscles tighten so much that it feels as though someone has placed a row of tennis balls down the backs of my legs. I do not look sexy when I walk in highest heels, I look like someone who has been folded into a suitcase and kept in the attic for three years. I look like someone who has only just learned to use their limbs. I look like a penguin making its way into the sea.

So I just peer at these high shoes, because to buy them would be a death sentence. I have tripped down stairs in heels like these; I have slipped on curbs and sunk into lawns and fallen down the gaps in people’s decking. The fact that I still have two working feet is something that astounds me on a daily basis; in medium heels I’m a liability, in stilettos I need stabilisers and a crash mat.

But none of this stops me looking. And so here are the shoes that would probably kill me – if not financially (most of them are ruinous) then definitely by way of accidental death. I wonder if many people actually do die by way of their shoes? I can imagine untied shoelaces are the primary shoe-related hazard, but surely trying to walk around on pencil-thin heels is a close second? I mean, if someone was clarting about on stilts next to the edge of the train platform we would all hold our breath and wonder whether that person had lost their marbles, but high heels are worse than stilts! There’s just no surface area – there’s hardly any point of contact between foot and floor. It’s a ridiculous situation to willingly place yourself in.

But I love all of these lethal heels and if they were less money I’d be tempted to buy them and just wear them for when I’m sitting down, or even lying flat on my back. And I’d like to say that I’ve tested them all for wearability but to be quite honest, I tried on the Anouck pumps from Jimmy Choo and immediately pulled something in my lower back, so I’m not reviewing the rest of them unless someone gives me danger money.

Shoes that would kill me:

The Paloma from Charlotte Olympia, £595 here. I mean, just look at it. The peach satin, the fanned heel detail, the architectural-looking sole that’s even smaller than the usual (inadequate) stiletto sole. If I was going to be killed by a shoe I would want it to be this one. It would probably grind out its Sobranie on my face afterwards and then throw on a feather boa before sashaying out of the hotel room door. Saucy minx.

This one is the highest heel at 145mm, which is so high that it’s probably snowing at the top –  but it does have a 35mm platform so the drop isn’t as sheer as it could be. Still, expect a visit to A&E if you try and run for the bus in these…

The next in line is an even steeper proposition – you may as well just stand on your tiptoes. The So Kate pumps from Louboutin have a whopping 120mm heel with no platform. A killer silhouette, no doubt, but I’ve just realised that I have worn this shoe style on a shoot before and I think I now have a series of small, broken bones somewhere in my left foot. (They only ache when it rains, but still.)

£525 (loads of gorgeous colours available) at Net-a-Porter here*.

Another shoe I’ve actually tried and the last of the mega-expensive ones; the Anouck pointed-toe pumps from Jimmy Choo are supremely sexy but only suitable for the sort of evening where you’re going to spend 98% of the time seated. If you’re in a restaurant then you’ll be the only diner requesting a table near the loos, because God forbid you have to hobble the walk of shame across the entire eatery. Only book a place that’s carpeted – hard floors, especially shiny ones, are too risky when you’re walking on the equivalent of six inch nails and not much else. You have to consider these things if you decide to leave the house wearing hobblers.

The fabulous Anouck pumps are £475 here* and, like the Louboutins, come in lots of different colours and finishes.

Ooh! Here’s one that can feasibly be a “just for the bedroom” heel; the Stessy courts from ALDO are a snip at £36.98 (here*). Random and very specific price, there, but maybe I’m missing something. It’s like being back in 1995! Do you remember when everything was something-pounds-and-ninety-nine-pence?

Anyway, these are ridiculously high and you will, without doubt, step into one of those grids that cover the drains and snap off your heel. But it doesn’t matter because your pride will be damaged more than your wallet.

Let’s finish with the Alice shoes from Carvela – another nice price, comparatively, from £69 depending on colour. These have a 110mm heel which is HIGH, believe me, especially if you’re trying to walk down a catwalk in 2002 and you know that David Beckham is seated to the left and you’re concentrating more on that than actually walking in a straight line without falling over. You can find the superbly-cut Alice online here* – a great colour and pattern selection, but I am partial to the zebra ombré (a sentence I never thought I’d write) pictured above and also the floral ones.

OK, go forth and buy your lethal party shoes. Maybe your ankles are stronger than mine; maybe you don’t walk like a maimed Ostrich after two glasses of wine. Maybe you’ve always been good in heels, perhaps you practised when you were young. Good for you – I’ll be sticking to my mid-height shoes and probably struggling in those. I think I’ve found my optimum heel height and it’s called…flat.

The post Shoes That Would Probably Kill Me appeared first on A Model Recommends.

Shoes That Would Probably Kill Me was first posted on December 11, 2018 at 7:26 pm. ©2018 "A Model Recommends". Use of this feed is for personal non-commercial use only. If you are not reading this article in your feed reader, then the site is guilty of copyright infringement. Please contact me at contact@amodelrecommends.com Shoes That Would Probably Kill Me published first on https://medium.com/@SkinAlley

[hey-i-wrote-a-story]

Chapter 54 Recovery

           It only took the better part of a day for life in Beacon Hills to return to normal. People went to work, children played in the park, high school athletes rushed onto the lacrosse field for practice. Grandfathers took their grandsons fishing, and handsome, shirtless young men jogged along trails in the woods. A sense of peace and safety, or at least the calm after the storm—an atmosphere with which Beacon Hills residents were quite familiar—settled over the town. People walked to the corner store for groceries as teenagers pedaled their bicycles to the matinee movie, no one feeling tense or exposed. Pets reemerged from under beds and in the back of garages where they’d taken refuge, eager to jump, play, use the litter box or moisten a tree after too long a pause.

           The sheriff station was once again quiet and dull. There’d been no odd reports, power outages, or bizarre weather patterns. Nothing to portend ill tidings. Deputy Parrish tapped a pencil on his desk. He looked at the clock for the fifth time in the last quarter hour, wondering why its impression of time and his were so vastly different. He shuffled through the paperwork on his desk. He’d only finished it an hour ago. Might as well proofread it and verify the facts. Again. Lord knows there was nothing else to do.

           Sheriff Stilinski walked out of his office, flipping through some paperwork of his own. “Anything to report today?”, he asked.

           “Not at all”, Parrish said. “Not even a parking ticket. It is a very slow day.”

           “Let’s keep it that way”, the sheriff grinned. He turned to go back to his office but looked back, asking, “Have you seen Stiles around?”

           “He called earlier.” The sheriff raised an eyebrow. Oh? Parrish caught the change in expression and hastened to add, “It was nothing important he said. Just that he felt like hanging around the house, making sure his jeep was really back up to snuff. And he suggested pizza for dinner. He’d like you to either grab takeout on the way home or some ingredients so he can make it himself.”

           The sheriff shook his head slightly. “Takeout it is, then.” He went back into his office and nudged the door with his foot to close partway and remain ajar. He sighed sitting down in his chair. Reports, paperwork, and file updating all lay ahead of him. But no strange creatures or interdimensional monsters. They made it so easy to love a slow day.

             Stiles stood leaning against the hood of his rejuvenated jeep, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. Kira stood before him. Everyone else had gone his or her way to gather and collect themselves. The quiet time following a supernatural encounter or event was sometimes the worst part. Being alone with your thoughts, taking stock. Sometimes it called for celebration, other times not. This was the latter.

           Kira looked at Stiles and he looked back. Each knew what the other was thinking—or rather, who they were thinking about—but neither said anything. It wasn’t easy to broach the subject, despite being one they usually spoke of constantly, especially after an incident like this one.

           “So the jeep’s running now”, Kira said. Avoiding the subject was easier. At least for the moment.

           “Yeah”, Stiles said, smiling sincerely. “Thanks for that. I’ve never had a car that ran on kitsune power. Kinda cool.”

           Kira nodded. “No problem.” They stood in silence for another moment, then she said, “So everyone else—“

           “Everyone else is cool, by the looks of it. Liam dashed home, to be with his folks. His friend Mason is coming back into town soon, so I think he wants to be there for his arrival.”

           “Is he ever going to tell him that he’s a werewolf now? I mean, he is his best friend—“

           Stiles shrugged. “I try not to nudge. It’ll happen when it happens.” Another pregnant pause. “Lydia went to regain her balance. After the severity of those visions she received at the Willoughby Farm, I can’t blame her. It won’t take her long, I bet.”

           Kira nodded. “She’s strong. And Malia?”

           “Malia’s—“, he stopped for a split-second before continuing, “Actually, I have no idea where Malia is now. She’s been kind of mysterious the last day or so. She’s either up to something or she’s…pretty much up to something. She’ll turn up. Probably in my bedroom.”  Kira raised an eyebrow. Stiles slapped his forehead. “Oh, God. That did not come out the way I wanted it to. Oh, my God. I didn’t mean it that way—it’s just that she tends to just appear…see, she still comes in through the window sometimes—“

           Kira held up a hand to silence him. “I knew what you meant.”

           More silence. Stiles chose to break it.

           “So. Scott.”

           “Yeah, Scott.”

           The subject had been broached.

           “He’s taking this pretty hard”, Kira said. “The kids, what had been done to them, what they did to cause all this—“

           “--what they did to finish it”, Stiles said, completing her thought.

           “Yeah. He really believed he could have stopped that thing, the monster…the Unspoken.”

           “Maybe he could have”, Stiles said quickly. “I stopped underestimating him in that department a long time ago.”

           “He’s definitely impressive when it comes to physical strength”, Kira agreed. “To his resolve. It’s just…”

           Stiles sighed. He knew where she was going with this. “It’s not just that he wants so bad to believe in people, he always wants to—“

           “Yes. I know”, Kira said, cutting him off. They didn’t need to say it for them both to understand it. “Maybe what he needs now is some time alone, to work it out.”

           “No”, Stiles said firmly. “No time alone, no dwelling, no regretting and overloading on remorse and playing the ‘what if’ and ‘why didn’t I’ game. He really needs to not be alone right now.”  Kira began to speak, and Stiles knew she was going to suggest Scott might benefit more from time with his best friend. “No. He needs you.”

           “What do I even say?”

           “You don’t have to say anything. Just be there. That’s all. Just be there for him. Like you always have been.  Do you know whe--?”

           “Yeah, I know where he is. Thanks.”

           The two stood again in silence, appreciating the connection they shared as friends, both connected by the one young man they loved more than just about anyone else in the world. It was good to have someone to talk to about that. It was something they had previously been sorely lacking. They looked at each other and smiled, knowing that it was all going to be okay.

           And Stiles’ jeep let out a godawful belching noise and coughed up a small cloud of black smoke, which seeped out from under the hood. The jeep shuddered once, then came to rest with a horrible wheeze. Stiles jumped and Kira winced.

           “Oh, I am sorry”, Kira said.

           “It’s okay, it’s okay”, Stiles said, patting his baby with one hand and waving away the smoke with the other. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He coughed once, not as badly as his vehicle had, and repeated, “Juuusst fine.”

           Kira turned to seek out her boyfriend as Stiles jimmied open the hood and allowed the smoke to disperse, most of it in his face. As he checked to see if it was safe to reach inside and begin tinkering, he looked back to the departing Kira and said, “Y’know, you’re strong too.”

           She paused for a brief moment to absorb that. Then, after inclining her head toward Stiles in a sign of appreciation, she went on her way.

             Liam kept pace beside his best friend Mason as they walked up to the mall.

           “So tell me more about the great quality time with your folks”, Liam grinned.

           “Well, it was pleasantly free of giant men with animal skulls on their heads. And speaking of odd things to put on your head…” Mason let his voice trail off as his eyes looked intently at his best friend. Liam just stared back, so Mason knew he’d have to use the direct approach. “Dude, we are not going into the mall with you looking like that.”

           Liam looked at Mason, trying for an innocent expression and failing as he said, “Like what?”  He looked at his clothes; shirt, pants, and shoes and everything seemed just fine. Better than fine.

           “You know what I’m talking about”, Mason said. “Don’t play all coy.”

           “Why, whatever do you mean?” Liam smirked and stifled a laugh.

           He’d clearly been spending too much time around Stiles. “The hat!”, Mason snapped. “We are not walking into the mall as long as you are wearing that hat. Where did you get it, anyway?”

           Liam touched the brim of the battered straw almost-hat that could have been a cowboy hat, a farmer hat, or a sabotaged macramé project. The jury was still out. He'd done his best to repair the holes in the brim--it was not unlike patching up the mesh on a lacrosse stick, really--and it came out relatively passable. Relatively.  

           “Scott gave it to me.”

           “So, was he mad at you?”

           Liam scoffed. “I think it’s cool. You’re just jealous that you don’t have one.”

           As the neared the door, Mason gave his ultimatum. “Liam, I am serious. Loose the stupid hat or I am taking a separate door and acting like I don’t even know you.”

“You’re not even the one wearing the hat.”

“I do not want to be embarrassed by association—“

           Mason stopped mid-sentence as an incredibly handsome young man exited the mall as the two best friends were about to enter. He was tall, tan, with hair in thick auburn waves that fell partway down the back of his neck. He wore a snap-button checked shirt, skintight jeans, and cowboy boots. He paused for half a step to nod at Liam.

           “Mighty fine hat you’ve got there, bro.”

           “Thanks!”

           The young man kept on walking across the parking lot, and Mason’s eyes followed him. Even his walk looked good.

           “You coming, or what?”

           Mason turned to see Liam standing in the doorway to the mall, waiting on his friend. Mason quickened his pace, following on Liam’s heels as he walked in.

           “Okay, let me rephrase about the hat”, Mason began. “It’s not so much that it’s really all that bad—“

           “Mm-hmm.” Liam rolled his eyes.

           “It just, maybe doesn’t quite suit your head. Now if someone like, say, me were to try it on—“

           “Nope”, Liam said quickly.

           “Just for a little bit. Kind of a test drive.”

           “Uhn-uh.”

           “Can I just borrow it for a little bit? Just to see the effect? At least over at International Male.”

           Liam shook his head, loving the lunacy of the situation. Things were usually kind of dull when he’d hang with Mason, except for ridiculous exchanges like this one. After fighting for people’s lives, Liam was more than delighted to fight over an old hat. Bring it on. He was more than ready for some well-earned dull.

                       Stiles walked to his room, telling himself that everything was going to be alright. It always was, after an encounter, an ordeal, like this. It had to be. Scott was with Kira, who was beautiful and amazing and brilliant. She would be able to comfort and reassure his best friend in a way that he could not. That was a good thing. Knowing that Scott was killing himself because he couldn’t do more for those kids made Stiles ache that he couldn’t do more for Scott. But they always gave each other everything they could, and often a little bit more. Stiles hoped—he knew—that that was enough. He also knew that if he ran that thought over in his mind enough times, he could begin to believe it. That method had never worked before, but it was always worth a try, right?

           Deciding that continued worry over his best friend would do nothing to help either of them, Stiles willed the nagging thoughts away as he stepped into his room. He was still feeling down, still staring at his shoes, when he crossed the threshold. He wasn’t more than a foot through the door when a pile of folded denim landed on his feet. It was the old bib overalls he’d been forced to wear when returning from the Willoughby farm. They had been laundered and stitched up, and now lay neatly folded on top of his shoes. Stiles looked up to see Malia on the bed, smiling so wide her cheeks must have hurt.

           “So what’s this?”, Stiles asked.

           “I just thought I’d spruce up your evolved outfit for you to jump into.”

           “My ‘evolved outfit’. Is that what we’re calling the farmer pants now? Nice.” Stiles picked the overalls up off the floor and moved to put them in his dresser.

           “Unh-uh”, Malia said, stopping him midway. “Put them on.”

           Stiles let out a derisive snort of a laugh. Yeah, right. He opened the top drawer of his dresser with one hand, intending to toss the bibs inside, when Malia cleared her throat loudly. Stiles looked over to see her still smiling widely. Only now she raised her eyebrows and nodded toward the overalls. Stiles titled his head and pursed his lips, realizing what was going on.

           “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

           “Totally”, she replied, unable to hold back a slight snigger. “Go on, we could both use a laugh. Besides, you look adorable that way.”

           Okay, Stiles thought. I’m game. He stripped off his trousers and slipped into the bib overalls, buckling the straps over his shoulders and fastening them to the wide bib. “Wow”, he said. “These really feel soft. Like, uber-soft. They smell really nice now, too.” He twitched his nose over one of the bib straps and asked, “Is that--lilac?”

           “French Lavender and Wildflowers”, Malia said. “Or supposedly so. It’s what was written on the bottle.”

           Stiles grinned. He had the best girlfriend in the world. “You did laundry for me? You? That is so sweet. Thank-you.” Then he remembered exactly what had been laundered and looked down at the ridiculous thing he was wearing. “I think.”

           “That’s not all”, Malia added.

           There was a dull thump at Stiles’ feet and he looked down again to see that Malia had tossed over the old gumboots. At least he thought that’s what they were. They looked different now. Oh, they were still clumsy-looking and absurd, but they had been cleaned and polished, at least as well as they could be. Stiles picked up one of the soft rubber boots to see that although the once-black boot was still primarily gray, most of the white discolorations were gone and the surface shone in the light. Stiles’ expression was one of surprise and genuine appreciation. I didn’t even know a turd could be polished. He looked to Malia and said without irony, “I’m impressed.”

           “Look inside.”

           Stiles began to tilt the shaft of the boot toward his face, then stopped. “There’s not, like, an alpha rat in here, is there?”

           Malia’s brow scrunched. “A what?”

           “Never mind.” He looked in the boots to see a cushioned insole and caught a whiff of the fragrant aroma of…something really nice. Definitely not feet or alpha rat. “Whoa. That’s—not stinky at all. Not even remotely.” Stiles stuck his face right up to the shaft of the boot and inhaled. He pulled away with a really dopey smile on his face. “What is that scent in there?”

           “Lemongrass mint and…something. I dunno, Lydia helped me put it together.”

           “Best girlfriend ev-errr”, Stiles proclaimed. Without further prompting, he kicked off his shoes, reached down and wrapped his overalls pant legs tightly around his ankles, and stepped easily into the boots. Malia marveled at how rapidly he slipped them on. She was kind of looking forward to seeing him stumble around with them.

           “Have you been practicing?”

           “No”, he answered too quickly. He then began to bounce on the balls of his feet. “Oh, these are so comfortable. Much more than I remember them. Maybe I should start wearing these to school. Or just to practice.”

           Malia tossed him the frayed, inverted bird’s nest chapeau. “Sorry I couldn’t do anything with the hat.”

Stiles caught it easily and in one smooth motion placed it upon his head. “No worries. You have already exceeded all expectations. If I were expecting to be farmerized again. Which I wasn’t, but I’m kind of likin’ it.”  Stiles bobbed his head back and forth in a manner he thought would look bumpkin-ish, and wished he had a wheat stalk to hold in his teeth. He spread his arms wide to get a good look at himself, then realized that the costume was incomplete.

           “Wait. Where’s the shirt?”

           He looked back to Malia to find that she had pulled the newly-fresh flannel from under Stiles’ pillow and slipped it on. The old shirt draped unbuttoned over her shoulders, her arms buried in its sleeve folds. Malia patted the bed. “Come and get it.”

           Stiles sauntered across the room, doing a little do-si-do, skipping a bit, and even spinning around once before taking a seat beside his girlfriend. They both smiled, not breaking eye contact, appreciating the moment; both of them looking rather silly (Stiles more so) but enjoying how they came to that state. Gently, Malia reached up and ran her fingers through Stiles’ hair just above his left ear. The hat rustled a little at her tender touch. She held his head that way for a moment before asking, “Are you alright?”

           “I will be”, Stiles answered, reaching up and placing his hand over hers. “Thanks.”

           Together, they pulled themselves fully onto the bed and lay together in a loving embrace. Holding each other, feeling the warmth of their shared touch, they stayed that way for over an hour, neither one saying a word.

             Kira walked slowly up the grassy hill. She had her suspicions as to where she might find Scott, and her first instinct turned out to be right. Scott McCall sat atop a hill covered in thick green grass, which overlooked a large portion of Beacon Hills. From his vantage point, he could a few neighborhoods off to the far left, and before him the thick forests which had become one of the town’s most recognizable features. He could take in the rustle of branches above the trees and the scurry of dead leaves along the forest floor. Above it all, a wide expanse of beautiful sky. Best of all, this spot put the Willoughby Farm far behind him. From where he sat, he could only see forward. If only he could do emotionally what he’d found a way to do visually.

           Kira paused about twenty feet away from Scott. Stiles had encouraged her to be at her boyfriend’s side, but Scott seemed so calm and at peace at this moment, that she feared she would disturb him. She didn’t want to do that. So she turned away, thinking it best to join up with Scott later. She took only one step.

           “Don’t go.”

           Scott’s voice was a bit choked. He didn’t turn around, but Kira sensed that he had been crying. She walked up to him and stood at his side.

           “Am I interrupting?”

           “I’m just sitting here.”

           “I know. But am I interrupting?”

           Scott looked up at her, his expression weary. “I could use an interruption about now.”

           Kira sat beside him. What was she supposed to say? Scott looked back out at the scene laid out before them.

           Kira noticed a small envelope on the ground beside Scott. It was the same size as an open house or wedding invitation. Kira picked it up. “What’s this?”

           “My mom said it had been dropped off for me at the house.”

           “Can I--?”, Kira ventured.

           Scott shrugged. “Sure.”

           From the envelope, Kira pulled a small Thank-You card. She opened it to read a note in pretty horrible handwriting.

           Hey Alpha Guy-

         Nice job saving everyone’s asses again. Looking forward to kicking yours on the field.  Best 2 your friends pack.  Stay frosty.

                                                                            Jolman

           Kira raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Jolman?”

           “Someone I met during…all this”, Scott answered. “Werewolf. Seems like a pretty cool guy.” He paused for a moment and Kira knew his thoughts were already drifting back to where they were when she had arrived. “I keep running it over and over in my mind”, he said.

           “Don’t.”

           “I know. I can’t help it. If I had only gotten to the monster quicker, if I’d only help figure out how to stop it sooner…if I’d just listened and killed the damn thing when I had the chance. Those kids would still be—“

           Kira cut him off. “Do you need to be reminded of something again?”

           “Yeah, yeah. I know. I can’t save everyone.” Scott lowered his head in defeat.

           “That’s true enough”, Kira admitted. “But that’s not what you need to be reminded of.”  Scott looked at her expectantly. “One of the things that makes you such an amazing person—and yes, I’d say a hero—is that you never stop trying to save everyone anyway.”

           Scott met her eyes with a look of genuine gratitude. He never did stop trying. Kira rested her hands on his shoulder. She nodded out toward the town below. “And all those people down there are safe from another monster because you fought and didn’t give up.”

           Scott nodded just a bit. It was some consolation, he realized. He should at least recognize that. Kira nestled closer to him, wrapping her arm around him. Scott rested he head on her shoulder. He closed his eyes and took in her scent. Jasmine, with just a hint of cinnamon. He loved that smell. As he looked at the trees, listened to the leaves, and beheld the sky, he took in that smell. He loved Kira so dearly. Kira also loved Scott, with just as much passion and depth. Neither of them saw a need to voice that at this moment. Side by side, embracing and simply being together, they both already felt it. Some things could be left unspoken.

             Lydia drove up the gravel driveway slowly, parked, and stepped out of her car. She had come alone. She felt no need for a companion this time, as the danger had passed. Besides, she wanted to see this for herself before telling anyone.

           Lydia began her walk on the grounds of the Willoughby Farm. In some ways, it looked just the same as it had a day ago when chaos had been unleashed there. In others, it looked entirely different.  The patches of dead grass beyond the ditches were starting to show blades of green coming up among the brown and gray.

           Lydia strolled past the remains of the farmhouse to see more grass coming up between the weeds. The dead underbrush was crumbling and falling to the wayside to give way to new life. Lengths of yellow arrowhead and purple larkspur were stretching up from the dark ground to make their presence known. Strings of bluebells climbed up the charred rafters and dotted rotting farming tools with new color.

           Thick clusters of new grass peppered either side of the long driveway that led up to the barn. A soft rustle of branches caught Lydia’s attention. She turned to see a small fawn standing nearby. It stared at the young banshee for a few moments, wide-eyed but unafraid, then darted off through the field, revealing a new patch of amber blooms in its wake. Lydia smiled.

           Taking a moment, Lydia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and extended her arms at her sides. So much of the rancid energy, the stench of decay, that had assaulted her before when she’d been struck by her vision, was steadily receding from the area. It wasn’t gone yet, but it couldn’t remain for much longer.

           Lydia made her way to the spot where her three new friends were lost. The summoning circle was nothing but a frozen patch of earth. It still emanated cold, although not as intensely as it had before. The grooves in the earth that made up the circle’s pattern were softer now. They crumbled under the weight of the thick frost, tumbling over easily with the passing gusts of wind. Before long, the circle would be just an odd spot in a clearing behind an old farmhouse, hard and cold, but otherwise unremarkable. She knelt down and picked one of the many wildflowers growing lush and full all around the icy circle. They were bright and beautiful, multicolored and seemingly unaffected by the cold. Lydia sniffed the tiny red blossom in her hand, and she smiled at the thought that one day this horrible site would be hidden under a blanket of blooming color.

           Having seen what she wanted to, Lydia walked back to her car. This time when a bird sang, she heard it clearly. The song lightened her heart and made the loss of three remarkable young heroes just a bit easier to bear.

Lydia paused as she stood at her car’s door. Looking over the changing landscape, she felt hopeful. She sat behind the wheel and slowly backed down the driveway. Lydia was highly intelligent and aware. She knew that dark times could, and probably did, lay ahead for her and her friends. Monsters, demons, and madmen had a tendency to show up with frightening regularity. She did live in Beacon Hills, after all. For the time being, though, she opted to enjoy this quiet respite. Lydia pulled out onto the highway, giving one last glance at the formerly haunting farm.  As she drove home, she couldn’t help but notice road crews hard at work repairing both the ravaged pavement and the sections of road long-neglected. On the horizon, land surveyors took new stock of the land, investigating what crops or other riches it might yield. As if a black veil had been lifted from the region, bit by bit, people felt it was safe to return. Things were certainly changing around here. With that change, Lydia indeed felt a strong sense of hope. How could she not? Life was returning to the Wasteland.

Unseen by Lydia, or anyone else at the moment, three new blooms had begun to push their way to the surface from the formerly cursed earth. While new life was becoming more common to the area, there were a few spots where life’s arrival was still a surprise. Where these new blooms arose was such a spot. For these courageous stems emerged from the heart of the frozen summoning pattern, where no life should ever surface or find soil rich enough to take root. For the moment, the mere appearance of the buds was impressive enough. But over time—a surprisingly short time—the buds would open and bloom, and the ridges and ruts of the pattern would fill with an odd but lush assortment of wildflowers and grasses. A cross-section of extreme varieties, they would create a beautiful natural arrangement despite first appearances of having nothing in common. They still worked beautifully together.

At their center, the three stunningly-beautiful blooms. Two of a deep, rich shade with bright centers, entwined around each other. Beside them, one of brilliant orange-red, lavishly covered in endearing freckles. More than anything else in the increasingly lush surroundings, the flowers conveyed the silent message that while some things may not live long on this earth, their lives, however short, had not been wasted.

[365-money-diary]

DAYS 126 - 131

DAY ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX

8:15 AM - Good morning to me! I roll out of bed and get ready for work.

9:00 AM - I arrive at the office but have to stop at Sprouts to grab bread. I ran out really fast since I used some of it to eat eggless salad sandwiches. It’s so much cheaper at Costco, but whatever. Because of my plane ticket, my budget pacing for the next week is going to be pretty tight. In order to make my budget back, I can only spend $50-100 over the next ten days. Wish me luck... $5.58

12:00 PM - I walk over to Sprouts to see if I can find anything to pair with my last veggie dog, but come up dry. I walk back and make my final veggie dog. Very thankful this lunch has cost me $2.30 per day.

4:30 PM - My boss has left early for the day and I am ready to get out of here. We drove my car to Tucson and I’m already out of gas. I fill up the tank a little bit hoping to buy me a couple days of lower spend on my debit card. $8.34

4:45 PM - I call my mom and head to Total Wine. The tiki drink I am going to make calls for two different kinds of rum. I am happy to find that they sell them both and am slowly kicking myself for still spending money on dumb shit. $53.49

5:15 PM - Next stop, Whole Paycheck. I stopped really shopping here as of late because boyfriend and I seem to fare well at Sprouts, but I need to buy demerara sugar for my tiki bevs. I also get a knob of ginger, 8 limes, and a vegan maple donut. $10.36

6:00 PM - I am home. With a burst of energy, I decide to mow the lawn. The grass is like three feet tall and after looking at all the leftover cut up clumps of grass, I’m not sure that it looks any better.

8:00 PM - I make baklava burritos and vow to never deal with filo dough ever again.

10:30 PM - They’re done finally. They’re too hot to try so I just go to bed.

DAY ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX TOTAL: $77.77

DAY ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN

8:30 AM - Good morning to me! I roll out of bed and get ready for work.

9:00 AM - I stop at Sprouts to grab some ice for my toddy supply. $2.33

9:15 AM - Toddy & toast.

11:30 AM - It’s really hot but I suck it up and walk the long way to Sprouts and get a cucumber, cherry tomatoes, quinoa, onion, avocado, and a bunch of kale. I walk back to the office and make a salad with said ingredients. $10.10

11:45 AM - The salad is super good but It doesn’t fill me up for some reason, so I eat a coconut ice-cream sandwich.

2:30 PM - I see an ad for a Horchata Almond Milk Frappuccino and “have to have it.” I grab my colleague and we hit up Starbucks. I have part of a gift card, so I only have to pay a couple bones. $2

5:00 PM - I apply for a position to be the Suns social media manager. I doubt it will happen, but a girl can dream.

6:00 PM - I arrive home and feel awful. I eat some chickpea salad to overcome my caffeine sugar headache.

7:00 PM - I make buttered noodles for dinner because I am a child.

11:30 PM - I read for the rest of the night and find myself falling asleep mid sentence.

DAY ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN TOTAL: $14.43

DAY ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-EIGHT

9:10 AM - I arrive at work and make myself toddy. I brought some of those baklava burritos to work so I eat one of those for breakfast instead of toast.

12:00 PM - I make myself a salad for lunch with all of the leftover ingredients from yesterday.

4:30 PM - My brain hurts from working on a proposal so I quit working for the day and read Money Diaries until it’s time to leave.

5:30 PM - I eat my little container of leftover buttered noodles before I meet BFF downtown.

6:15 PM - I buy him and me a drink. $16.00

8:00 PM - Home! Boyfriend and I made plans to grab food, but he isn’t feeling that well so I just order us Jimmy Johns. $17.99

11:00 PM - I fall asleep reading Harry Potter

DAY ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-EIGHT TOTAL: $33.99

9:00 AM - I actually get to work on time! I pour myself a toddy and make a slice of toast.

12:00 PM - I am starving! I really don’t want salad today and I know that buying more ingredients will mean that I’ll have to let them go over the weekend, so I decide to work with what I’ve got. I buy a bag of Gardein Chicken fingers and a package of sugar (for cocktails) from Sprouts. I bring back the nuggs and make a sandwich with avocado, vegan mayo, nuggs, red onion, and tomato. It’s so good! $7.30

4:30 PM - I finish *part of* a really big task so I decide to head home.

5:00 PM - I make simple syrup, demerara syrup, and use the hibiscus infusion I made the other night and turn that into a liqueur. AKA Hibiscus Rum Punch is almost ready!

6:30 PM - Boyfriend and I celebrate our 2 year anniversary by going to Gallo Blanco. I get a marg and veggie pozole. He pays.

8:00 PM - We stop by Think! super quick so boyfriend can grab fliers. My DJ Friend works next door, so I stop by and say hello.

8:30 PM - After two nights of terrible sleep, it feels really good to be relaxed and at home. I read Harry Potter for the rest of the night but catch myself falling asleep with less than a few chapters left of The Goblet of Fire (that’s the best part of the book!). I decide to wait to finish it until tomorrow.

DAY ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-EIGHT TOTAL: $7.30

DAY ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE

8:30 AM - Boyfriend wakes me up which is insane. I usually wake up before he does.

8:55 AM - I am completely out of gas. Not filling up the tank completely until my finances are back on track, but I am getting closer. $10.11

9:10 AM - I arrive at work. I only have one portion of butter left, so I just decide to save that until Monday and skip the toast. We have a half day anyways. I pour myself a toddy though

11:30 AM - Colleague and I dip early and head to Farm & Craft. I get a side of tofu, sweet potato hash and avocado and a kombucha. This place is so pricey. $21.85

12:30 PM - I run to Tempe Marketplace and am about to spend a handful of cash on a strainer and some glassware but I opt out of all of it and just decide to go to Tops and buy some ice. $1.50

1:00 PM - Time for tiki cocktails! I break out the citrus juicer and the rest of my ingredients. I use mason jars to shake and pour and my first ever drink -- Hibiscus Rum Punch turns out amazing. It ends up being a little sweet so I cut it with some seltzer but damn. I could get used to this! I drink two of them over the course of 4 hours while watching intervention and browsing for the next drink I want to make. I settle on one that has some ingredients from my last drink and make a mental note to make a small grocery list for next week.

7:00 PM - Boyfriend comes home from work. Since I've been with the dog since noon, we head out right away for AZ Mills. We do our usual rounds -- there is a pair of Kyrie’s that I'm super into but I know I just won't wear them, plus I am trying to balance my budget from spending so much last week. We stop by Tilt in the mall and play some pinball. They added a Star Wars one and it's really really fun. We both have money on our cards from forever ago, so we play for “free.”

8:15 PM - We decide on Green for dinner. Neither of us have been in a hot minute, and it's so good. I get the BFF which is a mock fried chicken sandwich with cheddar, ranch, jalapeños, lettuce, tomato, and avocado. I also get one Holiday Taco which contains mock turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and scallions. Boyfriend gets the special with some fries. I pay. The taco needs salt, but otherwise is everything is super good. $29.25

9:30 PM - We arrive home and chill for the rest of the night. I finish Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

DAY ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE TOTAL: $62.71

DAY ONE HUNDRED THIRTY

9:00 AM - Boyfriend wakes me up and leaves. He's working Jimmy Eat World today and is helping their tour manager with stuff.

9:30 AM - I peel myself out of bed and shower. I stop at Cartel for a coffee and make plans with my ASU Grad friend to hang out when she's off at noon. She charges me a $1.28 for my drink and I pay with my gift card. I then head to Caribou / Einstein’s and get an everything bagel with no spread. $1.46

1:00 PM - ASU Grad Friend and I head to O.H.S.O. Brewery and eat veggie burgs. I pay but she tips. $28.80

4:00 PM - I make a giant vat of hibiscus rum punch to bring to a meeting at my friend’s house. We end up drinking all of it and he feeds us grilled veggies.

8:00 PM - I drive to Palo Verde Lounge where my DJ Friend is throwing a dance party and is borrowing my PA. I set up everything for him and it all seems to work great. I want to hang out for a bit but the bar is cash only so I head across the street to Tailgate and pull out some cash. There is an ATM fee but whatever. $3.50

9:30 PM - I drink two ciders and have so much fun. At some point my boyfriend calls and is on his way home. I pay for my drinks and head out around 11:00. $10.00

11:00 PM - Boyfriend brings me a veggie burrito from Del Taco! I eat it and we fall asleep shortly after.

DAY ONE HUNDRED THIRTY TOTAL: $43.76

DAY ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-ONE

7:00 AM - I am awakened by the landscaper and I hate my life.

8:30 AM - I pay him $140 but this counts in my monthly expenses. Boyfriend and I head out to Cartel and Einstein’s. He pays for coffee, I pay for bagels. $7.56

10:10 AM - DJ Friend drops off my PA. We head out again to Target. I buy some super glue and dish soap. $7.33

11:00 AM - We head home and relax for a bit. I start reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

12:30 PM - I end up wanting us to go back to Tempe Marketplace to buy some supplies for my ecommerce store at Michaels. It’s $33 something but I “expense” it using a different bank account.

1:00 PM - We order Jimmy Johns for lunch. I pay. $17.99

2:00 PM - Boyfriend falls asleep and I feel motivated enough to work on some ecomm stuff. I make a carousel ad that I’m pretty proud of.

6:00 PM - I give up on working and watch a couple of episodes of Hot Ones with my boyfriend, but eventually I start reading again. Neither one of us really wants to leave the house, so I us make pasta for dinner.

11:00 PM - I fall asleep reading.

DAY ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-ONE TOTAL: $32.88

[downinfront]

Nobody won at the Oscars

Not the viewers at home, who, between the red-carpet coverage and the show itself, were subjected to at least five and a half hours of Oscar-related coverage, a slog by any measure.

Certainly not the embattled, crowd-pleasing musical La La Land, which took home a handful of technical awards, Best Song (for the earworm “City of Stars”) and two biggies (Best Actress for Emma Stone and Best Director for Damien Chazelle) before seemingly winning Best Picture ... at least until it became apparent that Moonlight was the real winner, and presenters Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway had been given the honest-to-Christ wrong envelope. This became apparent, by the way, in the middle of the goddamn acceptance speeches from the La La Land crew, who were forced to hand over their trophies, literally mid-sentence, to the producers of Moonlight.

Not Moonlight, either, by the way. The night’s ostensible victor is something rarely seen in movies today: An immaculately-made, three-act coming of age drama about a gay black man that directly tackles issues of race, addiction, poverty and sexuality. A Best Picture win should have completed an improbable journey poised to make a significant impact within the industry. Instead, its moment comes at the expense of some well-dressed dorks who were in the middle of thanking the people who enabled them to chase their dreams. (To their credit, they forked over the hardware like professionals and got the hell off the stage.) Even Mashershala Ali, the beloved Moonlight breakout who won Best Supporting Actor in the night’s first presentation, admitted to the Hollywood Reporter that the whole thing kind of bummed him out.

Not the Academy, whose sausage-making process was put on painful display in real time for all the world to see. It’s always taken as a given that someone has to lose at an awards show, but dangling the carrot in front of a group of affable, hard-working people only to snatch it away was a bracing glimpse at the cruelty behind the curtain.

Not Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway, a pair of goddamn living legends who used Occam’s Razor (his envelope read “Emma Stone - La La Land,” she assumed it meant “La La Land” and went for it) and left Beatty to come across as a doddering old man attempting to sputter out a justification for why the La La Land crew had totally gotten hosed.

Not host Jimmy Kimmel, who began the show with some surprisingly barbed ribbing of everyone in attendance (cut to Mel Gibson with murder in his eyes), only to steer the proceedings headlong into a way-too-long bit involving tourists in a bus and yet another installment of his endless blood feud with Matt Damon. Kimmel put on a brave face for the Best Picture fiasco, but it was clear there was nothing he could do to save it; he was conducting a train that had already run off the rails and into the ravine.

Not Matt Damon, by the way, who may have taken more hits than anyone during the night. Admittedly, Kimmel hijacking the orchestra to play Damon off during his presentation speech was funny, but the extended skewering of Damon’s work in We Bought a Zoo came off as too mean-spirited, especially when Damon sheepishly countered into the microphone that he was actually proud of that performance.

Not the arbiters of good taste, who must now choke out the phrase “Academy Award-winner Suicide Squad” when referring to that infamous film. (It won Best Makeup, a distinction that’s hard to dispute on merit, but still.)

Not the poor bastards who handed the wrong envelope to Beatty and Dunaway (apparently, two envelopes are created for each side of the stage, depending on where the presenters enter from). They’ll be buried under the Hollywood Bowl before the week is out.

Not Casey Affleck, who won Best Actor for Manchester By the Sea, thus emerging whole from a storm of controversy over years-old, previously-settled sexual harassment allegations that resurfaced late last year, both threatening to derail his campaign and serving as a favorite argument among the Twitter crowd for why Denzel Washington should win the Oscar instead. Judging by the early reactions to Affleck’s victory, that sentiment hasn’t faded. Despite having ridden the performance of his career to defeat industry legends, beloved veterans and promising young talent, Affleck’s win, and his reputation, now has a big ol’ asterisk attached to it. (This is to say nothing of course of his alleged victims, who certainly lost by having to watch him win.)

Not Viola Davis, who won Best Supporting Actress in a walk for Fences despite willfully subjecting herself to category fraud (hers is a lead performance in every sense of the word) so she could face the likes of Nicole Kidman, Octavia Spencer and Naomie Harris instead of Best Actress’ formidable three-headed dragon: Early frontrunner Natalie Portman (Jackie), late-breaking dark horse Isabelle Huppert (Elle) or eventual winner Stone.

Not Film Twitter, which mutated La La Land vs. Moonlight into White People vs. Everyone Else early on in the awards season and took that already-flimsy comparison to its limit, rapidly revealing itself as the very worst kind of Twitter during the broadcast. The narrative seemed to be that the times were too fraught for a frothy throwback to win Best Picture over a gay coming-of-age story, so each win for La La Land was treated as nothing less than a setback for social justice on a national scale, to to the point where everyone took up arms over the fact that a fucking musical won Best Original Score over Moonlight’s atmospheric backing track.

Not Samuel L. Jackson, who revealed on the record that he bailed on La La Land after 20 minutes, and ultimately had to give a visibly disgruntled presentation of that same Best Original Score award.

Not white people, at least according to the aforementioned Twitterati, for whom Moonlight’s victory is liberal America’s long-awaited revenge for ... Donald Trump, I guess? Still not entirely clear on that one. It also remains to be seen exactly which white people took the L here. Certainly not the three credited producers who technically won the Best Picture award, all of whom are white. And not Daniel Katz, David Finkel and John Hodges, the three heads of Moonlight distributor A24, who now have a Best Picture winner to call their very own and will likely reap as much, if not more, of the benefits as Ali or director Barry Jenkins.

Not Hamilton mastermind Lin-Manuel Miranda, whose EGOT bid was denied after Moana’s “How Far I’ll Go” lost to “City of Stars” in the Song category. (Auli’i Cravalho, who plays Moana and sang the song, was one of the night’s few winners for her seamless, mid-note recovery from being whacked in the face with a flag.)

Not the United States of America, who tuned into the broadcast Sunday night to see some good-natured back-patting by Hollywood types, and maybe a little recognition for the movies they shilled money out for and responded to, and that’s it. Instead, they somehow got roped into yet another rehash of Donald Trump vs. Hillary Clinton after the Super Bowl and the Grammys, and it was just as exhausting as it was the first three times around. The ass-backwards way it ended wasn’t any better. Even if the supposed champion of White America lost for once, you were still subjected to the Hillary effect, watching a bunch of people who followed a dream and did their very best only to have defeat snatched from the jaws of victory; they only made it to the stage to hand over the glory and shove their heartbreak down their throats where they hoped nobody would see.

And finally, not the people who thought the outcome of the show would somehow lead to a seismic change overnight. Tomorrow, Donald Trump will still be President. Asghar Farhadi, the Iranian director of Best Foreign Language Film winner The Salesman, still won’t come into the country while the specter of the travel ban lingers. The stupid wall will still be in its planning stages, despite the elegant civil disobedience of presenter Gael García Bernal. Cultural events can galvanize change, but a quote-unquote black movie winning the Academy Award is not gonna speed up what is clearly becoming a long, fraught process. The damndest part of it is, in six months, nobody will remember who won the Best Picture Oscar, but in a dazzling display of irony, they will always remember the movie that lost it.

Shit, the only person who really won this thing was Donald Trump. At least he knew better than to watch in the first place.