#me turning British while speaking to a cat

[captainknell]

RIP Oliver 😞

So my husband and I have been listening to the audiobook of His Majesty's Dragon (we haven't gotten very far yet) but I accidently started talking "formal and British" apparently. I was at my mom's and her new cat walked up to me and I said, "Well hello, Oliver. I do not believe that we have properly met." Then I was like, omg I sound like Laurence 😅

[hyperfix-wip]

Webbed Together

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader/ Spider-Punk x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3k

Author's Note: I HAVE FINALLY GOT THIS CHAPTER DONE!!! 😭 I'd like to thank @pinksugarscrub for being so patient with me and for beta reading for me! Credit goes to @the-kr8tor for their original characters Ramona and Billie.

Tags: Parent Trap!AU, Dad!Hobie AU, Twin!AU, Billie and Ramona!AU, Older!Hobie, Mom!Reader, Older!Reader

Chapter 4: Stand Up

Rubber soles slap against dirt as Annie sprints towards the infirmary. Fiery short locks whip against the momentum the faster she runs, thick frames bouncing against the bridge of her nose and sweat building up on her forehead.

The moment Annie heard that Billie went to the infirmary after her private clarinet lesson, she ran straight out their shared cabin and across the campgrounds to the infirmary, dodging any unsuspecting campers and counselors along the way. Her heart pounds against her ribcage as her feet propel her faster, her mind riddled with worry for her friend.

Annie’s feet then skids across the dirt, small gravel and dust flying everywhere, before she runs into the infirmary. Weaving around the bewildered elderly nurse through the doorway, she instantly spots a mane of dark curls in the corner of her eye, where before her is a familiar figure gently bobbing her head with an mp3 player in her hand with a boy lying in the infirmary bed.

“Billie!”

Annie storms into the room and grabs the girl from her chair, oblivious to the startled boy in the bed while standing on her tiptoes and shaking the tall girl by the shoulders.

“Billie, what the heck happened?!” Annie yells, her hands clamped onto skinny shoulders while she jostles the girl back and forth. “Cindy told me you went over here after playing volleyball with Benny and his friends! Did he hit you in the head or something? Do you have a concussion or–”

Annie continues to jabber on with her interrogation while shaking the poor girl, not noticing the lack of piercings on her ears nor the lack of punk flair in her clothes.

“But not only are you fine, but you’re just chilling here listening to music with a boy!” Annie huffs with her cheeks puffed out and her brows furrowed. “When the heck did that happen?! Who is he, and when were you planning on telling me?! What the heck is going–”

“Uh, Annie?”

Annie instantly freezes at the familiar British accent behind her. Her hands still clutching onto the girl’s shoulders, she slowly looks over her shoulder to see Billie standing under the doorway, staring at her with a confused tilt to the head. “What are you doing?...”

Annie’s eyes nearly break through her glasses when she sees her friend before turning her attention back to the disoriented Ramona, who quietly groans while her head lolls around from the sudden outburst from the shorter redhead.

A long silence lingers in the room as Annie looks back and forth between the two girls, the wave of disbelief washing over her face until–

“...WHO THE HELL IS THIS?!”

—

Annie’s face is frozen in a perplexed frown as she stares at the sight in front of her, ignoring the wary and injured Arnold as she sits on the edge of his bed.

Two Billies– or Billie and Ramona, as Billie reminds Annie. One in her familiar punk band-tee and with her cat-like smile, and the other smiling sheepishly at her in a white, cherry-decorated sweater. The sight of Annie’s perplexed stare elicits a snicker from Billie before she tries to speak.

“Oh c’mon, Annie–”

“Shut up.”

Billie presses her lips together and holds her hands up in surrender, but she struggles to stifle her snickers as Annie shoots a sharp glare at her. The latter then turns to Ramona, who flinches from the intense scrutiny of the redhead. Despite having more than half a foot on her, Ramona is instantly intimidated by the short redhead.

“...so you two don’t know each other?”

Ramona quickly shakes her head no.

“And you barely met each other when your friend–” Annie points her thumb over to the flitty Arnold– “got hit in the head by a volleyball?”

A quick shake yes.

“And all of this is just a coincidence for you guys?”

Another quick nod.

Annie stares at the shrinking Ramona, as if studying a new specimen in a science experiment, before she sighs in resignation. “Okay, I guess.”

“ ‘m sorry– what? Jus’ like ‘at?” 

Billie drops her smirk and squawks in indignation as her eyes narrow at her friend, her British accent briefly growing stronger. “You weren’t like ‘is when I told you!”

Annie instantly glares at Billie, her face scrunching up into a demon-like scowl as she stands up from poor Arnold’s bed. “Because she’s not laughing her ass off about it, unlike how you told me! I mean, wouldn’t you be freaking out about seeing somebody else with your face? Actually– why aren’t you freaking out more?!”

Arnold meekly backs away as much as he could against the headboard from the quick temper of the redhead, and Ramona looks between the two friends with worry, but Billie just barks up a carefree laugh before pulling Annie into a bear hug.

“Oh c’mon now, Annie! No need to throw a fit ‘bout ‘is,” Billie grins as she rocks Annie side-to-side, with the redhead scrambling but failing to get out of her embrace like an annoyed tabby cat. “Sure, ’s a little weird seeing someone looking like me if I was in those cheesy clothing ads–”

“Hey–”

“But we can’t just lose our marbles over it like a bunch of ninnies,” Billie continues with a goodhearted wave of a hand to Ramona. “ ‘sides, ‘s a small world! My dad always says to expect the unexpected and take things in stride–”

Annie finally yanks herself away from Billie’s grasp with a gasp, her glasses askew and her hair in a ruffled mess, before her face scrunches up into an annoyed glare. “I don’t think this is what your dad had in mind when he said that–”

“Either way, we’ on it like a car bonnet,” Billie reassures Annie with a cheeky grin. “We already went through the whole freakout session: pinching each other, yanking our hairs, waiting for the whole world to end, the whole nine yards–”

“With two of the three done one-sidedly–”

Billie playfully pouts at Ramona’s retort, who gives a deadpan in return. 

A quiet cough interrupts the three-way conversation, and all three turn to the forgotten boy in the room with a mix of exasperation (Annie), confusion (Ramona), and amusement (Billie). Arnold flushes sheepishly at their full attention as he pulls the covers over his body.

“C-can one of you g-guys get me– get me an icepack?...”

Ramona’s eyes soften as she crosses the room for the mini refrigerator to grab one, meanwhile Annie looks over at him with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that,” Annie adjusts herself on the edge of the bed to face Arnold. “You feeling okay, though? I heard from a lot of kids that Benny has a strong arm.”

Arnold shrugs just as Ramona approaches him with a Ziplock full of ice, which he gratefully takes from her before putting it on his forehead. “I think so. The nurse told me I don’t have a concussion, but the swelling will stay for a few days–”

“That guy was kinda being a jerk, though,” Ramona huffs out, her face scrunched up into a slight frown. “He didn’t even say sorry to Arnold or anything, just laughed about it.” Ramona then turns to Billie with her brows furrowed even more. “Can’t you talk to Benny or something? You’re his friend, aren’t you–”

“Now hang on, he ain’t my mate,” Billie holds her hands up in surrender, her cheeky grin dropping to a more solemn frown. “I was only there with him because I was on free time, ‘n I didn’t have anything else to do. Barely met the bloke today, but he was bein’ an arse the whole time we were playing. Thought everyone else was gonna tell him off, but they were actin’ like his lackeys or somethin’.”

Billie then crosses her arms and scrunches up her nose in annoyance. “By the time poor Arnie over here–”

“Arnie?”

“Yes, you, Arnie– anyway, by the time Arnie got hit in the head, I was already sick of being around those prats, so I just legged it with you guys.”

As Billie finishes, Ramona crosses her arms against her chest with a frustrated huff, her forehead wrinkling up while her face curls up into a deeper frown. “Still, someone has to tell him off. He can’t just do that and then laugh the whole thing off.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of an asshole move,” Annie adds on. “And the rest of the kids with him are no better, laughing it off with him instead of checking up on Arnie– it’s okay to call you Arnie, right?”

“I–”

“Anyway,” Annie cuts off the confused Arnold, “Benny shouldn’t get away with that. Did you guys talk to a counselor about this at least?”

“I tried earlier,” Ramona grumbles, her face pinching up into a frustrated frown, “but for some reason the counselors won’t listen. Like as soon as I say Benny’s name, they either brush me off or look like they just saw a monster and just run off…”

“Maybe he’s some rich trust fund kid, like in those old cheesy teen movies my Uncle James watches,” Billie mutters under her breath with a crinkle to her nose, now sitting down on a chair beside the infirmary bed while absently fidgeting with a small B-shaped charm on her chain bracelet. “His parents pro’lly donated a lot of money or sumthin’ to the camp, so the counselors look the other way when he causes trouble.” When her input is only met with silence, she glances up to the rest of the group staring at her with confusion and disbelief.

“... ‘m just sayin’, that could be it.”

Ramona only sighs before she turns back to the rest of the group. “Well either way, the counselors are no help, and Benny doesn’t seem like he’s sorry about it–”

“Maybe we should just drop it,” Arnold mumbles out as he pulls the makeshift ice pack from his forehead with a defeated face. “What if we make things worse–”

“Yeah, no, not an option, Artie,” Billie interrupts before she pushes herself up from her seat and rests her hands on his shoulders. “If you let anyone like Benny hurt ya and get away with it, then he gon’ keep doin’ it to ya. He gon’ t’ink it’s okay to take a piss at ya, slag off at ya–”

“I don’t like how either of those sound–”

“He gon’ keep bullying ya if ya don’ stand up fo’ yaself,” Billie shuts Arnold down with a stern frown. “Tha’s not sumthin’ ya should put up wit’ the whole time ya here. And not only he gon’ do it to ya, but he gon’ do it to other kids too at some point. And before he gon’ reach that point, we gotta nip that in the bud ‘n make sure that don’ happen.”

Arnold hesitantly stares up at Billie before turning to Ramona, who only shrugs in response. “I mean, Billie does have a point. It’ll just get worse if you don’t say anything…”

She then sits on the other side of the bed and gently bumps her shoulder against his, the corners of her lips quirking up into a small smile. “But you got us to help you. You don’t have to deal with Benny alone.”

Arnold glances between the two girls in front of him with uncertainty before darting his eyes down to his hands clutching onto the ice-filled ziplock bag. “Can one of you guys take a step back please? It’s still a little weird for me to see the two of you together…”

Billie’s eyes narrow as her face reverts to an annoyed deadpan, but she lets go of Arnold’s shoulders and steps back with her hands up. “Just know that you’re avoidin’ the subject, mate–”

“Billie–”

“ ‘m just sayin’, Mon-mon–”

“I’m sorry– Mon-mon?”

“Okay, you two,” Annie cuts in with a huff, “we’re losing track of what the actual issue is. We all want Benny to not act like an asshole and apologize to Arnie, but apparently he has some Regina George power over people here. How are we gonna deal with that?”

Everyone in the room grows silent for a moment, the sounds of children talking outside echoing into the infirmary room until–

“We could all go up to him and give him a piece of our minds–”

“I don’t think jumping him would do Arnie any good, Billie–”

“We’re not gon’ jump him!” Billie denies with an offended scowl as she narrows her eyes at Annie. “We’re jus’ gon’ make it known tha’ Arnie was miffed off and ain’t gon’ take any more of his crap–”

“Wait, I just said I don’t want to make things worse–”

“Letting him get away with it will make it worse, Arnold–”

“But–”

“C’mon, Arnie,” Billie groans as she flops down across the bed, making sure not to land on Arnold’s legs, “ya can’t just let Benny do tha’ ta ya ‘n then laugh at ya face. Ya gotta do sumthin’ to stop it from happenin’ again. Personally, I’d–”

A loud knock suddenly echoes in the room, and all four of the kids look over to the doorway, where an elderly woman with a white lab coat hobbles inside with her cane tapping along the tile flooring.

“Now, now, kiddies, you shouldn’t be crowding the poor boy like this,” the elderly nurse tuts at the girls as she slowly approaches Arnold, making all three of them get off the bed while the nurse gently presses her fingertips against the bump on Arnold’s head. “He may be fine in the head, but he still needs to rest and not get too excited while the swelling goes down. You girls should run off to your activities in the meantime.”

Billie’s face and shoulders drop at the nurse’s words. “But–”

A hand gently grasps on Billie’s shoulder, and she looks over to a sympathetic Ramona before she looks over to the nurse with an apologetic smile. “We’re sorry, ma’am. We’ll be on our way.”

Ramona then glances over to Arnold, concern and reluctance lingering in her eyes. “Get better soon, okay Arnold? Just meet up with us if you get cleared later.”

She then gently pushes a disgruntled Billie, who still tries to go back to talk to Arnold in vain, to the door while Annie hesitantly follows behind with a sheepish wave to him. “We’ll come back with some snacks or something, Arnie!” Annie calls out before she closes the door behind them.

—

“What the bloody hell, you two?!” Billie huffs out as she stomps out of the infirmary and onto the campgrounds, with a weary Ramona and a distracted Annie– who zips up her fanny pack and opens a granola bar– following her. “Why’d ya pull me outta there?! We’re not done talkin’ ‘bout this wit’ ‘im–”

“Calm down, Billie,” Ramona cuts her off with a sigh, scuffing her converses against the gravel. “Arnold’s still hurt, and if the nurse didn’t come in, we would’ve overwhelmed him too much. Besides, even if we did get Arnold to agree, we don’t know what could happen if we all went up to Benny and confronted him about it. That’ll just be too much stress for Arnold to deal with.”

“Yeah, but–”

Annie suddenly pops up by Billie’s side and shoves the granola bar into her mouth, effectively silencing the vexed punk girl as she drops her shoulders and reluctantly eats it with a grumble.

“And even if we did confront him, it just sounds like he and his goons will just brush us off,” Annie sighs with her arms crossing against her chest. “We’d probably have to figure out a way to get him to listen…”

Billie huffs out through her nose in annoyance as she begins to walk off and gobble up the granola bar, having the two girls follow her until they are side by side. “I’d personally like ta throw a ball at his head, see how he likes it.”

“Violence isn’t the answer, Bills–”

“Neither is sittin’ back and letting him do whatev’a he wants–”

As both girls continue to bicker, Ramona glances over to the side and spots a crowd of kids gathering at one of the benches near the boys’ cabins, her feet slowing down into a stop as she stares at the area with curiosity. Along the outskirts of the crowds Ramona’s eyes drift down to some of the kids’ hands– wallets, handfuls of bills, tied-up filled socks– and she slowly separates from Billie and Annie as she approaches the buzzing flock in front of her. The closer she gets to the cabin area, the clearer she hears the murmurings and familiar grating laughter from before. Once she finally joins the stragglers outside the crowd, she can easily see over the numerous kids clamoring to the center, where she spots Benny cackling and throwing a hand of five cards down the bench and shoveling a pile of bills and coins to himself to the groaning dismay of the people sitting on the table with him.

Ramona tilts her head to the side in confusion before turning to a short boy hopping next to her as he tries to peek over a taller kid’s shoulders.

“Uh, hey,” Ramona gently taps on the shorter kid’s shoulder, briefly stealing his attention away from the card game. “What’s going on here?”

The disgruntled boy strains his neck up to stare at her wide-eyed, briefly distracted by the tall girl in front of him, before shaking his head and struggling to peek over again. “There’s this older kid who’s playing a poker game tournament, and he said that whoever beats him in a game of poker can get whatever they want from him.”

A few kids start to make their way out of the crowd with disappointment painted on their faces while the mass of kids start to clamor closer to replace any empty spots in the middle. “So far none of the boys won against him yet,” the kid continues, “but the older kid Benny said anyone who thinks they can beat him can join in–”

“Oh, really?”

Ramona jolts up in surprise and turns her head to the side, only to see Billie draping her arm over her shoulder. A wickedly mischievous glint shines in the punk girl’s eyes while a Cheshire Cat-like grin curls up on her lips, sending a dreadful chill down Ramona’s spine.

“Anyone can play?”

----

British Phrase of the Chapter:

On it like a car bonnet - can be used by someone who thinks they are in control of a situation

Legged it - made a run for it

Take a piss - be sarcastic to or mock

Slag off - verbally make fun of someone

Miffed - confused or annoyed

References:

https://www.stgeorges.co.uk/23-typical-british-expressions-you-must-learn-to-understand-the-brits/

https://www.oxfordinternationalenglish.com/dictionary-of-british-slang/

https://tandem.net/blog/british-slang-words

[simp-ly-writes]

Space Cat

─────── · · A Doctor Who Story (pt.6)

Pairing: 10th Doctor x Cat-Hybrid!Reader, Donna Noble & Cat-Hybrid!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You are a cat hybrid and are trying to learn more about yourself and your people with the help of the relationships you had been forming. But just at the tease of something more you find yourself more lost than ever.

─ · · WARNINGS: tension, angst and fluff, confessions, fast-paced, possible non-canon behaviours.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,457

─ · · A/N: took me awhile to figure what I wanted to do with this story, but I hope you all enjoy! let me know what you want to see next :)

─────── · ·

Spoons clinked against the antique china tea cups. Small swirling floral designs in a faded blue underglaze decorated them as you brought the drink up to your lips- coughing down a piping hot sip.

No one had spoken besides Donna who had tried to initiate conversation several times and had failed too. Now an awkward silence filled every molecule in the room as you and the Doctor exchanged glances before Donna's chair was screeching against the tiles- she had had enough.

"You both were making such good process with one another, what should change now?"

"Well when you adopt a pet, you expect them to stay a pet-no? Not some now humanoid-pet-"

"Oi! Who do you think you are calling a pet, Space-boy?" You fire back, an accusatory point you send between his eyes.

Donna shook her head as you two began bickering at one another, in one of her wildest dreams, she would have thought this to be splendid. Her two friends chatting amongst one another in a common language besides a few well-phrased meows against intense British noises; but now it was grinding more than her repetitive footsteps around the room.

"Enough you two! Doctor- you practically keep us humans as pets for your adventures. Whats anymore different then you an alien, to another alien that just-so-happens to turn into a cat instead of a new version of themselves?" Donna takes a deep breath before facing you, her own pointed-figure getting back at your prior actions.

"And you! You cannot speak about becoming a pet while you openly accepted his and mines affection as any other cat-like creature would. Why can't we all just get along? We can just communicate better now- thats the only real difference." Donna concludes, out of breath with her hands on her hips as her eyes dart between the two of you expectedly.

You narrow your eyes into slits while looking at the Doctor as he sends you the same look. You both know what Donna is asking you to do but you both cannot formulate the courage to speak all that goes unspoken.

"Your egos will be the death of us all," Donna curses out before downing the rest of her tea. The cup hitting the table with such might you were surprised it didn't at least crack. Her chair slides against the tiled floors before she exits the room and out down the hall.

The Silence is sickening as Donnas words weigh down all the air as you start to pick out your skin and play with the hair atop your head for comfort. "You know, I rather enjoyed having some... thing that gave me somewhat unconditional, pure love. That spent time with me without understanding the repercussions, without understanding the outstanding politics of it all. I liked how you would just sit there with me, listen to me rant, follow me around like a shadow, comfort me without the burden of someone bringing it up later to use against me..."

You swear to see his eyes becoming foggy as you tentatively reach over and press a hand to his knee in offering, he rests his hand on top of yours as you both allow the words to breathe new air into the space.

"I was so lost... " you started, eyes now sinking into the remaining tea leaves at the bottom of your now empty cup. "I don't understand how I got to the place I am, I was always running and changing into different versions of myself that I didn't know were connected. I thought I was losing myself, going insane- I was a cat for fucks sake! I was desperate for help, for an answer, for... for comfort. I was scared for so long..."

You emit a shaky breath, if you were back in your cat form you would feel your ears pressing against your head, your spine shrinking into itself as your claws dug into your thighs. You were both hurting the already delicate play of your hearts intertwining, wanting what was there but now ultimately knowing that it had becoming tainted- changed.

But just as you raised your knees to press against your chin, the familiar scent of coffee caressed by the hit of otherworldly that make your nose twitch- arms wrapped around your form. A heavy coat of warmth and comfort as his chin rested against the top of your head. The dull hum of the fridge in the background reminded you of a purr as you both sat there and cried for your old selves for being lost and having to pick up the pieces of yourself.

You both were starting for the beginning once again, it pained you to be there again- it discouraged you both from trying but as the minutes ticked over the hour. You found how much more it hurt to be away from him, your body beckoned to be near his touch. Your ears strained themselves to hear him call after you, to join him and fall asleep in his lap, fingers caressing your spine. And by the exhale of the Doctor when you picked up his hand and compared it to the size of your own before interlacing your fingers; you knew that he felt the same way to.

─────── · ·

Some time later... Donna smiled as she watched you follow the Doctor around and equally as the Doctor followed you around different planets to historic monuments. You both practically hung off one another, gripping the mans arm, or his arm around your waist as he practically carried you down a different street.

We can't be friends anymore, Donna sarcastically told herself as you relaxed, head resting on the Doctors lap as he read through a book, fingers scratching your scalp. You and the Doctor appeared closer than ever these days after the discovery, so much so that the Doctor began to adopt your cat-like mannerisms. Tilting his head with curiosity or playful teasing. Often found taking short naps beside you which startled her the most one day, she really did think you both were dead the first time she saw it happen.

You would shift back into your cat-form every now and then, often found lounging on the console as the Doctor worked around you, flicking your forehead in annoyance when you toyed on his patience. Loving the reactions you stirred out of the time lord. Yet he never snapped at you, just a light scolding or he would chase you off into another room before returning to his work.

In some ways, Donna was starting to feel left out, like a third wheel as you both worked seamlessly together. She had never seen the Doctor look happier... but how long could it last for?

─────── · ·

"I've been thinking, Doctor..." you began, playing with the buttons of his jacket as he hummed out, still tinkering under the console giving you part of his attention.

"What's on your mind, kitty-cat?" His voice echoed with a playful light as you cautioned him to watch for the fire- and there goes a scream. You rolled your eyes before stretching up to your full height, offering him a hand up as you wiped his face clean from the smoke.

"I have been doing some more research on my kind, I know that I can't go and see them... but something did pique my interest..." you trail off, cheeks beginning to warm as you cautiously choose your next words. You took in his raised eyebrow and blow out hair that made your heart race, your hands began to fidget before he picked up your left one, giving it a squeeze in reassurance.

"You said that we bonded, which is great- you smell really good-" The Doctor chuckles at his shaking his head as you grIp his other hand and pull him closer to you with excitement, your eyes are so wide, brimming with ideas.

"- but that's besides the point! There are many types of bonds in my peoples culture, so it wouldn't affect ours, but if I bonded with someone else I could go and meet people like me. I could even try and find who my parents are, see if I have any siblings, oh! I would also love to..."

You keep rambling, not feeling how the Doctor slowly releases his touch for you as he takes a step back. He starts to shake his head, trying to physically clear away all the dark thoughts that swarm his mind, everyone always ends up leaving you in some way...

Donna had been observing the whole interaction form afar, worried eyes catching your bright smile that slowly fades as you gage the mood of the room.

─────── · ·

(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) ... (pt.6) (continued on ao3) you are here

[zot3-flopped]

Two months prior to its release, would-be doyens of Swift’s Tortured Poets Department have taken its barbed track listing very literally, leading to intense, often nefarious speculation regarding Swift’s six-year relationship with the British actor Joe Alwyn, which seemingly ended in early 2023.

The album’s title, revealed onstage at the Grammy awards, was quickly linked to a December, 2022 interview with Alwyn and Paul Mescal in which they revealed that Andrew Scott started their group chat, the Tortured Man Club. (“It hasn’t had much use recently,” Alwyn said: you wonder if it’s undergone a recent revival.) Swift revealed the leading track list a day later: My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys, So Long, London, I Can Do It With a Broken Heart, The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived, to name a few, sending fans wild with speculation.

Swift, obviously, has every right to sing about her relationships however she wants to (no apologies to Eamonn Holmes). But in the absence of any music, some fans have spread baseless, dangerous and even libellous allegations about Alwyn’s conduct (which, for obvious reasons, I can’t repeat).

Last month, a brief fan-shot video of them dining in a New Orleans restaurant in December, 2022 was recirculated online with AI-doctored audio that made it sound as though Alwyn is saying “you don’t get to tell me about sad,” a line printed on the back of one of the new album’s four physical editions.

When Swift recently told a crowd that she was “lonely” when writing her 2020 album Folklore – some of which was co-written with Alwyn during the pandemic, a lonely time for most – fans took that as further confirmation of their theories. A live medley of three songs that all appear to reference cheating threw petrol on the fire.

Swift could make this stop. She is no stranger to airing her displeasure with the likes of Ticketmaster, Scooter Braun, Spotify and Apple Music, and, occasionally, politicians. Before she released Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) last year, she gave a veiled speech at one Eras tour date effectively asking fans not to go after John Mayer, whom she dated when she was 19 and he was 32 and is understood to be the subject of that album’s Dear John.

“I am not putting this album out so you should feel the need to defend me on the internet against someone you think I wrote a song about 14m years ago when I was 19,” she said in Minneapolis.

But for whatever reason – and obviously, no member of the public has any idea what transpired between her and Alwyn so far – this time she has opted to stay quiet.

Establishing a baseline for conduct is neither commercially risky nor unprecedented: just last week, Ariana Grande said, after the release of her post-divorce album Eternal Sunshine: “Anyone that is sending hateful messages to the people in my life based on your interpretation of this album is not supporting me and is absolutely doing the polar opposite of what I would ever encourage”.

It feels like the endgame of a cat-and-mouse act that’s gone too far. Swift’s gestures towards meaning have led every single thing she does to be considered a kind of marketing, a clue to be solved. It leaves a superstar who’s usually hot on her messaging open to misinterpretation: hints about her personal life are turned by some fans into witch-hunts for anyone perceived to have wronged her; her current silence on politics allows politicians to invoke her name, from the New South Wales police commissioner quoting Swift’s anti-haters lines while defending police to Joe Biden joking that the matter of her apparently much sought-after endorsement is “classified” on Late Night With Seth Meyers.

When Swift made a blandly neutral handwritten post encouraging US citizens to register to vote on Super Tuesday, some fans speculated that her unusual left-leaning handwriting was the real indication of her loyalties – suggesting they’re so starved of substance that they’re reading into empty messages because of this dynamic she has established. (The more likely explanation is the insane way she holds a pen.)

For Swift to only direct fans as to her wishes when it suits her, it weakens her status as a truth-teller. If the comparisons with Dickinson mean anything, she might remember that nothing in the world has as much power as a word feels like the endgame of a cat-and-mouse act that’s gone too far.

[syaolaurant]

VIOLETTE LAURANT (HL MC Profile)

I tried something new today - painting in (not so) realistic portrait of Violette. Took abit time to study cuz it's not my usual style >"<.

I'm so happy to see many of you are interested in my MC even though I've just joined the fandom for a week. Thank you so much (//ω//)!!! So here's some information about Violette (I tried to keep it short and simple but it still turned out abit long...).

Name: Violette Laurant

House: Hufflepuff

Birthday: 20th November

Nationality: French/British (She can speak French, so she didn't have to ask  Scrope to pronounce the password).

Wand: Sycamore Wood, Phoenix feather, 12 ½" Length, surprisingly swishy flexibility

The sycamore makes a questing wand, eager for new experience and losing brilliance if engaged in mundane activities. It is a quirk of these handsome wands that they may combust if allowed to become ‘bored,’ and many witches and wizards, settling down into middle age, are disconcerted to find their trusty wand bursting into flame in their hand as they ask it, one more time, to fetch their slippers. As may be deduced, the sycamore’s ideal owner is curious, vital and adventurous, and when paired with such an owner, it demonstrates a capacity to learn and adapt that earns it a rightful place among the world's most highly-prized wand woods.

A wand with this flexibility will either surprise its owner by being surprisingly loyal or surprisingly unloyal and is most often known for doing the unexpected. It is usually great for charm work. Owners that are matched with wands of this flexibility are usually the type of people who have a hard time coming out of their shell or opening up, but once they do, others will find themselves drawn to their charming, fun-loving personalities. The owner usually adapts well to unexpected changes but may find it difficult to make hard decisions.

Patronus: CAT

PERSONALITY MBTI: INFP Positive traits: Loyal and caring (she's Hufflepuff anyway), protective, passionate and a good listener. She tends to have few close friends than being surrounded by many acquaintances. Negative traits: She's an introvert, abit too emotional and gets easily lost in thoughts. Sensitive and usually absorb other people’s negative moods.

Hobbies: Tarot reading (cause me too hehe), magical gemstones collecting, dueling practice, caring for magical creatures in her vivarium.

Amortentia: Ginger tea, petrichor, tarot incense smoke which later changed to Sebatian's cologne. Favorite subjects: D.A.D.A, Care for Magical Creatures, Divination.

Least favorite subjects: Potions (she's not the type of person who always sticks to instruction), Arithmancy, History of Magic.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Family: Before her entrance to Hogwarts, Violette lived in a happy and caring family. Her father is a muggle from France, he moved to England with his twin brother in their 20s and met her mother -who is a witch (which she had kept secret until the night she got engaged, her father didn't surprise much, said he "positively felt something mysterious and strange about her the first day they met"). His twin brother is also married to a muggle, they also have a daughter named Noir Laurant. This family sure do like naming their children after color.

Sebastian Sallow: Since Violette's father and uncle are twins, she, more than anyone else understands Sebastian's feelings and why he doesn't give up on finding the cure for Anne. She was aware of the possible consequences of using dark arts, but still went along with Sebastian during the search for the relic cause she just could not bear to see him lose Anne. She admires his determination and outspokenness, which is quite contradicting to her introverted personality. After being dragged into the battle with goblins and Fig's death, Violette was traumatized and self-isolated, she lost her purpose for a while. Sebastian being a focused mind as always, helped snap her back to reality. Violette's loyalty and caring nature are Sebastian's emotional support. She decided to continue finding the cure for Anne with him, in a way that does not involve dark magic.

Ominis Gaunt: Is a wonderful friend to Violette. Both are introverts and do not trust other people easily. Violette likes Ominis's calming energy, and finds his sarcasm funny. They are the type of friends who do not talk much during hang out, just lay down and read books together.

Poppy Sweeting: Poppy is another great friend of Violette, as they're both from Hufflepuff. They share the same dedication to caring for nature and magical creatures. If there is something she cannot talk to the boys, she will share it with Poppy.

Natsai Onai: Violette and Natty get along well, she's always appreciates Natty's attempt to save her from Harlow's crucio. She also likes visiting Divination class to talk about tarot with Natty's mother.

SOME OTHER FACTS:

Violette's favorite food is apple pie & honey ginger tea. She doesn't like pineapple.

She is addicted to cats and will pet any cat she sees on the street.

She owns a brown great-horned owl named Garnet.

Her favorite tarot card is The Star. Favorite gemstone is amethyst due to its healing magic (and the color).

Even though she beat Imelda 3 times in flying and her housemate kept persuading her to join quidditch, she's not very fond of the game. She tried quidditch for about 3 months and then quit, as she doesn't like too much attention. She enjoys dueling in Crossed Wands instead.

Violette is the type of person who sometimes goes out to pick flowers and puts them in books.

She inherited her red hair from her mother.

She has a small scar on her right eye brown which was caused during her fight vs Ranrok Loyalists alongside Sebastian.

[thefreakymunson]

Give, chapter 1

CW: bondage, rope, forced situation, Non-consensual.

You tugged against your restraints, a bratty hmph coming from your lips as you watched him standing beside the bed.  You wanted – no.  You needed him to do anything but stand there and watch you so tantalizingly.  He was mocking you without even saying anything.  Once again, you were cursing yourself for being such a heavy sleeper.  You had woken to find yourself stripped naked – not that he had much to remove – and a twine rope securing your hands through your headboard.  You found out immediately that when you tugged on the ropes, the noose tightened around your neck, something that was the work of the psycho that had been haunting your nights. 

His white mask showed only his mouth and a maybe a inch of his chin.  The black satin cloak hid much of the mask and flowed behind him while he walked around the room.  Sometimes his skin was painted stark black, other times, like tonight, he was free of any pigment.  Pale white skin shone through the cloak, exposing his bare chest, torso, and the sinful dip of the muscles laced along his hips.  The black jeans dipped low on his hips with only a small, thin patch of dark hair that trailed up to his navel peeking out. 

The first time you saw him, terror filled your entire body from head to toes, keeping you frozen to your spot as he walked through your bedroom.  He stared at you from the doorway, turned to face you fully, and smiled like a Cheshire cat before he flicked the light off in the hallway and you heard him descending into what felt like a never ending darkness of your house.   It took all of 3 seconds for you to jump out of bed after hearing your front door close to run to your phone and call 911.

The cops, obviously, were no fucking help.  They filed a report, told you to call then if anything else happened, and then were ignored when you called for an update.  Since then, the masked man had made nine different appearances in your house.  The fear he invoked had slipped away because he done nothing but stare at you for a few minutes and then walk away.  He reached for your foot one time and when you jerked away, his glare became icy and he instead reached for your bedframe, white knuckling it so tightly that you heard the wooden beam crack a few times.  Apparently, jerking away from him deeply angered him…and your poor expensive bedframe was the victim. 

“Are you going to fucking talk to me or just stand there like a goddamned psycho?” You glared at him, watching as he moved to sit on his knees at the foot of your bed, “The psycho that you so clearly are.”

You watched as his hands slid up the mattress and up to your feet and only then did you realize your ankles were also tied to the bed.  You tried your hardest, tugging on the ropes as you fought against them.

“What the FUCK do you want from me?” You spat, glaring at him.

“Can’t jerk away from me now hmm, love?” He asked, and you damn near froze at his voice.

Deep, thickly laced with a British accent, and matched his physique entirely.  He had to stand at nearly 6’4, arms and legs longer than you had ever deemed imaginable on a human.  Lean muscles adorned his bare abdomen and you watched the muscles move like sinewy strings under his skin as he crawled further up your bed.

“So you can speak.” You glared at him, watching as calloused fingers slid up the inside of your ankle.    He was staring at you like you were some statue made of marble, admiring the intricate details as if you were on display.  In many ways you were on display, for his eyes and hands to grope and touch and while you hated it, there was a mysterious err about him that was starting to drive you wild.

“When I chose to speak, I do.”

“And when you chose to sneak into anyone’s house, you do.”  You said mockingly.

A deep rumble emitted from his chest and you realized a second later that he had laughed at you.   This arrogant, creepy, obsessive motherfucker laughed at you.  If you weren’t currently tied down at all four corners of your bed, you’d have landed a kick right between the six eyes of his mask. 

“What do you want from me?” You asked, frustration evident in your voice and the tears threatened to follow. 

You received no answer as his fingers, long and thin, ghosted up over your knees and to the insides of your thighs. 

“Answer me!” You yelled, attempting to close your thighs around his hands to keep them away from your most sensitive area and yet you did not succeed.  The twine rope halted any movements, keeping your legs open and making you feel incredibly vulnerable.

“Are you going to kill me?”  You swallowed thickly, “What?  You break into some girls window, tie her to the bed, and then fucking kill her?  Are you that big of a coward?”

“Why’d you stop making the police reports?”  He asked quietly.

“What?”

“The police reports.  Why’d you stop making them after I left?”

“How do you know?”

“That’s not important, baby.”  He shook his head, “Why’d you stop making them?”

“Because clearly they weren’t doing anything to stop you.”  You huffed, tensing as you felt his thumb sweep over the junction of your hip.  His hands were traveling further up your body slowly.  This sick fuck was taking his time humiliating you.

“Is that all?”

“What?”

The sound of his laugh, deep and rumbly, filled the air again as he slid his large hand up and over your stomach.  He leaned closer to you and in the dimly lit room, just beyond the mask, you could see two blue eyes staring at you so something you had never saw before.

“Dear diary.  He was back again tonight.  The scent of his cologne left behind in his departure still fills my room. He doesn’t seem to want to hurt me.  I’m not even sure if he’s human at this point.  Surely, they would’ve told me if my house was haunted, right?”  He smirked.

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks as you realized what he was doing.  He had been reading your diary.  This sick fuck had been snooping on so many other levels…

“Dear diary.  Fourth visit tonight.  I watched him climb in through the window and yet I did nothing.  He took a step towards me and I found myself frozen in fear and maybe even…excitement.  Why does the thought of this unknown man excite me?” 

Your breath hitched as you felt his strong hands slide further up your stomach and rest just below your chest, his fingers skirting along the underside of your breasts.  You watched as he licked his lips and then bent down, his tongue flicking against your nipple before he sucked it into his warm mouth.  Your body betrayed you, slightly arching up into his mouth, before he let it fall from his lips with an audible pop.

“Dear diary,” he said before pausing a minute to blow a stream of cool air over your wet nub, hardening it further, “He didn’t visit me tonight, but I saw him in my dreams.  Seems he is haunting me while awake and in my sleep.  I’m embarrassed at how I woke up, my panties a mess from the sinful dream.  I shouldn’t want this or him, but maybe he’ll visit me tonight.”

You swallowed your tears down, the lump in your throat getting tighter and tighter by the second as he moved to your other breast.  The callouses of his palms gently scratched at your skin as his hands stroked down over your stomach and you felt your body undilute underneath him, ignoring your mind screaming at you to stop.  You didn’t want this – you didn’t want him near you, and yet…as his fingers slid down to your pussy, you could hear the ultimate betrayal.  A soft groan escaped his throat as he felt just how wet you were.   Two fingers glided through your slit, the sound of your arousal filling the otherwise quiet electrified air around the two of you.  You reached to stop him, arms jerking down to your sides when you suddenly remembered the rope tightening around your neck.  “Rough situation, huh, baby?” He smirked behind the mask, “Trying to stop me just cuts off your option to breathe…meaning stopping me might literally kill you.” 

“You’re a fucking freak,” you gasped, still struggling against your ankle restraints, trying to close yourself off from him or trap his hand there for forever – you still weren’t sure of which option you wanted. 

“Hmm, ouch.”  He mocked hurt, sliding the two long digits just inside of your throbbing cunt.  You fought against the urge to rock your hips down, force more of his fingers inside of you.  He didn’t deserve that satisfaction of knowing just how bad you wanted him. “If I’m a freak, then so are you, baby.”  He said, pulling his fingers away from you and stepping away with a small wicked smirk. He reached up, untied your ropes, and you breathed a sigh of relief when the tightness around your throat was relieved.  Just as you were snapping back into fight mode, you jerked your hands free of the ropes and sat up, arms immediately in a defensive position.  And in the blink of an eye, he was gone, the room empty of anyone else besides you.  If it weren’t for your ankles still tied to the bed, you would’ve sworn you had imagined him entirely. 

[sunshinemoonrx]

since you've taught me so much already. top 5 characters from historical literature (i love the guys i've heard about so far)

Helllll yeah. Okay so a lot of these are gonna be "all right here's a pretty famous guy but did you know he was originally different and weird!" Folklore time let's goooooo

Honourable mention: All of Medieval Welsh Lit

This is a catch-all I'm using to stop all 5 of these entries from being this because I gotta cover places like Turkey and Ireland. There's still a couple dw. But there's so many more like Rhiannon, world's most magical snarky part-time ponygirl; Macsen Wledic, who everyone wants to be their ancestor, or wait this is a reflection of the historical would-be Roman emperor Magnus Maximus; Mabon ap Modron, world's specialest boy who does fuck all Oh Wait this is an ancient deity who was syncretised with Apollo? Neat! Okay actual entries Go

5. Robin Hood

This is a prime case of "in the original version..." I'm actually a big fan of the earliest medieval Robin Hood ballads we have, they're very fun bouncy little adventures and the middle English is just comprehensible enough that I can alternate between reading the original text and the translation. Did you know that it took a couple centuries for Robin to be turned into an exiled lord (to make him more palatable to a noble audience when they started making plays about him, he originated in songs and performances at country fairs), and he was a commoner fucking with the king before then? And that despite how much a "modern twist" it seems, Marian (who might have started as an unrelated character with her own adventures) beating him in a fight actually pre-dates the nobleman thing!

4. Battal Gazi

The absolute lad. A pulp adventure style hero from medieval Turkish epics sourced from the Byzantine frontier. There's a real cowboy adventure vibe to these. And they got made into a series of campy adventure films in the 50s! And he defeated one HUNDRED Romans with EACH swing of his sword and EVERYONE clapped (for real I'm pretty sure he kills Charlemagne in one of these)

3. Taliesin

The secret main character of medieval Welsh literature and poetry! An actual historical poet of the 6th century who became so famous that later medieval writers would write legends about him having magic bardic powers, write poems in his voice...which makes it hard to figure out what he actually wrote! But what can be sorta confidently attributed to him mostly consists of praise poetry for the north-British king Urien Rheged, which is...maybe a little romantic? He always ends them with

"And until I fail in old age,

in the sore necessity of death,

May I not be smiling,

If I praise not Urien."

Which is nice. Urien is the sneaky other subject of this--he's also a really interesting guy halfway between history and legend, subject of a whole bunch more poetry and hegemon of his while region. His son, Owain, possibly fought in the famous battle of the Gododdin, was written as the leader of hundreds of giant magical ravens, and finally got absorbed into continental Arthurian legend as 'Yvain'

2. Cai the Fair

Speaking of Arthur! I'm a big fan of the original version based in Welsh folklore, a wandering warrior prior to his transformation into a chivalric king. Similarly, some of his knights started as companions of the original version, and my favourite is the counterpart of Sir Kay. In later and mainstream Arthuriana he's the jackass who exists to get clowned on to show how cool Lancelot or whoever is, but this is actually because he started off as Arthur's best guy, so in anime rival tradition, showing him up is an easy way to establish your cool new OC. The original Cai can grow giant, has both heat and cold powers, can survive underwater for weeks...he slays all kind of giants, fights a giant cat, and then he does one giant slaying in a slightly sneaky way and Arthur (who is sometimes called a "frivolous bard") sings a mean song about him and he swears never to help him again. Oops!

He's also a bit gay with it--he's often paired with Bedwyr (source of Sir Bedivere), they love questing together and swear by each other, Cai was heartbroken when he died...

1. Cú Chulainn

The BOY. My GUY

The central hero of most of the Ulster cycle, you may know him from Fate. But the Fate version is less weird and less anime than the medieval version!! This Cú is a weird little trans-coded twink with three-coloured hair, seven-coloured eyes, a bunch of named special moves and an epic duel to the death with his boyfriend.

He's such a fucked up little guy! He's the perfect product and also the perfect victim of the glory-obsessed warrior culture he exists in, he's driven to destroy himself and everyone around him by a constant terror of not being the best at all times, he's so...arrrrrgh. he's the guy!! He's an extremely bad person to be clear. I love him. Sometimes he gets so worked up into a warrior's frenzy he generates a flaming aura that can melt snow and has to be dunked in cold water to chill out! I have like three writing projects in the works that are basically "Cú Chulainn for lesbians". Highest honour I can bestow

[baldy-wan-kenobi]

Okay people, here we go:

Baldy's Book Club

Episode 1: "Into the Storm"

By Taylor Anderson, Book 1 of the Destroyermen series.

Okay, so, on the recommendation of my most esteemed mutual @frogblast-the-ventcore , I have been coerced to read the Destroyermen series, and post my thoughts about them as I do.

So, for part 1, here we go. I'm going to assume those of you reading have read the book, cause if you haven't, you should be going to buy it, right now. I mean it.

First and foremost, this book was written by a ww2 nerd, for ww2 nerds, and by god does it show. Taylor Anderson is a professor of history, and it shines through in every part of the book. From the technical details of the USS Walker, to the shortcomings of the Mk. 14 torpedo, to the attitudes, lives, and habits (both good and bad) of a 1942 Asiatic fleet destroyerman. Speaking of which, call me Dean Kamen, cause that's a perfect segway to talk about

The Characters

To begin with, do not expect a normal person's assessment of these characters. Expect a Normal™ person's view of them.

First: Captain Matthew Reddy. Oh my lord this man. He's an absolute mess, knows it, and yet cannot let that show, because, well he's stranded in an alternate universe with humanoid lemurs and sapient velociraptors. In my head, he's got total divorced dad energy going on, 30-something going on 50 because of stress, greying at the temples but still hot in a DILF kind of way, not overly muscular, and with one hell of a voice. (I'll admit the audio book colored my perception, but it's a fantastic audio book so I don't care.)

Next, Chack-Sab-At, the biggest and most baddass guyfailure to ever live. "Oh, I'm a pacifist" then the very second that an enemy without moral repercussions comes along he's all "I love violence and killing and murder and death and injuring people and blood and biting and cutting and-" like, seriously, dude says he's a pacifist before turning around and becoming Furry Doomguy.

Next, Dennis Silva, he-who-was-told-not-to-fuck-the-monkey-cats-but-did-it-anyway. Moving on,

There's literally more I love about the characters than I want to sit here and type out, so I'm going to cut it short, but Oh My God these characters are A+.

Next, I just want to touch on something these books made me feel. A lot of times, as an USAmerican with an actual brain, I can get bogged down in the fucked-up shit my country has done and feel like I can't celebrate what makes the US cool without making it sound like I'm excusing all the bad stuff, but this book kinda made me stop for a minute and go "man, the US is kinda fucking rad, when you think about it." Because, you know what? It is. Yeah, we've done fucked up shit, but we've also done some pretty awesome stuff. For every My Lai Massacre, there's a moon landing. For every Trail of Tears, there's a Berlin Airlift. Sometimes, it's okay to take a moment and just go "Fuck yeah, guys. Were pretty cool." Because this book really makes you feel that, at least it did to me, but I'll get off my red, white and blue high horse and keep going.

Alright, now we come to the part that I need to get out...

THE BRITISH EAST INDIA COMPANY

Literally everywhere in my life, I am haunted and stalked by the specter of a long-dead megacorporation. In every piece of media, in every topic I research, no matter what, they're there. As the Frogman quoted from me in a meme a while back "I'm being haunted by the ghost of English imperialism". What the fuck? Anyway, if you wanna chat about the book, please do, because I am at terminal levels of Fandom.

Anyway, if you want to read along for the next Baldy's Book Club, we'll be reading Crusade, the next book in the Destroyermen series.

(P.S. Frogman, I know this review isn't very good, but my brain is soup rn so this is whatchu get.

[whisker-biscuit]

The Lines We Cross: Chapter 29

The Cold Heart of Hate

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

His Last Word Was My Name…His Last Thought Was of Me

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

They were going after Clockwerk. They were going to take down Clockwerk.

Just thinking about it felt like treason; something Sly had dared not voice even in his own head for years after the Incident. Actively trying it would have once been enough to send him into a panic at the slightest hint of something going wrong. Two months ago, if he’d considered something like this, he probably would have given up and turned himself back in to the Fiendish Five for the sake of his own survival – freedom be damned. It was an impossible task against an untouchable foe, and one beaten-down failure of a thief would never have been able to get even this far on his own.

But he wasn’t beaten-down anymore, nor was he a failure like he’d been led to believe for too long. And, most importantly, he was no longer alone.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t scared shitless, though.

Sly flexed the fingers around his cane in a constant, nervous tic as he followed Inspector Fox into one of the caverns littering the volcano’s inner walls. She was dragging the robo-falcon she’d shot behind her, but it barely slowed her down at all, and once again he marveled at how incredible she was. Once they were sure the cave that they’d picked was free of birds, cameras, mines, or any other security, the two of them hunkered down in the shadows and began working out the details of their haphazard plan.

As the raccoon watched the crater in case of a sudden appearance by the Five’s leader, Carmelita pried apart the metal shell of the smaller, downed bird and pulled out the weapon inside of it – along with the tangled mess of wires that made up half its innards. She let out a contemplative hum as she examined what she’d found.

“Just as I thought; this is a military-grade British gun turret. Lightweight and small enough to hold for easy use and transport, but still deadly with even a single direct hit. It’s supposed to be highly regulated, classified technology. How the hell did Clockwerk get his claws on this?”

“You said it’s British? I’d bet all my money on Raleigh either having someone on the inside or just stealing the blueprints himself. The guy was obsessed with recreating anything machine-related he could hear about, especially if it was outside of public knowledge. He and Clockwerk loved to talk shop and haggle over tech information.”

She looked at him with surprise, and his shoulders drew up subconsciously.

“What?” He nearly snapped, defensive.

“No – nothing,” the fox was quick to reassure. “I just…I didn’t expect you to be so forthcoming about that. Stuff about the Fiendish Five.”

“Well…yeah. The cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it? I don’t really have any reason to be secretive about it anymore.”

“I guess not.” She began untangling the cords and wires around the miniature turret, speaking absently as she worked. “I thought about that a lot while we were separated, you know. How much you knew about where we were going, and about the Five.”

Sly turned his gaze back out the cave entrance to continue watching the skies. “I knew approximate things. I knew Mz. Ruby lived in a swamp and that it was somewhere in Haiti, but they always dropped me directly in her territory, so I didn’t have the exact location down. Same with Raleigh, and the Panda King.”

“So…those emails from Muggshot weren’t just for my benefit?” Her tone wasn’t confrontational, only curious, but he still gave her a brief sideways glance.

“No. I swiped them from his office when you were fighting him – back when I didn’t think you’d come out of it alive.” He snorted and shook his head. “If only I’d known it’s literally impossible to put you down.”

“You flatter me, Ringtail. I was just extremely lucky.” Carmelita paused long enough that it was obvious she had thought of something. “Wait. That ‘special package’ they were talking about. Was that…?”

“Yours truly.”

“I’m so sorry, Sly.”

He would have closed his eyes to avoid the pity on her face if he wasn’t currently playing lookout. “I said it then and I’ll say it now: there’s no use getting our tails in a twist over it. It happened, it’s over, and now we’re going to make sure it never happens again.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth.” Another, longer pause. “Hang on, you didn’t know exactly where most of the Five were hiding, but what about Clockwerk? How did you find him?”

“I mean, it’s a lot easier to find someone who lives in a single volcano compared to, say, an entire mountain range. But, yeah, I knew where he was. He told me when he dared me to win my freedom back. I always thought it was a weird throwaway comment, but…” The raccoon gestured around them. “Guess I should’ve known him better than that.”

“Don’t give him credit he doesn’t deserve. There’s no way he could’ve predicted something like this, and we both know he wasn’t aiming for me on that statue.”

“Sure, but we can’t underestimate him either, Carmelita. He’s the leader for a lot of reasons beyond his size and strength.”

Her fingers snagged on an exposed wire. She let out a quiet curse as it shocked her. “You know what? I’m done talking about him until we have to. Let’s change the subject. How long has it been since Kunlun? I was unconscious for a while, and it hasn’t been easy to keep track of time since I woke up.”

“Uh…”

Sly shot her another glance, noticing the angry pull of her mouth and the way she was glaring at the turret in her lap like it was the evilest thing in the world. It was very clear what – who – she was actually directing her fury towards. He wisely did not bring it up and followed her lead instead.

“Sixteen hours, give or take. Sorry it took so long.”

“Sixteen –” the inspector’s head shot up to stare at him. “Sly, Krakarov is a long way from Kunlun. Forget the apology, it’s amazing you got here as fast as you did! How on earth did you do it?”

“Hitched a ride on whatever plane got me the closest, then hiked the rest of the way.”

Carmelita stopped working entirely. “You got on a plane.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You flew here to find me.”

“How else was I supposed to get here? By car?” He asked, making her huff in good-natured exasperation. The reason for her shock wasn’t lost on him, however, and his sarcasm dropped in favor of something more genuine. “Listen, I’m not saying it was easy. It actually really fucking sucked, but I wasn’t going to leave you in the claws of that monster any longer than necessary. Rescuing you was worth the trip. Hell, I’d board the longest flight in the world if that’s what it took.”

“Sly, that’s…”

A sudden chill ran down the raccoon’s back – a preemptive warning for something all too familiar. He took a few steps further into the shadows of the cave, planting himself between the exit and where Carmelita was sitting on the ground with the falcon corpse. When she looked up at him, confused, he put a finger to his lips and turned his attention to the crater beyond.

He felt rather than saw Clockwerk approaching from a distance, sweeping the area in search of them. With a nervous, protective hiss, painfully aware of the fact that the cave ended in a rock wall just a few meters back, Sly curled protectively around the inspector and held them both still, watching the sky. The owl’s giant silhouette blotted out the stars above as he circled the crater once from a great height, then swooped low for a second, more discerning pass.

The raccoon risked tilting his head just enough so that his mouth was right next to Carmelita’s ear. His eyes never left Clockwerk’s silent, deadly form, terrified that the minuscule movement had tipped off their enemy to their location.

“Hold your breath as long as you can,” he whispered to his partner. She obeyed without question, inhaling deeply and quietly, and he had never been more grateful for her trust in his life.

Immediately, Sly became invisible, hoping beyond hope that the ability extended to who he was holding and not just what. The fox stiffened against him but didn’t exhale, thank god, and he wordlessly apologized for catching her off guard with this unexpected thing he could do. He didn’t dare look to see if it had worked on her. All he could do was stay motionless, breathless; watching and waiting for the owl to make the next move.

Clockwerk did a third and final circle through the area. He passed so close to the rock wall and the cavern the two were huddled in that they could hear the mechanical whirring of his body for the briefest of seconds before he moved on. The sound set all of Sly’s fur on end; his chest burned in rhythm to terrible memory.

And then, just as suddenly as he’d arrived, the ancient bird flew off over a distant ridge and disappeared.

Neither of them moved for a solid minute afterwards. The raccoon held his breath until he couldn’t any longer, releasing it only when his vision started going spotty. Carmelita did the same against him. They remained that way, panting silently together and watching the dark skies.

When it finally felt safe enough, he began to uncurl from around the inspector only for her to grab him by the shoulders and swivel him so they were nose to nose.

“What was that?” She whispered as she stared at him. “Sly, you were invisible. I was invisible! How the hell did you do that?!”

“It’s a technique I learned from the Thievius Raccoonus,” he murmured, feeling a prickle of fear pass through his mind at the intense look on her face. He couldn’t read her expression, and that was the scariest thing of all. “I don’t – I’m not really sure how it works, just that I have to hold my breath to do it. I’m just glad that it worked on you; that was a gamble I was making when I grabbed you, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Carmelita continued to stare at him, still clutching his shoulders, then released him with an incredulous shake of her head. “Increíble. You really are something special, Sly Cooper. I hope you realize that.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. Seemingly taking his silence as agreement or at least acquiescence, the fox picked up the turret she had been working on before their scare.

“I think I got this thing figured out. We can definitely use it against Clockwerk. Now all we need is a proper plan.” She peered out at the open crater, then over at him. “I have an idea, especially now that I know you can disappear at will, but…I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

“I doubt I’ll like any plan that’s going to put us at risk, but if it’s enough to take him down, then it’s worth it. Hit me with your best shot, Inspector.”

So, she did exactly that – and she was right, he didn’t like it. But they had precious few options and precious little time, and it was the only real chance they had. Against all his instincts screaming at him to forget about this, to flee before it was too late, Sly agreed with the grim understanding that it was now or never.

It was finally time to end the Fiendish Five once and for all, and earn his freedom back.

For however much longer that was worth.

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

This was what they were going to do:

Sly, armed with both the jetpack and the mini-turret, would climb as high as he dared along the cliff walls above the lava pits, visibly and openly, in an attempt to goad Clockwerk into appearing. Inspector Fox would remain on the rocky paths below, out of sight and waiting for anything to attack her partner. The moment the owl arrived, she would shoot him with her shock pistol in an effort to stun him and send him plummeting into the fatal pools below. If the electricity wasn’t enough right off the back, the raccoon would unload the turret into him to finish the job and get the hell out of dodge before any retaliation could happen.

Best case scenario, all it would take was one hit from the pistol to down the bird. Worst case, Sly was supposed to flee using the jetpack and his invisibility while Carmelita disappeared back into the caves around her, and they’d try to regroup outside of the volcano or hunker down and hide until Interpol arrived to deal with the furious owl.

It was a messy, impromptu plan that relied on luck just as much as their own skills, but they were going to bank on Clockwerk’s obsession with the Coopers to blind him to the assault until it was too late. The leader of the Fiendish Five thought himself untouchable; tonight, the two of them hoped to prove otherwise.

Sly huddled between two large cracks in the wall for a quick breather as he worked his way up the side of the crater. For all that he was only pretending to try and escape, there was no acting in the way he constantly scanned the scenery and pressed himself tightly against the rocks in paranoia. He couldn’t allow himself to be caught off guard by Clockwerk before Carmelita could do her part. His heart hammered in his scarred chest and his tail flicked about in uncontainable stress.

He double-checked the jetpack straps to make sure there was no chance they’d come loose on him if he took to the air. His partner had checked the fuel tank and assured him that it had several hours’ worth of constant flight, which was a minor relief, but he had only gotten a crash course from her about how to adjust his height. There hadn’t even been time to test its speed. One bad maneuver and the owl could clip him with a wing or a talon.

Send him falling out of the skies and straight to his –

The raccoon shook his head and continued climbing. Catastrophizing was pointless, now. It was time to trust Inspector Fox.

Himself, too.

Just as his foot found another crevasse to hoist himself up further, foreboding hit the back of his neck down to his tail. Sly twisted in place to face the crater, catching the faintest glimpse of that familiar silhouette high above before it dove straight for him. He froze, hypnotized by the glowing yellow gaze trained on him, and found himself unable – unwilling – to move.

“Found you.”

The owl’s beak was open in a twisted grin of triumph as he came down at his prey. His claws came out from under his body, open and ready to grab, to take, to break, and his eyes were alight with hateful glee. Everything else disappeared under the great and terrible presence of Clockwerk.

I’m going to die.

Pure, concentrated energy arced up in the shrinking gap between them. It hit the bird square in the head with an eruption of blue. He reared back in a flurry of flapping wings as if blinded, and that was all the cue Sly needed. The raccoon came back to himself just in time to turn the turret on and fire – right where the shock pistol blast had just connected. Clockwerk screeched, loud and pained and furious, and crashed into the volcano wall where his quarry was flattened up against.

Sly stopped firing and leapt instead, narrowly missing the enraged owl by the skin of his teeth as he began to freefall. Amidst his fear and the horrible scraping of metal to rock, he barely had the presence of mind to fumble with the jetpack controls, turning his rapid drop into a midair float. Holding his breath against the urge to hyperventilate was done through sheer force of will; he disappeared from sight just as the owl regained his bearings and launched off of the wall back into the sky.

“You cannot escape me, Cooper Raccoon!” Clockwerk roared. His eyes glittered with loathing as he searched for his prey. “You’re the weakest Cooper I’ve ever encountered. My intellect is refined; my experience is greater! I will thwart this pitiful attempt at fighting back and show you what true terror looks like!”

He made several wide swipes into the air around him, hoping to catch the raccoon with sheer reach alone, but Sly had already fallen as low as he dared above the bubbling lava pits. The heat was so strong he could feel it through the soles of his sneakers, but he remained invisible underneath the ancient bird as he hunted him.

A second electric bullet slammed into Clockwerk talons from below. The digits went momentarily limp; the owl’s head whirled towards Carmelita, who stood out in the open on the rock path beneath the battle with her pistol at the ready. His beak opened in a silent approximation of a snarl as all his murderous intent zeroed in on the inspector who’d dared get in the way of his goal.

Before he could even dive-bomb after her, Sly reappeared in his line of sight long enough to shoot at him again. Bullets ripped into the vulnerable metal around his claws until two of them were hanging by a thread. There were no nerve endings there to further debilitate the owl; he course-corrected without any hesitation and aimed for the raccoon while he was still visible.

“Enough, Sly Cooper! It ends here. I’ll finish you like I finished your father. Then the Cooper line will be erased, and the only master thief will be Clockwerk!”

Sly yanked on the jetpack controls, sending him rocketing skywards so fast it nearly gave him whiplash as Clockwerk followed right behind. Each wing beat matched the throbbing in his chest.

“You can’t dodge me forever.” It was a promise, not a threat, as the ancient bird began to close in on his prey. His damaged talons rose in preparation to snatch him straight out of the air –

“Sly! Behind you!”

The owl swerved, suddenly losing control of his flight as Carmelita shot out his tail feathers. He spiraled leftward, attempting a desperate grab for the raccoon that was easily avoided right before crashing into an outcropping of metal and machinery that had been embedded in one of the walls. Sly turned and stared in disbelief at the monster who had plagued his life; the monster who had now found himself momentarily trapped as his shredded claws caught against his own contraption.

Bizarre didn’t even begin to describe it. It was downright surreal. And it was all thanks to the force of nature that was Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox.

A force of nature that wasn’t done yet.

As Clockwerk struggled to free himself and regain the upper hand, the fox found her mark a fourth time. His right wing lit up from electricity, and its frantic flapping slowed considerably. Sly didn’t waste the opportunity given to him – he laid into that wing with the last of the turret’s ammunition. Metal feathers were ripped from their master’s shell in flaming shards, plopping into the lava pool like dozens of tiny comets.

All at once, the wing went limp, as did the rest of the ancient bird. Sly hovered high and uncertainly above him, clutching the empty weapon while waiting for the next thing to dodge or react to. Far below them both, he could see Carmelita taking advantage of the brief reprieve to begin reloading her pistol.

He looked in her direction a second too long, and that was all it took.

Clockwerk lurched, sudden and startling, and dropped dead weight towards the lava. What seemed like a victory at first became horrifying realization as the owl twisted midair to turn his freefall into a glide with the last bit of control he still had – aimed straight for Inspector Fox in her distraction. Her eyes went wide and she dropped the shock pistol in her panic, turning tail and sprinting for all she was worth from the creature determined to slaughter her.

Time slowed to a crawl. Sly felt himself move in slow motion; turning off the jetpack, throwing aside the useless turret, pulling his cane out as he rocketed down towards Clockwerk. Sparkles flashed across the broken metal frame and he followed them, landing on the plummeting owl’s back as easily as if it were solid ground. As the ancient bird made one last bid for an attack, the raccoon brought the cane down against the back of his skull.

Clockwerk screamed. His head twisted in place to fix loathing eyes on the last Cooper, and it was just enough to save Carmelita’s life. He crashed into the lava centimeters shy of the fox’s rocky sanctuary, thrashing wildly as molten liquid poured into his body. Even in his flailing, even as he began to sink further and further into the lava, Sly did not jump off of his back.

He slammed his cane into the owl’s head again. And again. And again. For every garbled sentence Clockwerk said as his brain failed him, for every twitch of dying machinery, for every part of him that was still impossibly alive, Sly Cooper struck him over and over. There was no blind rage or even blind terror to the onslaught; just the crystal-clear understanding that if he did not stop until this monster was well and truly dead, then he would never have the chance again.

Within the battered, broken head of the owl, a single coherent word rang out.

“Cooper!”

The sound of his last name was enough to finally make the raccoon pause. He stilled with his cane raised, prepared for one last trick.

“You will never be rid of me,” the monster declared. “Clockwerk is superior–!”

His voice cut out as the cane cracked his head clean off.

Yellow eyes dimmed to blank black and wings drooped into lava as the struggling stopped in an instant. Sly stood there on what little was left of Clockwerk, staring down the body slowly melting beneath him. His own body felt heavy, and his senses were behind a wall that he could not pass through. Distantly, he heard Inspector Fox call out to him, pleading for him to get off of the owl and join her, but registering it was a delayed process.

When he finally began to turn towards the safety of the nearby rock, something under his foot caught his attention. The raccoon looked down to see papers jammed in the open hole that now made up Clockwerk’s neck. He crouched, picking them up before they could be burned to a crisp, and jumped from the husk of his previous life to the uncertainty of his next.

Carmelita was waiting for him there. She looked at him for a long moment, then at the pages held almost reverently in his hands.

“Are those…?”

“Yeah.” He answered without really being there, staring down at the thing he’d worked so hard for that had been a lie all this time. “The rest of the Thievius Raccoonus. It’s complete again.”

Saying it out loud didn’t make it feel any more real. Sly continued to stare at them, and suddenly had the urge to put them back where he’d found them. Watch them dissolve into nothing along with Clockwerk.

Maybe he should just let the whole book burn.

A pair of hands wrapped around his own, where he was clenching the pages so tightly that they seemed ready to tear. He startled, unsure when he’d started doing that or how long he’d been looking at them.

“Let’s get out of here, Ringtail.” Her voice was calm and quiet and left no room for argument. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”

She began pulling him along with her as she walked away from Clockwerk’s corpse. He followed without resistance – except for a single glance back which was intercepted by her gentle touch to his cheek before he could complete the movement. The raccoon blinked, surprised to feel cool wetness there in the space between her fingers and his fur.

The two of them walked for an indeterminable amount of time, only stopping to climb ledges or pick a different direction. Sly’s mind slowly began to escape the fog it had found itself in, and by the time he finally stopped dissociating, they were standing on a catwalk overlooking the entire volcano. Far below, the owl’s body had seemed to stall in its melting; it sat in the lava, half-submerged, and did not sink any further. Above them, countless stars twinkled, reminiscent of the blue sparkles that promised endless possibilities limited only by himself.

Beside him, Inspector Fox spoke quietly into her radio before setting it back on her hip. She met his gaze with a cautious expression, as unsure about his thoughts as he was about hers.

“Interpol will be here within the hour,” she said, watching him carefully. “How are you feeling?”

The raccoon took a long, deep breath. He looked out at Krakarov and the great expanse beyond. The pages in his left hand and the cane in his right didn’t feel quite as volatile anymore. With another, longer exhale, he stuffed the rest of the Thievius Raccoonus in his backpack and ran his fingers along the edges of his cane.

“Not great,” he admitted. “But…not the worst, either. I think…I think I’ll be okay.”

“Good.”

An awkward, expectant silence fell heavily between them. Neither moved or looked away, each waiting for the other to say or do something first. Finally, after a full minute of quiet studying, Carmelita pulled her shock pistol out of her holster and pointed it at him.

“Ten.”

She said it softly yet firmly, as if convincing herself as much as she was him that she was really going through with this.

“Nine.”

Sly stood frozen for a moment. Then he took a step forward.

“Eight.”

He moved slowly, bit by bit. There was no hurry for what he was about to do. Or, more precisely, what he wasn’t going to do.

“Seven.”

The raccoon came to a stop right in front of her, close enough for either of them to reach out and touch and touch each other.

“Six.”

Without breaking eye contact, Sly leaned forward until his chest was pressed up against the barrel of her weapon.

“Five.”

Inspector Fox didn’t respond to the action. She didn’t react at all beyond the briefest furrow of her eyebrows, as though unsurprised that he was choosing this.

“Four.”

He reached for her right hand; the one holding her weapon.

“Th-three.”

Now she stumbled over her words, finally caught off guard by what he was doing. Even then, she didn’t flinch when his fingers intertwined with hers.

“Two.”

Sly never stopped staring at her. He committed every detail of her face to memory for the precious last second that he had it. The touch he’d dared to steal from her would forever be the only thing he stole from her.

“One.”

It was his voice that finished the count, barely a whisper of a word as he let go of her hand. They were nose to nose, neither blinking. He closed his eyes and began to back out of her space, waiting for the pull of a trigger.

But she surged forward instead.

Faster than he could react, her lips pressed to his. He made a startled noise against her, stiffening for a moment before melting into the unexpected kiss; her free hand came up to hold his cheek, and his hands burrowed into her hair. The trust, the heartache, the need for each other was shared in one simple, desperate gesture of love.

And then, just like that, it was over.

They pulled away from each other at the same time, both trembling with emotions they couldn’t contain and yet couldn’t express. The pistol remained a barrier between them.

“Get out of here, Sly Cooper,” Carmelita murmured, gaze bright and burning. “Go show the world that you’re worth so much more than a name.”

She closed her eyes. Opened them.

He was already gone.

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

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

A/N: I really hope the Clockwerk confrontation was satisfying. It was harder to adapt the fight than I expected - he's got lasers and those electric rings in the game, but otherwise he himself doesn't do much while facing you. I wanted him to be more "active" so to speak, so took away the weapons to make that happen (and to even the playing field a little bit because our heroes were struggling otherwise). I know a lot of people had high expectations for the climax of this fic and I apologize if it fell short.

(Can you tell I'm nervous? I'm really nervous, ahaha.....)

See you all next week for the epilogue.

[blimbo-buddy]

Tell me about your Ivypool and Hollowflight human headcanons!

IvyPool

Absolutely tries cutting her own hair (fails miserably)

Super short (5'2 to be exact) and scrappy and scrawny. Paper napkin girl

Blasian. She has a little british in there mainly from her grandpa CloudTail (His dad is british)

Likes wood carving surprisingly

Has a mini-knife collection (in which she wood carves with)

She was a complete tomboy as a kid and would pull a willing DoveKit along with her. She got in trouble a lot

Isn't as tomboyish anymore (which is also a sign of how miserable she's become)

Liked making little horse toys to enact bloody wars with

She just likes horses alright

Still has HollowFlight's old necklace that he gave her

Can't handle coffee for the life of her, she drinks decaf

Lost a kidney lol

HollowFlight

Likes his hair a little short but once in a while he lets it grow out and ties it up a bit

5'10, maaybe almost 6 feet

Has a gap in his front teeth (this also applies to regular cat Hollow)

Has a knack for architecture and building design (She helps out a lot with building/fixing new shelters for Riverclan)

Started HRT right around the time she was 17

Hyperpigmentation on his face

Used to cut IvyPool's hair (It never turned out right lol)

Cuban

Can speak just a tad bit of Spanish but not much

I wanted to mention IvyPool having a liking towards firearms and weapons but I feel like that's just everybody in the Clans.

[marvel-and-mischief]

❄️ December Writing Challenge ❄️

Day 19. Reading

Pairing: Steven Grant x GN!Reader Words: 990 Warnings: none!

December Writing Challenge masterlist

[A continuation from Day 11. Knit/Crochet/Crafts]

It’s been a month since you and Steven met in the education room of the British museum. Since then you’ve been on numerous dates from picnics in the park, to perusing the smaller museums on the outskirts of the city. You’re both having fun, hoping it will lead to something solid in the future but for now simply enjoying each others company. 

As for your kids, they've been pressuring you to take them back to the museum every day since. They won’t stop talking about their first visit, particularly the part about meeting Steven and hearing all the interesting facts he told them. So you set up another school trip, this time to take part in a reading session. 

When you arrive, kids in tow, Steven greets you at the door of the education room wearing a nervous smile, saying your name a little too loud for the quiet of a Monday morning.

“Kids, good to see you again,” he peeks around your shoulder to give them an enthusiastic wave that is returned in equal enthusiasm by every kid. “I have set up the room for maximum comfort, so get settled down ready for a truly gruesome story.”

You both step aside to let the children into the room. That’s when you see what Steven means; the ceiling lights are off and he has set up two star projectors in opposite corners of the room to light up the walls; the tables and chairs are nowhere to be seen, instead the floor is covered in blankets and pillows for the kids to sit on with two large cushions at the front for you and Steven. You look on in awe as Steven fidgets beside you.

“Is it too much? I just wanted to make it special for them, y’know?”

“Steven, they love it,” you nod towards the kids excitedly chattering away, pointing to the stars and sharing blankets with their friends. Steven feels a puff of pride in his chest when he sees your reaction.

It takes a while to settle the kids down, but once they’re comfortable you hold up the book you’re going to read. 

“Today we’ll be reading about some of the Gods that Ancient Egyptians worshipped.”

You feel Steven cringe beside you, giving him an inconspicuous questioning glare. He half smiles, you’re unconvinced but decide to let it go.

You hold the book up with one hand, making sure the children can see as you turn to the first page showing a cartoon drawing of the pyramids in the desert. 

“Before we start, who can tell me what the gods looked like?”

Various children put their hands up. You point at a girl at the back of the room to answer.

“Animals. Like my dog and cat at home,” she says confidently.

“That’s right. They usually looked like animals that Egyptians were familiar with.”

You see Steven’s fingers twitch where he’s holding tightly to the cushion he’s sat on. You know he wants to add to the story, probably to remark on how it isn’t entirely accurate that they were animals. You’d had a talk with him the night before, reminding him that your kids are only six and they can’t process the details of the Ennead however much he may think they’d be interested. But he knows you’re right, so he keeps quiet throughout the rest of story time, until the kids attention spans are beginning to wane and you close the book. 

“Did everyone enjoy the story?” They nod, muttering between themselves about which god is now their favourite. 

“Who would like to hear about Steven’s favourite god?”

Everyones ears prick up, suddenly alert, eyes widening in Steven’s direction as they wait to learn what he will say. Steven turns to you like a deer in headlights, needing confirmation that it’s okay to speak.

“Go on,” you quietly and confidently urge, “tell them a story.”

It takes a moment for Steven to process the information, but he soon huffs in relief when he realises you’re not joking. 

“Well, actually,” he says, a spark of joy in his eyes as he turns to the children in front of him, “it’s a goddess. And her name is Taweret.” 

The children are glued to Steven’s animated description of Taweret, how she protects children like themselves and her magical powers that help people pass into the underworld. You watch as Steven growls in an impression of a hippo, making everybody laugh. He is a natural storyteller, and every single child is enamoured by him. 

By the time he’s finished info dumping it’s lunchtime but nobody wants to leave the room.

“How about we eat our lunch in here and Steven can tell us more about the ancient gods?”

The children reply in a chorus of ‘yes’s.

“Oh, are you sure? I don’t want to bore them,” Steven chuckles self-consciously, which you’re quick to dismiss. 

“You’re so easy to listen to. I’d love you to keep speaking. But only if you want to.”

In the dark you take Steven’s hand, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze which he reciprocates. Of course he wants to talk about something he knows everything about, especially when you want him to. 

“Alright. But there’s so many to go through we’ll be here all day!”

“Why don’t I name a few and you can give us only the most interesting facts about them?”

“Yeah, that sounds good-“ Steven stops himself suddenly, a thought occurring to him when he holds up a finger in pause, “lets not mention Khonsu though.”

“You really don’t like him, do you?” You frown in amusement, remembering one of your first conversations being how much Steven thought he was a ‘manipulative old bird’ and ‘he’s not even one of the good ones’. 

“We all have our favourites right? Well, he’s not one of them,” Steven explains. 

You smile affectionally and agree, and get back to story time with the children. 

[nellie-elizabeth]

Grey's Anatomy: Keep the Family Close (20x02)

"Discretion is my middle name. Actually, it's Elaine." Yasuda, I love you. Let's dive in!

Cons:

Schmitt and his patient Dante call it "The Great Bake-Off" instead of "The Great British Baking Show" or "The Great British Bake-Off" and I'd just like to lodge a complaint on that. What the hell? Who says that?

Link and Jo's subplot this week is about Link being more romantic and sentimental, and a somewhat joke-y exchange where Link is offended that Jo doesn't remember the details of how they met. In the end, Jo makes a romantic meal and lights candles to reinforce that she appreciates the romance in their relationship. There's nothing offensive about this necessarily, but it just feeds into the worst vibes I have about this pairing. It feels forced, it feels proscribed, it feels like they need to come up with over the top sappy moments to try and convince the audience that they're really in love. And I'm not convinced. I did kind of like the Amelia and Jo scene, though. I think it's sweet that Amelia clocked the relationship issue and took a risk by saying something.

Pros:

I love the concept of the interns having to complete a bingo of basic procedures to earn their spot back in the OR. It adds a level of comedy and competition to them, carrying through a theme we've seen with these five interns since the beginning. But it also gives an opportunity for our characters to grow. Of the five interns, I think Blue is still distinguishing himself as my favorite. It's an easy but effective trick, to have him be seemingly callous and disconnected from the humanity of his patients, but then to learn his lesson and speak to the family of a young man who got shot, with such compassion and care. Bailey clocked that growth in him; it seems like Kwan is one to keep our eye on.

Teddy is, as always, far more tolerable as a character when she's not partnered with Owen for her scenes, and Yasuda is so dang charming that I actually ended up really liking the stuff with the two of them in this episode. Teddy insisting that she's totally okay and then bursting into tears when prompted by Yasuda to really register the reality of her near-death situation, was both funny and touching. I also like Teddy trying to help Yasuda with her check-list of procedures on the sly. It doesn't really work out in Yasuda's favor, but it's cute idea, having the Chief of Surgery trying to give her a leg up.

One last note on Yasuda: her and Helm going at it to open the episode made me smile; happy for these two! I hope we can give Helm more to do as a character this season, she feels perpetually just off to the side of the main action. I also loved the contrast between them going hot and heavy, and Amelia talking to her cat.

Schmitt is still the cutest character to me. I really liked the vibes with Dante, and I hope that can maybe turn into something for him! It was fun to see Schmitt being so cool and professional about the HIV diagnosis while also creating a personal bond. He's grown so much from the baby queer who was kissing a man for the first time just a few years ago. I'm excited to see where this goes.

It was so good to see Ben, I feel like it's been forever, since he's off doing cool stuff over on the spin-off that I refuse to watch. I liked him giving advice to Bailey that these interns might be different and stand up for themselves more than she's used to. And I liked the conclusion, too, that Bailey is the one who has changed, actually. But Ben makes an apt comparison between being a parent and taking over the residents: Bailey has done it before, and she knows when to put her foot down, and when to hold a hand.

I honestly really liked the Lucas and Simone scene at the end. Because I totally get where Simone is coming from, she's been through such a lot of chaos recently and she's genuinely trying to do the right thing by backing off and letting Lucas know that now isn't the right time for them. But... the second Lucas gets mad, you realize that he's... kind of right. Like, extremely right. Simone has been very selfish throughout this rough patch and has not appreciated how much she's been hurting Lucas by jerking him around and then turning to him when she needs some comfort. It's a complicated situation: I agree with Lucas that Simone has behaved poorly, but I don't hate her for her behavior either. They agree on one thing, that she definitely needs to get her shit together. Lucas claims he won't be waiting for her when she does, but I suppose only time will tell.

I got actually emotional about Amelia reaching out to Winston. Like I teared up a little bit. I've realized recently that an easy emotional trigger for me in fiction is when characters are lonely and bravely try and form connections with those around them. (Let's not analyze why this might hit me particularly hard lol). And this was just a prime example of that: Amelia calling Winston her family, acknowledging their rough patch but hoping that they can stay family anyway. Winston agreeing to go eat at Joe's was a lovely little capstone as well. I'm proud of Amelia for realizing she's having a rough time and making concrete moves towards improving that for herself.

Generally speaking I think Jules ranks last for me in terms of my interest level in the new intern characters, but I did like the general plot of this big extended family and their wacky and dangerous baseball game. It's so unrealistic to have a doctor suddenly snap and tell a family to get their shit together, but whatever, it made for a fun moment from Jules, and I liked her grudging acceptance and low-level horror at being named the MVP for speaking the truth.

As always, lots of plot threads going on, plenty to keep me interested. I hope we can see some romances blossoming between Schmitt and Dante, and more with Yasuda and Helm: love to see those queer relationships on this show, and also it means we can focus on love stories less boring and aggravating that Link/Jo or Owen/Teddy.

8/10

[localvoidcat]

all of tmcblr dave’s story (mostly) written by a madman (me)

hi this is for @scrimblocatalogue but you can read if you like tmcblr. otherwise this is not a place of honor no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here etc etc.

silliness under the cut

- okay so there was some silly stuff. gay accusations for the nephew, the whole floppa thing, chewing on wires that made the tech store burn down, all that fun stuff. mostly just a silly goofy guy

- friend dies. he attempts to go help her ghost and, in the process, separates his soul from his body and becomes a sort of medium. and he falls into the hands of a system. so he’s essentially remotely piloting his own body and waking up in this void place, known as Nothing, whenever she sleeps

- said dead friend ends up trying to attack him, killing someone else in the process. racked with guilt he decides to hide out for a bit but ends up being followed by the alternate tormenting his other friend (johnson)

- this causes him to be trapped for three days, before, in an attempt to escape, being physically torn apart and buried. while he’s dead, an alternate of him is created, and torments another friend of his

- the aforementioned system tries to repair him, merging him with some of the ghosts and his own technology in order to bring him back to life. this, of course, is extremely unstable, and shortly after killing the alternate of himself, he starts merging with it as well. this turns him into a partial alt and he ends up attacking lamb 

- the system resets him after this fight, trapping him in a new form. not too long after this, he’s once again tricked by johnson, who manipulates him into agreeing to go forward with one of the system’s commands in order to be human

- this. uh. doesn’t work he gets the alternate ripped out of his body and he dies there. in his friends arms. lmao

- another mod brings him back as a ghost, leaving him completely drained and unable to communicate much with anyone. after a while spent like this, he goes to the gods to bargain for his life back. they agree but end up giving him a bunch of curses 

- when he comes back he realizes. that they literally just put him back in his torn-up corpse. he stumbles back to his friend and collapses there

- there’s some messing around for a while and then the system is like well wait a second. this isn’t how the story is supposed to go. i need to fix this myself so it tries to erase the memory of it from dave

- this partly works, because while the memory IS erased he breaks the system while doing it. so now the system is just really pissed at this guy that doesn’t even remember it exists. also it’s starting to self destruct and it knows it needs to be present to salvage the story

- so it does the most logical thing, which is to. slowly possess them. and it works and now there’s this weird supercomputer thing possessing thatcher’s friend. and the longer it spends in his body the more fucked up she gets 

- this of course leads to possessed dave and thatcher fighting, and thatcher manages to win by (checks notes) ripping wires out of his best friend’s back! it does work in the end even if it is a gory mess

- system shuts down and Nothing crumbles down on itself, and we don’t hear from system for a while after that. it’s presumed dead

- so yay! he’s in control again there isn’t anything controlling him against his will. downside is that she’s now frighteningly aware of their place in the narrative but this is never touched on. staying silly

- a lot of the stuff after this is mostly fun filler stuff. baking project gone wrong that dave ends up treating as his son (this cookie thing has been locked in a closet until the end of time), hanging out with the dead god friend (average activity), constant threats on his life, british adam murray accidentally calls him a slur (one of my favorites), dave gets turned into an alternate again for a couple days and speaks in homestuck (one of his cats and johnson does this to him), etc

- everything after this is just nonstop insane btw so buckle up

- uhhh after a while it becomes apparent that oh shit! the corpse thing was actually kind of a big deal. he’s slowly rotting now. whoops

- this gets REALLY BAD and eventually he kind of. sort of. gets to the point where he’s nearly dead but the divine intervention bullshit manages to get him back to semi-normal. also johnson tries to stab out her other eye while he’s unconscious during the repair thing but he fucks off. so now dave’s fine. kind of. surely this will not be a permanent cycle of decay and repair that he goes through for the rest of his life

- shortly afterwards he gets told to come to the church! the one place he has tried to avoid for years due to past experiences! this will certainly not traumatize him further

- it does. meets gabriel for the first time (and gabriel lore is different in this, even if he did still create alternates), calls him a coward, gets another part of his face torn off. you know how it is

- archive is a little broken right now but there’s just some hurt/comfort stuff for a bit. it’s pretty nice actually thatcher and dave interactions make me so ill i sob and cry and die forever. also they watch sharknado together and now he thinks it’s a real documentary 

- uhhh mark gets. sort of kidnapped? it’s hard to explain - by an alternate and dave decides to go help him. this ends up with him facing off another alternate but somehow. he manages to mess with the alternate instead. now i found this kind of funny but something something picking up the habits of the person you hate and using them against other people. or something cause angst only works on tumblr user bonkcreat

- something silly happens after this. but when doesn’t it. anyways remember when i said system was probably dead. i was lying. it’s now stuck in Something (opposite of Nothing. Nothing was this void realm Something is like sensory overload the place) and is trying to reach out again

- it works. and dave goes into it and oh boy! what did you expect it’s the goddamn system again. it tries to get him to hand over control again but something happens with the realm registering him and it practically. spits her back out LMAO

- of course the whole. distortion realm thing messes her up a bit and now he’s some weird radiation spiral angel thing. for a bit. not too long. this happens every day. that wears off pretty fast but during that time he touched the weird missing texture thing that scrambled two of his friends and gets kind of birded. what am i even saying

- uhhhh fun stuff! thatcher dave and ruth interactions, he makes the best of the whole. bird situation which ended today (sort of. you saw the comic), and things are mostly fine. 

- also there’s stuff going on with. johnson right now but dave hasn’t been tied into that lore yet so that’s for another time

anyways. that’s only one half of the bullshit i’ve been doing for several months. love this gay ass roleplay and i hate it with a passion. i’m so ill okay goodbye

[aerialworms]

Please vote! I need external motivation! (I'm still posting Watching Over You, I just need to choose something to finish writing as well)

Summaries:

All of these are endgame Destiel!

Star Trek Fusion AU: I have two fics in this 'verse written but i need to do the prequel first. Castiel, a half-Vulcan Starfleet officer, is appointed as the new Captain of the USS Impala after Bobby retires, keeping Dean as First Officer. Dean does not take well to that. Enemies to FWB to lovers, spread out over at least three different fics! I also made a post rambling about this universe here

Dragon!Cas fic: Set during s9ish when Cas' grace is low - he can regenerate it by spending time in his true form and shutting down most higher brain functions. He essentially turns into a little dragon who gets real clingy around Dean, who is half-annoyed, half-endeared by it. Pretty much just fluff and shenanigans :3

Demon!Dean: Set during the demon dean arc in s10 while Cas is still stealing grace. Crowley captures him and offers him to Dean as a present, and Cas tries to convince Dean to come home while Dean pretends like he's definitely a big bad demon who could easily kill Cas if he wanted, he just. doesn't want to. Angst and smut with a hopeful ending.

Cat!Cas fic: Might end up as a comic, actually - I've got the first four pages sketched out but I don't know where i'm going with it :/ Cas gets turned into a cat by a witch and Dean comes to find him, not realising the injured cat he's been caring for and venting to about Cas *is* Cas. Pining!Dean and hurt/comfort for Cas!

Interactive time loop confession fix it: An interactive fic, made using Twine. You play as Dean, stuck in a time loop of the confession until you find a way to save Cas and break free

Cas Swap: (post-confession fix it) In two seperate universes, at the same time, two versions of Dean perform a spell to resurrect their own Cas from the Empty. Canon!Cas is brought back into a world with a Dean his counterpart has been in a relationship with since Tombstone. Canon!Dean gets that AU!Cas, who is unafraid of showing his love for Dean, but also won't put up with any of Dean's bullshit. Each set of Dean-and-Cas-es have to work together to get Cas back to his own universe, and deal with their issues along the way.

The Wrong Avalon: A BBC Merlin/SPN crossover, with endgame Destiel and Merthur! Set vaguely pre-s12 of SPN and post s5 of Merlin. The British Men of Letters have been trying to raise the mythical King Arthur from the dead for some time. When they finally succeed, however, he does not come up in the UK. Instead, he surfaces in Lake Avalon, Michigan, where two hunters and a put-upon angel discover him. Since he can only speak Old English, he becomes fast friends with Cas, which totally doesn't make Dean jealous at all, but he still mourns for his old life and family. When he discovers that Merlin may still be alive, he dedicates himself to finding him, but when the BMoL close in, intent on using Arthur for their own gain, Arthur must rely on his new friends, as well as his oldest one, to gain his freedom and his happiness.

Btw if you wanna know when I post these, you can follow me on AO3 (same username as tumblr) and/or ask to be tagged!

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

So, I’ve decided to change up this blog’s theme a bit. I haven’t changed anything since I first created it, almost exactly three years ago – I believe this blog’s was born on August 11, 2020. At that point, I’d watched all of a few major panel shows and sitcoms, was in the process of watching more, and had my initial list of other stuff I wanted to see. And was running out people in real life who would speak to me because I kept telling them about British people they did not care about, so I figured I had to start putting some of it on the internet.

 I went to Tumblr because it’s the only social media site on the internet that isn’t bullshit. Reddit – does what it does well, parts of it are good for specific discussions, but it doesn’t let you set up an account and just post whatever you want, you have to find the correct subreddit. Twitter – can you imagine me in 240 characters, or whatever it is now? Facebook – I already had an account there, everyone I know in real life is on there, they were spamming it at the time with conspiracy theories because I was quickly learning that it turns out everyone I had chosen to surround myself with in life is terrible! Every social media site besides those ones – that’s where the influencers live, isn’t it? I don’t want to go where the influencers live.

So I created a Tumblr account. Tumblr asked me a few questions of the bat, and I thought about them for around one minute each – enough so each answer would mean something, but I was mostly just going with my initial instincts.

It asked me what I wanted my cover photo to be, and I went with my favourite season of my favourite panel show - simple.

It asked me for a profile picture, and I thought, what do I want to represent me? What part of Britcom, for this Britcom blog, captures the essence of how I’d like to be seen? And then I thought: Jo Brand. But not just any Jo Brand. Those pictures of Jo Brand that the Daily Mail and similar publications used when they were trying to smear her after she made that Nigel Farage milkshake joke in 2019. I want people to look at the internet representation of me, and see the version of Jo Brand from those papers, where they thought she looked bad and threatening and she had a cup in her hand as though she’d just poured her drink on a racist and was wishing she had something stronger. That’s what I want to be.

It asked me for a username, and this wasn't even an RIP tribute thing, because Sean Lock was still alive then. I just thought about what was a Britcom panel show moment funny enough to seem worth using as a name, and the first thing I’d thought of was Sean Lock on 8 Out of 10 Cats saying he wants to tell the meerkats it’s fine. So that’s what I am now. And that one I won’t change – I like that name, and I have to have some consistency, I think of this as my “Tell the Meerkats it’s Fine” blog, so if I changed it then it would become a completely different blog, and I don’t want that.

It asked me for a blog title, and I immediately thought of James Acaster’s comment on one of my favourite episodes of Catsdown. Possibly my very favourite episode, actually. I thought it was funny, and fitting, for a blog where I’ll be writing about people who can be called legends, in various ways and with varying degrees of irony. I don't see that one changing any time soon either, because it fits perfectly.

So the names remain, but I’ve decide it’s time for new pictures. It’s been a while. The focus of this blog has changed a bit. It’s still a Britcom blog, and Taskmaster season 4 is still my favourite season of my favourite panel show, and I still have great respect for the version of Jo Brand that the Daily Mail tried to smear because she made a joke about wanting to maim a racist. But in the last year, I’ve found myself more into stand-up and podcasts than panel shows and sitcoms, which is where this blog started.

(Also I chose those pictures before I read some of the stuff Jo Brand has said about TERFs – not that she is one, if she were a TERF I would not have kept my profile picture after learning that, she’s just sounded slightly more “well, we should listen to both sides” about the issue than I’d like, ideally, in a person whom I designate as the face that will represent me on the internet. Also I chose those pictures before learning that Noel Fielding might have slept with a teenager quite a few years ago, but not enough years ago so that he was also a teenager, and it’s entirely possible that the tabloids made all that up, I hope they made it all up, the point is that the hilarious panel show things I liked don’t seem quite as perfectly clean as they did a few years ago.)

So, I have updated my blog to reflect changing times, in my comedy-related interests. And I realize this is quite a change, because I’ve had multiple people tell me over the last few years that they picture me as looking like Jo Brand, because Jo Brand is the avatar next to all my posts. I do enjoy that, and I apologize to all those people who think I am Jo Brand that you are now going to have to adjust to seeing something else when you look at my blog.

I asked myself, who would I choose now, out of all the people in comedy, to represent me? Not someone I think I actually am like – I would never be arrogant enough to make such a claim. But someone who represents enough of the things I think are perfect so I would want them to be my face on the internet, feel no hesitation about having their face on all my posts? And there was no question, really.

If anyone reading this blog must have an image of me in their heads, I would like that image to be Josie Long, wearing a feminist t-shirt (it says “No More Page Three” on it), at The Stand comedy club in Edinburgh, doing some of her early pro-socialism material for a Stewart Lee TV show in 2013. I can't think of much that's better than that.

I also thought about a new cover image – what is the most significant Britcom thing to me these days, for this Britcom blog? Of course there are many things, that are central to my current interests, and it’s hard to find just one image that summarizes enough of them. But I know what comes the closest to that.

Five comedians on stage: Daniel Kitson, Adam Hills, David O’Doherty, Demetri Martin, John Oliver. I have seen/heard all stand-up comedy DVDs/CDs/any other official releases by all of those people, as well as quite a few things that were not officially released. Heard a few hundred hours of John Oliver on the original run of The Bugle, and that’s a huge thing that’s shaped my current comedy interests. I’ve become rather disillusioned with Adam Hills lately, but I did watch several hundred episodes of The Last Leg, and it had some very good stuff in its glory days. All five of David O’Doherty’s albums are saved on my phone, because I’ve heard them all all the way through before but I enjoy going back and jumping around and re-listening to them. Demetri Martin’s out there giving me one comedian I can reference to my North American friends, and they’ll have heard of him (I mean, John Oliver too, but my favourite John Oliver things are British or at least Transatlantic things that people don’t know here, while if I talk about the Demetri Martin things I like, I’m talking about the same stand-up recordings people here know). And Daniel Kitson took over my life some time ago and that has not come close to abating.

We’re coming up on the twenty-year anniversary of this, by the way. It happened on August 26, 2003 (if you want some useless information that lives in my brain, that was also Nish Kumar’s eighteenth birthday). I should have some sort of party for the twenty-year mark. I’ll rip some stuffed cows in half and sing some Eminem songs wrong.

I’ve come to refer to this incident as Cowgate, which I thought was a clever name. Employs the common thing where you use the suffix “-gate” to mean “scandal”, because I don’t know what the fuck was going on there but I don’t think it was right with God. Also, it took place in the recently rebuilt Gilded Balloon, after the original Gilded Balloon burned down, because it was in the Cowgate neighbourhood of Edinburgh, and there was a fire in Cowgate.

Someone who knows I'm sufficiently interested in that video to have created my own nickname for it, but for some reason still speaks to me anyway, very helpfully took a picture for me at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe, of a sign in the Cowgate neighbourhood. I’d been thinking of updating my blog’s pictures anyway, and this seemed like the perfect time to do it. Take a screenshot of that video and label it with the picture of the Cowgate sign–combining pictures from two different Edinburgh Festivals, twenty years apart – and there you go, that’s the comedy I like. It’s Kitson. It’s O’Doherty. It’s Oliver when he was British. It’s Hills before he was tight with the monarchy. It’s Chocolate Milk Gang. It’s cool yet inexplicable shit from old Edinburgh Festivals. It’s 00s-era comedy history. It’s a collection of things that followed from so much earlier stuff that I respect, and paved the way for so much later stuff that I respect. It’s been keeping me awake at night for like a year now with questions about the fuck they were doing. It’s all the comedy things I’m most interested in these days.

Apologies for the shit image quality, but it really is the best I could do. The original video is in much worse quality than this. I put some time into catching a screenshot at the exact moment when the spotlight shone in the right place, so you could see what was happening a little bit. I then ran it through two different image enhancers to get it as clear as this. So that's as good as it's getting.

For anyone who for some reason can't recognize these comedians in dim light and terrible image quality with faces out of sight and it was twenty years ago - that's Adam Hills holding the mic and rapping at them. John Oliver in red, wielding a pipe like a video game character. David O'Doherty in green, appearing to recoil in fear of John Oliver's power. Kitson with no fear of John Oliver or his weapon or the cow, jumping in there next to Adam Hills. And Demitri Martin in white, looking like a mechanic working on a car for most of this video.

[dherzogblog]

songs/22

The "Press and Play"list version (click the links for music and extras) songs/22 playlist

1. Elvis Costello -“Farewell, Ok”: A garage rock burner with a bit of the attitude that made E.C. the dean of the class of ‘77. 2. Band of Heathens - “Carry Your Love”:  A monster hook, and every time I hear this it, it makes me think of Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers. That's a good thing. These guys also released a cool Covid covers album this year. 3. Nikki Lane - “First Time: On-the-rise outlaw rocker recalls her 80's high school rock roots. It features my favourite lyric of the year: "Take me back to the first dream, 501 blue jeans, tighter than god damn Springsteen”. 4. Lucuis- “Next To Normal'': Produced by Brandi Carlile, this deceptively funky tune has been in my head for months. 5. Khruangbin/Leon Bridges: From "Texas Moon" the lone star state collab and follow up to 2020’s "Texas Sun". The adventurous and vibey, Khruangbin have become one of my favourite bands. 6. Lizzo - “It’s About Damn Time”: "It’s bad bitch o’clock". 7. Elle King - “Honky Tonk Disco Nights'': Been listening to Elle for a while now as an emerging star in Americana/Country world. But on this one she makes a left turn teaming up with Chic’s Nile Rogers on this country/disco mash-up. "Dance, dance dance". (Hollywood Fun Fact #1: Elle the daughter of comedian and former SNL cat member Rob Schnieder). 8. Say She She- “Pink Roses”: Slinky cool and danceable, this Brooklyn based female trio love Nile Rogers too. So much so, their band's name is a sly nod to his group. "Yowsah, yowsah, yowsah". 9 .Stone Foundation - “Heaven Knows Why”: Smooth disco grooves and wah- wah guitar from UK soul revivalists. Bell bottoms and platform shoes not included.

10. Dreadzone - “Dread Town”: The eternal spirit of 2-Tone lives on this bouncy single from veteran British reggae/dance outfit featuring lead vocals by Emily Capell who borrows the style of Amy Winehouse and the attitude of Lily Allen, on a joyous celebration of London's multi racial musical melting pot. 11. Pearl Charles -“Givin it Up”:  Last year I stumbled on Pearl’s brilliant ABBA inspired “Only For Tonight” and was subsequently blown away by the whole album. She’s back again with another lush and luminous 70’s styled single whose swirling strings, memorable hook, and slyly funky finish made it one of favourites of the year. (Hollywood Fun Fact #2: Pearl is the daughter of Larry Charles ofSeinfeld/Curb fame). 12. The Dip - “Real Contender”: Big horns and big hooks from a Pacific northwest band that gives me Jamie Cullum vibes. 13. Mapache - “Light My Fire”: Cosmic folk rock harmonies for your mellow mood. 14. River Kittens - “Hate To Break It”: Speaking of harmonies, this break-up torch ballad sounds like it came straight off Shelby Lynne’s country/soul masterpiece, “I Am Shelby Lynne”. 15. The California Honeydrops - “In Your Arms”: More soul horns and a chugging Stax rhythm from Oakland outfit who sounds like they may have been fans of Oaktown homeboys Tony! Toni! Tone'! 16. The Harlem Gospel Travelers - “Nothing But His Love”: Nope, this is not a gospel tune, just some sweet vintage styled soul and harmony in praise of a higher power. 17. Miko Marks/Ressurectors “Feel Like Going Home”: Rising star Miko Marks and the guys may actually get closer to church on this one. Her album has blues, country, and gospel influences, think The Staples Singers and The Band on the "Last Waltz, All of which reminds me there was a pretty great posthumous release this year from the late Leon Helm and the very much alive Mavis Staples.18. Lee Bains + The Glory Fires - “(In Defense of the) 40 Hour Work Week: Blue collar country rock in the spirit of The Drive By Truckers.

19. Titus Anddronicus - “Give Me Grief”: A jangly, angsty pop anthem from post punk Jersey boys. 20. Pinegrove - “Alaska”: More catchy indie pop from Jersey (Montclair!) 21. Wet Leg - Wet Dream: Isle Of Wright indie pop duo exploded on the scene last year with two great singles, "Chaise Lounge" and this one. A proper album was released in '22, so the song still qualifies, and I get to make up for missing them first time around. 22. Hurray For The Riff Raff - RHODODENDRON: Always moving in new directions, Alynda Segarra and crew are back. This time they bring the spirit of The Velvet Underground with them. 23. Melissa Carper - “Ramblin Soul”: Old-time Texas Swing from the woman they call the “The Hill-Billie Holiday”. 24. Taj Mahal/Ry Cooder - “Hooray Hooray”: Roots rock veterans and former Rising Sons bandmates reunite over 50 years later to pay tribute to blues legends Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee. Hooray Hooray indeed. 25. North Mississippi AllStars - “See The Moon”: These guys have always drawn on the southern rock and blues they grew up on. The connection runs deeper on this album with the addition of Lamar Williams Jr, son of former Allman Brother Band bassist Lamar Williams. 26. Wilco - “Falling Apart” (Right Now): I’ve enjoyed all of Wilco’s sonic explorations over the years. but If I’m gonna be honest, I always loved their early alt country outings the most. 27. Reigning Sound - “Lonely Ghost”: This long running Memphis garage rock band broke up late last year…but they released this Dylanesque single early this year. So, have they “ghosted” us or not? Either way, it’s the final rattle of a hard working band at the end of the road, but going out defiantly.

28. John Doe - “Never Coming Back”: Former X-Man John Doe reminds us you can’t go home again in this dark, moody song with a memorable hook that will stick with you and your subconscious. 29. Valerie June - “Use Me”: No, not the classic Bill Withers tune, (it actually has the opposite sentiment), She has an idiosyncratic vocal style, but like Bill Withers, Valerie June is the real deal. 30. Deslondes - “Good To Go”: A charming world weary tale of hard luck and never giving up. 31. Billy Swan - “Don’t Be Cruel”: Season two of “Euphoria” opened with this haunting 1974 cover of the Elvis classic and it blew me away in much the same way the show does. I couldn't stop listening to it for weeks.

If you got this far...thanks for checking it all out. I appreciate you. Hope you all have a great holiday season and I look forward to seeing you in the new year. Peace, Doug

Los Angeles, December 2022