#like it is somehow simultaneously too diluted and not diluted enough

[pallases]

gouache is the devil’s work i’ve decided

[anlian-aishang]

Vampire!Levi & Cunnilingus

Tags: levi x reader, smut, cunnilingus, period sex, blood, reader is propped against the wall, modern AU, college party, alcohol mention, fem!reader Word count: 2200 A/N: Thank you @bluebellhairpin for putting on the incredible Friday Night Bash! Had too much fun with this event 🖤 A/N2: Wrote a similar fic here if you are interested 🖤

You supposed it was only natural. 

At this age, motivation was a scarce resource. The burlier men donned flannel and jeans and called themselves lumberjacks. Any girl could become any cat with enough black eyeliner. 

Levi was the only vampire here, yet his costume seemed to take no more effort than anyone else’s. If anything, he was born a natural. Thin brows and slivered eyes. Jet black hair and moonlit skin. Fangs just barely curtained by red lips. Simultaneously, somehow the most convincing yet the most casually constructed. 

He noticed, you did too, the utter contrast that your roles conveyed. Levi was dressed head to toe in black, sparing only the white cravat tucked beneath his chin. You, on the other hand, had whipped all the white out from your closet and feigned yourself an angel. In his eyes, you weren’t feigning. House party vape could be reimagined as clouds, a heavenly background to your character. It made you shine through the swarm of sweaty brats. You were one of a handful who was neither spilling their drink nor coughing it up. In the middle of the room, a wallflower, staring down at her virgin spirit and clutching it in two hands. 

White tights hugged your legs. Blank sheer skirt hardly hid that contour. Long sleeves for the cold Halloween night, the layers beneath had compounded to caress your curves. You were covered from top to bottom. Still, Levi could read you like a book. Hard cover. Soft cover. Levi clenched his teeth and growled. 

You looked lonely as ever, tugged in contradictory directions of yearning: begging for someone to start the conversation for you, praying that no one would notice you, imagining meeting a guy here, thinking up excuses to ditch this party early. Your desires, Levi saw them, and he longed to fill all of them.

His hands began to twitch, irritated that his thoughts were getting too sentimental for his liking. Indeed, when his thirst neared such dangerous levels, he found composure harder to retain. Nails curled against the glass highball: is she really the one? 

The one he had traversed miles for. The one he had craved for the past several days. A scent and taste he needed so badly, Levi would suffer a college party for it. After all, that was why he was here. He clutched his head with his hand, silk glove smooth against his forehead. Bangs pushed to the sides, he held that grip and released a heavy sigh. At first, he thought he had done well to pinpoint it to one apartment building, even better to one apartment unit. Only once he ascended the staircase, heard the blaring music and saw the glaring lights, did he realize that the hardest part of this search was yet to come. Over a hundred people here. Half of them potential subjects. All he could do was stand idle and observe feverishly: who was the source?

Already, the bias was brewing for you, it was why his pupils were particularly quick to snap at the sudden drop of red that soiled your pristine outfit. Your inner thigh. Levi blinked harshly, but that trickle did not fade. Better yet, it tracked along the inner seam of your pantyhose: blotting, darkening. 

Toes curled against the soles of his leather shoes. Calves strained to dilute his pace as he began to gravitate towards you. From your perspective, strobe flashes of red made his approach play like a slideshow. Before you could discern who he was and what he was doing, the room would turn black again. Suddenly, he was only inches away, steady eyes met your widened ones.

“H’Hey,” Inside of his gloves, Levi pinched the inside of his palm. The attempt to ground himself did not defeat his stutter. “I thought -” a clear of his throat, “- thought I should let you know…” Levi leaned in, his lips to your ear.

His breath was cold on your skin. Beneath your blouse and in the wake of his chill, you felt your nipples peak against the fabric - even more so when he whispered, “You’re bleeding.”

On your gasp, you nearly choked. Levi found it adorable how you immediately, instinctively, brought your hand between your legs. Shameful was your expression. Shameless were your actions. Beneath your skirt, you palmed around, frantically feeling for proof of his claim. Three fingers to the slip of your panties were quickly soaked. With your gaze deadset in shock then panic, Levi allowed himself a lick of his lips. 

You turned over your shoulder to examine your backside, inadvertently revealing it to him as well. A teardrop of crimson just below your spine, having seeped through your underwear, tights, and skirt, Levi was hyper-aware of how wet you must have been in order to achieve those levels of penetration. The thought, the image, of your skin slickened in syrup made his pants turn tight.

His erection surged further when you beckoned him towards the stairway. “Maybe you could help me find a change of clothes?” 

An invitation.

"And help me out of these ones?"

Though watching you bleed through this outfit would be a fantasy for the millennium, he felt his levels dripping to empty. He needed it. Your blood in him. Now. 

But his needs were far from your mind. It was one of the only reasons your roommates had convinced you to allow them to host this get-together in the first place. You can’t sleep with guys if you don’t meet some guys. They had made it their mission to help you find someone, and it didn’t even have to be an eternal someone - though Levi Ackerman happened to be. Someone to show you a good time, to help you unwind a little. Of course, you would not settle for a trash bag, but a man who was willing to display such honesty and no disgust about the symptoms of your period - he had to be a good one, and he wasn’t hard on the eyes either. 

Your expectations had been low, perhaps a little too low. Least of all nights did you expect a booze-filled Halloween party to be the night that you brought a guy up to your room. Flinging open the door, you were met with violent whiplash: why the hell didn’t I clean?!

Chocolate bar wrappers on the floor. Midol on the nightstand. A box of overnight pads at the foot of the bed. Triple-thick tampons in a plastic bag that hung around the other side of your door handle. Worst of all, blood-stained underwear that had sorely missed the hamper and instead carpeted your floor.

“Oh my god, I’m - I’m so sorry!” You darted into the room and tried to fling the evidence out of sight. Obviously, Levi had just been deathly upfront about noticing your period. Yet, you were mortified, back turned to him and hurling apologies, “This - This is not very sexy, I know.”

Levi could only shake his head and clench his teeth. You had that all wrong. He would take this menstruation-riddled bedroom over a honeymoon suite any night. Silent footsteps brought his front to your back, his palm to your waist, “Just leave it,” Levi exhaled, his voice teetered on moaning, “and leave yourself to me.”

His arousal solid and warm against your blood-soaked backside, your enamor spiked: not only cool about this time of the month, but hot for it. You ground yourself against his member, satisfied with his length, you reached your hand to his neck and pulled him close. “Undress me, Levi.”

You were the only one who viewed this as a one-night stand. If anything, Levi hoped that you would live with him forever, that you would continue to flow, and that he could spend eternity swallowing you down. However, the haste in his movements implied that the two of you shared that one-night fervor. Nails scraped down your hips as he yanked your bloodied tights to your feet. Instead of taking them off, he used the excess length to make knots around your ankles, binding your legs into a loop. 

With inhuman strength and alarming speed, Levi had you in his arms and slammed against your bedroom wall before you could summon the breath to screech. Levi slipped himself within the cage of your legs. Backs of your knees to his shoulders. Heels dug into his nape. Your sex dwindled tantalizingly close to his mouth. 

Holy hell, you gasped, no man had ever had you like this before. By this point, you had learned that period sex was a rarity, receiving head during that time of the month - an impossibility. Instead, Levi dove straight in, unlike any of the rest.

And oh, were you spot-on about that. Levi Ackerman was no man. His skills were no act. The hair, the outfit, the fangs no occasion. This was his truest self: out of this world. He was grateful for the holiday, the one day of the year that his vest, slacks, and perfectly polished shoes would stand out. Levi admired the red lights of the party, making everyone’s irises match his giveaway shade. The greatest obstacle - the invitation, the consent - you had granted before he even had to ask. All tells he had fretted over, you made yourself perfectly blind to them. As your sex bled right before his eyes, he could only chuckle and admit, “so fucking pathetic.” 

Perhaps he was projecting. He had not even tasted you yet, had not even stripped you free, and already, he felt he was on the edge. His tip swelled against the cold metal belt buckle. Black pants hid the damp that precum had created. For a second, his mind flickered: which one of you was more wet? The answer came to him, though, by a glob of blood that dripped from your core and onto his white cravat.

Looking down, you were horrified. Mouth fell agape, an utter loss for words. Levi made up for your shortcomings as his sentiment flowed freely. 

“Oh? What’s this? Having a hard time containing yourself?” At his waist, his arousal made a mockingly timed rise. 

His teasing pricked your skin, each capillary blazed in embarrassment. You could not bear to make eye contact, instead, glued to his pristine white cloth that you had forever tainted. Years of experience, you knew those stains did not come out. 

Levi had a way.

Slowly, his tongue slid over his bottom lip and dragged along the silk threads. One strong, deliberate swipe had erased your DNA from the garment. In the throes of midnight, your eyes struggled to be sure, but Levi himself knew. At the first taste of your blood, he was sparked with revival.

“Mmm,” Levi hummed, “tastes good.” For now, he withheld: even better than I anticipated.

Though neither his hunger nor thirst were yet satiated. Not until you were sucked bone-dry, not until your pussy ran clear. Eating you out, he snuck occasional glances to affirm you were not at those milestones. In his frame of mind, rather, he had not yet brought you to them. 

Levi was the kind to savor the taste, but there was little indication of that on this cold autumn night. The motions of his tongue were swift. His slurping was delectably crude, coating his throat and coaxing out even more dirty talk. His canines grazed your most sensitive spots. You thought to ask him to take his fangs off, but in the end, realized you adored them. Good thing, they were irremovable.

Not one drop of you made it past that cravat. Most of your mess had been clotted by his skin. A red stripe ran down his face as he brought his whole front to the middle of your battle. Sweet metal. Saccharine iron. A salted cocktail. That was your drink - one he guzzled. When you asked for his fingers, he would religiously lick them clean.

Your muscles had grown weak, having lost count of how many times you had climaxed thus far. He had kept you in ignorant, mutually selfish bliss for god knows how long. It was only when you reached your arm towards him, combing through his hair and petting his head, that you realized how drained you were. Hardly able to speak, faint and incoherent, “You like that, huh? Like that, Levi?”

Through drenched bangs, he gazed up to meet your eye contact. So fucked-out, you paid no mind to the scarlet of his stare. “It’s like you can’t get enough.”

Cruelly timed, he felt your ridges start to clench around his face again. Nonchalant, he spoke into you as you began to cum again. “Makes two of us, then.”

Words seemed to make rhythm with your waves, and each one, you swore was better than the last. Tilting your head back against the wall, you arched yourself further into him, “F’Fuck, Levi!!” 

How did he - in just one night - manage to do you like this? 

Little did you know, it was not just one night, but an entire lifetime that he had been waiting, anticipating, preparing for this moment. You would remember this encounter as a night that you happened to cross paths with the man of your dreams. Levi saw it a very different way, no chance happening: the evening that he had scoured enough of this goddamned earth. A tale of lifeblood: the clean freak to your mess, monthly or otherwise.

Kinktober Year 3 Masterlist

[theic-manic]

Hello! I'm a hellenic pagan (not reconstructionist) that works with Hades, Nyx, and Hermes.

I've been wanting to add Prometheus to my practice, as he seems to only want the best for mankind since, if i recall correctly, he helped MAKE mankind.

If I work with him, would that be offensive to the other gods I work with? Would I ever be able to work with Zeus? I get confused at the ins and outs. I've been practicing less than a year I think.

Also, I've only read of Prometheus in my copy of the Theogony & Works and Days. Is there any other canon literature that features him?

Hey there.

Sorry for the delay, spam asks clogged up my inbox.

Tldr: it's hard to offend a god as a worshipper or someone who works with the gods, as opposed to a devotee or clergy.

I would suggest not working with more than one or two deities at a time, especially when you're starting out.

The deities you work with at a time may change, sure, but I've personally found it most effective to work with a couple at most simultaneously, so I'm

1. Not pushing myself too much

2. not diluting my worship since I only have so many hours in the day.

Now with this, although it's hard for non-clergy and non-devotees to "offend" deities (it requires a deep and personal relationship and even then you need to work spectacularly hard to piss off a GOD unless said god has history of having a bit of a hair trigger personality which is why we must READ THE MYTHS/STORIES of deity interactions with humanity) I would also recommend not mixing deity types on shrines.

E.g. Ouranic and Cthonic deities have different offering and worship practices, this is your cue to read how the deities were worshipped collectively and privately (in homes) and work with the gods accordingly.

You can certainly worship both but it's best (and easier) to have separate altars and/or shrines.

One polytheist compared not researching the gods and their practices to not knowing if your friends have dietary requirements.

Imagine offering your close friend a nicely cooked steak dinner only to have them point out that they're vegetarian?

I'd feel awful, and now I have a steak dinner that I have spent time and effort on potentially going to waste.

As for canonical works, I prefer that people try to fine tune their research skills themselves rather than relying on others who aren't clergy or elders to hand-hold since I have come across many insights via rabbithole that wouldn't have been obtained had someone just given me a reading list.

Ultimately, as a worshipper, the worst you'll do (from my UPG experience and from reading the experiences of others) is cause a god to go off and no longer work with you since that you're clearly not a good fit.

Which isn't a bad thing by the way, this often happens during times of great spiritual growth but can also happen when we simply don't respect a deity enough to do the bare minimum to maintain Kharis and/or honour their preferences.

Which brings my question to the bulk of baby polytheists on tumblr:

What does "offending" or upsetting a pagan deity even mean to you all?

/ gen

Like, what consequences (for lack of a better term) are you actually expecting from somehow being important enough to affect a deity in such a way?

Because from what I noticed, those who are capable of having such an impact, devotees and clergy, have done enough research and study to not easily do that.*

*Unless you're like me and just have had certain deities not quite understand the concept of boundaries, of which I have posted extensively about, then absolutely pull the plug on that devotional relationship if you can't come to an amicable compromise.

But as with everything on the internet, this is just my take and I invite anyone reading this to go and read, read and read some more.

Read widely (books and articles), watch documentaries (YouTube is a starting point) and work on your Polytheistic practice without needing external validation from internet strangers.

Certainly, engage in discourse and even some debate, but ultimately, your practice is between you, your higher self, and the divine.

[concealeddarkness13]

Even More Info on Bring Me That Horizon!

I finally decided to compile all of the ideas I have had for this story that I haven’t posted yet into one post. This one’s going to be a long one and a lot of rambling. Trigger warning for torture. Tagging: @ratracechronicler, @merigreenleaf, and @maple-writes! Here, here, and here are posts with info about this story. 

I figured out more about the POVs in this story. The main POVs will be Lynne, Lira, and Nesri. I think these three will be the best POVs for the story. I also figured out that after a while, Aster decides to go back to his parents and try to convince them to not work with the Shades anymore, and while he’s there, he starts working with Cahira and Lira to change how his parents control the people with magic. So, when Aster is captured to try to control Lynne, Lira’s thief group also gets involved because they like him too, which means that the pirates and thieves will team up at some point!

I figured out about the bottom layer of this world. No one goes down there because the waterfall connecting it to the other layers was completely crystallized when the Shades wreaked havoc with the magic. So, no one has the technology to be able to go down there. Somehow, the pirates figure it out (Shine’s awesome), and they go down there. There, they meet people who had the magic the whole time since the Shades came (hundreds of years), and the magic has evolved for them. The crystal they can manipulate and use has a light within and is known as living crystal. The living has become its own thinking being, and it has a hive-mind between individual crystals. 

The humans down there have evolved to have a living crystal as a heart, and they can only use their magic on living crystals. There are different types of living crystals. The living crystals can heal. They fuse into the skin and heal whatever wounds the person has at the time. They can also be poison. If used as a weapon, they cut through pretty much anything, but they have a cauterizing kind of reaction, where the wounds are simultaneously inflicted and the edges of the wound are slightly healed there is no bleeding. A person can only control the crystals they create.

The most powerful use of living crystals is the ability to create a living crystal that can drain the life out of other living crystals. Once a living crystal’s life is drained, it just becomes a normal crystal. This can happen to the living crystals that work as hearts for the people on the bottom layer. The only way to kill people from the bottom layer is to either drain the life from their living crystal heart or completely shatter their living crystal heart. 

The people on the bottom layer hate the Shades because they are descendants of people the Shades tortured to make the rest of the world fear the crystal magic and because the Shades hunt their kind to use as food sources and as communication devices (to learn more about that, read this post). So, in order to preserve themselves, the living crystals came up with a fake prophecy to dissuade the people from going to war with the Shades. The prophecy says that only one person can defeat the Shades and has some really specific criteria for that person. One of the main characters the pirates will meet is one of those people who was believed to be the chosen one but failed. 

I realized that Shine is actually nonbinary, preferring they/them or he/him pronouns. I also figured out about an antagonist who isn’t an awful piece of crap like the Shades. I was going to call him Liam, but I forgot that I already had a character named Liam, so his name is going to be Gideon. He is the information specialist in Lira’s group. While the navy is already looking for Lynne, her adoptive parents personally hire him to get her back. And he’s very good at what he does. He’ll be following them almost the whole story, and he’s friendly and jovial and fun. He actually meets Shine at some point, and he knows Shine’s sign language, so they hold a trash talk conversation in sign language. This is the start of a rivals-to-friends-to-lovers arc!

I’ll talk about the navy now! I don’t know the name of the captain that they’re going to encounter a lot, but she is serious and sticks to orders and is badass. Kiryth, Nesri’s ex-boyfriend, will be working on that ship, and they’ll have some fun fight scenes! Also, one of Iri’s adopted children (Iri is the person who unofficially adopted Lynne and everyone else on the streets) is part of the navy, so Iri asks to be a part of finding Lynne because he’s worried about her. 

I have figured out two animals in this setting. The first one is a type of dragon that is about the size of a large dog. They have light blue scales, can fly, and can shoot lightning. They are basically a requirement for any vessel on the sea because they keep the vessel safe from predators in the ocean and the sky. They are awesome. Triel has one that I don’t know much about. But Shine has a baby one named Mina. She has been trained to listen to commands given in sign language, and she follows their commands exactly. She helps out with the machinery in the engines mostly. The color of the scales on their head indicate how powerful their lightning is.

I also know a land animal. They resemble fennec foxes: they have big ears, big eyes, are fuzzy, and small. They are predator animals. They can shapeshift to look like their prey and give the prey a false sense of security before they pounce. They also have retractable claws, and they are intelligent and can mimic sounds.

Triel’s mother actually has the glowy magic. Because of this, Triel has a diluted form of the glowy magic (smaller radius around her for water and she does not float but she glows). Despite laws that forbid the people with glowy magic to have children, Triel’s mother hid that she was pregnant and had Triel. But the government found out after that and ordered the baby to be killed. Because the soldiers who were to perform the deed didn’t want to feel that in their consciences, they put her in a small boat and set it out to sea. Instead of her dying, she was found by a pirate called Captain Reeves and taken in.

Captain Reeves is no-nonsense, blunt, more willing to punch you than manipulate you, and a very good strategist. She has a parrot who she named Mini Reeves. She realizes when something is beyond her capabilities, so she surrounds herself with crewmates who can cover her weaknesses, and she can cover theirs. She is a fighter, who likes to rush in and destroy her enemies when the moment calls for it. I don’t know her first mate’s name, but he looks like one punch from him can break you in half, but he’s a manipulator. He works with deception and manipulation, and he taught Triel all he knows. She also learned fighting from him and Captain Reeves. 

I’ve decided to get rid of two of my stories, but I’m going to put a few characters from them into this story! The first one is the Immortals Story. So, Kallias will be in this story! His father has the glowy magic, and his mother does not. When she had him, she put him up for adoption to protect him and his father. He was adopted by good people, but when he started showing his diluted magic, his adopted parents let the Shades know (most every normal person thinks the Shades are awesome), and the Shades took him up to the top layer. They tried to control him with their powers, but he’s resistant to their control like Nesri. They called him monster to begin with (because they’re furious that the magic was passed down to someone else without their say). 

He kept being rebellious (because they were torturing him), so a few years later, they decided to severely weaken him. So, they pushed stacks of the magic in him, controlled him enough to make him crystallize the blood and liquid in his arms. They then took the magic back and cut off his real arms, so that his only arms and hands are crystal. This forces him to activate his diluted magic whenever he has to use his hands, which uses up his strength, so he has to sleep a lot. After all that, years later, one of the Shades decided to name him Kallias (meaning beautiful), and all these years, he’s been tortured and exhausted, and he’s desperate for escape. He’s blunt and he’s a survivor. He will do anything to survive.

Also, I’m getting rid of the Cyborg Story, but I’m going to keep Vani, Halia, and Lev. Lev is a researcher for the government. They are trying to figure out more about the magic, and they’re using her and her unethical approaches to figure out more about it. The leaders don’t want to be controlled by the Shades, but they want access to the magic still. Lev had a son, Vani, and she just viewed him as another tool. She somehow got the Shades to take him and give him the magic, and when he came back down, she contracted him to be part of her experiments. He escapes from her with one of the other people with the glowy magic (Halia), and he wants to destroy his mother for what she has done to him and everyone else. Halia is lighthearted and loves joking. Vani is an antihero who doesn’t mind killing, but he does care in his own way. Halia helps him seem less intimidating, since he works with her even after their escape.

But, while he’s wandering, he finds that there is another species of dragon that no one knows about. It’s an endangered species that has been hunted by the Shades. They are called mosquagons because they are mosquito-sized dragons. They feed on the crystals that the people with the glowy magic make, and if they bite a person with the glowy magic, they give them extra powers: elemental magic that depends on the color of the mosquagon. This elemental magic shows itself when activated by giving the user dragon wings made of the element, and they’re able to breathe the element (like a dragon breathes fire) and control the element with their hands. A mosquagon bit him, and he’s become very protective of his mosquagon. I’m thinking Triel will get her own mosquagon, with ice elemental magic

Thank you so much if you got all the way to the end! I hope you enjoy this information!

[alltheloveinthegalaxy]

Prompt: Rey and Ben say ‘I love you’ for the first time

Something to Celebrate

Hours after Rey and Ben BOTH survive the battle of Exegol…

Ajan Koss, 10:53 p.m. 

The crackle of a giant bonfire and the symphony of celebratory voices fill the the scavenger-turned-Jedi’s ears as she sits beside her comrades. The glow of the fire illuminates dozens of rosy cheeks and glassy eyes as they celebrate the greatest victory the Resistance has ever known — winning the war, defeating darkness and destroying the Final Order. 

Finn and Poe sit on either side of Rey, the hero of the resistance and now a Jedi legend. 

“And the way you led that charge! Oh man, those creatures could really move,” Poe said, on the edge of slurring his words as he takes another sip of Correlian whiskey. “And Jannah! She’s a looker huh…”

“Poe C’mon,” Finn retorts with an arched eyebrow that only Poe could interpret. 

“I’m just saying…” Poe says, handing the bottle to Rey, who takes the smallest sip, winces and passes it to Finn.

“Are you all right?” Finn asks, setting hand on her knee. Poe eyes the interaction and moves to stand.

“Uh, I’ll be back, I’m gonna find Chewie.” 

Rey’s eyes dart to Finn’s hand on her knee. Her cheeks flush.

“I’m fine Finn. I’m just tired is all.”

Finn inches closer, their thighs touching. He leans in. She can smell the whiskey on his breath as she stares into his sweet, caring eyes. 

Oh kriff.

But before he can make his move, Rey is on her feet. A twinge of guilt seizes her for a moment. 

“I- I just really need to get some rest,” She reasons, patting Finn on the shoulder.

“Oh. Yeah…okay yeah I understand,” Finn says, trying to make the best of an awkward situation. 

“Goodnight Finn,” Rey smiles and walks through the crowd, beelining to her tent. Resistance pilots cheer for her and pat her on the back as she walks by. She nods politely to thank them. But she just cannot wait to get away from them all.

Yes, the war is over. But she’s still fighting her own battle. She’s still keeping secrets from her friends, her new family. Just hours earlier, she’d carried a very injured, very heavy, very redeemed, Ben Solo over her shoulders, back to her tent. She’d somehow managed to sneak him, unconscious and with a broken leg, straight from Luke’s X-Wing, to her tent.  

She ignited her lightsaber to light her way through the trees as she walked hastily back to her fort, which sat farther away from everyone else’s. She’d made a corner of the forest her own and purposely secluded herself in the months she’d spent on this planet training, perhaps in anticipation of this very moment. 

She began to feel slightly nervous as she drew closer to the tent. Would he be awake now? What would they talk about? Will he be in a lot of pain? Did she look okay? 

Rey took a sip from her water canteen, attempting to dilute her whiskey breath.

She can’t believe he’s finally here with her. No fighting, no war, no darkness — just them now. What would it be like? How would they keep this secret? 

Her mind continued to race as she approached the tent. The clearing in the forest allowed the planet’s full moon to illuminate the area as she extinguished her saber. She could see the shape of him inside on her cot, his chest rising and falling.

Still breathing, thank Force.

Before entering, she attempts to steady herself by drawing in a long, slow breath.

I can do this. I can do this.

As she enters, she finds him there, right where she left him.

She approaches him with caution, as not to startle him. She can sense that he is awake, but his eyes are closed as he lays on his back, hands folded neatly below his rib cage. 

“Ben…” Rey whispers as she kneels beside him, at a safe distance but close enough to touch. Her eyes dart to the cut on his lips and her mind races back to the passionate kiss they had shared on Exegol, just moments before he collapsed and lost conciousness. They hadn’t spoken since. 

His eyes open to meet hers. He blinks softly and slowly as his lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile.

“Rey,” he whispers after a few seconds. She slides both of her hands into his, resting them on his chest. Ben feels her start to tremble. Tears begin to well up in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Ben murmurs weakly as his brow furrows.

Ben let go of one of her hands to touch her face, wiping a dirt tinged tear from her jaw.

She grabbed his large hand and pressed it against her cheek, sobbing into it like a small child.

“Hey,” Ben says softly. “It’s just us now.”

Rey chokes out a laugh, simultaneously beginning to sob more profusely.

“I just- I’m just so happy,” she sniffs.

He smiles, looking up at her. She was everything to him. The hum of mutual elation between them in the Force is something Ben never thought he could win. But he had.

They had finally won, and nothing else mattered.

Weaving his hand across her cheek and in between her frayed buns, he pulls her down to him, rising to meet her halfway. Their lips meet for the second time in reality, but for the millionth time in all of eternity. 

The dyadic reign of their love story, was just beginning.

Rey finds herself placing more weight on him then she’d meant to as she kisses him fervently.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to- did I hurt you?” She asks as she pulls away.

“I’m fine Rey,” he says with a gentle tone that melts her core into jelly. 

She swallows and nods. 

“You’re really not though.”

Rey clears her throat and straightens her posture, sitting up and reaching for a cloth behind her. Soaking it with the water in her canteen, she turns back toward the very large man, taking up most of her tent. She blushes at this.

“Let me clean you up,” she offers, gesturing with the cloth.

Ben nods, looking up at her obediently. He swallows nervously as she begins to wipe the blood from the gash on his temple. He makes a face at the sting of water on the wound. 

“I know. It hurts but I want to take care of you.” Rey cracks a shy smile. Her heart swells being so close to him like this and feeling the warmth of his cheek against her hand.

“So, I was thinking that I’ll need to get to Tatooine to fulfill Luke and Leia’s last wishes to bury their lightsabers. I will need to fuel up in the morning but after that I’ll be going. I- I don’t know if you would want to come with me necessarily…I- I mean I want you to…but I could just get you to the next system to-”

“Rey.” He says firmly, catching her wrist before she could come at his wounds again. She looks stunned.

“I love you,” he says in a serious tone as his voice cracks. He looks almost fearful as he studies her face and anticipates her reaction. “We go together.”

Rey pauses for a second before a giant grin marches across her face, one that nearly knocks the wind out of him.

She presses her lips against his once more before burying her face in his neck as he receives her in his arms. His eyes close and he himself begins to cry against her hair.

“I know,” she whispers into his ear, tears rolling off her nose into his hair. “Ben, I love you too.”

—

[grim-faux]

10 - Run Rabbit

The man from the chair closed the door brusquely on my feet, causing me to scrunch up uncomfortably.  After I came to, I lay for less than fifteen minutes, I know this because I kept checking the camera, which I still clutched to my chest.  Probably not good for it, but it wasn’t soaked by my coat which had barely begun to dry while I lay in the dust.

 I NEEDED a few minutes to reset, for the throbbing in my side to settle in as the dry air took away the icy coil in my joints.  My eyes shut for a few minutes at a time, micro naps.  I swore I had slept for hours but when I checked the clock in the visor only minutes had passed, I wasn’t concerned with nodding off for an extended length of time, in truth I didn’t give a damn.  Maybe I didn’t care anymore if I sank into a deep slumber and never woke up, giving in to whatever demented plans Mount Massive had for my person.  Never waking up was the more pleasant way to end in this place.  The way out.

My mind began to clear as my senses tracked the air around me.  Strange sounds seeped into my skull, the muffled sobs of a man, hissing pipes, distant shrieks of some lost soul.  I felt my body shift and realized I was trying to push myself up, I wasn’t fully conscious of this but I was getting up.  A rough sigh escaped my throat as I moved, cradling the camera against me as I reached out with my other arm to push against the wall.  When I felt I could rise without collapsing, I pulled myself up all the way and took some small steps to get my balance in order.  I barely recalled the camera in my hands as I shuffled it between my palms, the functions still worked as I flicked through them assuring that no moisture had gotten through the seams.  A few new scraps were visible along its side where I had pressed it down onto the grate when I…collapsed.  There was a small gap in my thoughts that felt peculiar, a dark memory with splashes of terrifying images.  I shut my eyes and pressed my hand against my face. 

Everything from the dark depths felt like a loose blur, even the dull throb in my side was difficult to recall unless I made an effort to remember exactly what had happened.  It was painful to turn, I was stiff from lying in the cold dust for that short time, but I pulled my shirt out of the jean band to view the damage.  A small patch of skin was already turning a dark maroon and bluish shade, the colors seemed to be spreading.  Lovely.

A plate on the wall read Male Ward.  This didn’t feel like progress, but I suppose it was in some morbid media.  This wasn’t surviving, more along the lines of delaying the inevitable.  Somewhere, I’m not sure if I was hearing things or what but it did sound like soft sobs, but as I concentrated on the noises, they faded.  Maybe I was imaging things.  I couldn’t deny that my thoughts were not working well, my mind felt numbed while simultaneously elevated with the prospect of moving on, an off kilter clash of emotions.  I’d go as far to say my filter was busted, everything I was experiencing, what I was thinking….

I had to keep grasp that something was now wrong with me and the only way to fix that was to escape, I could recover from this with time.  But right now, time was my enemy.

The air was dry, and felt dusty and thick, I snorted a bit to clear my nose of the grime and turned the corner.  A large pipe ran along the upper wall, another water pipe, similar to the one spilling all over the basement.  The corridor I currently stood in extended some distance, there was a lot of steam in the air wafting off the surface of warmer pipes.  The opposite wall had a passage a few feet down that could lead to another room.  I doubted this, the entrance was arched and no door was visible, nor hinges, just shadow within.

Maybe a restroom?  I hadn’t seen anything close sense the showers, and that was something I needed.

Halfway to the dark opening, a shout crashed throughout the corridor.  A hostile, angry and familiar voice.  Shit.  Hopefully there was room inside, there was no place out here to hide.

This was just as bad as the corridor, a dark passage that went nowhere.  I spun back as my new friend ducked into the space, a bar held high in his hand.  I staggered away throwing my arm up to fend off the attack, my other hand held the camera which kept me from running into a wall.  Somehow, I managed to stumble out of his path through an opening I had missed, I whirled about and ducked the instant before the bar clattered against stone wall where my head had been.

“Get back!  BACK!”

I bumped and pushed away from the wall to retreat in what I decided, was a better direction than the other way.  As I cleared a thick vapor cloud nothing lay ahead but a solid brick wall, and a plaque I briefly glimpsed as I dashed sideways beneath another archway, then a sharp turn that led through a narrow corridor.

“Stay away!”

I grazed the walls with my elbows as I rushed, trying not to stumble on my feet when they scuffed the sides, my eyes fixed on the large crates coming into view.  It looked like I had a path on my left, unless it was blocked.  To hell if it was blocked, I’d tear through it.

The pipe glanced my shoulder, enough to topple my balance.  My shoulder slammed into the brick wall and I shoved myself away without missing a step, just had to keep on my feet and moving.

It was a rather sharp turn, then barely a step or two, I pushed off a wall that suddenly materialized in my face and bolted right.  Long lumber was scattered on the floor, I teetered over to reach a gate blocking the hall.  The other guy wasn’t as graceful, he had a misstep and fell sideways smashing his face on the wall and tumbled head over heel.  As he babbled something about demons in shadows, I tried the door.  Locked.  Of course it was, that was its only purpose.

There was another archway I had bypassed in my haste.  Quietly I moved around a wheelchair and stopped.

A man in a tattered straightjacket sat in the furthest corner, beside the steps I had raced down.  I hadn’t seen him in the rush, but now in the interlude I could make out…it did sound like he was crying.

I looked from him, to the man lying on the floor with the bleeding head, his eyes bobbed drunkenly.  It was probably best if I left it all as it was.  I couldn’t risk the running guy waking up in a worse mood than he already was, especially if he decided I was the cause.  I kinda was, but I didn’t ask him to chase me.  

My only option was down a spiral corridor, receiving that familiar humid draft with old blood.  So much for escaping the sewers.

So much for escape, period.

A plaque met me face to face as I stepped off the steps, labeling the Male Ward with an arrow of guidance.  Since when did reaching the Male Ward become my priority?  I turned and peered through a large tunnel, its draft intermixed with foul sewage and the musty chill of the asylum.  The water was diluted with blood, but it seemed free of the slaughter that had been present in the other channels.  Everything was getting flushed out.  My unease persisted.

I passed by some boxes of equipment and garbage on my way, a place to duck if I suspected I wasn’t alone.  A few steps down the tunnel and a figure darted out.  I paused, but it looked like another man in a straightjacket, only he was dragging his sleeves after him.  He could be dangerous if he got those tatters tightened about my throat, I continued at a slower pace listening as the soggy sleeves grew fainter and fainter.

As I turned the next corner, he sprinted just out of sight into another passage.  I turned back to see where he had come from, but there was only the remains of another collapse.  He might’ve dug through, explaining his loose coat, or he had been hiding there.  It was possible that I startled him.

That was nice for a change.

The path he had rushed into was bare of working lamps, I needed to take a moment to change out batteries.  I felt in my coat pocket, a hard knot forming in my throat.  I was all out!  To be absolutely certain I fixed the camera in its pack and pulled everything out of my pocket, but there were none.  Just my pen, notepad, and that damn granola.  I fixed everything in its place and turned out my pockets, knowing damn well if I found one in my coat, it had been soaked to hell.  I had a better chance at ruining my camera than anything else.

I froze when my hand brushed the case.  My nightvision was low on power, I couldn’t change the fact I had wasted the batteries.  Carefully I brought up the camera and checked through the visor.

The tunnel banked to my right, with no alternate paths, just the straight tunnel and a large pipe escorting me along the ceiling.  It was terrible, I could scarcely make out the obvious surfaces as the light dimmed but I could perceive more than the naked eye.  I just needed to be extra cautious and listen.  Something was in the air, that sweet and pungent reek of soured meat.  Immediately I felt sick to my stomach, maybe with the low visibility I’ll bypass whatever’s there without knowing it.

At some length I stopped, certain I had heard something.  That whooshing…hiss sound.  A sharp movement, then screaming echoed through the corridor.  With a soft whimper I stepped back, unsure where to go or what was happening.  Eventually the noise died away, with a final ear splinting wail and the hall was silent.  I had nearly forgotten I wasn’t alone.  I wondered if I was now?

I had turned the NV off, aware I needed to conserve the cameras power, but mostly afraid I would see something accompanying me in the dark.  I let out a shallow breath and resumed my course, forward, to whatever awaited.

I never found the fellow in the jacket.  The tunnel came to a dead end with only a high water barricade, which I squeezed through with little effort.  After that short break, my side and shoulder felt somewhat better, but still complained when I strained them too much.  My leg had stiffened somewhat from where Chris had raked me, sloshing around in the sewers had given some infection no doubt.

That horrible sour reek hit me in full force, and I physically winced from the odor.  In the same instant hot steam gushed out from burst pipes in the water systems at my backside, I stepped away receiving an overbearing singe along my upper back.  Damn faulty pipes, old building.  It felt normal to complain about something so trivial.

A few pipes connected overhead, one shot straight forward along the tunnels ceiling.  I followed it, venturing into the dark without the NV due to an apparent light source in close proximity.  As with it, the origin of the foul stench.

I wasn’t surprised by my findings.  I might’ve actually been concerned if I found nothing, and my mind would have fabricated horrible images to pacify itself.  The corridor ended with a large grate, and to my left awaited a door with a glass window.  I peered inside and brought up the camera to film the gore.  I imagine this was about the worse I had found, worse than the tunnel of blood and ruptured innards.

“I thought this sewer couldn’t smell any worse.  Hundred of bodies crammed into a room, thousands of flies.  Is this the Priest’s “way out?’”

What had that lone man in the room been trying to write down in his final words?  It was, “…let there be no dreams.  The only hel—”  Was he trying to say, ‘The only help.’ He could want, to some extent.  Or was he stating, ‘The only hell. I want.’  It could go either way, but I didn’t know his past, his history, what he had been through.  I only knew he had been dying when he wrote his message, and had ceased to hear the Walrider.  Because his therapy wore off.

This couldn’t have been the Priest’s way out.  Or, could it?  He was a crazy fanatic believing in something….obviously evil.

With nothing more to note here, I returned to where I entered from.  Some steps patiently awaited my attention, with a plate labeled Male Ward mounted to the side.  It led up to a spiral stairway twisting into a dry, cool room, or hall.  It had no obvious exit, unless I found one.  The gate was blocked by beds, metal trollies, and what looked like gurneys.

A metal cabinet sat beside a chute in the floor, that looked traversable.  It didn’t appear to be too heavy, it was filled with propane tanks.  I fixed the camera in its hoister and braced myself on the gritty floor, and pushed.  After some effort, and a growl for drive, the heavy cabinet shifted and grated across the sandy floor.  I cleared it from the vent enough that I could scoot through without trouble, the sight of splattered blood did not comfort me, neither did the visible legs of the person in the next room.

Another patient, bundled up to his chair.  Looked as though someone tore a sheet apart and tied him up in it, then tied that to the chair.  He sat there, dazed and unaware of my presence.  Why did for some of these people they insisted on covering their faces with any manner of material?  He had what could have been smocks at some point, cut up and wrapped over his head and jammed into his mouth.  As before, I didn’t remover anything.  There was usually a good reason to bind a man’s mouth in an insane asylum, I just didn’t want to think about why.

A pool of blood had gathered under his seat, but it wasn’t his.  Overhead, in the wooden floor boards was a large crimson shape.  As I watched, the light dimmed startling me, but it was only a surge.  I didn’t need to use my nightvision in a tiny room.  I didn’t want to be in a dark room with a man muzzled.

I pulled the door open slowly and checked out, panning over the visible corridor and walls before I slipped out and shut the door behind me.  Another featureless dim corridor, ruble and debris from boarded up doors lay discarded on the floor, the reek of neglect.  A pallet leaned against the wall, and there was another door directly to my left.  For the moment, all was quiet aside from the drip of blood within the sealed room.

While it seemed calm, I had to take care of something.  Nearly eight hours without a bathroom break, and this place had gone to hell anyway.  I still felt the need to justify pissing on a wall.  Damnit.  There was some privacy in the shadows, I didn’t feel like someone was going to stumble upon me and get ideas.

Really, this place could go fuck itself.

I took care of matters.  End of story.  There was a door not far from where I was, and I think I died a little inside when I opened it.

Blood was on the floor, beneath a broken chair, I turned the NV on the wall and found some inspiring words.

“The harder I try to escape, the further I get into this god awful place.  Like fighting a tar pit.  They’ve been torturing people in the basement, and by method.  Written on the wall – “FINGERS FIRST.  THEN BALLS.  THEN TONGUE.”  Somebody’s managing the torture, instructing them.”

I think this is the epiphany of why I need to keep my mouth shut around the variants.  In fact, I could write a whole book about what not do if you’re trapped in an insane asylum.  For starters – First rule, don’t talk to people, they’ll eat your tongue out of your throat.  Number two, don’t mess with them, they hate that and they’ll make it clear by murdering your ass.  Three, don’t be a woman, or any gender, or dead.  They will do terrible things to your corpse.  Or worse, they won’t kill you.  And four, everyone is your enemy, even if they sound sane, by now they’re not.  They’re in the insane asylum for a reason, and chances are you’ll figure out why in the brief moment before you’re dead, or regretting your remaining sanity.

Game over.

I continued down the hall, certain I heard something rubbing against the door that separated me from the trapped man.  Ignoring it, I took in my surroundings, first noting a path on my left that led up darkened steps.  I passed it to explore what else might be available, batteries I hoped.  The hall led through shadows, towards a light spilling from an open room.  As I neared my skin ran cold, the cacophony of struggle and banging came from the room.  Across the way at the halls end was a door, compromised by boards nailed over its frame.  The door had a meshed window, which revealed nothing but another obscure hall.  I peered around the frame carefully, wary of the noise.  At the rooms far wall stood another large cabinet filled with pipes, braced against the door.  It barely budged as someone from the other side hammered away with their body.  The door splintered and cracked under the force but held.

On the floor lay a clothed patient, scars up his exposed arms and over his face, some fresh and seeping gray ooze.  He was curled tightly near the floors center, quivering.  I don’t know if he blocked the door, but that seemed most likely the case.

I abandoned the room and backtracked through the corridor, returning to the doorway I had skipped, before whoever tore through and began hunting around.  Across from it was the broken gate piled high with tables, a gurney, and beyond this the area I initialed entered through.  Good to know I was getting around.

The gate and door that greeted me at the steps end was locked.  I tried to force the handle but the bolt was fitted tight, I wouldn’t get through unless I could pick a lock.  Should’ve had someone teach me.

Reluctantly I returned downstairs to the room with the door, and the invading guest.  I leaned around the frame, but the onslaught had gone cold.  The man still lay on the floor in shock, completely unresponsive to my entrance.  I walked around quietly, checking the room thoroughly before I dared look at the door.  A camera sat near the furthest corner on a table cart, its lens shattered but thank everything it had batteries.  Two, which was better than the dead one currently in use.  I fumbled to switch them quickly, relieved to find the first good on power.

The door had been silent for some time.  No guarantee whoever was on the other side had departed, or that there was any place to go once the door was open.

I put myself between the cabinet and wall, braced myself with one foot then pushed, until the heavy toolshed had been moved enough that the door would swing open.  I peered through the crack before I opened it wide and stepped through.  I took one last look at the trembling figure on the floor before shutting the door.

The hall to my right ran to a dead end with two locked doors, a few boxes and trash lay discarded along the wall.  I attempted to break the glass with a pole I picked up, but it was that shatter proof stuff that you hate when your life is in peril.  I didn’t want to make a fuss over it either and draw attention to myself, boxed in this way.  Seeking an alternate route would be a better use of my energy, and I could always come back.  Though there didn’t seem to be much on the other side of that dingy glass.

The other end of the hall was nearly identical, a dehydrated mop bucket and its stiff mop leaned against the brick.  I wondered where they mopped in this place, the bare cement?  Another boarded up door awaited but across from it the plate of a vent had been torn off, and a soft coil of rich spoil met my senses.  I leaned over to check before venturing further, it wasn’t far to the other side and a good fourth of the room was visible.  There were beds and curtains.

I crouched down and shuffled through, I lowered the camera when the reek of stale urine and soured meat blasted me in the face.  Where the fuck was I?  This was worse than the prison block, as bad or worse than “Feast of Flies.”

As I stood up I could see why.  My eyes watered, the filth and decay was so strong.  The curtains had been drawn around where each bed was situated, I couldn’t see the flies yet but I could hear the hum of their wings beat as they fought over their victims.  A lone gurney sat near the rooms center, a pile of guts had spilled to the floor beneath, and crusty blood stained the filthy mattress.

I thought I heard someone scream in the distance, but if I listened I could hear weary voices emerge from behind the drapes.  Whispers, barely audible over the thousands of flies present.

“Too alive.  Too alive….”

I moved across the room, trying to avoid the horrendous wall of stale rot.  These people were still alive in here, or somewhere between life and death.  A hellish limbo.

“Can’t sleep.  Wernicke’s waiting for me there.”  Again, the belief that Wernicke was dead somehow, yet still performing his experiments.

Were these people amidst experimentation when the shit storm occurred?  Or was the experiment still going on, now, as I stood here?  Was it still happening?  How long ago since Murkoff’s fall?  Obscure dates, faulty facts, I doubt even the scientist had kept up with it all.

I set my hand on the curtain of one patient, debating on drawing it back to view what was left behind.  It was tempting.  But the humane side of me decided no, I couldn’t bear it.  Instead, I recorded what was available, the disrepair of the room, broken tile, filth stained floors, the hundreds of insects everywhere.

At the back of the room, in a corner was someone that had been dead for a good deal of time.  The body spread on a bed with most of the flesh from the legs and abdomen removed, his head missing, what was left of him, an oozing mess of jello and maggots.  I looked down as my shoes crunched large roaches, eagerly chewing up the dripping puss.  If I wasn’t pale at this point, I had to be ghostly by now.

Beside the corpse was a small table, a folder labeled Reports with a few pages spilling out on the surface and onto the floor.  I picked up one curious to what this was about.

PATIENT STATUS REPORT

By Rick Trager

This patient also, unfortunately, didn’t make it.  I tried my best, but I’m just a doctor, not a miracle-worker.  And I’m pretty new to this whole “doctor” thing, so I’m still working out all the kinks.

Anywhoo—somebody’s gotta cut the fat from this PROJECT WALRIDER disaster.  We’ve been bleeding money ever since this thing went tits up on account of that Billy kid.  But I’ve managed to slim back personnel by more than eighty people.  Which means short term savings in salary and long term savings in pension and health care costs.

And I’ve been figuring out a lot about biology.  I was on the fence about it before, but now I can say with absolute certainty that a person can’t live without his kidneys.  You learn something new everyday.

What the fuck was this?  What sort of PHD graduate didn’t know basic human biology?  You could learn that shit from Discovery channel.

I didn’t like the frivolous undertone of this note.  It was all sorts of demented.

I tossed the page back with those on the floor, and gave the room another once over.  A set of boarded doors sat near the morbid memo, and through the windows I could view a man sitting – was tied – to a chair.  I crossed over to a sink beside a bloodied gurney, a table cart was left near it and ghastly red stains had been cast over the cold gray wall.  I avoided a pile of intestines quivering with pestilence below, I just needed to clean some of the grunge from my hands and get a bit of water to wash out the residue.  My hands shook under the frigid water of the tap, I rubbed them till the gray water had cleared and gazed a moment more as I lost myself to the repetitive action of washing hands.

The whimpers of men dying, unable to die, wrapped around my senses as I stood watching the water dry on my skin.  Smalls cuts had appeared where I had fumbled against sharp metal edges in the dark, little things I missed in my distracted state.  It didn’t bother me, I was accustomed to this rough treatment.  What did bother me was how steady my thoughts had become and how I was still staring at my hands as people around me suffered.  I wanted to help them, I wanted to do something and pull them out of this festering wound in hell, this was the whole reason why I came here in the first place.  But I was now unsure in what way to pursue this goal.  There was no help for these people.  There had never been a way to help them in the first place.

After a short argument with my better judgment, I decided to climb up into the open vent above the blood drenched bed.  

“No more dreams.  No more…..”

Thudding along as quietly as I could, I felt my path rather bother with the camera.  I was in no hurry, there was also the batteries I was desperate to conserve in future.  The thin strands of light spread out in my path and I kicked out the vent, wincing when it clattered against the hard floor below.

I dropped down over a mess of innards, they squished underfoot as I pin wheeled my arms out to regain balance and step off them.  I was in the room with the man, in the chair.  That was about it, aside from some solid steel cabinets streaked with blood, papers scattered over the floor, along with guts and pieces of people….

The man in the chair gave a loud gasp once he detected my presence and began thrashing, I stepped away fearful he’d break his restraints.

“Meat!  Want meat!  Want meat!  Meat!  Meat!”  I took another step back, dubious on my next course of action.  Sudden thuds came from the direction of the room I had just occupied.

Two patients now struggled with the fortified door, crashing into it with their bodies in an effort to tear it down.  They would succeed, and I would be killed.

A way out!  To where?

At the rooms side was a large cabinet filled with heavy tools, locked tight.  But it was shoved against a door.  I launched myself at the box and pushed, shoving with all that was worthwhile in me to get it out of the way so I could flee this room before they smashed through.

The doors crunched, splintered and gave.  Just as I moved the container its last inch, I flung the door open and slammed it shut as I stumbled away.

“We’ll flank that piece of shit!”  “Fuck!  Fuck!”

Damn it all, what was this?  What had I gotten myself into?  I tore through the next room, hall, I’m not sure.  Shelves lined the walls, I tried the first door on my left – jammed tight.  Didn’t bother with it, kept going straight and found another door left ajar.

I barreled into it with my arm, cracking the brittle wood it against the wall so it bounced back.  I saw one of the patients nearly at me as I flung the door in his face.  A hospital bed was stationed near center of the room, I hurried behind it and flipped it over on its side.  I coughed at the sharp pain in my chest, but blocked it as I shoved the flat side up to the door.  It thudded and opened an inch but that was the extent, the bed was pinned against it.

“Go ‘round!”

I flipped another bed onto it, and spun about to a medical cabinet that had fallen across the door.  I wriggled my fingers over the side and pulled it out enough that I could fit my chest between the wall and the obstruction, then shoved the two apart so I could pry the door open just enough to squeeze out. 

“There’s another door!  This way.”  I paused for an instant to make sure the camera strap over my hand was secure, if I needed it I betted I wouldn’t have the chance to fumble with it.

“There he is!”

Fuck me!  Fuck this!  Fuck them!  I twisted around, spying them at a door already tearing at it.  Not that way!  I sprint in the opposite direction scanning the walls with my eyes, my heart racing.  I needed no more incentive, this place was fuckin evil!  Nuke it from orbit!  Something!

The light through this corridor was bad, but not terrible that needed to risk the camera.  The metal bars of a trolley glinted in my path, easily sprint over in my good effort to stay ahead of those psychos.  Two doors came into view, the one ahead was way over there, the one at my immediate left looked more inviting.

I swatted the door open and paused, staring at the bloated and gray body torn open on the autopsy table.  It was a fleeting moment, a reminder of my fate if I was caught.  I swung the door shut at my back and began pushing an equipment cabinet against the door, until I caught sight of the open vent on the far wall.

“Death and taxes!  Death and taxes!”

I didn’t worry over the bloody footprints that led towards the vent, I threw myself up into it and made the hasty trip to the other side.

“Doctor!  Doctor Wernicke!”

I slipped out turning to head right, until the door erupted and a variant crashed out into the opposite wall.  I pivoted and stumbled, falling to my hands and knees before I had clawed up to my feet and renewed my pace.  They were screaming for the doctor, for Walrider, and every manner of insane thing that seemed to generate their personal hell.

The hall ahead was blocked, crammed with metal shelves and broken beds.  In the corner of my eye I noted a cracked doorframe, I skid on the dusty black and white tile as I made the sharp right through what appeared to be an old office.  Glass windows made up the walls, they’d hold off kittens I’m sure.  Some of the windows were broken, but I doubt it’d slow down barefeet.

I sprang over a crushed desk, the wood gave out and I tumbled, tucking in my arms until I flipped over onto my feet and charged away.  A broken bookcase was directly in my path and, to where…I wasn’t certain.  I did this odd maneuver where I shoved my hands through, and pulled my body the rest of the way and kind of somersaulted, reaching my feet and resumed my sprint unbroken.  I heard someone not far behind crash into the bookcase and what remained of its contents plop against the floor.

My path came to a dead end.  A large gap between me and presumed safety, only a sheet of plywood bridged a fourth of it.  The sudden commotion at my back caused me to jerk around as one of the scarred patients tumbled down from climbing the bookshelf, and hurried at me with what looked like a machete.  I bolted, racing to the end of that board and leapt over the black gap. 

And fell.

I choked as I hit the edge and skid backwards, a horrible screech came from the camera still in my hand, as my arm ground over the floor.  I dug my fingertips into the concrete and dragged myself up.

“You slippery little whore.”

I kicked my feet against the rough side until I had my arm braced under me enough to haul my knees over, and scrambled away from the edge.  I collapsed, panting.  Not so much the exertion, but the stress and the fear.  I had barely escaped with my life.  That was too close, there was too many of them too outrun and hide from all at once.

I picked myself up and dusted off my coat, it had a bit of mud still stuck to it from the dampness but it was beginning to dry out and crumble away.  Probably didn’t matter.

It looked like there was a gate here at one point, the metal frame remained - and a floor too.  Where had that gone?  Was the metal grate along the wall, the floor?  This mechanism probably made sense to the staff of the asylum, like the purge chambers.  The gap looked deep, but I wasn’t interested in finding out how deep.

My body still quaked, I had temporarily eluded my pursuers but the silence and sudden calm unnerved me.  Where had they gone?  I was paranoid that I’d turn the next corner and run smack into their midst, I couldn’t waste time here.  I put the camera away fearing the risk of breaking it rather than using it, but if there was an area that I did need it, I reasoned I’d have a chance to reach it before I was located.

I crept to the end of the corridor and heard a racket that chilled me.  A door in my path had looked inviting at first, but the abrupt crash and the shriek of commands came through strong.  I took one step back…

Dead end, move.  RUN! 

I sprang forward skimming the corner as I took the hall.  The barrier shattered away soon after.

“You can’t hide!”

I passed under a section of pipes, through a dark hall and into another segregating of rooms or offices.  I skid into the door blocking my path trying the handle, it turned but the door was a stubborn piece of shit.  There was no visible reason why it wouldn’t open!  I whirled about checking my pursues, nearly upon me.  On my left was another door boarded up tight, but there was a space left open at the top. 

The variant swung at my face with his fist, the instant I ducked down and shot towards the door.  I clambered up the boards that would have prevented my access, and slid across the frame to the other side, throwing myself down into a wild dash.  The room was some sort of class, or instructional area, I didn’t get a good look as I breezed through.  The variants were using their weapons to dismantle the door, the screech of strained wood echoed in my skull as I turned the next corner.  It was impossible to put enough distance between them and I.

A sharp right and I raced full down the dark hall, staggering when I stepped on some books and papers missed in my panic.  I vaulted over a stack of large desks and came upon a door left ajar.  I rammed into it with my shoulder and found it to be another dead end.  Some sort of transfer, receiver station.  A store room for perishable goods and an inactive dumbwaiter.  I bolted out back into the dim hall, to the gate at the very end of my path.

It was locked.

“He’s got nowhere else to go!”

I examined the area carefully forcing my mind not to panic.  The gated door and lock, above there was no place I could climb or squeeze through.  This was what I had feared.

My eyes stung as took I step back and gave the gate another look over, I wiped the moisture away but nothing had changed, there was no way around.  This can’t be it, this can’t be the end.  I won’t accept this!

I spun about and dashed back to the open door and slammed it, just as the variants had caught up.  I grabbed the handle and pressed my shoulder into the brittle wood, they were fighting to turn it from the other side and force their way in.  I couldn’t keep this up for long, though they had a difficult time organizing themselves between forcing the door and bashing it down.  I needed to get away from it and search the room, but there was nothing in the immediate area I could use to jam the lock.  I doubt it would hold them off for very long, but I needed that time.  Just a second, a moment, a breath.  I wasn’t ready to let it end here!

I was budged off the door as one of the madmen slammed into it, I quickly replaced myself and gripped the handle.  My eyes frantically searching the shelves for something solid, even a can of cold gravy I could use to snap the handle off.

“Who’s down there?  You’re not one of them, are you?”  I stared at the machine at the other end of the room, suddenly alive and speaking to me.  “Quick!  Get in the dumbwaiter if you want to live!”  I gawked, stupefied as I actually witnessed the little elevator descend into view.

What was this?  A prayer answered?  My mind playing tricks on me?  Was I already dead?

I shook my head to clear the daze and lunged at the lift.  The door behind me took little abuse before it splint apart, and the variants came pouring in.  I shoved the gate up and crawled inside, just before my leg was grabbed the door snapped down and I held it there just to be certain, until I was raised high out of sight.

“God damnit!”  The patient smashed something against the grate, but I was headed up.  Very little they could do unless they attacked the key panel, but even then they couldn’t reach me.  I let out a shaky breath as I tried to wrestle control over my thudding heart, the vibrations pulsed hard on my sore ribs.

This was it, no more sewers, and I had been heading to the top floor to get my bearings straight.  From there I would be able to get around and figure out exactly where I was, or find some way out.  But I didn’t feel the swell of euphoria I had anticipated, something dark clouded the back of my mind and I let it brew there.  The reality of my situation began to sink in, as the walls of the elevator seemed to tighten a little more around my shoulders.

Who exactly was my mysterious liberator?  A normal person, alive after all the hell that consumed this place?  Seemed unlikely, but he sounded sane enough.  Fourth rule though, he’s insane even if he sounds sane.  Trust no one but the dark.  Good motto.  Kept me alive so far.

The lift traveled up a few more feet before it reached the floor and stopped.  I shifted to view the figure that stood beside me as the gate slid open.

“You made the right choice, here, buddy.”

[caratdeobii]

pairing: lee jeno x reader

word count: 1.9k

genre: fluff; a little bit of angst, i guess?

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking (kids, don’t drink until you reach the legal drinking age)

note: not proofread, i love jeno so much and i have other wip scenarios for the rest of 00 line but i really miss this cute lil baby

the bass of the stereo beats simultaneously with your heart, the booming music obviously loud enough to shake your insides. it has been less than an hour since you arrived, and a total of four guys already came up to you to shoot their shot at you.

one of the fratboys - wooyoung, was it? - who hit on you earlier approaches a lost-looking and naive freshman by the couch. her face brightens up as he pulls a cheesy pick-up line, probably the same one he used on you (the did-it-hurt-when-you-fell-from-heaven one, it was lame), and it makes you scoff at how pathetic and desperate he appears.

he’d really stoop that low?

“that’s the first time i saw you willingly look at another human being for the entire night.” an amused voice muses from beside you.

you sigh loudly with an eye roll, knowing where this is going. but even before you could brush him off, he immediately explains himself. “i’m not here to get laid, don’t worry. i’m the designated driver. i just wanna talk to an actual human being who isn’t trying to feel me up.”

“yeah?” you hum, still a little suspicious.

“there’s a standee upstairs, you know? it took me half an hour to realize it was inanimate. and then some dude tried to feel me up when i went to the restroom to take a leak.” he sighs, shivering at the unfortunate memory. “and since i got here, you’ve already been staring at the same guy. please, it’s been an hour, it almost looks pitiful.”

“i thought you’re the dd?” you eye the red solo cup on his hand, ignoring his remarks.

“it’s just some diluted soda or whatever this is.” he defends, handing you the cup.

examining the contents with a small sniff, you take the cup and bring it to your lips. you confirm it’s diluted... something when your face twists in disgust. “what the hell is this?” you almost spit.

he laughs in satisfaction at your response, and takes his cup back when you practically shove it at him. “no idea, but i’ve been drinking it for almost two deadly hours.”

“has it been an hour already?” you ask, nodding your chin towards the guy you’ve been watching.

“yeah, more or less. d’you need some help?”

you stay silent for a couple of seconds, trying to decide whether or not you should tell a random stranger about why you’ve been eyeing the same guy for almost an hour. you throw reason out of the door and look up to tell him the truth. but damn is he attractive. “what’s your name?”

“hyunjin,” he smiles. “architecture major.”

“i’m y/n,” you introduce yourself. “and thanks, hyunjin, but it really isn’t like that.”

“but you’ve been staring at him for an hour, sis. a beautiful girl like you pining over some guy, that isn’t right.” he whines, bouncing slightly.

you grin at his childishness, “i’m not lying! i swear, jeno’s just a friend.”

“tell me more.” his eyes widen in anticipation.

“sorry, what?”

“you know? when did you realize you were in love with him? is there a bad guy in the story? why won’t you confess?” he asks all in one breath, prepared to listen with undivided attention.

you laugh out loud, “hyunjin, be honest. how many romcoms have you watched?”

he smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “i, uh, none. i just thought...”

“well, here’s the thing.” you begin. “we’re already juniors in college but jeno still hasn’t been... out there, you know what i mean? he’s always been shy and reserved, too focused on his studies for the past two years that his best friend almost knelt in front of him to even come here tonight.” you tell hyunjin, recalling the way jaemin almost threw his dignity for jeno’s social life.

you met jeno during freshman year. you were in the same orientation group and the ol assigned you as buddies. the first few minutes were a little awkward, but the moment you asked him about pets, everything began looking up. in truth, he was your first college friend. you met jaemin, donghyuck, renjun and mark a week later, and the six of you became best friends. you and jeno, having the same major, became inseparable.

chenle and jisung came the following year. jisung shared the same major as you and jeno, and had been your tail since he got into the university. your friends joke about how you three look like a family, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

until jeno had a summer epiphany about being a little too introverted for his liking. he first told you about it, then jisung. the younger said he didn’t understand his dilemma, so jeno brought it up to jaemin, who told renjun, who said it to donghyuck, who relayed it to mark until everyone in your circle knew (chenle found out from jisung). talk about the grapevine.

the moment you all stepped foot on the uni, mark called in an emergency meeting. thus, the get-jeno-more-friends mission was born.

so, there you are.

“ah well, it’s a good thing seungeun isn’t shy.” hyunjin comments, his eyes on jeno and a girl, presumably seungeun. she places a hand on your friend’s bicep as she giggles.

a small feeling of protectiveness erupts across your chest and you almost march over them to pry her hand from your precious friend. however, one look at jaemin and donghyuck’s proud grins by the beer pong table, and you’re suddenly reminded why you even went here to begin with. it wasn’t for jeno to get laid, no, but it was for him to socialize and expand his circle. you went here to help him make more friends and it wasn’t difficult when almost every girl in the party wanted his attention. none of you were even surprised. he always had that innate charm with him and that eye smile can disarm a sniper in half a second. and you can’t deny how uneasy your stomach feels every time your friend actually laughs at whatever the girl says.

maybe jeno will be okay after all? you wonder to yourself when he spots you and smiles from the other side of the party. you don’t see the way his smile falters when his gaze flickers at hyunjin, who’s standing a little close to you.

“you sure you two don’t have some unresolved feelings in there?” hyunjin asks, obviously seeing the way jeno’s smile fades.

“i never said that.” you admit.

the truth is, you like jeno. and you always thought there was something going on between you two, until he told you about the summer epiphany. the way he said “i want to meet new people” just hit differently and somehow you begin to think you’re lacking as a best friend... and whatever.

“so, will you tell me the story?” he pouts.

“what do you wanna-” you begin, but get cut off by someone calling your name.

“y/n,” jeno calls.

you don’t notice the way hyunjin steps half a foot away from you and the girl, seungeun’s, glare. your eyes choose to see jeno only, and you have no idea how he managed to snap you away from reality by the familiar sound of your name.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, blinking.

“i-”

“hey, y/n. can i borrow your phone?” hyunjin cuts jeno off innocently. this time, you don’t miss the way your best friend frowns.

you give him a sharp look, “what?”

“i think my friends wanna go.” he nods towards a group of boys, one of them beckoning him over. “but i still wanna hear that story.”

“right.” you nod, handing him your phone. none of you notice how jeno’s jaw clench when your and hyunjin’s fingers brush. hyunjin punches his number in and gives it back with a sweet smile.

“it’s nice to meet you, y/n.”

“you, too. keep in touch.” you genuinely say. the exchange might be brief, but you actually like him and would love to keep in touch with him.

he joins his friends and with one salute towards you, their group leave the premises.

“so...” jeno starts. “hyunjin, huh?”

you give him a look, “you know him?”

“everyone knows him.” he rolls his eyes. “he’s like, the prince or whatever it is they call him.”

“huh,” you blink. “i had no idea.”

“and you guys say i’m the asocial one.”

this time, you roll your eyes. “how’s seungeun?” you manage to ask without bitterness dripping on your tone. “she okay?”

“i guess?”

“you guess?” you echo in disbelief. “honey, she’s gorgeous. i’d kill for that hair.”

“what’s wrong with your hair? i like your hair.” jeno says, looking straight into your eyes. “and she’s not my type.”

“jen, i have ten thousand split ends.” you deadpan, ignoring the way your chest inflates after he said she isn’t his type.

“where’s the fun of running my fingers through your hair if there aren’t any obstacles?” he grins, his eyes forming into your favorite crescents.

it catches you off guard for a whole minute. your chest feels a little heavy when you think about having to share them with other people. selfish, they’d say, but you want it all to yourself.

hell, you want lee jeno all to yourself - the eye smile and the mole underneath it, the dry sense of humor, the blinding eyeglasses of his, the confused eh’s, the pouts - everything.

you want him. all of him.

“so, uh, what’s the story hyunjin’s talking about?” you don’t realize you’re staring until he speaks again, his eyes a little pink from your gaze.

“why did you want to make new friends?” you suddenly blurt out. “are we not enough?”

“what?”

“never mind, i’m just being-”

“i don’t want you to feel suffocated of me.” he explains, eyes downcast. you suddenly feel bad for pressuring him to tell you, but you can’t bring yourself to stop him. the way he says ‘you’ makes your heart beat five times faster than usual. “you’re easy to make friends and you have lots of them. but i only have you, and it must be tiring. all of you must be really exhausted.”

oh.

all.

of.

you.

he means it collectively, idiot.

you compose yourself quicker than you expected as you reach a comforting hand on his shoulder. “jen, we won’t ever be tired of you.”

“i just don’t want you to think i’m too clingy or pathetic, y/n.” he sighs.

“we don’t think you’re pathetic. jisung and chenle look up to you, jen. jaemin adores-”

“i meant you.” he admits. “every time i see you out, guys are flanking all over you. they’re head-over-heels for you. even tonight. five guys, y/n. five guys came up to you. one of them even got your number. who am i to compete with hyunjin?”

“you’ve been watching me.” you state a little absentmindedly.

“i don’t mean to, but i can’t help it. not when you’re looking like that.” he groans, his hand going through his hair in frustration.

“ask me about the story hyunjin wanted to hear.”

“what?” he asks, confused.

“ask me again, jeno.”

he blinks, and it takes a few seconds for him to catch on. he smiles, his eyes - god, his eyes - forming into crescents, before he steps closer.

“what story was hyunjin talking about?”

“he wanted to know the story about how i fell in love with you.” you say.

you don’t even know how it’s possible, but his smile widens before he puts his lips on yours.

[him-e]

why did "the long night" feel anticlimactic? i agree that it's not because of arya or because not enough people died, but why then?

I think this battle should have spanned at least 2 episodes and be placed as the FINAL series climax. The Cersei & Euron plot should have been integrated with it somehow OR resolved before this battle. The fast-paced action scenes should have been diluted with some quieter, character driven moments to give breathing space to the narration and allow the characters to process what was happening. 

Technical aspects aside, the problem isn’t that the Night King went down so easily—when you have such an overpowered villain, a sleight of hand coming from a blind spot of his is the only logical way to defeat him (see also: Kylo Ren and Snoke). They also foreshadowed abundantly that the Night King’s magic was what animated the undead, so we all knew that once he’d go down it would have been all over. That’s not remotely the issue—again, they chose to go for this particular plot device and I believe there will be an equivalent in the books too (like, whatever lies beyond the curtain of light is probably the Others’ Death Star, and our heroes will destroy it like they destroyed the NK). (It’s also perfectly fair and thematically appropriate that the one to deliver the final blow would be neither of the two characters with the most obvious Chosen One arcs, nor the boy who the NK had identified as the wizard to destroy, but someone that the NK couldn’t see coming because he didn’t even know of her existence, and who STILL has spent her entire arc training for this exact moment even though she didn’t know it yet. The Night King = The Great Other = The God of Death, and Arya Stark said NOT TODAY, BITCH. I mean, didn’t we learn 8 years ago that GoT doesn’t coddle us with linear chosen one narratives? People suffering from blue balls because Jon didn’t have an epic lightsaber duel with the NK really confuse me. It’s not the final showdown that makes a hero anyway, it’s the FUCKING JOURNEY, and Jon totally had his own heroic one which isn’t invalidated by the fact that his sister, and not him, drew a blade through the villain’s belly!)

the REAL problem is that they completely failed to convey the SCALE of the threat, the sense that ALL of Westeros and BEYOND was under attack, which is really fucking dumb considering they bent over backwards to give the Night King a LITERAL DRAGON THAT HE COULD USE TO COMPLETELY BYPASS WINTERFELL AND ATTACK KING’S LANDING OR WHATEVER HE WANTED INSTEAD.

It’s narratively anticlimatic because what was advertised and anticipated as the most important battle, the entire endgame point of the series, humanity vs eldritch ice demons, is ALREADY resolved and we still have 3 more episodes to go, in which we’re supposed to muster up some fucks to give about Cersei and Euron (and we don’t even have elephants lmao). I haven’t seen the stakes of the story sink so low and so badly since season six of Supernatural.

It’s simultaneously utterly wrong on a thematic level because it re-focuses the narrative on the political squabbles, which completely undermines the “this goes beyond loyalties” message they’ve been broadcasting so far. They had one job—making the political and the magical overarching plots converge—instead they dealt with the latter separately, and will end the series with the former. Nobody south of Winterfell was ever affected by the Others. Nobody aside from those who gathered around Jon and Dany has learned ONE thing. Cersei? Euron? Never saw the Others in action, from their point of view none of this ever happened. The Dothraki? Should have stayed in Essos, raping and pillaging as they’ve always been, at least they would be alive. Dany’s quote from the promo about “we’ve won the great war, now we’re going to fight the last war” is so underwhelming because the great war should have been the LAST war, too.

[aaronmaurer]

TV I Liked In 2019

Every year I reflect on the pop culture I enjoyed and put it in some sort of order.

The era of “peak TV” has never been more apparent to me than the past year. I am very aware of the many shows I have not seen (don’t have Amazon Prime, for example), and yet I expanded my list from a top 10 to top 15 and still had to leave out A LOT of stuff I really liked! These picks include my legitimate favorites, ranging from truly important looks at the criminal justice system to ensemble comedies that I couldn’t wait to return to. In another year I may have been able to include the latest seasons of Barry, Stranger Things, Queer Eye, Bojack Horseman, Glow, or the finale seasons of Legion, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Veep, Silicon Valley and The Deuce, all of which I’d still recommend. But these stood out even more.

14 (tie). Chernobyl (HBO) / The Hot Zone (National Geographic)

Two limited series focusing on real-life disasters in the 1980s: the meltdown of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant and an Ebola outbreak outside of Washington DC. Chernobyl is an incredibly harrowing account of humanity’s inability to believe things that don’t mesh with their interpretations of reality and the destructive power of lies and cover-ups. The Hot Zone adapts the non-fiction Richard Preston book, a revealing look at pandemics, the power of fear and human resolve. Taken together, they raise interesting questions about governmental gatekeeping, professional competence and personal sacrifice.

13. Mindhunter: Season 2 (Netflix)

Joe Penhall and David Fincher’s look at the early days of the FBI’s criminal profiling department goes broader and deeper in its second season. There are still chilling interviews with incarcerated serial killers and criminal minds (including Charles Manson this time out), but the season really revolves around the Atlanta child murders. This focus provides a compelling look at who the justice system helps and who it ignores, and the investigative – and bureaucratic – work it takes to put together a case.

10 (tie). A.P. Bio: Season 2 (NBC) / The Last O.G.: Season 2 (TBS) / Schitt’s Creek: Season 5 (Pop)

Three great hangout comedies that really came into their own in their most recent seasons. A.P. Bio transcended its first-season preoccupation with revenge and leaned into its fantastic supporting cast – one of the best comedic ensembles around – to become a show I loved spending time with each week. (Thank goodness it’s coming back via NBC’s upcoming “Peacock” service.) The Last O.G. has had a lot on its mind since it began, but its second season covers privilege and the opportunity gap among other issues, ending with a note-perfect homage to Spike Lee’s Do The Right Thing, making it an unexpectedly resonant comedy. Schitt’s Creek is obviously having a moment right now, and Season 5 (the first season I watched as it aired) was perhaps its best yet. While the whole cast is great, as a big fan of Best In Show and A Mighty Wind, I love seeing Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara share the screen again.

9. Crashing: Season 3 (HBO)

The first two seasons of Pete Holmes’ show made my list in previous years so I’d be remiss not to include the final one, which may be its finest. Pete spends the season making a lot of mistakes – saying yes to things (gigs, relationships) that he probably shouldn’t – and although they provide growth, he doesn’t come across as the “good guy” in how he deals with all of them. This adds additional nuance to the show, questioning its straight white male protagonist’s actions rather than merely rewarding him for following his passions, while still leading to an uplifting and fitting finale.

8. Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt: Season 4 (Netflix)

Netflix split the final season of Kimmy Schmidt into two parts, so technically only the final six episodes premiered in 2019. Those alone warrant a spot on the list, as the show concluded by following its idiosyncratic bliss to the end. The final group of episodes includes a (pre-movie) takedown of Cats, a Sliding Doors homage and an unexpectedly moving series finale. If this one fell off your radar a few years ago, it’s worth revisiting and seeing through.  

7. What We Do In The Shadows: Season 1 (FX)

Based on the horror-comedy film of the same name, this series follows a different crew of vampires who live together on Staten Island. I was initially skeptical because I love the movie and couldn’t see how a television version could do anything but dilute its charms. On the contrary, the show broadens the universe in hilarious ways by introducing characters like “energy vampire” Colin Robinson and the incredible Vampiric Council (with so many incredible cameos!). The core actors are all wonderful, but the MVP has to be Matt Berry’s louche and libidinous Laszlo whose line readings are simply hysterical.

6. Les Misérables (BBC/PBS)

Although it aired in the UK in 2018, the BBC/PBS production of Victor Hugo’s epic didn’t grace American screens until early 2019 so I’m including it here. I am a big fan of the musical adaptation and find it quite successful at cramming so much story into a three-hour runtime, though it obviously has limits to how much of the source material it can explore. This (non-musical) adaptation’s six episodes allow for more of Hugo’s tale of forgiveness versus retribution to live and breathe. The terrific cast includes Dominic West as Jean Valjean and David Oyelowo as Inspector Javert, as well as Lily Collins as Fantine whose backstory is more fully realized here than the format of the stage show allows.

5. Our Planet (Netflix)

Essentially a sequel to the Planet Earth documentaries, with the same production team and David Attenborough narration, this Netflix series presents another stunning collection of nature footage that showcases the incredible diversity and beauty of animal life on Earth. Each episode includes a haunting reminder of man’s impact on the featured habitats and serves as a rallying cry in the fight against climate change.

4. The Good Place: Seasons 3-4 (NBC)

The Good Place has been high on my list since its first season and shows no signs of dropping in quality or esteem as it enters its final stretch of episodes. 2019 encompassed the end of Season 3 (including the hilariously imaginative visit to the Interdimensional Hole of Pancakes) and the beginning of Season 4 (with its crew of new characters and just as many reversals and rug-pulls as you’d expect). The final episode before its winter break was “The Answer,” a touching spotlight on William Matthew Harper’s Chidi, which might have been enough to make this list all on its own. (And given the surprise cameo/quasi-crossover in its first episode of 2020, I wouldn’t be surprised if it shows up here again next year too.)

3. Unbelievable (Netflix)

The true story of a serial rape case adapted from journalism by ProPublica, The Marshall Project and This American Life, Unbelievable is one of the most simultaneously heartbreaking and satisfying procedurals I have ever seen. As crushing as it is to watch the initial investigation completely mishandled and devolve to gaslighting, it is powerful and inspiring to watch compassionate public servants and actual good detective work be carried out as the series progresses. Kaitlyn Dever, Merritt Wever and Toni Collette are uniformly excellent here (as they also were in their respective film roles in Booksmart, Marriage Story and Knives Out this year).

2. Watchmen (HBO)

Showrunner Damon Lindelof (LOST, The Leftovers) takes some incredibly bold swings in his limited-run sequel to the groundbreaking 80s graphic novel that deconstructed the ideas of vigilantism and superheroics. Picking up in the same alternate reality as that story but in present day, the main action is shifted to Tulsa, Oklahoma, and the central theme is race relations. It could have gone way off the rails in a million different ways, but I found it to be incredibly successful. Each episode is a captivating work of art and it somehow seems to top itself with each subsequent installment. While I appreciate the book, I don’t love it; this series takes that source material seriously and, to me, completely transcends it.

1. When They See Us (Netflix)

As compelling as it is devastating, this miniseries from Ava DuVernay (who directed and co-wrote all 4 parts) dramatizes the lives of the wrongly convicted children the media dubbed “the Central Park Five.” Even with some familiarity of the story from watching Ken Burns’ documentary years ago, I was utterly gutted by the depiction of the injustices and systemic racism that stole these childhoods. Everyone in the cast shines, but Jharrel Jerome’s portrayal of Korey Wise (the only one of the group played by the same actor as a child and adult – and so convincingly) is truly phenomenal. Not a comfortable watch but an essential one. 

Bonus! Musical Comedy Specials:

The Unauthorized Bash Bros. Experience (Netflix) – This “visual poem” from the Lonely Island presents “an album of raps” recorded by Jose Canseco (Andy Samberg) and Mark McGwire (Akiva Schaffer) at their steroid-fueled 80s peak with the Oakland A’s. Your likely enjoyment is probably about equal to your reaction to that description. The songs are great, catchy and hysterical on their own, but the videos take it to another level, parodying everything from 80s infomercials to Enya to Beyonce’s Lemonade. There is no 30 minutes of TV I rewatched more in 2019.

John Mulaney and the Sack Lunch Bunch (Netflix) – Debuting on Christmas Eve, this children’s television homage/parody snuck in just under the wire. The words of the day could be fear and mortality, as the group of kids Mulaney interacts with reveal their personal phobias and several skits revolve around existential angst. By the end of the first musical number I was sold, by the time David Byrne showed up I was committed, and by “Mr. Music’s” madcap finale I wished it could last forever.

[epochryphal]

some politics

queer community ≠ lgbt(+) community: these are not synonyms.   neither is queer community synonymous with lgbtq(+) community, despite the "q."  saying "queer community" designates only people who actively identify into it as queer.  being able to say "queer community" without being accused of coercively misidentifying people with a slur is fundamentally important, especially given regional and experiential differences with the word.  context is vital, as is good faith.

in general, good faith is essential to productive, respectful discussion.

inclusion strengthens us and weakens our opposition.  more people identifying as trans/nb/non-cis does not weaken trans-ness; it weakens cis-ness, and it weakens cisnormativity.  more people identifying as queer does not weaken queerness; it weakens straightness, and it weakens heteronormativity.  making room for questioning people, unsure people, makes us strong.

the idea there are not enough resources to go around so we should kick out those [whose identities are] too-privileged/not-struggling-enough forgets both that those with energy/privilege will bring their own resources and contributions, and that allocation of funding/resources is (like libraries) granted based on the number that use the resources, so anyone walking into a center is a positive tally.  scarcity of resources generally occurs on a larger scale such as public (not lgbtq+-targeted) homeless shelters or domestic violence assistance, whereas when these are aimed at serving a specific population (here, lgbtq+), they may indeed have limited slots but simultaneously they risk defunding if not used or shown to be needed, and they also have the agency to determine priority of providing service such that, no, someone with less need [and identity less central to the resource's mission] will not "take away" the place of someone with more need [and an identity more central to the resource's mission].

butch/femme have always been used by trans, nb, bi, and queer people, especially since butch/femme were coined/popularized before the latter identity words.   attempting to restrict them to lesbians-only is exclusionist.   (similarly, stone/lith/akoi.)

"cishet" was once a way to highlight cis straight people as opposed to trans straight-identified people.  its current usage has become extremely hostile to trans and especially nb people, as it is leveraged even at non-cis aroaces (usually alleging they are pretending to be non-cis to escape their privilege), and is primarily now a dogwhistle for exclusionists who paint all asexuals as cishet.

attraction ≠ behavior.  behavior ≠ identity. this is a fundamental concept that underpins so much.   self-determination is an inalienable right.  wanting a label and model to be easily understood with one simple definition is a losing battle that hurts people at the margins and turns into respectability politics far too often.  words are tools that should be used to find like-minded (but never quite exactly-same, because variation) people, as a basis from which to begin a conversation.  having to expand into sentences on what the word means to you should be expected.  that's not dilution, that's not "words should mean things!", that's communication.

furthermore, fantasy ≠ behavior.  and relationship to intrusive thoughts or to sexuality ≠ indicative of relationship to real-world behavior.  one should not have to perform abhorring one's thoughts, attractions, fantasies, kinks, etc in order to somehow prove one would not commit atrocities.  coming to peace with violent intrusive thoughts, or "weird" kinks, etc, does not mean becoming somehow complacent and more likely to commit atrocities and needing to be kept away from people for their safety.  that's the opposite of effective OCD recovery and what it teaches us.

and again, behavior ≠ identity.  the most visible of a group, especially a niche group, tends to be the worst-behaved.  sometimes the group is in fact based around that behavior/politic, as in a political grouping, and generalizing behavior can be appropriate, ala "radfems believe x and tend to act y"; however, if it is an identity group, more akin to unchangeable selfhoods and spirituality, this is extremely limited and quickly leads to prejudice.  the distinction between "identity group" and "political group" can be a tricky one, yes, and i'm not sure how best to explain/define it, other than to point to stereotyping of asexuals and otherkin from "cringe posts" in contrast to, say, antis and anti-antis, as an example.  though political identities like libertarian or anarchoqueer may be very meaningful and dear, they still feel different to me, more like movements, than identities like orientation, alterhumanity, gender, and descriptions of one's experience of self, rather than descriptions of one's beliefs about how to approach the world (which...tend to more closely correlate to behavior, as a result, yes?)

i believe all of these principles and points make sense, are compassionate, and are internally consistent.  i realize they are not held by everyone, even people with whom i have very similar politics and common causes, and i am interested in and open to good faith discussions.  mostly i have been feeling the urge to articulate these, so, here they are.

[u-u-d-d-l-r-l-r-b-a]

You could be forgiven for thinking Michael was in a state of petrified urgency with how frantically he guides his best friend into the garage. His footsteps are erratic, light and lacking any sense of actual rhythm even as he skips down those three small steps into an atmosphere punctuated by oil and rest. The lighting is minimal at best – fli-fli-flickering above their heads as though jittering along to the beat bleeding through bare walls. Rich sure knows how to throw quite the fiesta; a collision of dizzy strangers with greedy fingers and mass volume and cheap cups dotted throughout every available surface as though they were part of a furniture.

Michael’s never seen a party from the inside before.  It’s different. It’s intense. It’s utterly wild in a way he never would have imagined and yet he’s not entirely adverse to that sense of community.  

 Still, he’s grateful to have found a place of c a l m, an eye in the middle of an all-encompassing storm. Even if he’s surrounded by empty cardboard boxes from classic board games and plastic containers full of long-forgotten memorabilia from Rich’s long-forgotten aerobics days. Michael remembers them well.

 “Are… are you okay, Mikey?” Jeremy whispers, lower lip knotted up underneath the slip of his teeth. “Why’d you bring me here?”

 Michael’s pupils are blown so wide they have become a galaxy, sparkling profusely underneath curled lashes despite how his brow levels in utmost concentration. His fingertips nurse one of those pesky little solo cups filled with one of the weird-smelling beverages Rich offered to make him; pineapple and rum and rum and pineapple and fuckin’ Toto jokes. Drugs he can handle like an absolute champ - alcohol is another story.

 He can still see the flames in Jeremy’s gaze from how he looked at Madeline. Can still see the film of gloss blossoming around his mouth from her kiss. And Michael is happy for him, he truly is. But he wants to fulfil Jeremy too. Douse him in goosebumps.

 “Y’said you were like confused, right dude?” Michael’s free hand drops to rest against the unholy swell of Jeremy’s hip, an eager thumb tracing deliberate semi-circles into jutting bone. “About fuckin’… ‘bout how guys make you feel, right? An’ I’m a guy. I’m your best friend. Who better t’try it with, huh?”

Jeremy would gasp if it were not for the pressure of Michael’s forehead falling to rest against his own, the spirals of his hair tickling over rosewater cheeks. The bow of his lips parting just a fraction to release something of a dreamy sigh. Cartoon angels and airborne hearts. The whole shebang.

 “H-here?” Jeremy gasps, his eyes darting swiftly toward the garage door.

 “Yeah. It’d be jus’ us, promise. I wanna be there for you like you’ve always been there for me, Jer.”

 A step forward, easily guiding Jeremy toward the abandoned pool table sitting in the centre of the floor. Wide palms cradling underneath magnificent thighs to ease him up onto the faded surface. Jeremy’s senses are absolutely heightened. Every single nerve bursting with a frantic electricity. His lips ablaze with the collision of a phantom kiss. And his legs spreading on pure instinct.

 Oh, if his Squip could see him now.

 Michael finishes his drink in an instant, lips smacking against the bitter aftertaste fizzling clinically across his palate, before tossing his cup aside. He hooks his fingertips within one and other – pushing forward into they crack pleasantly - and then brings his hands down to rest at the cinch of fabric pulled taut against Jeremy’s pelvis. The material opens easily and yet there’s a certain resistance when fighting against the breathlessly beautiful curves and swerves of his body.

 Jeremy quivers helplessly when his flesh is finally exposed. His thighs ache with the urge to close, fighting for modesty, only for the notion to become utterly diluted underneath the pressure of Michael’s lips. The kiss is warm and quick and deliciously chaste; saccharine in its swiftness but somehow strangely familiar. It never occurred to Jeremy how frequently Michael’s pockets would crinkle whenever he’d delve into them, but the sudden arrival of a lubricant certainly clears things up. Of course Michael would have lube with him at all times. Let’s face it, he’s positively smothered by suitors.

 The texture of rough, slick palms enveloping Jeremy’s cock is almost unnerving. A simultaneous collision of too much and not enough and every nuance in-between and he’s positively captivated by the motion. Michael is the epitome of a gentle lover (although, Jeremy cannot bring himself to even imagine such a word in relation to his best fucking friend), stroking his cock from base to tip without stopping nor accelerating. He’s got just the right amount of pressure – squeezing toward Jeremy’s head and easing off as he massages his way down. Jeremy’s knuckles scrape frantically across faux grass, his legs kicking out on pure instinct.

 Michael does something with his thumb which makes Jeremy’s eyes roll. His spine threatening to collapse in on itself from the motion alone. He presses his ankles into the structure of Michael’s calves simply to beckon him closer. Ease himself into what pleasure is being so graciously gifted to him.

 Jeremy’s hands move as though coerced by translucent marionette strings, wandering weakly toward the swell protruding from Michael’s far-too-tight jeans. His inexperience translates into stuttering palms and a willingness to wrench those skin-tight jeans down around Michael’s ankles; and he’s unbelievably grateful that he chose to forsake his underwear in the name of fashion. His cock fits perfectly inside Jeremy’s slender fingers, and despite how hard he tends to squeeze, how broken his downstroke tends to be, Michael lives for the discomfort and how it ebbs into transcendent bliss. He feels anchored like this. Tethered to the person he has always cherished most.

 Imagine how Rich would react to this moment. If he could watch Michael cradle Jeremy’s balls so tenderly. If he could see how Jeremy’s fingertips wrap eagerly around Michael’s curved cock and pull him inward. Maybe, if he were to walk through that garage door, he’d even consider joining.

 Jeremy doesn’t make much noise beyond broken murmurs and elongated whimpers, the sounds getting caught in the back of his throat - reverberating through porcelain teeth; his face, however, contorts in absolute heaven. His brows furrow. His lips part. His teeth chatter into the otherwise still atmosphere. His lashes flutter and his hips stir.

But Michael can hear it in the quickening of his heartbeat, rapid pulse ricocheting through heaving ribs and down into his weeping cock. How his breath comes in quick, short bursts. How his hand twists around over Michael’s head as though he were unable to keep himself steady.

 He’s going to cum. And he’s going to cum hard.

 Michael carefully pushes at the loose material draped like curtains over Jeremy’s petite torso, causing the shirt to bunch up across his chest, and in the same movement works his cock that bit quicker, anticipating the moment when his boy will twist all the way up.

 And when he does, Michael is there. Covering his cock with the heel of his palm to keep him from spraying his own chest and thighs. His senses are overloaded. His mind is a mess. His body succumbing to the ecstasy he never thought he would face at the hands of Michael fucking Mell of all people.

 “Easy, Jer…” Michael coos, his eyes gleaming with pure wonder. What a vision Jeremy is like this, cheeks stained crimson and skin dusted with sweat. His fingertips twitch with the urge to t a s t e, a feeling he attempts to smother. He wouldn’t want to scare Jeremy away. Not now.

 Michael makes a move toward the rusted sink in the corner. Yet, before he can make a single step out of line Jeremy is whimpering, fingertips crooking in a motion to usher Michael forward. Back in place. He’s not finished. Not yet.

 He clasps Jeremy’s cock with both of his hands, twists them around without purpose nor certainty. The sensation of calloused fingertips squeezing at Michael’s length is enough to cause his stomach to flip with absolute gratitude. It is better than he had ever fantasised before – more passionate than he was prepared for. The full Jeremy Heere experience he had always longed for.

 The fullness of his own palm slaps heavily across Michael’s open lips, squeezing tightly, trapping all those earth-shattering howls which threaten to escape; tapping into his innermost kink of being silenced – of being controlled.

He cums with a smothered shout over the caramel of his shaking highs. Full body s h i v e r i n g into the roll of Jeremy’s wrist. The stars illuminated beyond crimped lashes are breathtaking – shades of silver and gold and rouge all wrapped up into one wicked flare. Swaying back and forth from foot to foot, Michael wipes his hands on the crook of his knees. Removing all traces of their brief rendezvous all caught up in an evening of music and cocktails.

 His lips find the purse of Jeremy’s own with a natural ease. Clinging for just a moment before his retreat.

“How do you feel?” He keeps his voice low. Affectionate.

 “I uh… pretty, uh.. awesome actually”

Simplistic words and yet they thoroughly massage his ego. Stoke the tangerine flames crackling brightly within his abdomen.

 “Cool. So, we still on for the Apocalypse marathon on Friday?”

 “You know it!” Jeremy grins, pulling his pants back up his legs. Bringing himself to settle on uneasy limbs. “Get ready, though, cos I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Yeah, dream on Jer.”

 Michael brings an arm around Jeremy’s slender shoulders. A certain spring in his step. And they dip out back into the enthusiasm of the crowd.

[shippingeruri]

Dirt & Velvet - Victorian Age AU fic [UPDATE]

Dirt & Velvet - Victorian Age AU fic [UPDATE] - better late than never :D

Chapter 4 of Dirt & Velvet.

Levi and Farlan have an evening out together and the new Chief Police Inspector bears a secret that Levi discovers on their first encounter.

Read the whole fic on AO3

Read the chapter on AO3

~~~

The night was silent besides the steady rain against the small windows and some occasionally thunders roaring through the darkness that was just broken for split seconds by lightening.

When Levi woke up, he didn't bother to get a fire going, he would leave soon. After he had dressed decently, had a bit of bread for breakfast and packed everything he'd need for a day on the other side of the city, he took his umbrella and left.

The people in the streets of Whitechapel gave him quite a look as he walked towards the bigger roads, all dressed in fine clothing, tailored to his body, supporting every feature.

“Mayfair, Sir? That's quite a ride with the streets covered in mud.”, the coachman informed him after Levi had let him know his destination.

“I'm well aware of the distance and the conditions of the streets.”, he just smiled decisive as he got in.

He wanted to see Farlan. They hadn't seen each other since around Levi's birthday and it always was a pleasure to spend time with his oldest friend. Although Farlan definitely was the luckier of the two. And although Levi lived a lie for his friend. Out of respect and also fear. He wouldn't want to lose him as a friend.

Their journey went through the whole city.  Despite the heavy rain London was as busy as usual. Umbrellas in front of buildings provided little dry spots where those poor bastards without an umbrella on their own were seeking shelter.

Everyone was following their daily business, merchants selling all kinds of things one might need or not. Paper boys announcing the headlines which Levi didn't hear through the rain, bakers trying to keep their freshly baked bread dry.

Soho was heard before they even got near. The hordes of people living here, near the rich west and always hoping to be lucky enough to get their share of the luxury next to them, were something that Levi tried to avoid by all means.

“Go round the National Gallery, please”, Levi lifted his voice after he knocked against the cabin. His heart rate went up, just by imagining the crowds pushed in too narrow streets.

“Will make sure, Sir.”, the coachman replied and Levi could hear the irritation in his voice. It would make the journey more expensive but it was worth every shilling.  

About half an hour later Levi paid the coachman and tried to avoid the puddles that made no difference between the poor east and the well off west.

As he stood in front of the impressive house which Farlan had been living in with his adoptive parents, Levi pressed his lips together while knocking against the door with the heavy and massive iron ring.

Continue with your web of lies and everything will work out fine.

His smile was practised, his gestures trained. The story in his mind soaked through his reality.

“Mister Levi! What a pleasant surprise to see you!”, he was greeted by the maid of the house.

Levi lifted his hat, giving her a gentle smile. “Good day madame. I wanted to see Farlan, if there's any chance that he's here at the moment?”

“Oh, yes. Please come in. I'll inform the young master about your arrival. Would you like a cup of tea?”, he was invited in.

“A cup of tea would be more than welcomed. Thank you, my dear.”, Levi replied as he sat down in the entrance hall.

The maid went upstairs and only a minute later she returned with Farlan by her side.

“Levi! What are you doing here?”, his friend asked while coming closer with a wide smile.

“I was in the area, signing another contract, and so I thought I'd go visit my oldest friend.”, Levi said and they both hugged each other.

“It's good to see you. Have you grown since I last saw you?”, Farlan asked chuckling.

“No, I did not. And right now I'm considering if it's good to see you.”, Levi replied while his eyes narrowed and he pulled back.

They looked at each other for a moment before they simultaneously started to laugh.

The tee was brought and they sat down again.

“Another contract, eh? So your import business is going well?”, Farlan asked, his eyes fixed on his friend.

Levi only nodded, taking a sip from the steaming hot cup.

“I envy you. You've accomplished so much on your own. And I just was lucky enough to got adopted any now I'm just the rich kid in a family that is active in politics. How boring is that. But you Levi, you really made it.”, Farlan nodded, his voice reflected the respect he had for his friend.

“At least you were lucky enough to escape the orphanage sooner than me.”, Levi smiled.

My torment after you were gone is something I can not tell you...

“Indeed...”, Farlan agreed and leaned back in his chair. “Oh! Since you sometimes have business in Whitechapel and leave near the area... do you have any information about that … serial killer over there?”, Farlan asked while his eyes widened.

“No I don't. In fact, I wasn't aware that this is now a serial killer, I thought he only killed one poor soul.”, Levi replied.

“Oh no, Levi. Haven't you read the paper today? He killed another girl, within three days, he killed two young, beautiful girls in the streets of Whitechapel. Both sex workers. The newspaper say it has to be the same killer for both from what the police has found out so far.”, Farlan explained and Levi lifted his eyebrows.

“I haven't read the newspaper today... so this is new information for me.”

“Well, now you know. So better be careful when you have business over there.”, Farlan chuckled.

“I'm neither young, nor beautiful nor a girl. And I certainly do not sell my body to some disgusting, filthy men.”, Levi declared and Farlan lifted his eyebrows.

“You turned 30, Levi. That's not exactly old. You are certainly not a girl but – pardon me to say it so bluntly – you do indeed have an interesting face.”, Farlan smirked.

“Stop with that. Please.”, Levi sighed and took a deep breath. “What are your plans for tonight? Would you fancy to.... go over to Covent Garden?”, Levi asked and the corners of his mouth went up.

“Covent garden and Miss Nanaba's house would definitely be something very nice for tonight. But unfortunately I have to attend a banquet at Scotland Yard over at Westminster. You can join me there if you like.”, Farlan suggested and took a sip from his tea.

“A banquet? Doesn't the police have something better to do?”, Levi asked as his right eyebrow went up. “You just told me they now have a serial killer instead of a murderer.”

“I'm pretty sure they would have better things to do... but Zackly found a new man for Whitechapel, a Chief Police Inspector, one rank below the old Pixis but about half his age. He wants to give this man a welcome party with a few higher ups, some politicians, important people and my father. But since he's indispensable at the moment, I'll go.”, Farlan explained.

A new high rank for Leman Street? Levi was curious. His people hadn't told him anything about this but neither was he informed about the second murder. He could only profit from knowing the new face in Whitechapel and maybe he could also get other information of interest.

“And since I'm your best friend, I won't let you go alone then.”, Levi agreed and drunk from his tea.

“I knew I could rely on you, Levi.”, Farlan smiled and cleared his throat before lowering his voice. “Should it get too boring over there, I have something good for us.”, he smirked and Levi raised his eyebrows with a smile.

Something good meant opium. Not that diluted shit you got on the streets of Soho, around Kings Cross and in Whitechapel. But the good, clean, pure thing. Imported and of high quality. A single gram cost a fortune.

They started to smoke the cheap shit when they were still teenagers and while Farlan, especially after he got adopted, only smoked it occasionally, Levi soon found himself addicted to the black drug. He never tried to lie to himself about it but he would not want that Farlan was aware of this situation.

Levi could afford it. In his teens he had stolen money or food and sold it and then he had bought the cheap stuff to smoke it. The sweet scent while inhaling the numbing drug also stimulated his senses and also could explain his disliking in alcohol.

He used to make little portions after he grounded the drug and then smoked it with tobacco in rolled cigarettes. A habit he had dropped as soon as he had more money and could afford to smoke it in a opium pipe. That was also when he discovered that he had only consumed the weaker form of the drug before.

The real deal was the raw opium gathered from the dried milk of the capsules of the flower. When harvested at the right time, skilled people could transform it into high quality opium. The best came from Asia because of the climate and it cost a lot.

But this was the thing that Farlan preferred and whenever he somehow obtained it, he would invite Levi. Farlan has always been more of a social person than Levi and while the dark haired would rather get wasted in his apartment, Farlan would like to go out and do something while being high.

They spent the afternoon with tea and biscuits and made a short stop at a nearby tailor. Farlan always wanted to give Levi tailored clothing as a present and Levi was the last to deny.

A dark grey suit, some new shirts and a pair of leather gloves, all could be picked up in two weeks after the tailor had taken Levi's measurements. Farlan felt proud, as always, as he paid half of the money in advance already.

They sat down in the luxurious carriage and while Farlan's personal coachman brought them closer to Westminster, the rain got a bit lighter.

“How's Isabel doing?”, Farlan asked as he leaned back relaxed against the dark purple back rest.

I was wondering when he would ask.

“I try to see her as often as possible. But since she still prefers to stay at different places and not settle down, it's quite an adventure to find her. Lately she's been around Piccadilly Circus a lot.”, Levi explained and took a deep breath. “But it's been two weeks since I last saw her.”

“Our Isabel, still the same.”, Farlan smiled.

“Yes, still the same untamable madcap but she's doing fine. Although I'm a bit concerned since she told me that she got quite a few offers for jobs.”, Levi continued.

Farlan raised his eyebrows. “What kind of jobs?”

“Sex work mostly but some of those people try to catch her with becoming a singer or dancer. And we both know how much she would love to do that. So I'll try to give her a talk on that again.”

“So she's still out there, pick pocketing people? And is this street entertainment still a thing?”, Farlan asked.

“Yes, both. Her juggling skills have improved quite a lot and it's stunning to watch her. She makes good money with it.”, Levi explained further as the Thames came in sight.

Farlan let out a sigh. “I see... but still I would wish for her to do something else. She will get dead sick when she stays on the streets during this weather.”

“I agree and I already tried talking to her... but she wants to keep her independence.”

“Stubborn girl.”, Farlan laughed.

“She sure is but I'll try my best to talk with her about the situation again.”

“Hopefully she'll listen to you. She always respected you way more than me and since I got adopted by this family, she would no longer see me as the brother-like figure as before.”, Farlan's voice hinted sadness.

Levi pressed his lips together for a moment. It was true.

Isabel had looked up to both of them when they were in the same orphanage. She had come there when she was about five years old and Farlan and Levi immediately became her big brothers. They would stick together, help each other, be there for each other. And only a few years later Farlan got adopted, the trio ripped apart.

Levi and Isabel had been closer than ever before and Farlan, who was only 14 years old at that time, didn't know how to contact his two friends, once he was gone. Only when he turned 18 he somehow got in contact with the orphanage again. Right in time, since Levi was to leave the institution. Too many young children that needed a shelter made it necessary that the 16 year old boy had to leave.

And I was the luckiest person in the world when I could leave this fucked up place.

Since then, Levi and Farlan had kept vivid contact as much as possible. Isabel, who had to stay at the orphanage a few more years, felt left alone and Levi visited her almost every day. He wanted to be a constant in her life and give her a positive example besides his life going downward from the very beginning.

Neither Farlan nor Isabel were aware of Levi's source of income. Both thought he'd started to work at a small store and slowly made his way into trading business. He told these lies with so much belief that they never doubted him.

His reality was far less convenient. He had to steal, started to learn how to cheat on card games and barely made it from day to day. He had slept in run down places, as long as he had his opium, he wouldn't care. It always numbed his thoughts, inspired his mind and let him dream. Dream of a better life, of places he never had seen.

Something that very regularly came across his mind when he smoked opium was the ocean. He had never seen it in person.

And I probably never will. I'm stuck in this shit hole.

When a fight at a pub had gotten out of hand, someone noticed Levi's agility and determination and before he realised what was going on, Levi had started at the very bottom of organised crime. Beating people, blackmailing people, collecting money, getting information. It paid off very well.

His morals were almost non existent since his whole life was marked by the absence of morals and so he would do almost everything. However, one thing that he would never do was to sell his body. Neither to women nor to men. The first had always hurt him. His mother might have been the only one who had hurt him involuntarily with her death.

He could hardly remember her. And it hurt. He felt guilty for not being able to remember her face, her hair, her eyes, her touch. But he was just three years old when she passed away. Unfortunately he still was able to clearly remember her coughing and the blood all over their little apartment. In the end she didn't even have the strength to leave the bed and Levi was just sitting there, touching her cold, sweaty skin as she had taken her last breaths.

He had been sitting by his mother's corpse for a few days without food. All they had in the apartment was rotten or had started to go mouldy. They couldn't afford firewood and the apartment was moist from the very day they had moved in.

When a lady from the same floor let herself in their apartment she quickly pulled Levi away from his mother's rotting body, calling a doctor and giving the small child to the Jewish orphanage a few streets away.

Only when Levi was older he fully understood that his mother had died from tuberculosis and that he was lucky to still be alive. When he thought about that he had been sitting on his dead mother's bed for a few days, he felt sick. And again he was ashamed for not being able to clearly remember her face.

The women later on in his life hadn't made him very eager to attach himself to one of them again. Beating him, laughing at him and also abusing him. So he had no interest in dealing with them, even though more than a hand full had approached him to buy his body for a night.  

And men... well, there might have been a few that he had been curious about but those were men he voluntarily showed an interest in. For money he could and would never let one of those dirty, old bastards lay a single finger on him.

I'd rather smoke less opium than selling my body.

~~~ When they left the carriage the rain was just a faint drizzle. Yet it was cold and the Thames was in motion as heavy wind blew into their faces.

The Scotland Yard building belonged to Westminster, had the Thames right in front and was an impressive building to look at. They headed for the entrance and after they had entered Farlan was greeted right away with a deep bow from the man behind the reception.

Levi still found it fascinating that the police and other institutions already had access to electricity while the majority of the population only could dream of it.

Dimmed light shone from dark yellow light bulbs and Levi tried to pull himself together and his focus changed to the man who was now talking to them.

“Mr. Churchill. It's an honour that you could come since your father is in France at the moment. May I take your cloaks, gentlemen? Who is your guest if I may ask?”

“Thank you very much. This is Levi, my best friend. I bail for him.”, Farlan replied while he and Levi took off their cloaks.

They were hung up alongside other expensive looking cloaks from men and women alike.

“Commissioner Zackly will hold his speech in a few minutes, then the buffet will be opened. Drinks are already available. If you'd please go up to the second floor you will find the festivity room without doubt.”, they were informed and both bowed their heads.

There was no way to miss the door to the welcome party. When they climbed up the dark, massive stone stairs there was live music and chatter could be heard.

They entered a large room. Around 60 square metres, with a high ceiling. Glass decorated chandeliers with light bulbs illuminated the room and candles on tables and on the wall supported the rather cosy atmosphere. There were some high tables where people stood around and had drinks. To the left was a podium where Commissioner Zackly was preparing his speech while a small group of musicians was playing next to him. Levi had seen him before, he was the man in charge for all the police in London. Metropolitan as well as city.

On the right were several dark blue sofas, heavy black curtains separated them. Some important looking men were already sitting there, heads close together, while whispering.

Levi's gaze was wandering over the people. Men and women in all age groups, all dressed up, showing off their wealth. Only those, who were actually working at the police were dressed less pompous.

“We should get a drink, shouldn't we?”, Farlan suggested and Levi followed him to the bar that was on the opposite site of the room.

They got gin and then searched for a free table near the podium from where they could see Zackly, who would start his speech anytime.

“Oh god, I probably should know more than half of the people in this room...”, Farlan sighed as he bowed his head and smiled friendly towards anyone that greeted him across the room.

“Help me, Levi.”, he whispered.

The dark haired just hinted a smile while they clinked their glasses. “I'm quite happy with drinks, listening to the conversations going on in this room and some good stuff later on”, he let his best friend know.

The gin tasted bitter and refreshing. His throat welcomed the taste and for a moment he closed his eyes. His double life paid off once again. These people here where the complete opposite from those living in Whitechapel. And Levi always had a liking in playing different roles, in adapting himself, playing his cards right.

“Ladys and gentlemen!”, Zackly raised his voice while the music faded out and the conversations throughout the room died while all eyes focused on the stage. Grey hair, bound in a ponytail with a matching grey beard framed friendly yet sharp eyes. With a wide smile on his face he adjusted his jacket and cleared his throat.

“Today is a special day for Scotland Yard. Not only have all of you found your way here”, a short pause with some chuckles from the audience.

Tck... those smugged pigs.

“Today I want to give our new Chief Police Inspector the chance to get to know you while you can get to know him. Alongside Chief Police Inspector Dot Pixis, whom you might all know, we have Chief Police Inspector Erwin Smith joining us for our office in Leman Street from tomorrow on.”, Zackly's voice sounded excited.

“You might think that this is not worth this party, but I think it is. Erwin Smith was one of the brightest heads on the south coast and barely someone with his rank voluntarily would ask to work in Whitechapel. But this man did. And he earns all of our respect for doing so. Please welcome, Chief Police Inspector Erwin Smith!”, Zackly's voice almost cracked in excitement.

Applause covered the room and Levi clapped his hands a few times before he put his glass to his lips again. His eyes wandered over the audience real quick before someone else climbed up the podium after Zackly had left.

The tall blonde who got on the podium wore a well tailored suit, his legs seemed endlessly long in the grey cloth that was pinstriped in black. A matching grey pinstriped jacket lay perfectly over his wide shoulders and as he turned around he was adjusting the white collar of his buttoned shirt before his fingers run over his silver grey cravat.

Levi didn't move. His eyes were all fixed on that man whose presence filled the room. Something Levi hadn't experienced in a long time. His fingers were still holding the glass to his lips but he didn't drink, he just was examining the man's face.

Blue eyes. Blue eyes like he had never seen them before or at least he couldn't remember. An intense gaze, friendly, respectful, humble yet confident. His eyes were framed by impressive eyebrows. Bushy, dominant, yet well formed and perfectly supplementing the strictly parted blonde hair and neatly trimmed sideburns.

His cheekbones gave his face an even more unique frame. They made him interesting. In a way, Levi hadn't thought about a man in a long time. His jawline was clear cut, strong and the overall expression of a good looking man with a brilliant mind was underlined by the witty smile that crossed his lips.

Levi found himself staring, staring like an uncivilized, rude boy from the streets. The blue eyes examined the audience for a moment – this man knows how to set up a scene – their eyes met for a split second.

Fuck.

Drowning. The feeling of drowning overcame Levi. Soaked in to this extraordinary blue eyes. Although it wasn't even a full second, Levi felt his jaws pressing together, while his heart rate rose – he tried to control himself again, finally forcing himself to drink from the glass he had been holding for far too long now. And while he was at it, he emptied the gin in one rush.

One or two glasses were appropriate but he would rather numb his mind with opium and its sweet scent than with alcohol.

The glass found his was on the table and Levi gulped heavily while he pulled out his rolling papers and tobacco. A bad habit he couldn't get rid of since he had started with opium mixed with tobacco and his body got used to all the shit in there. But he would still buy scented tobacco so he wouldn't smell bad. Lavender it was this time.

“Thank you very much for your kind words, Commissioner Zackly.”, the new Chief Police Inspector started with a friendly tone. His voice was heavy, his accent clearly from the south. The baritone pitch fitted his appearance of a big, strong man. Yet his body language was conflicting.

Were his hands shaking? Also, his eyes seemed to be wandering off and his mind getting distracted by something or someone in the room.

“I'm neither a man of many words nor am I a man of great words. I'd just like to thank everyone for coming here tonight. I feel honoured by this warm welcome and I'm looking forward to fulfil my duty as new member at Leman Street police station with all my heart.”, the blonde spoke while his body language now left no doubt about his upright morals.

Strong and tall, every little detail was perfect. Like the chain that led from his trousers to the chest pocket of his west and obviously hinted a watch. Or his tie that lay neatly around his neck and was a blend of grey and silver, perfectly highlighting the dark pinstripes on his jacket and trousers. His bright eyes got everyone's attention in the room and the involuntarily performance with his eyebrows that seemed to underline everything he said was what really got Levi.

“So before I bore you all to death and you all have to stand around much longer – let's get to know each other better while we enjoy the buffet, that Commissioner Zackly has arranged for us.”, Erwin Smith said and made a gesture towards the richly covered tables that haven't even gotten Levi's attention yet.

He was no good eater, never had been. Food merely got him excited liked other people and especially Farlan right now next to him. His friend’s eyes widened but then Chief Police Inspector Smith had his attention again.

While the people in the room gave the blonde a welcoming applause, he was smiling. It was a humble smile, the corners of his mouth merely lifted, nasal wings widened. But what struck Levi were his eyes. The blue seemed so vivid, so alive, so full of life. And again their eyes met for a second while the tall men left the podium.

A shiver went down Levi's spine

What an impressive man.

“The police spent quite some pounds here, look at that roast beef.”, Farlan interrupted Levi's focus on the blonde.

The dark haired gave a grunting noise that hinted his non existing interest in the buffet.

Farlan emptied his drink and grabbed Levi's hand. The smaller one knew that he could escape the grip but there was no need to make a scene. Farlan was the one who had brought him here so he would stay with him.

While Farlan filled his plate with everything he could get a hand on, Levi examined the people.

Many of them police, without doubt. Others were politicians, like Farlan's family, others were just some important business people or simply enough lucky to have money.

Besides the police, Levi didn't have much respect for the people present. The police were the only ones with something close to morals and who actually worked for the people of London. The simple people.

At least in Leman Street. The police in Westminster was something completely different.

Levi spotted one of the high ranks from the west. Nile Dawk. He hated that guy. Since Farlan was living in that area, Levi has had the honour to talk to this man already. Just looking at him made his blood boil.

He was one of those cowards that would rather get bribe before getting his hands dirty. That sorry excuse of a beard made him question if this man even owned a mirror and what annoyed him even more was the fact, that he had brought along his two kids.

Last time he had seen him, he had only had a daughter but now there was small boy clinging to his wife's hand.

“Are you not going to try the buffet?”, Farlan asked and waved around with a piece of meat on his fork.

“No, thank you. I'm fine. I'll get us more drinks?”, Levi suggested and Farlan nodded while he pointed towards the sofas near the entrance.

More people now wanted to get a drink and so Levi queued up with them. Just when it was his turn, someone placed a hand on his shoulder and rose his voice to get the barkeepers attention.

“Two bottles of gin, the good one. Commissioner Zackly and I will have some private conversations upstairs.”

Levi froze. The big, warm hand on his shoulder came completely out of nowhere and he felt the urge to pull away his shoulder, to get rid of the unwanted touch. Yet, when he turned his head to give the culprit a look, he froze again.

Those damn blue eyes looked down on him. The Chief Police Inspector was much bigger than it had seemed on the podium and he was so close that Levi could smell his scent. Heavy and wooden. Freshly bathed and shaven. A scent of lavender, vetiver and lemon.  

“Oh, pardon me, Sir. I didn't mean to be rude.”, the blonde said, his hand still on Levi's shoulder. His breath hinting that the had already had some more gin.

Levi couldn't reply or react properly. He was too shocked, too surprised, so he just narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together while his right hand run through his hair.

The blonde rose his eyebrows and a smile crossed his lips.

Why are you smiling now?

Levi licked his lips before he found his voice again.

“If we wouldn't be in the headquarters of Scotland Yard but in a pub in Whitechapel, you might've a broken wrist now, Chief Police Inspector Smith. No, pardon me. You might not have it, you would certainly have it.”, Levi spoke with low voice, assured and yet he was hinting a smile.

The taller one was certainly confused about Levi's tone and his wording. The blonde was blinking, his eyes focusing on his own hand for a second. Slowly he pulled back and straightened his jacket.

“Thank you for the warning. I would indeed prefer to not have my wrist broken.”, he lowered his head a bit.

“A man from Whitechapel? A colleague of mine who I've not yet been informed about?”, he asked and curiosity spoke honest from his voice and eyes.

“A man from Whitechapel indeed. But none of your colleagues. Sorry, if I have to disappoint you.”, Levi smirked back.

They both still were pretty close to each other, yet Levi had no urge to bring distance between them. The blonde smelled good, looked good and dressed well.

Why am I thinking this?

“And would this man from Whitechapel care to introduce himself? I'm pretty sure that we will cross each other's paths more than once since Whitechapel is quite the nest. And since I was introduced to everyone, it would only be fair if I would not have to call you Mister Wristbreaker.”, Erwin chuckled.

Levi breathed out amused, the corners of his mouth now also wandering up.

“It's more or less your duty to know the people of your district, right?”, Levi asked as he fell his knees going soft.

Shit. What the hell is going on?

“You could say that... but you don't have to feel forced to tell me. I will find out on my own, should I really want to know your name. I just wanted to give you a fair chance to prevent me from calling you Mister Wristbreaker.”, the blonde smiled again.

“Well, I believe that the new Chief Police Inspector, Mister Erwin Smith from Eastbourne now had enough fun with this situation. Levi, the name's Levi.”

“Levi. Nothing more? So just Mister Levi then?”, the new member of Leman Street asked, surprised about his inconvenient way to introduce himself.

“You're correct, Mister Smith.”, Levi lifted his chin.

Blue eyes gave him a warm smile.

“I'm relieved that my miserable first impression doesn't seem to last.”, the blonde smiled.

Your very first impression was stunning, you idiot.

“I don't want to take any more of your time. I'm glad that you wouldn't be too upset about my … way to handle a situation like this in another environment.”

“Absolutely not. Although I would handle a situation like this differently, I can understand why it upset you.”, a gentle and apologizing smile followed. “And now I'm off to some … rather unpleasant conversations. I hope we get to talk to another again, Mister Levi.”

“Enjoy your evening, Mister Smith.”, Levi ended the conversation while the well dressed man reached for the bottles on the counter next to Levi. A shiver down his spine, the second time this evening.

A gentle smile from those beautiful blue eyes, nasal wings widened by both men as they seemed to inhale deeply.

And then the moment was gone. Mister Smith was gone and Levi took two Gin and returned to Farlan who was waiting at the sofas.

“What took you so long?”, he asked with way too much food in his mouth and Levi gave him a look.

“Sorry.”, Farlan murmured after he had gulped down a whole lot.

“Don't say you're sorry when you are not.”

The evening went on without further special events. Farlan had some conversations, Levi tried to wander around as much as possible, eavesdropping and just getting an idea of the general chit chat of the west.

When midnight came close, Farlan seemed pretty desperate about the whole situation. He still carried the well packed opium in his pocket, a pipe on the inside of his jacket.

When they decided to leave, Farlan nevertheless had to say some special good byes and Levi took the chance to finally eat something from the buffet. He took up a plate and was looking for something that didn't look too gross or as if everyone had touched it already.

“Bring those plates downstairs.”, a harsh voice ordered him and Levi pulled back his head.

His eyes found a big man with a black suit.

“Are you deaf, boy? Bring that downstairs now.”, he was ordered again.

Levi hesitated for a moment. Did this guy really think he was one of them waiters? Who did he think he was to order me around?

But within a split second Levi smiled modestly.

“Yes, of course.”, he agreed and took another almost empty plate before heading for the door.

This was his chance to have a look around in offices he would never be able to enter.  The hallway was empty besides some waiters mounting plates and so he headed right for the stairs.

His feet carried him through the entrance area directly into the heart of Scotland Yard. A big office, lots of tables. Nothing of interest for him. He wanted to find an archive or the office of one of the higher ups, Zackly maybe?

While his eyes scanned the name plates on the doors a noise interrupted him. He narrowed his eyebrows, turned his head to the right. One of the office doors was not fully closed and muffled sounds could be heard from the inside.

Out of sheer curiosity Levi came closer. Every step silent on the dark wooden floor.

When he finally was able to have a glimpse inside, the corners of his mouth went up along with his eyebrows.

This is very interesting.

What he saw was clear, no room for interpretation. Erwin Smith, the new Chief Police Inspector, had his hands on Nile Dawk's wife. Their lips were united, passionate moans filled the air as the walnut brown haired woman held on to Smith's jacket with one hand. The other one held a good fist full of his blonde locks and pulled him close.

Levi only observed the scene long enough to make sure that he was no witness of rape. The blonde pushed Dawk's wife against the wall, his hands were wandering all over her body, fumbling on the threads of her corsage to free her breasts.

The ivory-like skin was covered with hasty kisses, soft bites and the women threw back her head, moaning a bit too loud should one consider that her husband was in the same building.

“Mary, my beautiful Mary...”, the Chief Police Inspector moaned as his hand cupped one of the full, big breasts and started to suck on her nipple.

“Oh Erwin...”, she moaned aroused and was reaching for the man's free hand, led it to her lips and slowly let his index finger glide into her mouth.

Definitely not the first time they see each other.

When the blonde began to pull up the skirt of his lover, Levi had seen enough. That was passion, no rape. A beautiful woman cheating on her husband with the newly arrived member of the London Police? What story was behind that? How were their paths entwined?

Levi was curious. He always was interested in anything that would give him an advantage.

After he dropped off the plates in the kitchen he met Farlan were they dropped off their cloaks.

“You're smiling, what happened?”, his friend asked right away.

“I had a great evening with some gin and I'm up for the good stuff now.”, Levi replied and Farlan nodded.

“So where do you wanna go?”

“I'd still not say no to a visit at Nanaba's”, Levi smirked and Farlan tilted his head.

“Okay, let's go there then.”, he agreed

~~~

About ten minutes later the two friends left the private carriage again and knocked on the big red door while taking off their hats.

A slender, young woman with brownish hair and a dark blue dress opened and a bright smile spread across her face.

“Good evening - or night - honoured gentlemen. Please come in.”, she welcomed them with a curtsey and made room for them to come inside

“Thank you, my dear.”, Farlan replied.

“I'll inform Miss Nanaba – would you like to take a seat?”, they were asked.

“Yes, please.”

They followed her to one of the welcoming rooms where they sat down on big, luxurious sofas that fitted the richly decorated room perfect. All red and gold and heavy farbics.

“May I offer you something to drink?”, the young women asked.

“No need for that, we have something else.”, Farlan smiled as he pulled out his opium pipe and a small box. While Levi started to make small portions of the black powder, Farlan build together the pipe.

“I see. Miss Nanaba will be here with you soon.”, the rustling of fabric was heard as she left the room.

Just when Miss Nanaba entered, they both had their first few drags from the pipe. The opium started to spread through their minds and bodies.

The woman was dangerously beautiful in her own way. Fit and tough, a gentle face when she was smiling, yet Levi and Farlan alike were aware of her strength and the rigid hand with which she was leading her establishment.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”, she welcomed them with a smile and both stood up from the sofa.

“Miss Nanaba, you are beautiful as ever.”, Farlan spoke as she offered him her hand and he bowed to blow a gentle kiss on red silk gloves.

“No need to charm me, Mister F. It's late. I was about to close the door. Tell me which girls and which rooms you want so I can send the other ones home.” Her voice was clear cut, every gentleness gone.

Levi felt the opium spreading in his body, his head getting light. With a gentle smile he took her other offered hand and blew a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.

“If Susan is available?”, Farlan asked as he sat down again and took another drag from the pipe.

“She is. I'll let her arrange her room. You know she only works in her room.”, Miss Nanaba explained as she gave Levi a questioning look.

Levi's head was dizzy as he let go off Miss Nanaba's hand and sat down next to Farlan. Gin and opium mixed with to little food and the heavy scent of this place were playing on his mind. Along came the fact that his last visit here was far too long ago.

“Becky.”, he quickly decided and with an excited smile he added: “In the dungeon.”

Miss Nanaba lifted her eyebrows and Levi pulled out his purse to pay in advance. He was a regular in her dungeon and he knew he would have to pay in advance.

“That's too much.”, she noted and wanted to give him back a coin.

“No. Give Becky the rest. She'll deserve it after I'm done with her.”, Levi replied. His eyes lighted up with excitement and Farlan started to grin.

“Very well, Mister L. The dungeon it shall be then.”, she concluded and left the two of them alone.

[riffrelevant]

Article By: Pat ‘Riot’ Whitaker, Senior Writer/Journalist ‡ Edited By: Leanne Ridgeway, Owner/Chief Editor

It is March 25th, 1988 and Night Flight, a late night visual arts and variety show on television’s USA Network each weekend, is about to show viewers something entirely different… and they shall never be the same.

It is, of course, the age of the music video and this program is on the verge of airing one titled “Prime Mover” from the British sleaze rock act, ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION. The number is musically inspired by the U.K. space rock collective Hawkwind’s 1977 track “Quark, Strangeness And Charm“, its video directed by Adrian “Ade” Edmondson of “The Young Ones” fame. Ultimately, neither one of these facts will mean much of anything when people get an eyeful of this leather-clad band, and then hear their music. Yes, it is the latter that they’re going to find most impressive, hopefully… or altogether hate.

Mark Manning is a graphic artist at the time, and former art editor at the then-defunct Flexipop! Magazine that had folded in 1982. It was while working there that Manning was introduced to a frequently visiting flow of rock stars and their hedonistically decadent lifestyles… and he wants in. It would be a few years still, but soon enough, Manning is working as a graphic designer at another publication, Metal Fury, when he begins to undergo a transformation.

The change is taking place during his hours off from work, Manning experiencing an evolutionary-like leap (or in some’s eyes, perhaps a devolution) on the scale of characters from Robert Louis Stevenson’s literary work, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Much like that strange case, Mark assumes an alter ego role, that of Zodiac Mindwarp – an anti-social looking sort, like a greasy biker from the cast of some forgotten 70’s exploitative B-movie. What he is, and what he has become, is something that really surprises no one that has known Manning for any length of time, and soon, he aligns himself with similar like-minded outcasts.

ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION is officially given life in 1985, joining Zed (as he is known to his friends) in the band are guitarist Rockman Rock (aka Jimmy Cauty), bassist Kid Chaos (aka Stephen Harris), and drummer Boom Boom Kaboomski (real name unavailable). Of course the latter part of the band’s name was culled from the most unlikeliest of sources, but there it was, in the lyrics of the third verse of The Boss’ “Dancing In The Dark“.

Soon, the band is signed to the Phonogram Records subsidiary, the Food label, and 1986 would be the year that ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION begin their campaign to dominate Rock ‘N Roll. It begins in May that year with the “Wild Child” single,  recorded with Zodiac on vocals and guitar, Kid Chaos on bass, and Jake Le Mesurier on drums. The band’s name has already become a thing of high praise and acclaim among the denizens of the “Grebo” movement (or “Grebo rock”), a British musical sub-genre incorporating influences from punk rock, electronic dance music, hip hop, and psychedelia.

Though ZM&TLR look the part of the term’s earliest intended targets – the word “grebo” was originally used as a slang term for bikers and rock music fans with long hair – the word is being re-fashioned by the group Pop Will Eat Itself in 1986. They use it in song titles and soon, it becomes a thing unto itself, a music genre sublet that in time will include such acts as Ned’s Atomic Dustbin, The Wonder Stuff, Scum Pups, Jesus Jones, and Gaye Bykers On Acid. Before ’86 is over,  ZM&TLR release the “High Priest Of Love” EP which soon lands in the #1 slot of the U.K. Indie Chart.

Truth is, ZM&TLR are pretty much the antithesis of the Grebo look, a polar opposite to its colorful shorts and clean shaves. Zed & Co. opt for a rather more psychedelic, drug addled, Mad Max-ian appearance melded with the German SS ala iron crosses, skulls, black leather, and sometimes, storm trooper helmets.

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HIGH PRIEST OF LOVE EP

TATTOOED BEAT MESSIAH

By the end of 1986, ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION play the U.K.’s packed Reading Festival before thousands of fans. Not bad for a band that had their first gig at the 500 capacity Dingwalls in London less than a year before. Yes, it is evident that the band’s misanthropic imagery is not having an anti-social effect whatsoever, and even more intriguing, their music and its lyrical contents are finding an audience. Chock full of flamboyant, chest-thumping proclamations derived from a raging libido, Mindwarp’s tongue-in-cheek ravings are pure camp despite their often lascivious and misogynist tone.

By the next year, the band has new blood in the form of lead guitarist Cobalt Stargazer (real name Geoff Bird), rhythm guitarist Flash Bastard (real name Jan Cyrka), and drummer Slam Thunderhide (real name Stephen Landrum). Also, bassist Kid Chaos has left to join another popular rising band, The Cult, so enter Trash D. Garbage (real name Paul Bailey). The band continues their ascension to sonic glory with more U.K. single releases in 1987, including “Prime Mover” and “Backseat Education“.

However, for any British band, there is only one thing that seems to equate as having “made it” or being successful, and that is acceptance across the pond, in the United States. In February of 1988, ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION release their first full-length album, “Tattooed Beat Messiah“, through the Vertigo label, another subsidiary of Phonogram. The album contains remixed versions of the singles released the previous year, alongside several new songs too, including a cover of the Steppenwolf classic, “Born To Be Wild“, in some markets.

The album explodes in a music scene being dominated by acts like Poison and Bon Jovi but true anti-authoritarian types know the deal. “Tattooed Beat Messiah” is the dividing line, where such horrid pop fluff shall not pass, and it spawns several subsequent video tie-ins to tracks like “Backseat Education“, “Planet Girl“, and of course, “Prime Mover“.

Ultimately, it has the desired outcome as ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION are placed on a 1988  U.S. tour bill, alongside Guns & Roses, supporting Alice Cooper. After just a few dates, ZM&TLR are bumped up on the roster, now playing after G ‘N R , before Alice Cooper. Several of the band members appear with Slash, Axl Rose and Alice Cooper in a performance of Cooper’s “Under My Wheels” for the feature film music documentary, “The Decline Of Western Civilization: Part II“.

Tours with Motörhead and Iron Maiden only serve to increase the frenzied hysteria about the band, it’s growing like a raging wildfire and soon, they’re designated the new rock royalty, placing them in the ranks of bands like Circus Of Power, Warrior Soul, and Monster Magnet.

Yet, for every high there is a low, for every climb, a descent, and somehow, some way, ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION were about to experience theirs. At some point in all of this, the band is informed that “Tattooed Beat Messiah” failed to sell well in the United States, resulting in them being dropped by their record label while burdened with large, outstanding debts. It doesn’t add up, literally, as the album had ignited like a fuse, spawning five official videos that received regular rotation airplay on MTV, and the channel’s “Headbangers Ball“. That show’s host, Ricki Rachtman, claims the band as one of his all time favorites, and one of the most underrated bands of the era.

Not ready to give up the ghost yet, ZM&TLR release a sophomore album, “Hoodlum Thunder“, through the only label that would seemingly sign them at this point, Musidisc. Despite critical acclaim for the album, there is no hysterical fanfare this time, no arenas to rock, yet it’s probably a safe bet that some grope-ready groupies still thronged the band. The album spawns a handful of singles including “Elvis Died For You” and “Meanstreak“, and one of its cuts, “Feed My Frankenstein“, ends up being re-recorded by Alice Cooper, and released on his 1991 Hey Stoopid album (and featured in the 1992 movie Wayne’s World).

  Truth is, things will never quite be the same for ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION as they increasingly cycle through a revolving door of musicians. This includes bassists Suzi X, Tex Diablo and Kev Reverb, along with such drummers as Robbie Vom and The Apocalypse. They continue to release consistent output like “Live At Reading“, “My Life Story“, and “One More Knife”, but the band eventually goes on a hiatus, remaining inactive for a decade before resurfacing again around 2002.

“I Am Rock” arrives that year, another live album, “Weapons Of Mass Destruction” in 2004, “Rock Savage” in 2005, and the following year, 2006 brings “Pandora’s Grisly Handbag”, a 1986 live album and DVD pairing. Through all of this, the persona and over-the-top character that is Zodiac Mindwarp never dilutes nor seeks a PG rating. The dangerously deranged, gargantuan genius of Mark Manning continues to expand, authoring multiple books containing memoirs about his sordid sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll experiences simultaneously as the band issues albums.

In 1996, he pens Bad Wisdom (with Bill Drummond), while Crucify Me Again (2000), Get Your Cock Out (2000), Fucked By Rock: The Unspeakable Confessions Of Zodiac Mindwarp (2001), Collateral Damage, and The Wild Highway (2005, again with Drummond) all follow.

2010’s “We Are Volsung” album, featuring the cast of Zodiac Mindwarp with guitarist Cobalt Stargazer, bassist Jack Shitt, and drummer Bruno ‘The Cat’ Agua, is released via SPV/Steamhammer. Recently, the current edition of ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION featuring Z and Cobalt, Beast Of Ante (bass) and the returned Robbie Vom (drums), have toured in celebration of the 30th anniversary of  the “Tattooed Beat Messiah” release.

When all is said and done, the larger than life cosmic rock deity that is Zodiac Mindwarp, as well as his more human alter ego, Mark Manning, will be a subject regaled across the infinite celestial. Tales, legends and mythologies, if not entire theologies, will be devoted to the praise and edification of the Tattooed Beat Messiah. You know, the “Christ in shades“, the “napalm god“, the “Sex führer, baby”, the “love dictator…living detonator“- Mister Prime Mover himself.

Oldschool Sunday: ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION Article By: Pat 'Riot' Whitaker, Senior Writer/Journalist ‡ Edited By: Leanne Ridgeway, Owner/Chief Editor It is March 25th, 1988 and…

[junker-town]

NWSL Week 17 in review: Sam Kerr’s 4-goal game gets Sky Blue FC back in the playoff race

Three weeks after the Reign topped Sky Blue 5-4 in Seattle, the New Jersey team returned the favor with a 5-4 home victory of its own. Now, thanks to one of the most epic comebacks — and greatest individual performances — in NWSL history, Sky Blue’s postseason hopes are still very much alive.

Games at Sky Blue FC’s home venue Yurcak Field are, historically, not very good. There’s occasionally some wacky stuff that happens there, sure, but mostly, it’s a lot of 0-0 draws with Boston and playoff hopes that have been dashed since May.

Until this season.

Going down by a goal or three is, generally, an awful strategy for winning games. It is a completely terrible one if your endgame is the playoffs. It is, also, the place where Sky Blue now lives, and boy, have they made that house a home.

Before Saturday there were already a lifetime’s worth of epic comebacks and late-game miracles from this team. Going down 2-0 against FC Kansas City before a Sam Kerr hat trick in the span of 12 minutes gave Sky Blue the 3-2 win. An 84th minute goal from Kerr to earn a 1-0 victory over North Carolina. A 90th minute goal, also from Kerr, to salvage a 2-2 draw with Chicago. Raquel Rodriguez scoring in the 83rd minute against FC Kansas City to turn a 0-0 draw into a 1-0 win. An 85th minute goal from Rodriguez to break a 1-1 deadlock with Houston. Maya Hayes scoring in the 82nd to give Sky Blue the 2-1 win over Orlando. All of these, with the exception of the win over the Courage, happened at Yurcak. And all of these, with the exception of the draw with Chicago, have resulted in Sky Blue, however improbably, getting all three points out of something that probably should’ve gone the other way.

That’s five late-game wins, and Sky Blue had, before Saturday, won only seven games this season, total.

Sometimes, of course, it goes the other way. In June, Sky Blue lost 3-2 to Orlando thanks to an 86th minute goal from Rachel Hill.

Three weeks ago, that little bit of late-game magic perhaps got diluted by whatever wet weather reputation the Pacific Northwest has. Then, Sky Blue took a 4-0 Seattle lead and turned it into a 4-4 game, with four goals in 15 minutes (Kelley O’Hara, 60’; Leah Galton, 64’; Daphne Corboz, 72’; Kerr, 75’). And there would indeed be one more, only it came for Seattle, from Megan Rapinoe in the 87th minute.

Sky Blue followed up that game against the Reign with a 4-1 loss to Washington. And then came last week, where Sky Blue got into that comfortable place of at the bottom of very deep hole before realizing they forgot to grab the bag with the ladder from baggage claim. Final score: a 5-0 loss to the Pride in what was one of the worst performances by any team this season.

In the week between then and now, head coach Christy Holly stepped down and captain and central defender Christie Rampone announced she was done for the season due to “accumulated injuries.” Whatever magical season Sky Blue had been having, they’d apparently left that bag of tricks at the baggage claim, too.

Whatever low point the game at Orlando and everything that happened in the following week may have been for Sky Blue, that alone apparently wasn't enough for them to stage some epic comeback. A big win after an ugly loss? Boring. Finding some kind of on-field inspiration in all the off-field drama? Been done. Instead, Sky Blue would take the field on Saturday night against Seattle and within three minutes, go down 1-0. And then it was 2. By the time the whistle blew for halftime, Sky Blue was down 3-0

When the teams emerged from their locker rooms following the break, the Sky Blue players quickly took the field and lined up, while Seattle stayed in its huddle. It was, visually, kind of hilarious to see Sky Blue there on the field, alone, facing off against some invisible opponent, like some too on-the-nose metaphor come to life.

Eventually the Reign too took the field and what transpired over the next 45 minutes will be forever remembered not only as one of the wildest halves in league history, but also as one of the greatest individual performances and epic comebacks this league has ever seen. And in a season where Sky Blue's already become pretty adept at all those things, well, Saturday was something else.

Even before Saturday, Kerr's name was being thrown around as a possible MVP candidate. She's been long stuck in a three-way race with Marta and the now injured Megan Rapinoe for the Golden Boot. She's scored more clutch goals than any other player, certainly this season and maybe ever, and at 23, was just shortlisted for the FIFA Best Player award for her performances for both club(s) and country.

Kerr started Sky Blue's comeback in the 48th, a fortuitous series of bounces in front of the Seattle goal eventually landing the ball close enough to Kerr that she was able to poke it through traffic and between the post and Haley Kopmeyer.

The second came 20 minutes later, with Kerr getting on the end of a ball from Daphne Corboz, taking a few touches past her defender and firing a low shot past Kopmeyer from just above the corner of the six. Suddenly, it was 3-2, and with 22 minutes still to play, everything was possible.

And everything is, indeed, what happened next. Kerr’s third, and the prettiest of the night, came in the 71st, again on ball out of the back, though this time from Sarah Killion. Kerr settled it, and with four defenders around her, fired a bending shot from just above the 18. The shot was so casual it seemed to catch Kopmeyer off guard, and then it’s 3-3.

Seattle, of course, and maybe the game three weeks ago should’ve been a warning this would happen, didn’t let things stay even for long. In the 85th minute, Kiersten Dallstream put the Reign back on top. And then things got really crazy.

Maya Hayes equalized, again, in the first minute of stoppage time. And then on what probably should have been Sky Blue’s last gasp, a handball in the box, and a penalty kick. Here, Killion, who’s Sky Blue’s usual PK taker but who’s also struggled lately from the spot, and Kerr, discuss things for a minute. Ultimately, it’s Kerr who’s left standing over the ball, 36 feet from her fourth of the night and the unlikeliest of wins in a season already full of them. Kerr rings her shot off the crossbar.

In the highlight video posted to the league site, they don’t even cut away to the next bit of action after Kerr’s missed PK. Instead, they let the whole sequence, unedited, play out for nearly a minute. Seattle clears the rebound, but the ball doesn’t even make it midfield. Sky Blue plays it back in, and some kind of last ditch attempt at getting the ball into the box takes a funny deflection, first off the foot of Kristen McNabb and then off Kopmeyer’s hand and out.

By now, we’re fully into the four minutes of stoppage time. Taylor Lytle’s corner floats perfectly into the box. There’s a scramble of bodies both fluorescent yellow and light blue. Hayes and Kerr both jump for the ball, kind of colliding in mid-air. Somehow, amidst all this, Kerr gets her head on it as she’s simultaneously being pushed sideways from the contact with Hayes behind her. And among all of it, the ball sails past Kopmeyer. Now it’s 5-4. The game is over before the ball even makes it back to midfield. Improbable comeback now not just probable, but real.

.@samkerr1 is the first #NWSL player to score 4️⃣ in one game. Her 15 goals lead the NWSL. Dramatic 5-4 win for @SkyBlueFC. http://pic.twitter.com/QaVF4uNnbD

— NWSL (@NWSL) August 20, 2017

For Kerr individually, the four goals put her squarely back atop the Golden Boot race, and now with 15, just one away from the single season record set by Kim Little in 2014. Already the league’s all-time leading scorer, Kerr also became the first player to score four goals in a single game, and the first to score two hat tricks in one season. It’s just more accolades for Kerr, who at 23, was recently shortlisted for the Best FIFA Women’s Player award for her work for both club(s) and country.

For Sky Blue as a whole, they become the first team to come back from a three goal deficit to win.

Now, Sky Blue is sixth on the table and still three points out of the final postseason spot. And with just five games to play, there’s not a ton of time left to make up the ground the series of rough results over the past few weeks cost them. Or maybe coming from that place, down with not a lot of time left, is exactly how Sky Blue gets into the postseason. A comeback? It’s not like they haven't done it before.

Scores

Wednesday

Boston Breakers 1 - 3 Houston Dash

Chicago Red Stars 1 - 2 Seattle Reign FC

FC Kansas City 2 - 1 Portland Thorns FC

Saturday

North Carolina Courage 2 - 0 Washington Spirit

Boston Breakers 1 - 2 Orlando Pride

Sky Blue FC 5 - 4 Seattle Reign FC

Portland Thorns FC 2 - 0 Houston Dash

Sunday

Chicago Red Stars 1 - 3 FC Kansas City

[behindbecaused-blog]

Janelle Monáe: The Art of Concept Albums

Album design is almost always universally overlooked; it is a corner which few would expect to find artistic intention in. In fact, if asked, many music consumers would assume album design was random. Ergo, there isn’t really a demand for deliberately constructed album designs. 

And when there isn’t demand, there won’t be supply. Few of the ways most mainstream musicians design their albums are ‘artistic’. In an age of digital music where attention spans are short and artists are hard-pressed to capture as much listening time they can, the most common modus operandi might be to “save the worst for the last”: put your best songs first to entice audiences into listening to the rest of the tracks, especially the less popular ones. But this approach is not worthy of an ‘art form’ - it’s just pragmatic.

The question we want to ask is: is there a better way of doing things? Can album design be an art form? The best artists don’t just hit the right keys or string together a combination of notes. They have to tell a story. Album design is just one among an array of techniques to do so.

Meet Janelle Monáe, an up-and-coming R&B American artist. So far, Monáe has released a debut EP, Metropolis: Suite I (The Chase), and two full length albums, The ArchAndroid and The Electric Lady.  These are all concept albums, part of an ongoing 7-part series, titled Metropolis, for Monáe. Set against the backdrop of a dystopian future, the series chronicles the rise of the android Cindi Mayweather, an alter ego Monáe assumes in her music, as a messianic figure for her fellow androids to rally around. By tracing Mayweather’s struggle with systemic oppression, inequality and discrimination faced by the robot community, the political undertones of Monáe’s songs are strikingly obvious.

“Good morning, cy-boys and cyber girls! I am happy to announce that we have a star-crossed winner in today’s heartbreak sweepstakes: Android Number 57821, otherwise known as Cindi Mayweather, has fallen desperately in love with a human named Anthony Greendown. And you know the rules! She is now scheduled for immediate disassembly”

‘March of the Wolfmasters’ from Metropolis: The Chase Suite

What makes Monáe special is her impressively unique album design, which immerses us into the world of Cyndi Mayweather. Monáe begins each “Suite” in her series with “Electric Overtures”. These preludes set the mood for the subsequent tracks in each suite; take “Suite IV Electric Overture” for example - its slow and ominous feel, together with digitally distorted vocals chanting “I don’t wanna be a slave again”, keys us into the deep-seated political tensions of her world. At the same time, Monáe includes “radio interludes” in The Electric Lady, which serve to expand the world she’s constructed through dialogue and exposition, in a way that remains consistent and faithful to the medium of her work. At this point, we are no longer just listening to a list of songs; instead, we begin to exist in Monáe’s futuristic dystopia as if we were fellow listeners tuning in to DJ Crash Crash. In other words, her technique makes her story - of oppression, freedom, and love - more believable, as if we were actually in it.

Monáe also employs a technique known as beat-matching to create seamless segues at multiple points throughout her album. Segues like the one between ‘It’s Code’ and ‘Ghetto Woman’ elevate the audience’s listening experience by achieving an effect we like to call “flow”. This effect is crucial to the musical coherence of her songs, in the sense that they are no longer isolated stories of their own, but chapters of a continuous narrative; they blend, add and mix into one another.

This technique is not unique to Monáe - artists like Coldplay and Lin-Manuel Miranda have employed it in their music to great effect too. But perhaps none of them work quite as spectacularly as the segue between Monáe’s ‘Q.U.E.E.N.’, and her album’s title track, ‘Electric Lady’. Have a listen.

Barring the prelude at the start of the ‘Electric Lady’ MV, which the original song does not feature, ‘Q.U.E.E.N.’ blends seamlessly into it (To get what we mean, try listening to the two songs on Spotify).

Towards the end of “Q.U.E.E.N.”, Monáe launches into a politically-charged rap - “We rising up now, you gotta deal you gotta cope/Will you be electric sheep? Electric ladies, will you sleep? Or will you preach?”. Her tone rises, her lyrics grow in intensity, and the momentum of her argument rises to its peak. Segueing seamlessly into “Electric Lady” prevents Monáe from losing that momentum; it lends the latter song the same weight and intensity. Moreover, Monáe’s somehow manages to sew together multiple songs with enough finesse to prevent them from sounding like fragmented parts of a single track or, worse still, duplicates. That is a tribute to impressive album design as well.

Notice that we haven’t even gotten around to talking about the actual quality of Monáe’s music, as we would usually do when dissecting most mainstream music. But Monáe is not mainstream. Far from it. Her techniques are unconventional, her story is uncanny. We don’t need to go into the many genres Monáe crosses into effortlessly or her hauntingly impressive vocals to prove that she is an artist, in every sense of the word. She takes something familiar - album design in this case - and turns it into an art form.

Monáe is challenging the artistic conventions of the industry. That is simultaneously the beauty and tragedy of her music: like any good piece of art, it takes effort to digest, but the thing is, most music consumers are lazy to think or try something new. This is why, besides several Grammy Award nominations and a number 17 spot on Billboard 200, Monáe isn’t getting the fame and popularity she deserves. The truth is, most of us are undiscerning consumers of music; we feed off an industry which discourages innovation by diluting music into a kind of manufactured commodity; we would choose mainstream pop tunes over Monáe’s afro-futuristic jives any day; we would opt for what is familiar.

But, as with any art form, what is the point in sticking to the ordinary?