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layce2015 · 1 year ago

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Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Tall Tales

Masterlist

(A/N: So since this episode likes to flashback and through different point of views as they explain what happened to Bobby, here's what I'm gonna do. The bold paragraphs are gonna be in Dean's point of view. The italics paragraph are gonna be in (y/n)'s point of view. The bold italics paragraph are gonna be Sam's point of view. I forgot how crazy this episode is until I watched it the other day and this was the best way of writing it I could think of. Anyway, that is all and I hope you guys enjoy!)

Sam and I were sitting on the couch, looking through books, when he rubs his face tiredly. Dean was sitting up on the bed behind us, listening to the radio and eating from a disposable plate. "Dude. You mind not eating those on MY bed?" Sam asked, annoyed. "No, I don't mind." Dean said as he continues to eat.

"How's research going?" He asked us and I sighed in annoyance. "You know how it's going? Slow. You know how it would go a heck of a lot faster? If (y/n) and I had our computers." Sam shouted at him and Dean nods, sarcastically.

"Can you turn that down please?" I asked him, gesturing towards the radio. "Yeah, absolutely." Dean said and he turns the music up louder and I sit still, annoyed again. "You know what? Maybe, uh, maybe you should just go somewhere for a while." I said to him and he shuts off the radio and looks up, snappish. "Hey, I'd love to. That's a great idea. Unfortunately, my car's all screwed to hell." He said as he glares at me. "Dean, I told you, I have nothing to do wi—" I started to explain when I was cut off by a loud knock on the door.

Sam stands and goes to the door; he looks through the peephole and then back at us, then opens the door. "Hey, Bobby." Sam said as Bobby comes through the door. "Boys. (Y/n)." He greets and Dean and I approach him. "Hey, Bobby." We greet.

"It's good to see you again so soon." Bobby said. "Yeah, uh, thanks for coming. Come on in." Sam said as Dean shakes Bobby's hand, firmly. "Thank God you're here." Dean said. "So um, what didn't you want to talk to me on the phone about?" Bobby asked. "It's this job we're working. We— We weren't sure you'd believe us." I said and Bobby scoffs. "Well, I can believe a lot." He said.

"Yeah, no, no, it's just, we've never seen anything like it—" Sam said as I shake my head. "Not even close." Dean said. "And we thought we could use some fresh eyes." I said and Bobby looks between us. "Well, why don't you begin at the beginning?" He asked.

"Yeah, um, all right." Sam said and he gestures to the bed. Bobby picks up the empty takeout tray and peers at it, sets it aside, and sits down. "So, it all started when we caught wind of an obit. See, a professor took a nosedive from a fourth story window, only there's a campus legend that the building's haunted. So we pretexted as reporters from the local paper." Sam begins to explain.

Sam and (y/n) were sitting at a table with a stocky jock boy, Curtis, and an attractive girl, Jen. Sam sets a voice recorder down on the table before they began the interview. "Yeah, we both had the professor for Ethics and Morality." Curtis said.

"Yeah? So why do you think he did it?" (Y/n) asked them. "Who knows? I mean, he was tenured, wife and kids. His book is like a really big deal. Then again..." Jen said then she leans in conspiratorially. "Who's to say it was suicide?" She asked, making her friend scoff. "Jen, come on." said Curtis.

"Well, what else could it be?" Sam asked, feigning surprise. "Well, you guys know about Crawford Hall?" Jen asked Sam and (y/n). "No, we don't, actually." (Y/n) replied. "It's a bunch of crap, it's a total urban legend." Curtis said. "Yeah well, Heather's mom went to school here, and she knew the girl?" Jen said and Sam and (y/n) look between the kids.

"Wait, what girl?" (Y/n) asked. "Thirty years ago, this girl was having an affair with some professor. He broke it off, she jumped out the window and killed herself." Jen replied. "You know her name?" Sam asked. "No. But they say she jumped from room six-six-nine. Get it? You turn the nine upside down?" Jen said, snickering, and Sam and (y/n) nod while Curtis laughs.

"So now she haunts the building. And anyone who sees her? They don't live to tell the tale." Jen explains. "Well if no one lives to tell the tale, then how does the tale get told?" Curtis asked. "Curtis! Shut up!" Jen yells.

"You know what, uh – Thanks a lot guys. Excuse us." Sam said and he nods at (y/n) and they get up.

Elsewhere in the bar, Dean picks up one of the three shot glasses, filled with dark bluish-purple liquid, then slams all three in succession. Sam and (y/n) approaches. "Dean. Dean, what are you drinking?" Sam asked as Dean burps. "I don't know, man, I think they're called purple nurples?" Dean replied, chuckling.

"Okay, well listen. Sam and I were thinking maybe we should go check out the professor's office." (Y/n) said to him. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no I can't right now, I've got some feisty little wildcat on the hook, I'm about to – zzzzp – reel her in. I'll introduce you guys." Dean said and a heavily made up blonde girl, sloppily drunk and wearing fishnet stockings and a tight miniskirt, walks up behind him.

"Dean—" Sam and (y/n) said, exasperated. "Starla! Starla, hey. These are my shuttle co-pilots Major Tom and Major Val. Major Tom and Val, Starla." Dean introduced as Starla draps an arm around Dean "Enchanté." She said, smiling. "Hi." Sam and (y/n) greet, unsure.

Starla begins to gag, cover her mouth, then looks up grinning. Sam and (y/n) look really skeptical and dubious at her. "Sorry. Just trying to keep my liquor down!" She said, laughing. "Yeah! Good job." Dean said to hef then he turns to Sam, confidentially. "Hey. Good news. She's got a sister." He said and he leans back into Starla's arm again, both of them grinning suggestively.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a minute." Dean said. "What?" Sam asked. "Come on, dude, that's not how it happened." Dean said to him. "No? So you never drank a purple nurple?" I asked him. "Yeah, maybe that, but I don't say things like feisty little wildcat. And her name wasn't Starla." Dean said, offended.

"Then what was it?" Sam asked him and Dean sits there and thinks. "I don't know." He said then he turns to Bobby. "But she was a classy chick. She was a grad student, anthropology and folklore. We were talking about local ghost stories." He said as Bobby listens.

The girl, now wearing black heels and a sleek black cocktail dress, and Dean each hold a purple nurple and toast with them. "Here's to..." the girl said until Dean finishes it. "Here's to us." He said and they toast. "My God, you are attractive." The girl compliments.

"Thanks. But no time for that now. You need to tell me about this urban legend. Please. Lives are at stake." Dean said to her. "Sorry, I just...can't even concentrate. It's like staring...into the sun." She said then she reaches up and pulls his head towards her for a slow kiss.

Sam approaches behind them with an extremely dubious expression and his jacket slung over his shoulder. "Dean! What do you think you're doing?" He asked in an exaggerated prissy tone and Dean breaks away from the kiss to turn to his brother.

"Sam, please. If you wouldn't mind, give me five minutes here." He said in a very smooth and casual voice. "Dean, this is a very serious investigation. We don't have any time for any of your blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah Blah!" Sam said and Dean leans into kiss the girl again as Sam continues blabidiblahing behind him.

"Right! And that's how it really happened." Sam said, sarcastically, as Dean shrugs. "I don't sound like that, Dean!" Sam shouts. "That's what you sound like to me." Dean said and I scoff. "And where was I, smart guy?" I asked him. "Probably hooking up with a guy at the bar." Dean said, shrugging, and my jaw drops slightly. "Oh, is that what you think of me?!" I asked, angrily.

"Okay. What's going on with you three?" Bobby asked us. "Nothing. No— it's nothing." Sam replied, quickly. "No, come on. You're bickering like an old married couple but with three people." Bobby said as Dean gets up and crosses over to the kitchenette. "No, see married couples can get divorced. Me and these two, we're like, uh, Siamese triplets." Dean said.

"It's conjoined triplets!" I shouted af him, annoyed. "See what I mean?" Dean said and I rolled my eyes. "Look, it, we've just been on the road for too long. Tight quarters, all that. Don't worry about it." Sam said to Bobby after he let's out a sigh. "Okay." Bobby said, still concerned but continues to listen.

"So anyway. We figured it might be a haunting, so we went to check out the scene of the crime." I explained.

The Janitor lets Sam, (y/n) and Dean, now posing as electricians, into the professor's office. "So, how long've you been working here?" Sam asked. "I've been mopping this floor for six years." the janitor replied as he turns on a light as the four walk into the professor's office. "There you go, guys." He said and hd sees Sam's EMF reader.

"What the heck's that for?" He asked. "Just find a wire in the walls." Sam said. "Huh. Wow. Not sure why you're wiring up this office. Not gonna do the professor much good." said the Janitor. "Why's that?" Dean asked. "He's dead." The janitor said, bluntly.

"Oh. What happened?" (Y/n) asked. "He went out that window. Right there." the janitor said as he points at the window behind the desk. "Yeah? Were you working that night?" Sam asked. "I'm the one who found him." said the janitor.

"You see it happen?" (Y/n) asked as Dean sees a bowl of nuts on the side table and eats one. "Nope. I just saw him come up here, and uh...well." the janitor said as he grimaced. "What?" Sam asked. "He wasn't alone." The janitor said as Dean comes up next to (y/n), his cheeks stuffed with nuts and he was holding the bowl.

"Who was he with?" Dean asked, muffled.

"Come on! I ate one, maybe two!" Dean yells at me and I roll my eyes again. "Just let me tell it, okay?" I said and Dean scoffs at me.

"He was with a young lady. I told the cops about her, but uh, I guess they never found her." The janitor said. "You saw this girl go in, huh? But did you ever see her come out?" Sam asked him. "Now that you mention it, no." The janitor said, slightly shocked. "You ever see her before, around?" (Y/n) asked. "Well, not her." he said.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, his mouth still full of nuts, and Sam and (y/n) glare at him. "I don't mean to cast aspersions on a dead guy, but uh...Mister Morality here? He brought a lot of girls up here. Got more ass than a toilet seat." The janitor said and Dean, laughs delightedly, while Sam glares and (y/n) runs her hands over her eyes and the Janitor grins.

"One more thing. This building, it only has four stories, right?" Sam asked. "Yeah." replied the Janitor. "So there wouldn't be a room six-six-nine?" Sam asked him. "'Course not. Why do you ask?" The janitor asked. "Aw, just curious. Thanks." Sam said as Dean chews with his mouth open, stuffed full of nuts.

The trio return to the hotel and Sam and (y/n) sit at the table; Dean gets a beer out of the fridge for each of them. "Well, no traces of EMF, that's for sure." Sam said, disappointed. "And the room six-six-nine's a load of crap." Dean said. "So what do you think? The professor's just a jumper? A legend's just a legend?" (Y/n) asked. "I don't know. I mean, the uh, girl the janitor described, that's pretty weird." Dean said.

"Yeah." Sam and (y/n) said, in unison.

"We oughta check out the history of the building. See if any co-ed ganked herself there." Dean said as he heads to the bathroom. "Yeah, you're right." I said as Sam opens up his laptop, then stares at the screen, confused. "Dude. Were you on my computer?" He asked and Dean comes back out of the bathroom, confused.

"No." Dean said. "Oh really? 'Cause it's frozen now. On uh, Bustyasianbeauties.com." Sam said. Dean thinks for a moment, frowns, winces, and retreats. "Dean! Would you – just – don't touch my stuff anymore, okay?" Sam shouts at him. "Why don't you control your O.C.D.?" Dean calls out to him.

"But did you dig up anything about the building? Or on the suicidal co-ed?" Bobby asked us. "No. History's clean." Sam said. "Then it's not a haunting." Bobby said. "Maybe not. Tell you the truth, we're not really sure." I said to him.

"What do you mean, you're not sure?" Bobby asked. "Well...it's weird." Sam said. "What's weird?" Bobby asked. "This next part, we uh, we didn't see it happen ourselves exactly, but it's pretty friggin weird. Even for us." Dean said.

Curtis walks alone through the campus when he hears a noise. He turns, startled, then keeps walking, laughing at himself when he hears another noise and stops, looking straight up. He walks more carefully, hands in pockets.

Suddenly a bright light whooshes on overhead and he cringes, arms over his head. He starts running, but trips and falls; a bright beam of light shoots down and grabs him like a tractor beam, pulling him up. He screams and flails.

"Aliens?" Bobby asked, confused. "Yeah." Dean said as we give Bobby the I told you so look. "Look, even if they are real, they're sure as hell not coming to earth and swiping people." Bobby said to us. "Hey, believe me. We know." I said.

"My whole life I've never found evidence of an honest-to-God abduction. It's all just cranks and pranks." Bobby said. "Yeah, that's what we thought. But...we figured we'd at least talk to the guy." Sam said.

Dean and (y/n) were seated next to Curtis, who has three full shot glasses lined up in front of him. Sam is standing nearby as Curtis takes a shot. "Hey, you ought to give those purple nurples a shot." Dean said and (y/n) punches his arm, making him shut up.

"So, what happened, Curtis?" (Y/n) asked him. "You won't believe me. Nobody does." Curtis said, upset. "Give us a chance." Sam said and Curtis looks down and sighs. "I do not want this in the papers." He said to us. "Off the record, then." Dean said and Curtis nods.

"I, uh...I blacked out, and...I lost time, and when I woke up, I don't know where I was." Curtis said and he explains how he was on a medical table, bright lights shining on him then seeing the face of an alien appearing above him.

"Then what?" Sam asked as he sits down. "They did tests on me. And, uh..." Curtis stammers then takes another shot. "They, uh...They probed me." He said and Sam turns his face away, struggling not to laugh, while (y/n) raises an eyebrow at him.

"They probed you?" Dean asked Curtis. "Yeah, they probed me. Again and a— Again and – And again." Curtis said then he takes another shot. "And again and again and again... And then one more time." He said.

"Yikes." Dean mutters. "And that's not even the worst of it." Curtis said. "How could it get any worse? Some alien made you his bitch." (Y/n) said and her and Dean smirk until Curtis glares at them.

"They...They made me...Slow dance!" Curtis exclaims and the trio exchange confused but shock looks.

"You guys are exaggerating again, huh?" Bobby asked us. "No no." I said, shaking my head. "Then this frat boy's just nuts." Bobby said. "We're not so sure." Dean said.

The trio stand over a large, perfectly round scorch mark in the ground. "I'm telling you, Dean, This was made by some kind of jet engine." Sam said. "You mean some saucer-shaped jet engine?" Dean asked him. "What else could it be?" (y/n) asked as the three look at the mark and try to think.

"What the hell?" Dean asked. "I don't know." Sam and (y/n) said. "Seriously, guys– What the hell?" Dean asked, confused. "I don't know." Sam said, shrugging. "I mean, first the haunting. Now this? The timing alone – There's got to be some kind of connection." (Y/n) said, as she thinks. "You mean between the angry spirit and the sexed-Up E.T.? What could the connection possibly be?" Dean asked.

"But what could we do? So we just kept on digging." Dean said to Bobby and he continues with the story.

"So, you and this guy, Curtis – You were in the same house?" (Y/n) asked this other kid after the three meet up with him. "Yeah." The kid said. "You heard what happened to him, right?" Dean asked. "Yeah, he says it was aliens, but, you know, whatever." the kid said.

"Look, man, I – I know this all has to be so hard." Sam said in an exaggerated concern. "Um, not so much." the kid said. "But I want you to know...I'm here for you. You brave little soldier. I acknowledge your pain. Come here." Sam said and he grabs the kid in a hug. "You're too precious for this world." He said, softly.

"I never said that!" Sam shouts at Dean. "You're always saying pansy stuff like that." Dean said and I shake my head.

"Well, um...Yeah, uh, thanks." The kid said and Sam releases him. "Thanks for the hug, but, uh, I'm okay. Really. To tell you the truth, whatever happened to Curtis, he had it coming." The kid said.

"Why is that?" Dean asked him. "He's our pledge master. Put us through hell this semester, and got off on it. So now he knows how we feel." The kid replied and Sam keeps giving a worried and concerned look at the kid. "It's okay." Dean said.

"Still doesn't make a lick of sense. But, hey, at least there's one connection." Dean said as the three return to the hotel. "Between what?" (Y/n) asked. "The victims. The professor and the frat guy – They're both dicks." Dean replied.

"That's a connection?" Sam asked. "You got anything better to go on, I'd love to hear it." Dean said as (y/n) looks in her bag. "Where's my laptop?" She asked. "I don't know." Dean said as (y/n) continues to search, getting more frustrated.

"Think about it. A philandering professor gets a dead girl. A pledge master gets hazed." Dean said. "I left it in here." (Y/n) said as she continues to look for her laptop, Sam helps her. "You obviously didn't. I mean, these punishments—they're almost poetic. Actually, it'd be more like a limerick, but still–" Dean said and (y/n) approaches Dean.

"Okay, hilarious. Ha ha. Where'd you hide it?" She asked, annoyed. "What, your computer?" Dean asked. "Yeah, where'd you hide it?" She asked. "Why would I take your computer?" Dean asked her.

"Because no one else could have, Dean! We keep the door locked. We never let any maids in." (Y/n) yells. "Looks like you lost it, Poindexter." Dean mutters.

"Dude, you know something? We put up with a lot from you." Sam yells. "What are you talking about? I'm a joy to be around." Dean said. "Yeah? Your dirty socks in the sink, your food in the fridge." (Y/n) yells.

"What's wrong with my food?" Dean asked. "It's not food anymore, Dean! It's Darwinism. All we ask from you, the one thing, is that you don't mess with mine and (y/n)'s stuff!" Sam yells and Dean just stares at him. "You done?" Dean asked.

"You know, how would you feel if I screwed with the Impala?" (Y/n) asked him and Dean glares at her. "It'd be the last thing you ever did." He said in a low voice.

"Did you take her computer?" Bobby asked Dean. "Serves her right, but, no." Dean said. "Well, I didn't lose it. 'Cause I don't lose things." I said to him, angrily. "Oh, that's right, yeah, 'cause she's Lil' Miss Perfect." Dean said and I scoff. "And I didn't take it either. In fact, my laptop is missing as well." Sam said.

"Well I didn't take that either!" Dean said and Bobby shakes his head. "Okay, okay. Why don't you just tell me what happened next?" Bobby asked us. "There was one more victim." Dean said. "Right. Now, we, we didn't see this one ourselves, either. We kind of put it together from the evidence. But this guy – He was, uh, he was a research scientist. Animal testing." Sam explains.

"Yeah, you know – a dick. Which fits the pattern." Dean said.

The Research Scientist leaves a campus building, heading towards the street when he sees something shiny in the gutter and stops. He looks around cautiously, then gets down on hands and knees to see it better. It is a gold watch. He smiles and looks excited.

He gets all the way down and sticks and arm through the gutter bars, trying to reach it. He struggles when something grabs him. He begins screaming and struggling as blood spatters on his face.

"Cops didn't release the cause of death 'cause they had no clue what the cause was." Dean explains to Bobby. "So, we checked it ourselves." Sam said and we continue.

After opening the window to a building, Sam crawls through the window. "Hey." Dean said and he tosses his flashlight to Sam, then climbs through and helps (y/n) through before he shuts the window.

Dean opens a body drawer and shines his light through, he grimaces. "Well, this oughta be quick." He said as they slide the drawer out and gingerly peel off the bloody blanket, revealing extremely mangled remains.

"OK, that is just nasty." (Y/n) said, disgusted, as Sam holds his hand to his mouth and nose. "Uh, yeah." He said, speaking muffled while trying not to breathe through his nose. "Mutilated?" Dean said. "Looks to me like something was hungry." (y/n) said.

"They identify him yet?" Dean asked. "Yeah, uh, a research scientist at the college. Guess where his office was, by the way. Crawford Hall, same as the professor." Sam said. "That's right where the frat boy had his close encounter." Dean said. "Yeah. Hey, grab me that thing, would you?" Sam asked and Dean slides a magnifying light over to Sam, who peers through it at the corpse. "Thanks." Sam said as he looks through the corpse.

"What is it?" Dean asked. "Looks like a...A belly scale?" Sam said, confused. "A belly scale? From what?" (y/n) asked. "Uh...An alligator?" Sam replied and Dean and (y/n) look at him, confused.

"An alligator in the sewer. Come on." Dean said. "What? Well, Dean, it's a classic urban legend. A kid flushes a baby gator down the toilet, and it grows huge in the tunnels." Sam said. "But no one's ever really found one. I mean, th – they're not real." (Y/n) said. "Well, neither's alien abduction, but something chomped on this guy." Sam said and Dean shakes his head.

"This couldn't get any weirder." Dean mutters. "Maybe we should get some help. I'll call Bobby. Maybe he's run into something like this before." Sam said. "Oh, I'm sure he has. Just your typical haunted campus, alien abduction, alligator-in-the-sewer gig. Yeah, it's simple." Dean said with sarcasm.

"We decided to search the sewer anyway, so we split up, each taking one end of campus." I said. "D'you find anything?" Bobby asked. "Yeah, I found something, just not in the sewer." Dean said.

Dean emerges from the sewer and enteres the alley where the Impala is parked. All four tires are flat. "Son of a bitch!" He exclaims in anger. He circles the car and finds a money clip on the ground, engraved with (your initials). "(y/n)!" Dean growls.

Back at the hotel, Sam and (y/n) were reading some books as Dean enters. "You think this is funny, (y/n)?" Dean asked, angrily, and she looks up at him, confused. "It depends. What?" she asked. "Th-th-th-the car!" Dean said, angrily.

"What about the car?" (y/n) asked as Sam looks between his friend and his brother. "You can't let the air out of the tires, you idiot. You're gonna bend the rims!" Dean yells. "Whoa, wait a minute. I didn't go near your car." She said, getting angry.

"Oh, yeah? Huh. Then how'd I find this?" Dean asked as he holds up the money clip. (Y/n) pats her pocket then she stands up. "Hey. Give me back my money!" She demands. "Oh, no, no. Consider it reparations. For, uh, emotional trauma." Dean said as (y/n) comes up to him.

"Yeah, very funny. Now, give it back." She said and she reaches for it. "No." Dean said, firmly, as he holds the money up and away from her. "Dean, c'mon!" Sam said, annoyed.

"Dean, I have had it up to here with you." (Y/n) said, angrily. "Yeah? Right back at you!" He spat at her. (Y/n) reaches for the money again; Dean avoids her. Sam then goes to grab it but Dean avoids him then (y/n) tackles him to the bed. They scuffle and fight like kids.

"Come on! Get off me!" Dean yells at her. "Give it back!" (y/n) shouts and Sam tries to help and the three begin to fight and scuffle.

"Okay, I've heard enough." Bobby said, interrupting. "You showed up about an hour after that." Dean said. "I'm surprised at you three. I really am. Sam...(y/n), first off, Dean did not steal your computers." Bobby said to us. "But I –" Sam started to say but Bobby holds out his hand to him.

"Shh, shh, shh, shh! And, Dean, (y/n) did not touch your car." He said to Dean. "Yeah!" I sneered at Dean as I look at him. "And if you three bothered to pull your heads outta your asses, it all would have been pretty clear." Bobby said. "What?" Dean asked.

"What you're dealing with." Bobby said and we look at him, confused. "I got nothing." Dean said. "Me neither." Sam said. "Same here." I said.

"You got a trickster on your hands." Bobby said and Dean snaps his fingers. "That's what I thought." Dean said. "What?! No, you didn't." Sam shouts at him.

"I got to tell you...you guys were the biggest clue." Bobby said. "What do you mean?" I asked him. "These things create chaos and mischief as easy as breathing, and it's got you so turned around and at each other's throats, you can't even think straight." Bobby said to us.

"The laptops." Sam said.

"The tires." Dean mutters.

"It knows you're onto him, and it's been playing you like fiddles." Bobby said. "So, what is it, what, what, spirit, demon, what?" I asked him. "Well, more like demigods, really. There's Loki in Scandinavia. There's Anansi in West Africa. Dozens of them. They're immortal, and they can create things out of thin air. Things as real as you and me. Make them vanish just as quick." Bobby replied.

"You mean like an angry spirit or an alien or an alligator." Dean said and Bobby nods. "The victims fit the M.O., too. Tricksters target the high and the mighty, knock them down a peg, usually with a sense of humor – deadly pranks, things like that." Bobby said.

"Bobby, what do these things look like?" I asked him. "Lots of things, but human, mostly." Bobby said. "And what human do we know who's been at ground zero this whole time?" Dean asked and Sam and I frown, thinking and then I come to the realization.

It was the Janitor.

The Janitor locks a gate with a key attached to his belt as the boys and I follow him up a staircase. "Sorry I'm dragging a little ass today, guys. Had quite the night last night." He said as he turns to look at them. "Lots of sex, if you catch my drift." He said, chuckling.

"Yeah, hard not to. Listen, we won't be long." Dean said then the Janitor turns his back to us and Dean signals to me. "We just need to check a couple offices up on three." Dean said. "No problem." The janitor said. "I, uh, forgot something in the truck. You know what? I'll catch up with you guys." I said to them. "Okay." Sam and Dean said and they turn and begin ascending the stairs again.

I wait until they're out of sight, then hurried back to the locked gate. I pull out my lockpicking tools and begin to pick the lock. Moments later, I enter and rummages through the lockers until I find a copy of the Weekly World News, with the headline Aliens Abduct Cheerleaders, in one of the lockers.

Later, after meeting up with them, the boys and I exit the building. "Just 'cause he reads the Weekly World News doesn't mean he's our guy. I mean, you guys read it, too." Sam said to me and Dean. "I'm telling you, it's him." Dean argues.

"Look, I just think we need some hard proof. That's all." Sam said to us. "Okay, another thing Bobby mentioned was that these suckers have a metabolism like an insect, a real sweet tooth." Dean said. "Well, I didn't find any candy bars or sugar. Not even Equal." I said. "Eh, that's probably 'cause you missed something." Dean said to me.

"I don't miss things." I said, firmly. "Oh, right, 'cause you're Miss Perfect." Dean growls. "What? Are you really still pissed at me 'cause of what the trickster did?" I asked him. "You been a tight ass long before that trickster showed up." Dean grumbles and Sam and I stare at him

"Look, just...stay here, keep an eye on the janitor. (Y/n) and I'll go to his place to see if we can find any actual evidence before you go barging in and staking the man! Just wait till we get back, okay? Okay?" Sam asked him. "Okay!" Dean yells and Sam and I leave.

*3rd Person POV*

Dean paces along while The trickster watches, a serious expression on his face. As the sun goes down and turns into night, Dean stood by waiting, impatiently. "Ah, screw this." He growls.

Dean enters the building, poking around cautiously with his flashlight. As he goes up the last staircase, he puts the flashlight away and pulls out a large wooden stake. He hears something behind him then tucks the stake into his jacket, and enters the theater.

On the stage is a round red bed with a tacky canopy and a slowly rotating disco ball. Two women were sprawled on it seductively, both in lingerie. As Dean gets to the stage, they crawl towards him. "We've been waiting for you, Dean." The brunette girl said.

"Y-Y-You guys aren't real." Dean stammers as he stares at them. "Trust me, sugar, it's gonna feel real." Brunette said and Dean laughs nervously. "Come on. Let us give you a massage." Blondie begs.

"Wha...You know, I'm a – I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Really, I am, but...I-I'm gonna have to pass." Dean stammers. "They're a peace offering." A voice said and Dean turns to see the Trickster sitting in the seats. "I know what you, your brother and the girl do. I've been around a while. Run into your kind before." He said.

"Well, then you know that I...can't let you just keep hurting people." Dean said to him. "Come on! Those people got what was coming to them. Hoisted on their own petards. But you and Sam and (y/n)– I like you. I do. So treat yourself...Long as you want. Just long enough for me to move on to the next town." The trickster said.

"Yeah, I don't think I can let you do that." Dean said, firmly. "I don't wanna hurt you. And you know that I can." said the Trickster. "Look, man, I – I got to tell you, I dig your style, all right? I mean..." Dean chuckles. "I do. I mean... the slow-dancing alien –"

"One of my personal favorites. Yeah." The trickster said, laughing. "But, uh, I can't let you go." Dean said. "Too bad. Like I said, I like you. Sam was right. You shouldn't've come alone." The trickster said. "Well, I'll agree with you there." Dean said and the door slams shut.

The Trickster looks back up the stairs to see Sam and (y/n) had just entered, with a large stake of their own. Bobby stands at the top of the next aisle, also with a stake. "That fight you guys had outside – that was a trick?" The trickster asked and Dean smiles. "Hm. Not bad. But you want to see a real trick? " he asked.

A masked man with a chainsaw appears near Sam and (y/n) and attackz then the brunette attacks Dean. The Trickster watches, entertained, as (y/n) and Sam grapple with Chainsaw man and Dean and Bobby fight the two women.

The trickster laughs and watches the fight and gives commentary of things that was going on. Then one of the women throws Dean into the seats near the Trickster, who applauds. "Nice toss, ladies! Nice show." He said as he stands up then looks down at Dean. "I did not want to have to do this." The trickster said when (y/n) pops up behind him and stab him in the back, through the chest.

"Me neither." She said. As she grinds in the stake, Chainsaw man and the women disappear. (Y/n) pulls the stake out, and the Trickster falls, dead, into a seat.

*(y/n)'s POV*

"You guys okay?" I asked the boys as Sam and Bobby comes up while I help Dean to his feet. "Yeah. I guess." Sam said. "Well, I gotta say...he had style." Dean said as he looks down at the dead body then he groans, and we stagger outside.

"Bobby, thanks a lot. We really couldn't've—" Sam started to say and Bobby waves a hand. "Hey, save it! Let's just get the hell out of dodge before somebody finds that body." Bobby said. "Yeah." Dean said and we go outside and head to the Impala.

"Look, Dean, um...I just want to say that I'm, uh...Um..." I started to say to Dean before he says. "Hey. Me too."

"Same here." Sam said and we look at each other and each nod. "You guys are breaking my heart. Could we please just leave?" Bobby said and the boys and I exchange a look over the top of the car, get in, and drive away.

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aspenmissing · 1 year ago

Text

𝚃𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚜 (𝙿𝚝 𝟷)

In a motel room, Sam is sitting on the couch looking through books; he rubs his face tiredly. Y/N is sitting opposite Sam, her head on her arms. Dean is sitting up on the bed behind them, listening to the radio and eating something messy from a disposable plate.

"Dude. You mind not eating those on MY side of the bed?" Y/N says. Her head now lifted up.

"No, I don't mind," Dean eats another "How's research going?"

"You know how it's going? Slow. You know how it would go a heck of a lot faster? If I had my computer."

"Hmm," Dean nods sarcastically.

"Can you turn that down please?" Sam says.

"Yeah, absolutely," Dean turns the music up louder.

"You know what? Maybe, uh, maybe you should just go somewhere for a while," Sam says loudly. Dean shuts off the radio and looks up, snappish.

"Hey, I'd love to. That's a great idea. Unfortunately, my car's all screwed to hell."

"Dean, I told you; I have nothing to do wi-" Sam is cut off by a loud knock on the door. Sam stands and goes to the door; he looks through the peephole and then back at Dean and Y/N, then opens the door. Outside is Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby," Bobby enters, hands in pockets.

"Winchesters," Dean and Y/N stand and approach.

"Hey, Bobby," she says.

"It's good to see you again so soon," Bobby says. Sam claps Bobby on the back.

"Yeah, uh, thanks for coming. Come on in," Dean shakes Bobby's hand firmly.

"Thank god you're here," Dean says.

"So um, what didn't you want to talk to me on the phone about?"

"It's this job we're working. We- We weren't sure you'd believe us."

"Well, I can believe a lot," Bobby scoffs.

"Yeah, no, no, it's just, we've never seen anything like it-"

"Not even close," Dean says.

"And we thought we could use some fresh eyes," Y/N says.

"Well, why don't you begin at the beginning?"

"Yeah, um, all right," Sam gestures to the bed; Bobby picks up the empty takeout tray and peers at it, sets it aside, and sits down. "So, it all started when we caught wind of an obit. See, a professor took a nosedive from a fourth story window, only there's a campus legend that the building's haunted. So, we pretexted as reporters from the local paper."

==Flashback – Sam POV==

Sam and Y/N are sitting at a table with a stocky jock boy and an attractive girl; Sam sets a voice recorder down on the table.

"Yeah, we both had the professor for Ethics and Morality," The jock boy says.

"Yeah? So why do you think he did it?" Y/N asks.

"Who knows? I mean, he was tenured, wife and kids. His book is like a really big deal. Then again..." The girl leans in conspiratorially. "Who's to say it was suicide?" The boy scoffs.

"Jen, come on."

"Well, what else could it be?" Sam asks, surprised.

"Well, you know about Crawford Hall?"

"No, we don't actually."

"It's a bunch of crap, it's a total urban legend."

"Yeah well, Heather's mom went to school here, and she knew the girl?" Jen says.

"Wait, what girl?" Sam asks.

"Thirty years ago, this girl was having an affair with some professor. He broke it off, she jumped out the window and killed herself."

"You know her name?" Y/N asks.

"No. But they say she jumped from room six-six-nine. Get it? You turn the nine upsides down," Sam and Y/N nod as the boy laughs. "So now she haunts the building. And anyone who sees her? They don't live to tell the tale."

"Well if no one lives to tell the tale, then how does the tale get told?" The boy says.

"Curtis! Shut up!"

"You know what, uh - Thanks a lot guys. Excuse us," Elsewhere in the bar, Dean has three shot glasses in front of him filled with dark bluish-purple liquid. He slides his hand and takes one. Minutes later he slams all three in succession as Sam and Y/N approach.

"Dean. Dean, what are you drinking?" Y/N asks. Dean burps.

"I don't know, man, I think they're called purple nurples?"

"Okay, well listen. I think we should go and check out the professor's office."

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no I can't right now, I've got some feisty little wildcat on the hook, I'm about to reel her in. I'll introduce you two," A woman with fishnet stockings and a tight miniskirt, heavily make- up blond girl appears.

"Dean-"

"Starla! Starla, hey. This is my shuttle co-pilot Major Tom and my engineer Major Gibbs. Major Tom, Major Gibbs, Starla," Starla drapes an arm around Dean.

"Enchanted."

"Hi."

"Hello," Starla gags, covering her mouth, then looks up grinning. Sam and Y/N look really sceptical and dubious.

"Sorry. Just trying to keep my liquor down!"

"Yeah! Good job," Dean turns to Y/N and Sam. "Hey. Good news. She's got a sister and a brother," He leans back into Starla's arm again, both of them grinning suggestively.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Y/N mutters.

==Flashback End==

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a minute."

"That's nothing like mine," Y/N says.

"What?"

"Come on, dude, that's not how it happened."

"No? So, you never drank a purple nurple?" Sam says.

"Yeah, maybe that, but I don't say things like 'feisty little wildcat'. And her name wasn't Starla."

"Then what was it?"

"I don't know." Dean looks to Bobby, taking up the story. "But she was a classic chick. She was a grad student, anthropology and folklore. We were talking about local ghost stories."

==Flashback – Dean’s POV==

The same girl from Sam's POV is seen with Dean, but this time she's in black heels and a sleek black cocktail dress. She and Dean each hold a purple nurple and toast with them.

"Here's to..."

"Here's to us."

"My god, you are attractive."

"Thanks. But no time for that now. You need to tell me about this urban legend. Please. Lives are at stake."

"Sorry, I just...can't even concentrate. It's like staring...into the sun." She reaches up and pulls his head towards her for a slow kiss. Sam and Y/N approach behind them both with an extremely dubious expression. Sam has his jacket slung over his shoulder and Y/N has her arms crossed with an annoyed expression.

"Dean! What do you think you're doing?" Sam says in an exaggerated prissy tone, extreme bitchface.

"We need to get to work," Y/N says, rolling her eyes.

"Guys, please. If you wouldn't mind, give me five minutes here."

"Dean, this is a very serious investigation. We don't have any time for any of your blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah Blah!" Dean leans in to kiss the girl again as Y/N and Sam continue blabbering behind him.

"Blah!"

==Flashback End==

"Right! And that's how it really happened," Sam says sarcastically. Dean shrugs.

"I don't sound like that, Dean," Y/N says.

"That's what you sound like to me."

"Besides, that's nothing like I remember."

"Well, what do you remember?" Sam asks.

==Flashback – Y/N’s POV==

Y/N is sat at a booth, looking towards her brothers. Sam is busy talking to two students and Dean is talking to a woman.

"What's a pretty girl like you sitting her alone?" A voice says. Y/N looks up and sees an attractive man. He is wearing dark blue jeans, with brown boots; he has black hair and a stubbled beard. He is holding two unopened beer bottles. "This seat taken?" He gestures to the seat in front of her.

"No, no. Sure sit." The man places one of the unopened beer bottles in front of her. "This for me?" Y/N raises her eyebrows and snorts.

"May I know the pretty girls name" Y/N raises her eyebrows and snorts.

"Is that your pick-up line? You gotta try a bit harder." She opens her bottle and takes a sip.

"You’re not like other girls I've met. You seem like you’re actually fun. Names Jake." He holds out his hand. Y/N stares at it and smiles.

"Y/N." They start talking and 30 or so minutes later Sam walks over to the booth to see about 10 beer bottles on the table and Y/N and Kyle making out.

"Y/N? Oh, come on, not you too," Sam says and she looks to Sam.

"Heya Sammy, meet my new friend Jake. Jake this is my little brother," she says drunkenly.

"Y/N, we need to go." Sam grabs Y/N's hands and helps her to stand but she pushes his hands off and goes back to Jake. Sam, seeing she won't move, sighs and leaves. Jake and Y/N continue to make out and they stand up to walk back to the Impala...

==Flashback End==

"You did not have sex in my baby!" Dean shouts.

"I told you Dean, she’s mine! And that’s how I remembered it!"

"You never introduced me to a Jake?" Sam says. Bobby stares at the three.

"Okay. What's going on with you three?"

"Nothing. No- it's nothing."

"No, come on. You're bickering like an old married couple and their annoying grandkid," Dean gets up and crosses to the kitchenette.

"No, see married couples can get divorced and grandkids can go up for adoption but us three. We're like, uh, Siamese triplets."

"It's conjoined twins!" Sam says like it's something he's said many times before.

"See what I mean?" Dean says.

"Look, it," Y/N sighs "we've been on the road for too long. Tight quarters, all that. Don't worry about it."

"Okay," Bobby says.

"So anyway. We figured it might be a haunting, so we went to check out the scene of the crime."

==Flashback – Sam POV==

The Janitor lets Sam, Dean, and Y/N, who are posing as electricians, into the professor’s office.

"So, how long've you been working here?" Y/N asks.

"I've been mopping this floor for six years." The Janitor turns on a light as the four walk into the professor's office. "There you go, guys," The Janitor looks at Sam's EMF reader. "What the heck's that for?"

"Just finding a wire in the walls."

"Huh. Wow. Not sure why you're wiring up this office. Not gonna do the professor much good."

"Why's that?" Dean asks.

"He's dead," The Janitor says bluntly.

"Oh. What happened?"

"He went out that window. Right there."

"Yeah? Were you working that night?"

"I'm the one who found him."

"You see it happen?" Y/N asks. Dean sees a bowl of nuts on the side table and eats one.

"Nope. I just saw him come up here, and uh...well."

"What?"

"He wasn't alone," Dean's cheeks are stuffed with nuts. He's holding the bowl and continues eating them throughout the conversation.

"Who was he with?" Dean asks with a muffled voice.

"You looked like a chipmunk."

"Come on! I ate one, maybe two."

"Just let me tell it, okay?"

"He was with a young lady. I told the cops about her, but uh, I guess they never found her," The Janitor says.

"You saw this girl go in, huh? But did you ever see her come out?"

"Now that you mention it, no."

"You ever seen her before, around?" Y/N asks.

"Well, not her."

"What do you mean?" Dean asks still muffled; Sam glares at him.

"I don't mean to cast aspersions on a dead guy, but uh . . . Mister Morality here? He brought a lot of girls up here. Got more ass than a toilet seat," Dean and Y/N laugh delightedly; Sam glares and the Janitor grins.

"One more thing. This building, it only has four stories, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, there wouldn't be a room six-six-nine?"

"'Course not. Why do you ask?"

"Aw, just curious. Thank."

"Yeah, thanks for the help," Y/N says.

"You’re welcome, sweet cheeks," Dean chews with his mouth open, stuffed full of nuts. They return to the hotel and Sam sits at the table; Dean gets a beer out of the fridge and hands one to Y/N and gets another one for Sam.

"Well, no traces of EMF, that's for sure."

"And the room six-six-nine's a load of crap."

"So, what do you think? The professor's just a jumper. A legend's just a legend?"

"I don't know. I mean, the uh, girl the janitor described, that's pretty weird," Y/N says.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, you're right," Sam opens up his laptop, then stares at the screen, confused. Y/N looks and bursts out laughing.

"Come on Sammy, I expected this from Dean but you?"

"Dude. Were you on my computer?" Dean comes back out of the bathroom, confused.

"No."

"Oh really? 'Cause it's frozen now. On uh, Bustyasianbeauties.com," Dean thinks for a moment, frowns, winces, and retreats. "Dean! Would you - just- don't touch my stuff anymore, okay?" Y/N is still laughing.

"Why don't you control your O.C.D?"

==Flashback End==

"But did you dig up anything about the building? Or on the suicidal co-ed?" Bobby says, walking around.

"No. History's clean," Sam replies.

"Maybe not. Tell you the truth, we're not really sure," Y/N says.

"What do you mean, you're not sure?"

"Well, it's weird."

"What's weird?"

"This next part, we uh, we didn't see it happen ourselves exactly, but it’s pretty friggin weird. Even for us."

==Flashback – Dean’s POV==

Curtis walks alone through the campus. He hears a noise and turns, startled, then keeps walking, laughing at himself. He hears another noise and stops, looking straight up. He walks more carefully, hands in pockets. Suddenly a bright light whooshes on overhead and he cringes, arms over his head. He starts running, but trips and falls; a bright beam of light shoots down and grabs him like a tractor beam, pulling him up. He screams and flails.

==Flashback End==

"Aliens?" Bobby asks.

"Yeah."

"Aliens?"

"Yeah," Dean says.

"Look, even if they are real, they're sure as hell not coming to earth and swiping people."

"Hey, believe me. We know," Y/N says.

"My whole life I've never found evidence of an honest-to-God abduction. It's all just cranks and pranks."

"Yeah, that's what we thought. But...we figured we'd at least talk to the guy."

==Flashback – Unclear POV==

Dean is seated next to Curtis, who has three full shot glasses lined up in front of him. Sam and Y/N are standing nearby as Curtis takes a shot.

"Hey, you ought to give these purple nurples a shot."

"So, what happened, Curtis?" Y/N asks.

"You won't believe me. Nobody does."

"Give us a chance."

"I do not want this in the papers."

"Off the record, then," Sam says.

"I, uh...I blacked out, and... I lost time, and when I woke up, I don't know where I was."

"Then what?" Sam says sitting, followed by Y/N.

"They did tests on me. And, uh..." Curtis takes another shot. "They, uh...They probed me." Sam turns his face away, struggling not to laugh. Y/N bites the inside of her cheek to not laugh.

"They probed you?" Dean says.

"Yeah, they probed me. Again, and again and - And again and again," Curtis takes another shot. Dean looks to Y/N and Sam who are trying not to laugh. "And again and again and again... And then one more time."

"Yikes," Dean says.

"And that's not even the worst of it."

"How could it get any worse? Some alien made you his bitch," Dean smirks. But when he sees Curtis glaring at him, he stops.

"They...They made me...Slow dance?" Y/N, Sam, and Dean look at him before Y/N finally starts laughing and she looks away.

==Flashback End==

Y/N, Dean, and Sam are sat on the couch while Bobby is standing up looking at them.

"You guys are exaggerating again, huh?" Bobby says.

"No, no."

"Then this frat boy's just nuts."

"We're not sure."

==Flashback – Unclear POV==

Sam, Dean, and Y/N are standing over a large, perfectly round scorch mark in the ground.

"I'm telling you, Guys. This was made by some kind of jet engine," Sam says.

"You mean some saucer-shaped jet engine?"

"What else could it be?"

"What the hell?" Y/N says.

"I don't know."

"Seriously, dude- what the hell?"

"I don't know."

"I mean, first the haunting. Now this? The timing alone- There's got to be some kind of connection."

"You mean between the angry spirit and the sexed-Up E.T.? What could the connection possibly be?"

==Flashback End==

"But what could we do? So, we just kept on digging," Y/N says.

#supernatural #older sister winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #reader insert

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waggingtongue · 3 years ago

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One of my favorite times to drive is the early hours of Sunday morning. The streets are quiet and only occupied by those going to work or church (and me, basking in its calming mood since I'm out of Klonopin). The city enjoys its well-deserved respite and I try to respect that while sharing in its tranquil gift. Columbia, South Carolina, the little city that thought it could (just kidding, I love Columbia and owe it a lot of money), is like most cities that provide a certain time like this to rest while many recoup from their self-proclaimed tough week...and hangovers.

I came of age during the "Age of Aquarius" and was what I considered an asset to the hippie culture. That included long hair, affordable marijuana, peace, love (mostly self) and The Partridge Family. However, it pains me and erases the ambiance of this quality "me time" to turn on the radio and hear hardcore classic rock on the radio. Sunday morning is not the time for this music to take my spirit hostage. How quickly my peaceful time gets disrupted by this noise. Geez, I never thought I would get old enough to think this way. This music that used to enlighten me, no longer has an invitation from my ears until after 5pm. Sunday mornings weren't meant for Led Zeppelin screaming its "Immigrant Song" and definitely not Guns 'N Roses destroying a cover of "Knockin' on Heaven's Door." Boy, talk about taking the blood out of an erection...huh? Guess that comment doesn't belong in a Sunday morning conversation.

What is happening to me? I must work harder not to let the aging process dampen and destroy what's left of my gasping youth.

Well, I am starting to see a few cars cutting me off, flipping me off and the drivers giving me "murder one" looks. So, I know what that means. It's time to go home, get back in bed with a bowl of Fiber One, turn on CBS Sunday Morning and read the obits in the Sunday paper.

Good news! I think I remember where I hid some Klonopin.

#short prose #sunday #waggingtongue #spilled ink

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antoine-roquentin · 4 years ago

Link

I collect Soviet newspapers. Years ago, I used to travel to Moscow’s Izmailovsky flea market every few weeks, hooking up with a dealer who crisscrossed the country digging up front pages from the Cold War era. I have Izvestia’s celebration of Gagarin’s flight, a Pravda account of a 1938 show trial, even an ancient copy of Ogonyek with Trotsky on the cover that someone must have taken a risk to keep.

These relics, with dramatic block fonts and red highlights, are cool pieces of history. Not so cool: the writing! Soviet newspapers were wrought with such anvil shamelessness that it’s difficult to imagine anyone ever read them without laughing. A good Soviet could write almost any Pravda headline in advance. What else but “A Mighty Demonstration of the Union of the Party and the People” fit the day after Supreme Soviet elections? What news could come from the Spanish civil war but “Success of the Republican Fleet?” Who could earn an obit headline but a “Faithful Son of the Party”?

Reality in Soviet news was 100% binary, with all people either heroes or villains, and the villains all in league with one another (an SR was no better than a fascist or a “Right-Trotskyite Bandit,” a kind of proto-horseshoe theory). Other ideas were not represented, except to be attacked and deconstructed. Also, since anything good was all good, politicians were not described as people at all but paragons of limitless virtue — 95% of most issues of Pravda or Izvestia were just names of party leaders surrounded by lists of applause-words, like “glittering,” “full-hearted,” “wise,” “mighty,” “courageous,” “in complete moral-political union with the people,” etc.

Some of the headlines in the U.S. press lately sound suspiciously like this kind of work:

— Biden stimulus showers money on Americans, sharply cutting poverty

— Champion of the middle class comes to the aid of the poor

— Biden's historic victory for America

The most Soviet of the recent efforts didn’t have a classically Soviet headline. “Comedians are struggling to parody Biden. Let’s hope this doesn’t last,” read the Washington Post opinion piece by Richard Zoglin, arguing that Biden is the first president in generations who might be “impervious to impressionists.” Zoglin contended Biden is “impregnable” to parody, his voice being too “devoid of obvious quirks,” his manner too “muted and self-effacing” to offer comedians much to work with. He was talking about this person:

Forget that the “impregnable to parody” pol spent the last campaign year jamming fingers in the sternums of voters, challenging them to pushup contests, calling them “lying dog-faced pony soldiers,” and forgetting what state he was in. Biden, on the day Zoglin ran his piece, couldn’t remember the name of his Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin, and referred to the Department of Defense as “that outfit over there”:

It doesn’t take much looking to find comedians like James Adomian and Anthony Atamaniuk ab-libbing riffs on Biden with ease. He checks almost every box as a comic subject, saying inappropriate things, engaging in wacky Inspector Clouseau-style physical stunts (like biting his wife’s finger), and switching back and forth between outbursts of splenetic certainty and total cluelessness. The parody doesn’t even have to be mean — you could make it endearing cluelessness. But to say nothing’s there to work with is bananas.

The first 50 days of Biden’s administration have been a surprise on multiple fronts. The breadth of his stimulus suggests a real change from the Obama years, while hints that this administration wants to pick a unionization fight with Amazon go against every tendency of Clintonian politics. But it’s hard to know what much of it means, because coverage of Biden increasingly resembles official press releases, often featuring embarrassing, Soviet-style contortions.

When Biden decided not to punish Saudi Prince Mohammed bin Salman for the murder of Washington Post writer Jamal Khashoggi on the grounds that the “cost” of “breaching the relationship with one of America’s key Arab allies” was too high, the New York Times headline read: “Biden Won’t Penalize Saudi Crown Prince Over Khashoggi’s Killing, Fearing Relations Breach.” When Donald Trump made the same calculation, saying he couldn’t cut ties because “the world is a very dangerous place” and “our relationship is with the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia,” the paper joined most of the rest of the press corps in howling in outrage.

“In Extraordinary Statement, Trump Stands With Saudis Despite Khashoggi Killing.” was the Times headline, in a piece that said Trump’s decision was “a stark distillation of the Trump worldview: remorselessly transactional, heedless of the facts, determined to put America’s interests first, and founded on a theory of moral equivalence.” The paper noted, “Even Mr. Trump’s staunchest allies on Capitol Hill expressed revulsion.”

This week, in its “Crusader for the Poor” piece, the Times described Biden’s identical bin Salman decision as mere evidence that he remains “in the cautious middle” in his foreign policy. The paper previously had David Sanger dig up a quote from former Middle East negotiator Dennis Ross, who “applauded Mr. Biden for ‘trying to thread the needle here… This is the classic example of where you have to balance your values and your interests.’” It’s two opposite takes on exactly the same thing.

The old con of the Manufacturing Consent era of media was a phony show of bipartisanship. Legitimate opinion was depicted as a spectrum stretching all the way from “moderate” Democrats (often depicted as more correct on social issues) to “moderate” Republicans (whose views on the economy or war were often depicted as more realistic). That propaganda trick involved constantly narrowing the debate to a little slice of the Venn diagram between two established parties. Did we need to invade Iraq right away to stay safe, as Republicans contended, or should we wait until inspectors finished their work and then invade, as Democrats insisted?

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motownfiction · 2 years ago

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you’re sick, just accept it

Sam doesn’t always live by a schedule, but when he does, it’s because there’s a concert coming up that he can’t miss. He goes to all kinds of shows all the time. Come hell or high water (or, in the case of metro Detroit, high snowfall), if he buys a ticket, he’s always there.

Unfortunately, neither hell nor high water are any match for a Midwestern flu season.

The flu season of 1985 was especially bad. On the news, people were saying it was the worst in eight years. No one could escape. By the middle of January, it got to Sam.

He missed a whole week of school, and he spent most of Saturday asleep. Now, it’s Sunday afternoon, and he’s just woken up with horror in his heart. Tomorrow is Monday. He and Steph are supposed to be cutting school to see Prince in Cincinnati.

OK, so it’s not really cutting school if your parents give you their permission. And it’s really not cutting school if they send your twin sister along, without her own boyfriend, to prevent you from turning out like Lucy and Will, whose daughter is already nine months old. Either way, Sam’s supposed to be in a car on his way to the very edge of Ohio right now, and instead, he’s lying in bed with a bucket at his side. He could vomit just thinking about it.

Steph comes to his land of counterpane around half past one to bring him soup (which his father made downstairs in the kitchen) and the Sunday paper (which he reads for the funnies and the obits, in either order). Before she can even say hello, Sam bolts up like a jack-in-the-box and says, “We’re gonna miss Prince!”

To his surprise, Steph just nods.

“I know,” she says. “Just rest, OK?”

“What do you mean, ‘just rest?’ There’s a whole ‘Purple Rain’ out there, and we’re not going to get a chance to hear it!”

“We saw Prince twice in November when he was at the Joe.”

“But we were going to go again!”

Steph smiles that perfect smile – the one Sam will miss too much next fall, when she moves away to wherever she’s going to go (and leave him). His heart clenches, and he finds himself reaching for the vomit bucket one more time. Nothing comes out.

“It’s OK,” Steph says. “We’ll figure out another way to see Prince. Or somebody. Anybody. Just not tomorrow.”

Sam sighs and slumps down on his back.

“It was going to be perfect,” he says.

He feels Steph’s lips on his feverish forehead. She’ll catch the flu in less than a week, and she’ll be out of school for five days, too. It doesn’t matter. In her kiss, Sam knows that she thinks it’s worth it. That he’s worth it.

“You’re sick,” she says. “Just accept it.”

And even though he doesn’t want to accept it, it’s hard not to listen to a beautiful girl who reads Family Circle like it’s Days of Our Lives.

#drabble #writeblr #ch: sam doyle #ch: steph armstrong #ship: forever afternoon #year: 1985

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awheckery · 2 years ago

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I found her

I have an active Ancestry.com account, so I made a guess at her birth year and hit paydirt basically immediately

Ms. Blanche Appleton was born Blanche Harriet Schnitzer, October 22, 1903, in Manhattan, New York City, the only child of affluent immigrant parents who were apparently very invested in her education. I found records of at least two international trips with her parents before she turned twenty. Here's her passport photo from her original application in 1922, to compare against the above photo:

(cut for record dumps and original documents ahoy)

When I said her parents were invested in her education, I meant it. She earned a bachelor's degree from Wellesley in 1924...

...and a master's degree from Columbia University in 1925.

Blanche followed that up by pursuing a doctorate (what.) in Political Economy from Columbia U in 1926

buuuuuut her academic career was put on indefinite hold when she apparently eloped with one Charles Applebaum in December of that year.

Ten years later, they were both apparently going by the surname of Appleton, both on their international travel records and on the following census.

I couldn't find when they divorced, but by the middle of 1947 Blanche's permanent address was in Washington D.C., and she was working full time for the UNRRA, bouncing around various posts from China to California.

I can also definitively place her living in Tokyo, Japan in 1954. She apparently remarried at some point, to a Dr. Melville Day Dickinson, also of GHQ-SCAP, because she's his surviving widow on his American Foreign Service death certificate, seen here. (Note his last American address matched hers on her earlier travel papers.)

Blanche Dickinson (formerly Appleton, formerly Applebaum, nee Schnitzer) died September 9th, 1974, and according to the Ancestry research page put together by one of her relatives (which I think you need to be logged into Ancestry to see), her obituary was published in the Washington Post on September 17th, 1974 and featured a comprehensive overview of her long career in US foreign service, including her time as a "food analyst" at SCAP under Gen. MacArthur.

I can't access that obit, I can't find access to any archive for it online, but apparently the obit's title was "Blanche S. Dickinson, 70, AID Economic Adviser," so I'll pass that mission off to somebody else.

tl;dr, Blanch Appleton WAS a real person, and apparently she was something of a badass, but the jury's out on whether she was involved with the yakuza at all

(btw @inneskeeper if you want, I can and will download any and all documentation you want off Ancestry so you can have the primary source documents for your own reference)

I cannot fucking believe how much I'm losing my mind right now over soy sauce history. I'll tell all of you about it after I finish this essay because I need to un-distract myself enough to finish it but what the fuck? What the fuck is going on? I'm losing my fucking mind.

#long post #history #soy sauce #blanche appleton #research throwdown #I am legit one of the most talented researchers I have ever met #it's not ego there #it's one of my superpowers #if I can't track something down it cannot be found #I hope this helps op in the quest for soy sauce answers

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brokenmusicboxwolfe · 2 years ago

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Maybe it’s the endless heat or lack of sleep, but I’m in a “ugh” mood. Since I will keep it below the cut I hope you won’t mind too much.

Some days I could REALLY use someone to talk to. Sure I could do like I sometimes do, and rant away on here, oblivious to how annoying all my followers find my words. But I just don’t even have the energy for that anymore.

Ok, I am writing here. But only a bit. I promise not to go into most of what’s getting to me. I’d rather not dwell on things.

Besides, who wants to listen to all my whining or being miserable. And over such stupid stuff.

Take for instance that I keep fretting over the Greenville Comic Con being on the 13th. How stupid does that sound? The fact the ONLY thing I have had to look forward to for the past year may not happen ‘cause I can’t afford the has money for the gas to drive to the comic con 50 miles away, seems insignificant compared to how bad things could be. **

Or are. I mean, my life is a disaster and pretty close to unsustainable. When you are already walking over a plank to get to your bedroom, and now the floor the plank rest on starts to give way too, you really do feel the ground sliding away beneath you in a tangible way.

But I won’t go on about the rotten husk if a home I live in or any of the rest of my collapsing infrastructure. I’m living the post apocalyptic lifestyle without the “we are all going through it” comfort of a real apocalypse. I moan about it too much, and moaning does no good.

So what right do I even have to want to go to a con? It’s a luxury I don’t deserve. When the basics are hard to manage, only a fool would waste money and time on anything you don’t have to.

Or someone acutely aware of the brevity of life. Shouldn’t you at least try to have fun once a year when there are so few years left in a life? Wouldn’t only a fool consider fun a “waste”?

A day ago I was having to move some of my stuff*** when I found a bundle of papers tucked away in a jewelry box I hadn’t opened in so many years I’d forgotten what was in it. There was a newspaper article, an obit, and the program from the funeral of one of my classmates.

I’ve written about Mike’s suicide, back in high school, before. There is a post somewhere on my blog about all the grief and guilt, and I don’t feel like reliving it all today. The point is, I think about him often, but I was still shocked by how hard it hit me this time. I actually started sobbing, maybe because I wasn’t just remembering, but seeing his face and reading about it in solid print for the first time in decades.

You know, I hadn’t seen his photo or heard anyone mention him, in so many years it was like he didn’t exist outside my memory.

Maybe, though, my emotional meltdown was being reminded how much was lost with him. Mike was smart, kind, and popular. If he’d survived through whatever he was dealing with there is no doubt in my mind he would have contributed to the world. He’d have had friends, a job, most likely family, but whatever the personal life I think he’d have made things better for everyone he could. Maybe it would have been the tiny things on an individual basis, or maybe it would have been big causes….

But we will never know. Decades lost.

He deserved to live far more than I ever had, and he’d undoubtedly have done more with all those years he never had than I ever did.

It sort of puts things in perspective I guess. What right do I have to complain about my life being lonely and hard, or grumble about never having any fun? It’s foolish to want things you don’t need to survive. I get to be alive. That’s more than some folks get.

I feel like I’m such an idiot every time I post a text post. Petty. Childish. A fool desiring more than I deserve out of life. No one is owed friendship or fun or even survival. It isn’t even whether you earn it or just get lucky that matters. The trick is try to accept what you have ended up with, however you got here, without tearing into yourself by wanting more.

**Honestly, I thought last year I could save up the money. On my birthday last December I went to a movie and got take out, but it hardly seems indulgent to do that just once a year. I go nowhere. I try to only buy what I absolutely need. Heck, I don’t even have to buy anyone Christmas presents anymore now that I only make stuff for Mom. I assumed saving up $100, maybe even $200, in a year would be easy. I didn’t count on various emergencies and I did not predict at all how hard inflation would hit me. Fuckin’ hell, just the food for the animals and myself takes up almost all I have every month!

So now I’m going “Alright, if don’t buy any groceries for myself on my next once-every-two-weeks shopping trip will I have enough for going to the con? And do I have enough willpower to give up milk, cheese, anything fresh, etc, for two weeks? And while I’m at it, do I have enough dry/canned/frozen to eat a meal a day as a semi balanced diet for two weeks without buying anything?”

I told myself not to think about the con all year, just so I wouldn’t be disappointed if I couldn’t go. Obviously it hasn’t worked because if it had I wouldn’t feel so desperate to figure out a way to go.

***I spent more of my time moving books than reading them!

#my day #poverty #depressed #tired

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greensparty · 5 years ago

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RIP Honor Blackman, Hal Wilner and John Prine

In just the last day or two there have been several celebrity passings. Here is my combined remembrance:

Honor Blackman 1925-2020

Sean Connery and Blackman in Goldfinger

Actress Honor Blackman has died at 94. She appeared in over 100 movies and TV shows. Notably in Jason and the Argonauts, one of my favorites and I actually did a paper on this movie in my high school Latin class. But her greatest role was as Pussy Galore in the James Bond movie Goldfinger. That is one of my personal favorite Bond movies and she is easily one of the greatest Bond Girls ever.

The link above is the obit from Hollywood Reporter.

Hal Willner 1956-2020

Lou Reed with Willner

Longtime music producer and SNL staff member Hal Willner has died at 64. In addition to countless albums be produced (notably Lou Reed) and putting together a ton of tribute album compilations (notably William S. Burroughs and Leonard Cohen), producing movie soundtracks (including Gangs of New York), his big claim to fame was being the longtime sketch music producer for SNL since 1981. If you heard a song in a sketch, he likely had something to do with it. He was a part of SNL until the last new episode just a few weeks ago.

The link above is the obit from Rolling Stone.

John Prine 1946-2020

Bruce Springsteen and Prine

Singer-songwriter John Prine has died at 73. He was cut from the same cloth as Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen and many more from the 60s / 70s folk era. He was highly influential. Former Heartbreaker Howie Epstein produced Prine’s 1991 album The Missing Years, which featured Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen and Bonnie Raitt. I dug his last album The Tree of Forgiveness from 2018.

The link above is the obit from Rolling Stone.

#honor blackman #james bond #goldfinger #jason and the argonauts #hal willner #snl #lou reed #william s. burroughs #leonard cohen #gangs of new york #john prine #tom petty and the heartbreakers #Bruce Springsteen #bonnie raitt #rip #film geek #music nerd #tv

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lpwrites · 4 years ago

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have i told you lately that i love you

The goddess Columbia, Our Lady of the War Effort, receives a letter.

It’s not that Columbia dislikes Media. In fact, she’s more than aware that Media has been instrumental in her resurgence, the proper face of America as it were. Media’s gotten her face plastered on posters and murals and the sides of biplanes, and she knows, deep in her bones, that Media can make or break her in an instant.

So when Media waltzes into her living room, all perfectly curled hair and picture-perfect red lips dressed in olive drab, Columbia musters a smile in return, standing to meet her. “Media, what a surprise!”

Media beams in return, placing a kiss on either side of her cheek as she embraces her, her hands on Columbia’s arms sending unpleasant shocks across her skin. “I had to see our star!”

Media feels like the air before a storm, all charged up and ready to let loose with electricity. Donar feels like that too, except where he’s all anticipation, natural beauty and terror all rolled into one, Media is artificial. Mechanical to the taste, unpalatable.

Columbia keeps a smile up, though she feels acid on her tongue. “Did you now? You didn’t have to come all this way, Media. You coulda sent a telegram.”

“I’m actually here to deliver something.” Here, Media pauses, straightening her olive green skirt -- a mockery of a WAAC uniform of all things -- before digging into the brown leather satchel at her side. Columbia bites back any snarky comment that threatens to bubble out; Media’s costume is too perfect, too tailored to best accentuate her features, another pretty lie to lure the girls and boys of her country into the war effort.

With a flourish, Media holds out a thin letter, her smile beatific though her eyes stay glassy. “For our Lady of the War Effort.”

Columbia takes the letter, and the feeling of dead that’s lingered in her chest since the first inklings of war began so many years ago seems to throb and pulse and grow. “What is it?” Wary, she begins digging a nail under the flap, frowning at Media. “You don’t do house calls or deliveries.”

Media shrugs, pretending to tuck back a stray hair though her curls are still impeccable. “I just do what I’m told, Columbia. We’ll be needing you at the studio in a couple of hours, so don’t be late!”

With a smart salute, Media saunters out, gone as fast as she arrived, though the acid buzzing of electricity lingers in the air.

Columbia frowns after her, then at the letter. It feels ominous even as she turns it around in her hands. No return address, though it’s postmarked from Philadelphia. She doesn’t know anyone in Philadelphia, and she’s hardly kept up with the old gods since she came to Hollywood.

“C’mon, Columbia,” she breathes out, shaking off the unease as she tears the rest of the envelope open, shaking its contents out onto her coffee table.

The main contents seem to be a newspaper cut out, folded neatly to fit the smaller envelope, and a thin scrap of paper with scrawled writing that seems almost familiar.

She picks up the scrap of paper first, frowning at the words.

‘Thought you should know.’

There is no signature, no identifying features, no real way of knowing who the hell sent a notice important enough for Media to deliver. Irritated now, Columbia crumples the paper up and tosses it over her shoulder, unfolding the newspaper clipping instead.

It’s an article from the New Philadelphia Daily Times, dated a couple of weeks back. It’s a sizable article for what it is, and the acid Media brought in threatens to make Columbia hurl proper.

“Famed Fighter Donar Odinson found dead in his Philadelphia home,” Columbia breathes, the words blurring as tears sting her eyes. The half-obit, half-sensationalist article goes on for at least a few more paragraphs, but Columbia can’t manage more than a few sentences before the tears overwhelm her.

A rumble of thunder shocks Columbia out of her stupor, and for a brief second she hopes it’s him, Donar, handsome and sweet and all hers. Who doesn’t know Thor? Why wouldn’t he come back?

But the obit burns into her hands, the cause of death front and center, as much of a shock as the headline itself. Suicide. A shotgun to the chest, because of course Donar would make sure.

Columbia sits in her lavish home, surrounded by all the pretty things she whispered and yearned for on cold nights when it was just her and Donar and that shit club Grimnir poured himself into, and mourns, and the skies mourn with her.

-----

Like what I do? Buy me a coffee!

#posts by lp #columbia (american gods)#donar odinson #american gods #agfics #why am i even doing this honestly #except for the fact that donar the great hurt me #suicide tw #death tw

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bonjourmoncher · 5 years ago

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How to Write an Obituary

A tribute recounts to the tale of an expired individual's life. It recognizes the individual's passing, their life achievements, the individuals deserted and burial service or dedication administrations. When you get relegated the Hamilton Lindley undertaking of tribute composing, survey these tips on composing an eulogy to make it simpler to finish.

A Life Lived

Since the tribute recounts to an account of somebody's life, make it convincing and fascinating to peruse. Concentrate on the key accomplishments the individual achieved. On the off chance that the expired individual was a champion throughout everyday life, make their eulogy a champion too. All that anyone could need of the eulogies are dull and exhausting and tell minimal more than the individual kicked the bucket, the names of enduring relatives and the memorial service plans.

While that is significant data to incorporate, recall that an eulogy is the last opportunity to tell individuals about the perished's life and the commitments the person in question made to the network. In the event that you are stressed over paper costs that charge by the section inch or number of segment lines, to keep word tally down, center around the how the individual was throughout everyday life, as opposed to the burial service game plans.

Significant Facts to Include

Eulogy composing must consistently incorporate the complete name of the perished and an epithet on the off chance that the person had one. The town or city of living arrangement, the spot and reason for death, the individual's age and the date the person in question passed on, including the year are extremely significant realities to incorporate when composing an eulogy. With regards to expounding on the individual's life, incorporate the significant occasions in the individual's life, for example, the date and spot of birth and the individual's folks.

Incorporate kin, dear companions and data about the individual's training, on the off chance that they went to a school, college or specialized school. Incorporate data on outstanding honors or different accomplishments, where the individual worked, business partners, eminent profession occasions, leisure activities, interests or different exercises. In the event that the individual was associated with beneficent or religious exercises incorporate those also. In the event that the perished had an unordinary life or characteristics, include these when tribute composing.

Posting Family Members

Rundown key relatives in the accompanying request, which can be cut from the base up there isn't sufficient room in the paper. Rundown the life partner first, incorporate the town or city where the life partner lives, kids in the request for when they were conceived and their mates, assuming any, grandkids, incredible grandkids, guardians, grandparents, kin, cousins, in-laws, nephews or nieces, all recorded in birth request. Incorporate companions and pets, if the individual was especially attached to their pets. Rundown the individuals who have gone before the expired in the wake of living individuals in a similar request, i.e., companion, youngsters, grandkids and that's only the tip of the iceberg.

Dedication or Funeral Information

Incorporate the spot, day, time and date of the burial service or dedication administration. Rundown the individual's name who directs the administration and the names of pallbearers, if pertinent. On the off chance that the burial service includes an open coffin, incorporate the dates and times for viewings. On the off chance that there are plans for a graveside administration, incorporate the site, day, time and date. Tell perusers the burial service home accountable for game plans and whom to call for more data if there are no administrations arranged.

The Final Part of the Obituary

Once in a while relatives set up commemoration accounts with a philanthropy particularly when there was a crippling malady, mishap or wrongdoing included. Tell individuals where they can send their dedication gifts by including the location or site in the tribute. Last, express gratefulness to any exceptional individuals, foundations or gatherings that were especially useful to the perished. Incorporate a most loved ballad or citation of the expired and a couple of words that abridge the individual's life.

The Words to Use

Since you realize the significant data to incorporate when tribute composing, there are different tips on composing an eulogy that go past the unimportant certainties. Make the obit convincing by utilizing words that show rather than tell. Dry realities will recount to the story, however it won't urge individuals to peruse on.

Rather than expressing "he served in the military," have a go at something like this rather: "after Korea and two visits in Viet Nam with the U.S. Armed force that brought about a Purple Heart and a Distinguished Service Cross, Joe resigned from dynamic obligation in 1978." Also think about an approach to total up the individual's life in three to six words, something that would resound with loved ones. These expressions commonly show up as the memorial on a graveyard gravestone or move the individuals who may take an interest in the commendation.

Keep it Simple and Accurate

The most ideal approach to finish a fruitful eulogy is to compose a draft; keep it basic, yet right. Remain predictable with how you list the relatives; think about making a few renditions of the eulogy for position in various papers. The tribute ought to show up in the neighborhood papers of relatives and companions. Keep a long form to put on the Internet or your blog, and review shorter variants for various productions.

Editing, Editing and Revising

In the event that it's difficult to edit and alter, have a believed companion or relative audit the tribute to get any incorrect spellings or to check certainties. Editing maintains a strategic distance from mistakes in the tribute when it goes to the paper. When it's printed, it can't be changed. Survey the subtleties cautiously. The composed tribute fills in as a record of the perished's life; it will likewise be utilized by family ages to want Hamilton P Lindley genealogical research.

Third Person Narrative

Try not to compose the eulogy in first individual or use expressions, for example, "the group of Joe Friend report," as a tribute isn't about the individual or relatives who compose it, it is about the individual who passed on. Compose it from the third individual point of view, as a pariah or onlooker who saw the occasion.

Remember to incorporate all relatives. In the event that you choose to just list the names of the life partner and youngsters, do exclude the name of a most loved grandparent and exclude every one of the grandparents names, since this demonstrates a respect with respect to the essayist. You could list the names of the mate and kids and could incorporate the quantity of grandkids and extraordinary grandkids without posting every one of their names. Anyway you choose to compose it, stay reliable with how you list those that endure the expired.

Papers

Before Hamilton Philip Lindley presenting the eulogy to papers, lead research to discover what it may cost you. Nearby people group papers generally don't charge an expense for an eulogy, however with the increasing expenses of paper distribution and the diminishing measure of paper space accessible, many do charge. Charges for paper eulogies are determined by the quantity of lines in a paper segment or by segment inch. For instance, most papers limit a tribute to 24 lines in a segment without a charge. Except if the perished one was noteworthy to the network somehow or another, the paper will require you to compose the tribute.

Papers print two sorts of obit sees, one of which might be lawfully required: a demise see and the eulogy. A demise notice shows up in the arranged or lawful area of the paper and forgets about the expired's biography. It's just a true bookkeeping of the individual's demise. Demise notification are normally utilized in the occasion the individual had an enormous bequest and will, colleagues or broad banks.

#hamiltonlindley

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thatsnotcanonpodcasts · 5 years ago

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Robin Hood, Bohemia Interactive, ESRB & Mathematically perfect steak

Welcome back. We've been expecting you.

We have a bit of a longer episode than usual this week because we just had so many interesting people to talk about, including a liar who looks like Hugh Jackman, and one of the most prolific Astronomers to ever live.

But, first up, the Nerds discuss the rumoured Disney Robin Hood remake. In live action. With photorealistic CGI. This sounds terrifying. This is a terrible idea. This will haunt your nightmares forever.

One of Professor's favourite game studios has had a great year, and Professor wants to talk about their future. Bohemia Interactive has some great projects in the works that are well worth checking out, so we've got a summary for you.

Dev-i-Boy has brought us the ESRB's disappointing attempt to resolve the Lootbox debate. He and Professor agree that this is a poor response. Maybe one day there will be a solution, but not today.

Dev-i has also found the algorithm for creating the perfect steak. It involves dozens of factors and complicated equations. But don't pull this paper out next time you go to a barbecue, or everyone will go home before you start cooking.

As usual, we bring you the games of the week. Professor and his girlfriend are finding out why they shouldn't have kids in Think of the Children. DJ and Professor are still playing Generation Zero. Professor is better at surviving the robot apocalypse than he is at raising kids. Dev-i is playing VR chat again. We wish him luck in his quest to become an anime girl.

Live action Robin Hood movie starring animals

-https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/robin-hood-remake-works-at-disney-blindspotting-director-1289702

Bohemia Interactive sales reaching 68 million USD

-https://www.bohemia.net/blog/bohemia-interactive-sales-reaching-68-milion-usd-in-2019

ESRB’s new measures to combat loot boxes

- https://www.theverge.com/2020/4/13/21219192/esrb-new-label-loot-boxes-gacha-game

The mathematically perfect steak

-https://www.sciencenews.org/article/math-equations-cooking-perfect-steak-beef-meat-simulation

- https://link.springer.com/article/10.1140%2Fepjp%2Fs13360-020-00311-0

Games Played

Professor

– Think of the Children - https://store.steampowered.com/app/573600/Think_of_the_Children/

Rating: 4.5/5

– Generation Zero - https://store.steampowered.com/app/704270/Generation_Zero/

Rating: 4.5/5

Dev-i-Boy

– VRChat - https://store.steampowered.com/app/438100/VRChat/

Rating: 4/5

Other topics discussed

Cats movie butthole cut coming soon

- https://www.polygon.com/2020/4/6/21207710/cats-release-the-butthole-cut

ARMA 3 (open-world, realism-based, military tactical shooter video game developed and published by Bohemia Interactive.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ARMA_3

DayZ (DayZ is a survival video game developed and published by Bohemia Interactive.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DayZ_(video_game)

ARMA 3 APEX : Old man

- https://arma3.com/news/arma-3-apex-old-man-is-now-available

ARMA 3 developers arrested in Greece

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ARMA_3#Espionage_arrests

ARMA 3 banned in Iran

- https://www.polygon.com/gaming/2012/9/19/3357600/arma-3-banned-in-iran

Vigor (Free-to-play online action game by Bohemia Interactive for the Xbox One.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vigor_(video_game)

Minecraft Hunger Games

- https://www.yahoo.com/news/blogs/technology-blog/minecraft-hunger-games-exists-just-amazing-imagining-165117705.html

Star Wars Battlefront II (action shooter video game based on the Star Wars film franchise.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Wars_Battlefront_II_(2017_video_game)

Heston Blumenthal's perfect steak

- https://www.sbs.com.au/food/recipes/heston-blumenthals-perfect-steak

Perfect steak journal article

- https://arxiv.org/pdf/1908.10787.pdf

Flory-Huggin’s theory (Flory–Huggins solution theory is a lattice model of the thermodynamics of polymer solutions which takes account of the great dissimilarity in molecular sizes in adapting the usual expression for the entropy of mixing.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flory%E2%80%93Huggins_solution_theory

Incredible dads save kids compilation

- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4RIhUUt88ZM

Oculus Quest (Oculus Quest is our first all-in-one gaming system for virtual reality.)

- https://www.oculus.com/quest/?locale=en_US

Ugandan Knuckles (Ugandan Knuckles is the nickname given to a depiction of the character Knuckles from the Sonic franchise created by YouTuber Gregzilla, which is often used as an avatar by players in the multiplayer game VRChat who repeat phrases like "do you know the way" and memes associated with the country Uganda, most notably the film Who Killed Captain Alex? and Zulul.)

- https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/ugandan-knuckles

Simp (Simp, often interpreted as an acronym for Sucker Idolizing Mediocre Pussy or a portmanteau of "sissy" and "pimp," is a slang expression used to ridicule males who are perceived as being overly invested in a woman and acting submissive to that person.)

- https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/simp

Amiga 500 (The Amiga 500, also known as the A500, is the first low-end Commodore Amiga 16/32-bitmultimedia home/personal computer.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amiga_500

Conway’s Game Of Life (The Game of Life, also known simply as Life, is a cellular automaton devised by the British mathematicianJohn Horton Conway in 1970.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conway%27s_Game_of_Life

Build a working game of Tetris in Conway's Game of Life

- https://codegolf.stackexchange.com/questions/11880/build-a-working-game-of-tetris-in-conways-game-of-life

The Avengers (British espionage television programme created in 1961.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Avengers_(TV_series)

The Avengers (1998 American action spy film adaptation of the British television series of the same name directed by Jeremiah Chechik.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Avengers_(1998_film)

Brown note (a infrasonic frequency that would cause humans to lose control of their bowels due to resonance.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brown_note

Ted Kaczynski (also known as the Unabomber, is an American domestic terrorist, anarchist, and former mathematics professor.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ted_Kaczynski

Ken Kesey (American novelist, essayist, and countercultural figure. He considered himself a link between the Beat Generation of the 1950s and the hippies of the 1960s.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ken_Kesey

That’s not COVID (TNC podcast)

- https://thatsnotcanon.com/thatsnotcovidpodcast

Shout Outs

11 April 2020 – John Conway, a renowned mathematician who created one of the first computer games passes away - https://www.cnn.com/2020/04/14/us/john-conway-death-obit-trnd/index.html

John Conway, English mathematician active in the theory of finite groups, knot theory,number theory,combinatorial game theory and coding theory. He also made contributions to many branches of recreational mathematics, most notably the invention of the cellular automaton called the Game of Life. A Google search for "Conway's Game of Life" prompts the search engine to automatically start playing the game. It is now commonly used as an introductory exercise in computing classes. Conway used his love of games to connect with children, spending time at math camps across the country. He passed away from complications from COVID-19 at the age of 82 in New Brunswick, New Jersey.

12 April 2020 – Sir Stirling Moss, F1 driver known as one of the best behind the wheel, passes away - https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/obituaries/stirling-moss-f1-driver-known-as-one-of-the-best-behind-the-wheel-dies-at-90/2020/04/12/91f03b9c-7cd3-11ea-9040-68981f488eed_story.html

Sir Stirling Craufurd Moss, a British Formula One racing driver. An inductee into the International Motorsports Hall of Fame, he won 212 of the 529 races he entered across several categories of competition and has been described as "the greatest driver never to win the World Championship". Mr. Moss was known in his sport as “Mr. Motor Racing.” Long after his retirement, he was also considered a British national treasure — a dashing gentleman racer who was chivalrous and always sportsmanlike to his competitors despite the cut and thrust of motor racing. He was knighted by Prince Charles, standing in for the queen, in 2000. Mr. Moss’s sportsmanship was perhaps most evident in 1958, when he could have won the world championship after taking the Portuguese Grand Prix in Porto in his British-made Vanwall racecar. His archrival, Mike Hawthorn, finished second, giving him a key six points, which would have clinched the world title. But Hawthorn, a fellow Englishman, was threatened with disqualification for pushing his stalled Ferrari back onto the track after a spin. His disqualification would have put Mr. Moss in the driver’s seat for the world title. But Mr. Moss told race officials that Hawthorn had pushed his Ferrari only on an off-the-track area and should not be disqualified. His intervention swayed the officials, who awarded Hawthorn second place, eventually enabling him to win the F1 world championship by a single point over Mr. Moss. He passed away from a long illness at the age of 90 in Mayfair, London.

12 April 2020 – Tim Brooke Taylor, best known for his work on The Goodies and I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue passes away - https://www.etonline.com/tim-brooke-taylor-the-goodies-star-dies-at-79-of-coronavirus-complications-144654

Timothy Julian Brooke-Taylor, English comedian and actor. He was best known as a member of The Goodies, starring in the television series throughout the 1970s and picking up international recognition in Australia and New Zealand. He also appeared as an actor in various sitcoms, and was a panellist on I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue for almost 50 years. In 2008, Brooke-Taylor was heard in the Doctor Who audio story The Zygon Who Fell To Earth, made by Big Finish Productions. Paul McGann played the Eighth Doctor, and Brooke-Taylor played the part of Mims, a Zygon taking the shape of a human. In 2011, Brooke-Taylor was appointed Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) during Queen Elizabeth II's Birthday Honors, for his services to entertainment. He passed away from complications from COVID-19 at the age of 79 in the United Kingdom.

13 April 2020 – Rick May, who voiced Star Fox 64 and Team Fortress II passed away - https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-8216159/Rick-voiced-Star-Fox-64-Team-Fortress-II-characters-dies-79-coronavirus.html

Rick May, American voice actor and theatrical performer, director, and teacher from Seattle, Washington. He began voice acting in video games in the late 1990s, including roles as Peppy Hare and Andross in Star Fox 64, Peppy Hare might not be one of gaming's most famous characters, but May’s line in 1997's Star Fox 64 where he played Fox McCloud’s mentor is one of the most iconic lines in gaming history - so much so that even Google got in on the beloved meme. Go ahead, Google "Do a barrel roll". His other various campaign characters, include Genghis Khan, in Age of Empires II'; and Soldier in Team Fortress 2. He passed away from complications from COVID-19 at the age of 79 in Seattle,Washington.

14 April 2020 – Pip Baker, one half of the Dr Who writing duo known as Pip and Jane Baker passes away - http://www.doctorwhonews.net/2020/04/pip-baker-died-2020.html

Pip Baker, along with his wife and writing partner Jane, was one of the best-known writers from the mid 80's era of Doctor Who, writing eleven episodes for the series. Together they created the Rani, a female Time Lord scientist who was brought to life so vividly by the late Kate O'Mara, as well a creating the companion Mel. The Bakers scripted or contributed to four serials for the programme in the 1980s: The Mark of the Rani, The Trial of a Time Lord, Parts 9–12 and 14 (also known as Terror of the Vervoids and The Ultimate Foe); and Time and the Rani. They have also written novelisations of these stories, as well as a Make Your Own Adventure With Doctor Who (Find Your Fate With Doctor Who in the United States) gamebook titled Race Against Time. Pip and Jane's audio story The Rani Reaps the Whirlwind featured the return of the Rani and was released in 2000. He passed away from complication from a fall at the age of 91 in the United Kingdom.

Remembrances

5 April 2020 – Honor Blackman - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Honor_Blackman

English actress, widely known for the roles of Cathy Gale in The Avengers, Bond girlPussy Galore in Goldfinger, Julia Daggett in Shalako and Hera in Jason and the Argonauts. She is also known for her role as Laura West in the ITV sitcom The Upper Hand. At 38, she was one of the oldest actresses to play a Bond girl, and was five years older than the star Sean Connery. Albert R. Broccoli said Blackman was cast opposite Sean Connery in the James Bond films based on her success in the British television series The Avengers. He knew that most American audiences would not have seen the programme. Broccoli said, "The Brits would love her because they knew her as Mrs. Gale, the Yanks would like her because she was so good, it was a perfect combination." She died from natural causes at the age of 94 in Lewes, Sussex.

13 April 1938 – Grey Owl - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grey_Owl

Archibald Stansfeld Belaney, commonly known as Grey Owl, was a British-born conservationist, fur trapper, and writer who pretended to be a First Nations person. While he achieved fame as a conservationist during his life, after his death the revelation that he was not Indigenous, along with other autobiographical fabrications, negatively affected his reputation. Belaney rose to prominence as a notable author and lecturer, primarily on environmental issues. In working with the National Parks Branch, Grey Owl became the subject of many films, and was established as the "'caretaker of park animals' at Riding Mountain National Park in Manitoba" in 1931. Together with his numerous articles, books, films and lectures, his views on conservation reached audiences beyond the borders of Canada. His conservation views largely focused on humans' negative impact on nature through their commodification of nature's resources for profits, and a need for humans to develop a respect for the natural world. Recognition of Belaney has included biographies, a historic plaque at his birthplace, and a 1999 biopic about his life by the director Richard Attenborough. He died from pneumonia at the age of 49 in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan.

13 April 1941 – Annie Jump Cannon - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Annie_Jump_Cannon

American astronomer whose cataloging work was instrumental in the development of contemporary stellar classification. With Edward C. Pickering, she is credited with the creation of the Harvard Classification Scheme, which was the first serious attempt to organize and classify stars based on their temperatures and spectral types. She was nearly deaf throughout her career. She was a suffragist and a member of the National Women's Party. Cannon manually classified more stars in a lifetime than anyone else, with a total of around 350,000 stars. She discovered 300 variable stars, five novas, and one spectroscopic binary, creating a bibliography that included about 200,000 references. She discovered her first star in 1898, though she was not able to confirm it until 1905. When she first started cataloging the stars, she was able to classify 1,000 stars in three years, but by 1913, she was able to work on 200 stars an hour. Cannon could classify three stars a minute just by looking at their spectral patterns and, if using a magnifying glass, could classify stars down to the ninth magnitude, around 16 times fainter than the human eye can see. Her work was also highly accurate. In 1925 she became the first woman to receive an honorary doctorate of science from Oxford University. In 1935, she created the Annie J. Cannon Prize for "the woman of any country, whose contributions to the science of astronomy are the most distinguished." She died from congestive heart failure at the age of 77 in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

13 April 1944 - Cécile Chaminade - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/C%C3%A9cile_Chaminade

French composer and pianist. In 1913, she was awarded the Légion d'Honneur, a first for a female composer. Ambroise Thomas said, "This is not a woman who composes, but a composer who is a woman." In 1908 she visited the United States, where she was accorded a hearty welcome. Her compositions were tremendous favorites with the American public, and such pieces as the Scarf Dance or the Ballet No. 1 were to be found in the music libraries of many lovers of piano music of the time. She composed a Konzertstück for piano and orchestra, the ballet music to Callirhoé and other orchestral works. Her songs, such as The Silver Ring and Ritournelle, were also great favorites. In London in November 1901, she made gramophone recordings of seven of her compositions for the Gramophone and Typewriter Company; these are among the most sought-after piano recordings by collectors, though they have been reissued on compact disk. Chaminade was relegated to obscurity for the second half of the 20th century, her piano pieces and songs mostly forgotten, with the Flute Concertino in D major, Op. 107, composed for the 1902 Paris Conservatoire Concours, her most popular piece today. Chaminade's music has been described as tuneful, highly accessible and mildly chromatic, and it may be regarded as bearing the typical characteristics of late-Romantic French music. She died at the age of 86 in Monte Carlo.

Famous Birthdays

13 April 1570 – Guy Fawkes - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guy_Fawkes

Also known as Guido Fawkes while fighting for the Spanish, was a member of a group of provincial English Catholics who planned the failed Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Fawkes converted to Catholicism and left for mainland Europe, where he fought for Catholic Spain in the Eighty Years' War against Protestant Dutch reformers in the Low Countries. He travelled to Spain to seek support for a Catholic rebellion in England without success. He later met Thomas Wintour, with whom he returned to England. Wintour introduced him to Robert Catesby, who planned to assassinate King James I and restore a Catholic monarch to the throne. The plotters leased an undercroft beneath the House of Lords; Fawkes was placed in charge of the gunpowder which they stockpiled there. The authorities were prompted by an anonymous letter to search Westminster Palace during the early hours of 5 November, and they found Fawkes guarding the explosives. He was questioned and tortured over the next few days and confessed to wanting to blow up the House of Lords. He became synonymous with the Gunpowder Plot, the failure of which has been commemorated in the UK as Guy Fawkes Night since 5 November 1605, when his effigy is traditionally burned on a bonfire, commonly accompanied by fireworks. He was born in Stonegate, York.

13 April 1892 - Robert Watson-Watt - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Watson-Watt

Sir Robert Alexander Watson-Watt, Scottish pioneer of radio direction finding and radar technology. Watt began his career in radio physics with a job at the Met Office, where he began looking for accurate ways to track thunderstorms using the radio signals given off by lightning. This led to the 1920s development of a system later known as huff-duff. Huff-duff allowed operators to determine the location of an enemy radio in seconds and it became a major part of the network of systems that helped defeat the U-boat threat. It is estimated that huff-duff was used in about a quarter of all attacks on U-boats. In 1935 Watt was asked to comment on reports of a German death ray based on radio. Watt and his assistant Arnold Frederic Wilkins quickly determined it was not possible, but Wilkins suggested using radio signals to locate aircraft at long distances. This led to a February 1935 demonstration where signals from a BBC short-wave transmitter were bounced off a Handley Page Heyford aircraft. Watt led the development of a practical version of this device, which entered service in 1938 under the code name Chain Home. Watson-Watt justified his choice of a non-optimal frequency for his radar, with his often-quoted “cult of the imperfect,” which he stated as “Give them the third-best to go on with; the second-best comes too late, [and] the best never comes.” He was born in Brechin,Angus.

13 April 1899 - Alfred Mosher Butts - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alfred_Mosher_Butts

American architect, famous for inventing the board gameScrabble in 1938. In the early 1930s after working as an architect but now unemployed, Butts set out to design a board game. He studied existing games and found that games fell into three categories: number games such as dice and bingo; move games such as chess and checkers; and word games such as anagrams. Butts decided to create a game that utilized both chance and skill by combining elements of anagrams and crossword puzzles, a popular pastime of the 1920s. Players would draw seven lettered tiles from a pool and then attempt to form words from their seven letters. A key to the game was Butts' analysis of the English language. Butts studied the front page of The New York Times to calculate how frequently each letter of the alphabet was used. He then used each letter's frequency to determine how many of each letter he would include in the game. He included only four "S" tiles so that the ability to make words plural would not make the game too easy. Butts initially called the game "Lexiko", but later changed the name to "Criss Cross Words", after considering "It", and began to look for a buyer. The game makers he originally contacted rejected the idea, but Butts was tenacious. Eventually, he sold the rights to entrepreneur and game-lover James Brunot, who made a few minor adjustments to the design and renamed the game "Scrabble." To memorialize Butts's importance to the invention of the game, there is a street sign at 35th Avenue and 81st Street in Jackson Heights that is stylized using letters, with their values in Scrabble as a subscript. He was born in Poughkeepsie, New York.

Events of Interest

13 April 1953 – Project MKUltra begins - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_MKUltra

Project MKUltra (or MK-Ultra), also called the CIA mind control program, is the code name given to a program of experiments on human subjects that were designed and undertaken by the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency, some of which were illegal. Experiments on humans were intended to identify and develop drugs and procedures to be used in interrogations in order to weaken the individual and force confessions through mind control. The project's intentionally obscure CIA cryptonym is made up of the digraph MK, meaning that the project was sponsored by the agency's Technical Services Staff, followed by the word Ultra which had previously been used to designate the most secret classification of World War II intelligence. Other related cryptonyms include Project MKNAOMI and Project MKDELTA. The project was organized through the Office of Scientific Intelligence of the CIA and coordinated with the United States Army Biological Warfare Laboratories. Code names for drug-related experiments were Project Bluebird and Project Artichoke. The program engaged in many illegal activities, including the use of U.S. and Canadian citizens as its unwitting test subjects, which led to controversy regarding its legitimacy. MKUltra used numerous methods to manipulate its subjects' mental states and brain functions. Techniques included the covert administration of high doses ofpsychoactive drugs (especially LSD) and other chemicals, electroshocks, hypnosis,sensory deprivation, isolation, verbal and sexual abuse, as well as other forms of torture. In December 2018, declassified documents included a letter to an unidentified doctor discussing work on six dogs made to run, turn and stop via remote control and brain implants.

13 April 1970 - Apollo 13 oxygen tank explodes - https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/apollo-13-oxygen-tank-explodes

On April 13, 1970, disaster strikes 200,000 miles from Earth when oxygen tank No. 2 blows up on Apollo 13, the third manned lunar landing mission. Astronauts James A. Lovell, John L. Swigert, and Fred W. Haise had left Earth two days before for the Fra Mauro highlands of the moon but were forced to turn their attention to simply making it home alive. Mission commander Lovell reported to mission control on Earth: “Houston, we’ve had a problem here,” and it was discovered that the normal supply of oxygen, electricity, light, and water had been disrupted. The landing mission was aborted, and the astronauts and controllers on Earth scrambled to come up with emergency procedures. The crippled spacecraft continued to the moon, circled it, and began a long, cold journey back to Earth. The astronauts and mission control were faced with enormous logistical problems in stabilizing the spacecraft and its air supply and providing enough energy to the damaged fuel cells to allow successful reentry into Earth’s atmosphere. Navigation was another problem, and Apollo 13‘s course was repeatedly corrected with dramatic and untested maneuvers. On April 17, with the world anxiously watching, tragedy turned to triumph as the Apollo 13 astronauts touched down safely in the Pacific Ocean.

13 April 2017 - The US drops the largest ever non-nuclear weapon on Nangarhar Province,Afghanistan.

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/GBU-43/B_MOAB

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2017_Nangarhar_airstrike

The GBU-43/B Massive Ordnance Air Blast (commonly known as "Mother of All Bombs") is a large-yield bomb, developed for the United States military by Albert L. Weimorts, Jr. of the Air Force Research Laboratory. At the time of development, it was said to be the most powerful non-nuclear weapon in the American arsenal. The basic principle resembles that of the BLU-82 Daisy Cutter, which was used to clear heavily wooded areas in the Vietnam War. Pentagon officials suggested MOAB might be used as an anti-personnel weapon, as part of the "shock and awe" strategy integral to the 2003 invasion of Iraq. The MOAB is not a penetrator weapon and is primarily intended for soft to medium surface targets covering extended areas and targets in a contained environment such as a deep canyon or within a cave system. The MOAB was first dropped in combat in the 13 April 2017 airstrike against an Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant – Khorasan Province (ISIS) tunnel complex in Achin District, Afghanistan. Casualty figures were initially reported as 36 but increased over the following days as reconnaissance units investigated the site. On 18 April 2017, one senior Afghan security official said the bomb killed 96 Islamic State militants, among them 13 major commanders. Stars and Stripes reported that General Dawlat Waziri, spokesman for Afghanistan's Defense Ministry said that since the strike, the offensive operation in the area was resumed. An Afghan officer also said that trees 100 metres from the impact point had remained standing.

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writeanapocalae · 5 years ago

Text

Trading Queries

He was about to leave when a woman, a little bit younger than him caught sight of him. Her eyes grew wide, as did her smile, displaying the gap in her otherwise straight and human teeth.

She came up to him, not quite bouncing on her feet but close. Her hand went to his arm, still heavily bandaged, and she turned it, palm raised.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” she laughed at the confusion on his face.

He squinted. He tried to recognize her, truly, but his recollections were blurry at best. His mouth was a straight line, tight, and he brought up his free hand to push his long curls away from his face. “Kind of?”

“My name is Amerix,” she introduced, sliding her grip on his arm until they could shake hands. He wasn’t sure if she had something to prove or if he was just weaker than usual, but her grip was a bit painful. “I was at the party last night. I’m the one who tended your wounds. I was actually just stopping by to check on you guys.”

Right. Right. She was there, in the bathroom. She had been a blur of pink and brown, but now there wasn’t any pink on her. He was sure that there was something wrong with her neck but now it was normal. She was normal, at least by appearances.

Her eyes went to his hand, which was was rubbing at his neck as he stared. “Oh, the collar? Yeah, it’s something that we have to wear to vampire parties. It keeps them from biting us, usually. It’s a good reminder, anyway. Some of us wear silver bracers too but when there’s too many people it’s easy to accidentally touch someone with them and that hurts like shit. I don’t do that. Is it just you then?”

Coryss looked back the way he’d come. “I’m the only one awake, yeah. Tali’s supossed to wake up in a few hours but they don’t know about Nico.”

Her had was soothing, brushing against him. Her brows were pencil thin but they were still expressive, turning upward in her empathy. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Are they going to be okay?”

Coryss didn’t know. Physically, sure, but he had no way to guess their mental states. “They’re in good hands.”

“Well, that’s something, at least.” She tilted her head, using it to point away from where Coryss had been, over to a different part of the hospital. “Can I offer you lunch?”

The word lunch was some form of trigger because Coryss’ stomach growled loudly at that exact moment and he became aware of just how hungry he was. He smiled at her, the first genuine smile he had, and followed her over to the cafeteria. She didn’t get lost once and he didn’t notice her reading any of the signs on the way. She must have spent a good amount of time here. The cafeteria was diverse and spacious and, while the food wasn’t great, it was better than the stereotypes always suggested. He let Amerix order for him and then they sat by a window that looked out at the small garden outside. The plants were easy to maintain but pretty and there were a few sprites darting around between them, as well as the fae employees spending their breaks among nature.

“I’m guessing you have a bunch of questions for me,” Amerix explained as she brought their trays over. “I’ve got a bunch too. So how about we trade? Question for question?”

He nodded and tucked into the food that she placed in front of him, thinking about the first of them. He wanted to launch straight into his search for Julian but he didn’t think that was the right tact. It was the most pertinent though and it would change his life forever.

“So, what happened after the bathroom?” He decided, putting some salt onto his mac and cheese.

“Oh that’s a doozy,” she started. She clasped her fingers together, hands in front of her face, as she watched the people outside, thinking on where to start. Coryss didn’t rush her. There was no need to. “Well, you know where you were, there were vampires everywhere, thralls just going loose. Everything was a mess. I gave my phone to that Julian guy and they called the police. It only took a few minutes before they showed up though it felt like a lot longer and I was there trying to keep you three from going under. When the police arrived everyone freaked out and ran. A few people got caught, but it was mostly mortals left over and they weren’t doing anything wrong. Corporate got called and I don’t know what happened there but it didn’t seem like anything illicit was going on aside from you. You weren’t even on the rental list for the thralls. The host was found dead, that was pretty interesting, someone had cut off his head and thrown it into the pool. No leads on who did that yet.”

Coryss scrunched his face. That was odd. He doubted that anyone would have it against the host and there should have been enough witnesses to catch at least something. It wasn’t any of his business though and he didn’t really care about whatever happened to the bastard that had rented all of them. He wondered if it was that guy with the impossibly long earrings and the back tears. He wouldn’t have been surprised. He was the one who’d slit Coryss’ wrists in the first place.

“What were you doing at that party anyway?” Amerix asked on her turn.

That was a hard question to answer. He decided to start off strong, by pushing is food around on his plate with his fork.

“It was an accident, really,” he started. “We were hiding out in the warehouse and then when all of the thralls were sent to the party we went along with them. We couldn’t just stop pretending. They would have caught on otherwise and we didn’t know what would happen if we were caught.” It was a bad answer, an answer that would just lead to more questions. He didn’t want to answer them, he knew that nothing good would come of it. “Who is Julian?”

She shoved a big green head of broccoli in her mouth and tried to talk around it. “Julian Nakamura? I don’t really know, there’s not much information on them from any time recently. A shut in, I’d guess, still obsessed with who they were back in life. You saw how they were dressed, right? They still want it to be the 1400’s or whenever. They were invited by the host of the party, Ulris, personally, so I guess they have some sort of power in the vampire community. I don’t know much else than that though. Why are you so curious about them?”

Coryss shrugged. “I promised myself to them, for helping Nico and Tali.”

Amerix laced her fingers together and rested her chin against them. “That’s pretty desperate.”

“It’s how I am. I’ll do anything for Tali’s safety. Now she’s safe and I guess I know what I’m doing for the rest of my life.”

“Well, Juian didn’t leave me anyway of contacting them. I don’t know how you’re going to find them.”

He slumped. Amerix had been his primary lead. He’d really hoped that she would be able to give him something that he could go off of.

“What about Ulris? Would he know?”

“Ulris is dead, remember?” she reached over and took some of the food off of Coryss’ plate. “Found with his head cut off.”

“Yeah but, he’s got to have records or something.”

Amerix closed her eyes for a long time, as if trying to contain herself. “Are you seriously considering breaking into a vampire’s lair to find his address book?”

“I broke into a major corporate warehouse for thralls. I think going to a dead guys estate to find what I need should be easy.”

“Yeah, about that?”

Coryss was hoping that she wouldn’t ask. She hadn’t so far. But he rolled his eyes and sighed and knew that he couldn’t get around her questions forever. “Technically, that’s two questions.”

She just gave him a look. The look said that she would be able to take all of his insides and make them outsides if he didn’t stop sassing her. She probably could too, before the hospital staff could do anything about it.

“Okay, okay, whatever,” Coryss gave in. “My, our, friend Helia, she’s been having a really hard time of it lately. We didn’t think anything of it, of course, we’ve all had bad stretches. We didn’t realize how bad she was doing. She decided to end it but, I guess she didn’t want to die. There was a suicide note, so her parents thought she was dead, all of the papers and obits were about a suicide, but Tali didn’t believe it. She dug in deeper, found that organization, the Thrallery, and tracked down their information.”

@soul-write

#The Thrall Incident #coryss #amerix #my writing

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bamby0304 · 6 years ago

Text

The Hart II: Highway

Summary: Off on her own, without the Winchesters, Bobby, Ellen or Jo, Lizzie tries to get back to what she does best… hunting. But time is running out, Dean’s soul is on the line, and now everyone knows Lizzie is psychic like Sam. Can the brothers and Lizzie work through their problems? Or will they lose everything?

Bamby’s Masterlist

The Hart Masterlist

The Hart II: Highway Masterlist

Part Ninteen: Just Sleeping

Warnings: Normal stuff. Some angst, bit of violence.

Bamby

SPOV

I sat at a bar, Long Train Running by the Doobie Brothers played in the background as I looked down at the half full glass of whiskey in front of me. I tilted the glass back and forward, in deep thought. All the hope I'd had the last few months seemed to have come to an end.

Dean's time was coming closer and I didn't know what to do anymore. I didn't know how to save him.

"There you are." Speak of the devil. I turned to see Dean walking up to me, worried. "What are you doing?" he asked.

I gave a simply shrug. "Having a drink."

"It's two in the afternoon. You're drinking whiskey?"

"I drink whiskey all the time."

"No, you don't," he argued.

"What's the big deal? You get sloppy in bars, you hit on chicks all the time," I noted. "Why can't I?"

He took a look around at the bar, noticing the older waitress and another woman, neither of which either of us would be interested. "It's kind of slim pickings around here." He turned back to me. "Liz and I have been looking all over for you. What's going on with you?"

Shaking my head, I didn't say anything right away as I looked down at my glass for moment or two before speaking again. "I tried, Dean."

"To do what?" Dean asked, clearly confused.

"To save you."

Sighing, Dean took a seat next to me as he nodded to the bartender. "Can I get a whiskey? Double, neat."

I shook my head at him again. "I'm serious, Dean."

"No, you're drunk."

"I mean, where you're going... what you're gonna become." I felt my eyes begin to water. Scoffing to hide my emotions, I went on. "I can't stop it." Looking down at my drink I admitted something I'd been trying to deny for a while now. "I'm starting to think maybe even Ruby can't stop it. But really, the thing is, no one can save you."

He shrugged. "What I've been telling you."

I looked to him again. "No, that's not what I mean. I mean, no one can save you, because you don't wanna be saved. I mean, how can you care so little about yourself?" When Dean scoffed and smiled, I sighed, getting agitated. "What's wrong with you?"

Before Dean could answer his phone started to ring. Answering it, he didn't hesitate to talk. "It's fine, Liz, I found-" He stopped, frowning as he began to stand up, something clearly wrong. "Liz, slow down. What's wrong?" There was another pause. His eyes locked on to mine as he spoke again. "Pack up the room. We'll be there in less than ten minutes," he told her before hanging up. "Liz just got a call from a hospital. Something's wrong with Bobby."

That's all he had to say. I was suddenly sober as I got up and we headed for the exit. Bobby was family. It didn't matter where the hospital was, if there was something wrong we'd be there.

EPOV

I stood next to Bobby's bed, looking down at his sleeping form. His unmoving, un-waking form. Everything I was feeling in that moment... I hadn't been that scared in years. Bobby was the only father figure I'd ever really had, he wasn't just my surrogate father, he was my father. Losing him... I'd never be the same.

"So, what's the diagnosis?" Sam asked from where he and Dean stood at the end of the bed, looking to the doctor.

The doctor shook his head. "We've tested everything we can think to test. He seems perfectly healthy."

"Except that he's comatose," Dean noted, a tone in his voice that told me how worried he was. Bobby meant as much to Sam and Dean as he did to me.

The doctor turned to me. "Miss Snyderson, you're his emergency contact. Anything we should know? Any illnesses?"

"No, he-he..." I found it hard to speak, feeling my throat get tight as I tried not to cry. "He n-n-never gets sick."

"He doesn't even catch cold," Dean added as he came over to wrap an arm around my waist comfortingly.

Sam looked over at me and then at Bobby before turning to the doctor again. "Doctor, is there anything you can do?"

"Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it... so we don't know how to treat it. He just... went to sleep, and didn't wake up."

DPOV

Sam and I walked into Bobby's hotel room. We'd left Liz back at the hospital. She hadn't wanted to leave Bobby's side. Honestly, none of us had wanted to leave him, but we all knew the only way to figure out how to help him is to figure out what happened to him, and the only way to figure that out is to go digging.

"So, what was Bobby doing in Pittsburgh?" Sam asked.

I shrugged. "Unless he's taking an extremely lame vacation..." Closing the door behind me, I moved to stand in the middle of the room with Sam.

"I mean, he must have been working a job, right?"

"Well, you think there'd be some sort of sign of something, you know?" I noted as I headed over to the chest of drawers. Sam was right behind me, but as we opened a drawer up each, we found they were empty. In fact, the whole room was spotless. "Research, news clippings. Or a frigging pizza box or a beer can."

Sam stepped away from the dresser and over to the wardrobe, I watched as he opened the door and found some clothes hanging up. Pushing them aside, he nodded, having found something.

"How 'bout this?" He flicked on the wardrobe light.

As I moved over to check it out we found that the inside wall was covered in newspaper clippings, maps and pictures. The pictures were of roots, mushrooms and seeds. A map had to word 'Pittsburgh' written in big letters and underlined- I recognised Bobby's handwriting. There were post-it's with addresses and numbers. There was all the information a hunter might need.

I chuckled lightly. "Good old Bobby, always covering up his tracks."

"You make heads or tails of any of this?"

Reaching forward, I took one of the papers about plants and began to read. "'Silene capensis', which of course means absolutely nothing to me."

"Here." Sam grabbed a newspaper clipping. "Obit. 'Dr. Walter Gregg, 64, university neurologist'."

"How'd he bite it?"

"Um... actually, they don't know. They say he just went to sleep and didn't wake up."

I took the clipping from him and read it, seeing a lot of similarities. "That sound familiar to you?"

"All right, um... so, let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death. You know, hunting after something-"

I cut him off, "That started hunting him."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"All right, stay here. See if you can make heads or tails of this." I gestured to the closet. "I know at least one person who might be able to answer some of our questions."

"Lizzie," he noted. "But what are you gonna do?"

Turning away from him, I started for the door. "I'm gonna look into the good doctor myself." I called over my shoulder as I left.

...

Walking into Dr Gregg's office, I found books and boxes cluttered all over the room. It was clear everything of his was already being removed despite the fact he only passed away recently. I found it a little insensitive but at the same time didn't really care.

"So you're Dr Gregg's lab assistant?" I asked Miss Sanders as she followed me into the room.

She gave a short nod. "That's right."

"Well, his death must have come as a shock to you," I noted, moving to his desk.

"Yeah, it did. But, still, go in your sleep, peaceful... that's what you wish for, right?"

"Yeah. Right." I grabbed a book from the desk, taking a look at it. "Dr Gregg uh... studied sleeping disorders? Dreams?" I asked, showing her the book.

Her face changed, going from polite to uneasy. "I don't understand. I went over all of this with the other detective."

I looked to her curiously as I put the book back down on the desk. "You already spoke to another detective?"

"Yes. A very nice older man with a beard."

"Well, I'd love to hear it again if you don't mind."

"Thing is, I'm sort of busy. Maybe we could do this later?"

It was obvious that she was trying to dodge me and my questions. But I wasn't letting her go that easily. "Sure. Yeah. Just bring you down to the station later this afternoon," her face fell as I went on, "and get your statement on tape, do it all official-like."

"Look, okay, I didn't know about Dr Gregg's experiments. Not until I was cleaning out his files."

"His experiments, uh...? The ones he was conducting on... sleeping?"

"No one knew, okay? Not the university, not anybody. I already spoke with a lawyer and he told me I can't be held liable for anything."

"Maybe you couldn't, but that was before the new evidence came to light," I lied through my teeth.

She suddenly looked more nervous. "New evidence?"

"Mm-hm."

"What new evidence?"

I thought of a quick answer. "I'm not at liberty to say."

She gave a sigh, clearly annoyed by the whole situation. "Look, I'm just a grad student. This was a gig to cover tuition."

"Maybe so. But, uh, still, this- this..." I gestured around the room. "This could go on your permanent record. Unless you hand over the doctor's research to me. All of it."

SPOV

I walked into Bobby's hospital room, finding Lizzie sitting next to him, holding his hand as she looked out the window deep in thought. I wasn't really sure how the two met, but it was clear they meant a lot to each other. She was his emergency contact, that meant something.

Clearing my throat, I got her attention. "Hey." I offered her a smile as she turned to me.

"Hey." She gave a small, half smile that didn't reach her eyes. "What did you guys find?"

I knew Lizzie enough to know that she didn't like beating around the bush. If I was here for help, she'd want me to get to it. So I did.

Walking over to stand by her, I offered some of the research I'd brought along. "I was wondering if you could help me with Silene cap-"

She cut me off, looking at the papers. "Silene capensis? It's an African Dream Root. I haven't seen the stuff in years. It's rare, expensive, and powerful."

Listening and watching Lizzie, there was a second there where I understood how Dean felt... Lizzie did seem to know a lot. At least she seemed to know a little about a lot of things. Either way, she usually had some helpful information, just like now.

"African Dream Root?" I asked, hoping she'd go into detail- she did.

"It's a plant you digest and gives you abilities in dreams. You can make bad dreams good, and vise versa. It may not seem so bad, but it's dangerous. If Bobby was researching a case involving the stuff..." She shook her head, looking up at me. "It's not good."

DPOV

Still dressed as a detective- only now for the Pittsburgh police department- I showed my badge to Jeremy Frost, one of Dr Gregg's patience.

He moved out of the way so I could step into his apartment. "Look, I don't know what the RA said, but, ah, I was growing ferns."

I chuckled lightly, walking in to stand in the middle of the room. "Take it easy, Phish, that's not why I'm here."

"Really?" he asked, when I turned to give him a reassuring nod he relaxed a little. "Oh, thank God. Okay."

"I wanna talk to you about Dr Gregg's sleep study."

"Yeah. Dr Gregg just died, right?"

"You were one of his test subjects, right?"

"Yeah." He turned and opened his fridge, pulling out two beers and offered me one. "Unless you're on duty or, whatever?"

I looked to the offered drink for a moment or two before making my mind up and taking it. "I guess I can make an exception."

Taking the bottle, I opened and brought it to my lips, enjoying the cool and refreshing taste. If Sam had been here he would have stopped me. If Liz had been here she would have shaken her head and grinned at me. But I was on my own, and I was gonna do whatever I wanted.

After another moment, I turned back to Jeremy, getting on with the interview. "Now, Dr Gregg was testing treatments for a, uh, 'Charcot-Wilbrand syndrome'? Which means...?"

"Um... I, uh... I can't dream." When I looked surprised, Jeremy went on. "I had this bike accident when I was a kid and banged my head pretty good and I haven't had a dream since. Till the study. You know. Sort of."

"What'd the doc give you?"

"It's this yellow tea. It... it smelled awful, tasted worse."

"What did it do? "

"Just passed right out. And uh, I had the most vivid, super-intense dream. Like a bad acid trip, you know?"

"Totally." Remembering that I was meant to be a cop, I corrected myself and go back into character. "I mean, no."

"That was it. I dropped out of the study right after that. I didn't... like it. To tell you the truth... it kind of scared me."

SPOV

"How is he?"

I looked over to see Dean walking into Bobby's room. "No change," I answered.

Dean looked around, confused. "Where's Liz?"

"I convinced her to go get some food. Thought it would do her some good."

He nodded, seeming to agree. "So, what you got?" he asked, moving over to me.

He'd called me on his way to the hospital and filled me in on everything he found out about Dr Gregg and the experiments he doctor was performing. During the conversation, we also agreed it would be best to keep the fact the doctor was dead from Lizzie. She wasn't dealing with Bobby's condition as well as Dean and I were. If she thought Bobby was in more danger than she already suspected, it wasn't going to help.

Getting straight to it, I began to tell him everything Lizzie and I learnt. "Well, considering what you told me about the doc's experiments..." I sighed, "Bobby's wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense."

"How so?"

I held up a picture of the Silene capensis plant. "This plant, Silene capensis, is also known as African Dream Root. It's been used by shaman and medicine men for centuries."

"Let me guess. They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey."

"Not quite. If you believe the legends, it's used for dream walking. I mean, entering another person's dreams, poking around in their heads."

"I take it we believe the legends"

We shared a look before I answered, "When don't we?" Never, by the way. We always believe them. "But dream walking is just the tip of the iceberg."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this Dream Root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad."

"And killing people in their sleep?"

I gave a short nod. "For example. So let's say uh, let's say this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim Leary-style."

"Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night."

"But what about Bobby?" I asked, looking over at Bobby as he 'slept' in the bed nearby. "I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know."

DPOV

Walking out of Bobby's room, we started for the vending machines, hoping to find Liz on the way.

"So how do we find our homicidal sandman?" I asked.

Sam shrugged. "Could be anyone."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream shrooms."

"Maybe one of his test subjects or something?" Sam suggested.

"Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean... I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were." When Sam scoffed I looked at him confused. "What?"

He gave a loud sigh. "In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now."

An idea occurred to me then, causing me to stop in my tracks. I grabbed Sam and stopped him too. "You know what? You're right."

It was his turn to look confused. "What?"

"Let's go talk to him."

Now he looked even more confused. "Sure. I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided."

"Not if we're tripping on some Dream Root."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You wanna go dream walking inside Bobby's head?"

I gave a simple shrug. "Yeah. Why not? Maybe we could help."

"We have no idea what's crawling around in there."

"Well how bad could it be?"

"Bad."

"Dude, it's Bobby."

He considered it for a moment before giving a short nod. "Yeah, you're right." He hesitated as if realising something. "One problem though. We're fresh out of African Dream Root, so unless you know someone who can score some..."

One name came to my mind then. "Crap."

"What?"

"Bela."

"Bela?" He looked confused again before his face fell as he understood. "Crap. You're actually suggesting we ask her a favour?"

"I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but yeah," I noted before I started walking down the hall again to find Liz.

EPOV

I sat on the couch in Bobby's hotel room. Dean sat across from me, his hand absentmindedly massaging my ankle as my feet rested in his lap, while his were stretched out onto the bed across from us. We were going through some information on the Dream Root.

On the other side of the room was Sam, who'd fallen asleep at the desk and was now drooling as he moaned and mumbled. He was enjoying himself, whatever the dream may be about.

"Hey." Dean's hand moved to my calf. So maybe it hadn't been an absentminded massage... "You got anything?"

Sighing, I shook my head as I reached down and put the papers on the floor. "Nothing I didn't already know."

"Maybe we need a break." He grinned, moving to place his papers down as well, his other hand slowly running further up my leg. His intentions were blatantly obvious.

"I'm not having sex with you in Bobby's hotel room, with Sam right at the desk. It's weird."

Dean gave a slight shrug. "He's fast asleep. We'll be quite."

"When are we ever quiet?" I couldn't keep myself from grinning back. "You're always trying to make me moan."

"And scream." He shifted so his knee was on the couch as he started to move himself on top of me. "Screams from you are rare. Makes me feel good."

"Sex makes you feel good," I noted with a raised eyebrow. "And don't think for a second that this," I gestured between us, "is happening. We're still in Bobby's room, and Sam is still-"

His hand slid to the inside of my thigh, mere inches from my underwear. Heat was radiating off both of us as I fell silent and closed my eyes, forgetting why I didn't want anything to happen.

All thoughts were focused on everything Dean was doing as he massaged my inner thigh, fingers inching closer and closer to my underwear. All I could think about is how much I wanted him to do more. I needed more. Sex was a great way to relieve stress, and lately we'd all been stressing out…

I let out a gentle sigh as he leaned closer and pressed a kiss to my neck. He was hovering over me now, his own body heat pressing against me as his hand moving closer and closer...

A moan from Sam brought me back to reality.

My eyes snapped opened just as Dean pulled away and looked over at his brother with a groan. "Son of a..." Looking at me again, Dean knew there was no way anything that might have happened would happen now.

I reached over and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back quickly. "After we fix Bobby and everything, we'll do whatever you want."

His eyes went wide, surprised and excited. "Really?"

I laughed lightly, nodding. "Really."

With a smug smile, he pulled away and got back onto his spot before looking over to his brother. "Sam, wake up!"

It took a moment before Sam woke and sat up, wiping the drool off his face. Both Dean and I chuckled at the sight as we got back to research. It was as if the sexual heat that had been pressing on me moments ago, hadn't been here at all.

Dean grinned. "Dude, you were out. And making some serious happy noises. Who were you dreaming about?"

"What? No one. Nothing," Sam answered a little too quickly.

"C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?"

"No."

"Brad Pitt?" Dean asked, earning a gentle nudge from my foot as it rested in his lap again.

Sam turned around, almost looking at Dean and I as he snapped. "No. No! Dude, it doesn't matter."

"Whatever." Dean shrugged. "Liz called Bela."

It took a moment or two before Sam awkwardly responded. "Bela? Yeah? She- what'd she... You know, say? She... gonna... help us?"

"No. Which isn't much of a surprise," I sighed.

"That puts us back to square one," Dean added. "We've been trying to decipher the doctor's notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do." When Sam stayed where he was and said nothing more, Dean looked over at him again. "You gonna come help with this stuff? "

Sam shifted, stretching a little. "Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec."

Is it just me, or is Sam being... odd? I watched him, wondering why he was acting a little strange. Was it about the dream he'd been having? Or had he heard Dean and me?

A knock on the door pulled my attention away from the youngest Winchester.

"I got it." Taking my feet off Dean's lap, I moved to answer the door. Before opening completely, I looked through the crack and sighed. "Bela." Letting her in, I watched as she moved to stand in the middle of the room and turn to me.

"You called me. Remember?"

"I remember you turning me down."

She grinned. "When have I ever turned you down."

Without a word, Dean got up and moved to stand next to me. I couldn't help but feel a little bit of jealousy and protectiveness coming from him.

From over at the desk, Sam spoke up. "Hey, Bela. What's going on?" He gave her a little wave.

Dean and I looked to him, confused for a moment, before we both turned back to Bela, waiting expectantly.

"I brought you your African Dream Root." Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out a jar of the stuff and handed it to me. "Nasty stuff, and not easy to come by," she noted as she began to take off her coat.

"We know," I told her as I handed Dean the jar.

He took the jar, looking at the contents before asking, "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"What? I can't do you a little favour every now and again?"

"No. You can't," Dean and I answered at the same time.

A smile formed on her lips as she looked from me, to Dean and then back. "Aren't you two adorable?"

Dean ignored her comment, pressing for a genuine answer. "Come on, I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them."

"You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?" When I gave a nod, she went on. "Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you."

I frowned. "Bobby? Why?"

"He saved my life once," she answered. "In Flagstaff."

"Why don't I know about this?"

She sighed at my question. "I screwed up and he saved me. I begged him not to tell you. It would be too embarrassing, and that was back when I cared about what you thought of me, okay? Are you satisfied?"

"Maybe." Dean shrugged, walking past her and towards the wardrobe where a safe sat.

She watched him, changing the subject. "So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?"

"Oh, you're not going anywhere. I don't trust you enough to let you in my car, much less Bobby's head. No offence," Dean told her as he placed the jar in the safe where the Colt sat.

Bela sighed. "None taken." She waited until Dean finished with the safe before she turned to me expectantly. When all I did was shrug, she sighed again. "It's 2 am. Where am I supposed to go?"

"Get a room," Dean suggested with a short grin. "Ah, they got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it."

"You-" Shaking her head, she grabbed the coat and handbag, storming to the door.

Sam jumped out of his seat, calling out to her as she left. "Nice to- Seeing you-" He was cut off as she slammed the door, ignoring him. "Bela," he finished with a sigh.

One again, Dean and I looked at him confused.

...

Sitting next to Dean on one of the beds, I watched as he grabbed two cups from Sam who had just finished making the three of us some tea out of the Dream root.

"Here." Dean handed me one of the cups.

I offered him a quick smile. "Thanks."

Turning to Sam just as he sat down, Dean looked down at the yellowish-brown mud-like looking drink. "Uh, should we dim the lights and synch up Wizard of Oz to Dark Side of the Moon?" He grinned.

"Why?" Sam asked, clearly clueless as to what Dean was going on about. I couldn't help but chuckle a little.

Dean looked genuinely disappointed. "What did you do during college?"

When Sam just looked at Dean as if to say, 'huh', Dean shook his head before moving to take a drink.

"Wait!" I lifted my hand to stop him, putting my hand in between his cup and lips- which ended in his lips lightly pressing against my hand.

Pulling back- a smug look in his eyes- Dean looked over at me. "What?"

"Here." I pulled a small envelope from one of my leather jacket's pockets. Reaching a few fingers inside, I pulled out some hair and moved to sprinkle a little in each of our drinks. "It's Bobby's hair. " I answered their questioning looks. "In order to control whose dream you're entering, you gotta drink some of their body."

Dean looked down at his drink as the hair floated on top. "Well, guess the hair of the dog is better than other parts of the body." Giving a light shrug, he lifted his cup in somewhat of a toast. "Bottoms up."

Sam did not look ready for this. "Yeah. "

The three of us clinked our glasses together before we downed the liquid as quickly as we could.

It tasted awful. I mean, I have never ever had anything like that. It was as if I was eating an old, mouldy sock, that had been stewing in a pot of sweat, dirt and ass. Just a whole lot of ass. There were also indistinguishable flavours, but they were the worst and I was trying really hard not to think about them.

…

After lowering his cup and waiting a moment or two, Dean spoke. "Feel anything?"

"No." Sam shook his head and looked to me. "You feel anything?"

"Nope," I sighed.

Dean lifted his cup, looking at the remaining contents which consisted of a few drops or so. "Maybe we got some bad shwag."

Thunder in the distance was heard, drawing our attention to the fact that it was now raining...

Sam looked over at the window, confused. "Hey, when did it start raining?"

Dean and I looked over at the window as well. It was Dean who got up to check though. He stood and handed me his cup as he moved to go check outside. But as he pulled the curtain back, what we all saw was extremely odd...

The rain was 'falling' up.

Sam and I stood as Dean turned to us again. "When did it start raining upside down?"

As Dean turned, the room changed. We were no longer in the hotel room, but instead in a dull and dim living room.

Looking around, Dean seemed to be freaking out the most. "Okay, I don't know what's weirder, the fact that we're in Bobby's head... or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens."

"Guys..." I moved to the wall and ran my hand over the paint. "Imagine the place without the paint job. More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place..."

Both brothers realised what I was getting at, at the same time. "It's Bobby's house."

Smiling lightly, I nodded. "Yeah."

"Bobby?!" Dean called out, walking closer to me.

Sam went the opposite way, moving to the opening of the living room by the stairs. "Bobby?" he whispered. "Guys?" He turned to us, no longer whispering. "I'm gonna go look outside."

Dean shook his head. "No, no, no, stay close."

"Dude, I'll be fine," Sam insisted. "Just, look around in here. Look, we gotta find him."

Seeing that his brother wasn't going to listen, Dean didn't bother arguing. "Don't do anything stupid."

With a simple nod from Sam, he walked out the front door. A moment or two later he closed the door behind him.

SPOV

After I stepped out into the porch, I was more confused than ever. Instead of a dark a dreary junk yard, the yard in front of me was bright, colourful and lively. The sun was shining, birds singing, colourful flowers in the garden. It was a technicolour, white picket fence cliché.

Behind me, the door suddenly slammed shut.

I turned and tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. "Dean!" Walking to the window, I looked in to see Lizzie and Dean still in the living room. "Lizzie!"

Try as I might, they couldn't hear me yelling. They couldn't even hear me banging my fist on the wall.

Great...

EPOV

"Stay close," Dean told me as he grabbed the handles of the kitchen doors before sliding them open.

The whole house seemed so... normal. Clean, painted, furnished. It was as if a real family. Like ordinary people lived here. Bobby's place now was a bit of a mess- a huge mess if I'm being honest. But it was him, and I loved it. Walking in this home... I did not feel right at all.

Dean moved through the kitchen and towards the hallway on the other side. I was a step or two behind him, watching our surroundings closely. Since appearing in Bobby's dream, I hadn't been able to shake the feeling that we were being watched.

"Bobby?" Dean called in a hushed voice as he walked into the hallway and turned to me. He gestured for me to come closer, a look in his eyes telling me he was on edge as well. "Bobby!"

"Who's out there?" The voice was faint, and scared, but it was Bobby's.

We both turned to the door closest to us. The hallway closet door. I step closer to it, running my fingers over the many scratches running along the wood. It looked as if someone had made these marks with their nails.

Resting his ear against the door as he reached for the doorknob, Dean spoke. "Bobby, you in there?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah. It's me, Liz too. Open up."

Bobby opened the door and looked slightly relieved for a moment before he looked over our shoulders. He was quite clearly terrified. "How in the hell did you find me?"

"Sam, Liz and I got our hands on some of that Dream Root stuff," Dean answered.

Bobby looked confused. "Dream Root? What?"

"Dr Gregg, the experiments?" Dean tried to remind him.

Bobby threw him a glance. "What the hell are you talking about?" Before Dean or I could answer, the lights began to flicker. "Hurry." He grabbed my arm and rushed for the closet again.

Dean grabbed Bobby and stopped him quickly. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What's going on?"

"She's coming." Was all Bobby said, in his scared and shaking voice.

I rested my hand on Bobby's. "This is a dream, Bobby. You know that, right?"

"What are you, crazy?"

"It's a dream, Bobby! None of this is real!" Dean snapped.

But as he spoke, a door opened behind him. My eyes went wide as I watched a woman dressed in white with blood on her chest, walked into the hallway. It took a moment or two, but I recognised her from some photos I'd seen before... it was Mrs Singer, Bobby's wife.

Bobby pointed over Dean's shoulder and to his wife. "Does that look made-up?"

As the three of us looked to the woman who was slowly stepping closer and closer, the closet door slammed shut behind us. Bobby turned and tried to open it again, but there was no use, it wouldn't budge.

Knowing there was no exit, Dean turned to the woman, needing to know what we were dealing with. "Bobby, who is that?"

Bobby's voice shook more as he answered, leaning against the door as much as he could. "She's... she's my wife."

DPOV

"Go." I grabbed Liz's arm and pulled her towards the kitchen. "Go!" Both Bobby and Liz moved for the kitchen as I backed up, keeping an eye on Mrs Singer. My priority at that moment was to keep Bobby and Liz alive. "Get to the living room," I told them.

Turning, I moved to rush as well. Reaching the doors of the living room just as Mrs Singer spoke.

"Why Bobby?" she asked, causing Bobby to pause and turned to her. "Why did you do this to me?"

"I'd rather died myself than hurt you," Bobby assured her.

"But you did hurt me. You shoved that knife into me. Again, and again. You watched me bleed. Watched me die."

Moving closer to Bobby, I grabbed a hold of his arm. "Bobby, she's not real."

"How could you?" Mrs Singer continued.

Bobby was close to crying as he shook his head at his wife. "You were possessed, baby. You were rabid. And I didn't know what I know now. I didn't know how to save you."

"You're lying. You wanted me dead! If you'd loved me," she was yelling now, getting more and more worked up, "you would've found a way!"

A small sob escaped Bobby. "I'm sorry."

"Come on!" Being more forceful as I grabbed him this time, I pulled Bobby into the living room.

Mrs Singer screamed as she started for the doors, but just as she was about to reach them, Liz lifted her arms and closed the doors with her mind.

...

Liz was still keeping the doors closed, but I could see it was taking a toll on her, which is why I was now leaning on the doors trying to help her keep them shut. Bobby on the other hand was still very clearly scared and unable to do anything as his wife continued to scream on the other side.

"I'm telling you, all of it. Your house, your wife, it's a nightmare!" I tried to get it through his head.

"I killed her," Bobby cried.

Sighing, I moved away from the doors in the hopes that Liz could handle it as I grabbed Bobby's shoulders. "Bobby! This is your dream. And you can wake up. I mean, hell, you can do anything."

"Just leave me alone. Let her kill me already."

"Look at me." I shook him. "You gotta snap out of this now! You're not gonna die. I'm not gonna let you die. You're like a father to me. You gotta believe me, please."

Bobby hesitated a moment, looking from me, to the door, to Liz and then back. "I'm dreaming?"

"Yes!" I snapped. "Now take control of it."

Turning to the door, Bobby closed his eyes tightly as if he were thinking hard, and suddenly, the banging and screaming stopped.

Liz didn't move at first, still holding the door until I let go of Bobby and moved to open them. Sliding the doors open I cautiously looked out, ready for Mrs Singer to jump out at any moment.

But she didn't. She was no longer there. Instead, all I found was Bobby's empty kitchen.

"I don't believe it." Bobby was completely shocked.

I turned around, breathing heavily, slightly out of breath. "Believe it. Now would you please wake up?"

SPOV

Walking around Bobby's garden, I came across the clothesline where clean, white sheets were hanging. The whole place was surreal. It was all so clean, and bright and oddly perfect. It felt more wrong than Bobby's dull living room had felt.

As I turned, I wasn't prepared to see a guy standing there. I also wasn't prepared for him to hit me with a baseball bat. I fell to the ground, holding my shoulder, groaning in pain as I looked up at him standing over me.

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?" he asked back, oddly clam. "You don't belong here."

"You're one to talk. You're in my friend's head."

"You got a poor choice in friends. This is self-defence. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me."

"That may be because you're a killer," I countered.

"You should be nicer to me. In here... you're just an insect. I'm a god." The guy lifted the baseball bat, aiming at my head. "Sweet dreams."

I lifted my arm, flinching, waiting for the hit as the bat began to come down hard and fast...

Bamby

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notesonfilm1 · 6 years ago

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From the very beginning of La Diosa arrodillada, the viewer is plunged into a heightened world of dreams and desires, a world of feeling which the characters express through diaries, letters. They speak to each other in a heightened tone, with poetic language and presented to the viewer through symbolic use of imagery. The films is, to borrow J. Hoberman’s words, ‘part film noir, part grand opera’.

La Diosa Arrodillada opens with Raquel (María Félix) eagerly awaiting her lover Antonio (Arturo de Córdova) at the airport. She smiles with pleasure at his arrival, and before he sees her, thus conveying to us that her feelings for him are real. In the first few lines of dialogue, we know they’ve done this before, that their time together is fleeting and precious, snatched from other commitments and obligations. There’s then a dissolve. We first see a carafe of wine, smoke curling up the frame. We hear her voice, ‘to think I never ask you anything. I’ve never wanted to ask you anything’. The camera pulls back. ‘That’s the proof of our love’, he responds, ‘We must never interrogate the past if we value our love’.

‘But it’s so difficult to be strong when alone’, she says, ‘and we see so little of each other. Let’s never abandon each other. It would be like death.’

‘If so, let’s close our eyes and live that dream’.

Cut to an extraordinary close-up of Félix, as if in orgasm, saying: ‘I’ll keep my eyes closed to prevent my soul from escaping this dream. That is my promise Antonio’.

From the beginning we’re plunged into a world of feeling, dreams, a place where life is to be lived in the intense now without regard to the past and bracketed away from the future and from the society that intrudes on this world of feeling and may shatter it . But these wishes won’t come true; the promises won’t be kept. The world will intrude. They try to do what they think is right but are propelled by a force of desire they can’t control; he especially as despite the film’s title, this is not the story of a kneeling Goddess but of a fallen man.

Desire

What drives the narrative engine of The Kneeling Goddess, the motor of all noir, is desire. In this case, Antonio’s for Raquel. The film tells us this most directly. When he returns home to his office and his wife, Antonio looks outside, to a sign urging lovers to ‘Use Desire, the Perfume of Lovers’. The film doesn’t want us to miss this so the score urgently and loudly underlines its significance.

‘What do you understand by desire,’ Antonio asks his butler? ‘what one longs for, what one wants..’. ‘Exactly. But it’s more than that. It’s a force that obliges you. That propels you to obtain what you want, and to keep it if you’ve already obtained it. Isn’t that right?’

‘Yes’

‘But that force can grow, take shape, take on a life of its own, become stronger than you, and could end up destroying you. And what’s worse destroy all those closest to you.’

Antonio looks of a picture of his wife, who’s been in ill in a sanatorium in Cincinnati, probably the reason he hooked up with Racquel in the first place. It’s at that moment that Antonio decides to stop seeing Raquel. Raquel, however, has beat him to it, leaving a letter for him, saying she’s got a past, one she doesn’t want to divulge to him, and in spite of her promises, can’t continue seeing him. He never gets that letter because, reminded of how much he loves his wife and how much his wife needs him, he ends up not going to Guadalajara to see her and thus does not receive her brush-off.

But fate won’t let them be. When he returns home, his wife has been completing work on the garden. They’ve put a fountain. And she decides that the only thing missing, is a statue, something like the Venus de Milo. He goes to a gallery and finds the statue he’s looking for, a statue clearly modelled on Raquel, who he finds there, half-dressed after having posed for the sculptorp. It’s called ‘The Kneeling Goddess’, she informs him, ‘but it’s really just a woman on her knees, the way men like to see them be.’

In the clip below, you can see, how Gavaldón shows us the effect of that statue, of Raquel, on Antonio and his marriage. He becomes transfixed. His wife watches the statue take hold of him. There’s thunder, lightning, rain. Like Sirk, Gavaldón is not afraid to externalise feeling. But unlike Sirk, Gavaldón does not ironise, distance, or make strange. The obsession depicted comes from the heart and is meant to be understood as such. When he returns to his study, we hear him tell himself in voice-over:’ there’s nothing worse than fooling yourself. All my struggle has been for nought. I understand it’s stronger than I’. Reason and will recede, and he succumbs to desire and the unconscious.

Thus begins Antonio’s decline. Once he was a happily married man, a rich industrialist with his own chemical company. Soon he’ll be chasing through the tropics following a cabaret singer selling more than songs in cheap dives. His wife is surrounded by friends, chandeliers, formal paintings of herself, she plays classical music. Raquel in contrast is shown naked in marble, showing off her body in Panama’s Paradise singing popular song and embracing unknown sailors. The film is not afraid of over-emphasis and the contrasting ways in which each woman in Antonio’s life is symbolised is consistently and continually underlined.

Time is a persistent theme in the film. At the beginning, Raquel wants to deny the past and the future and live in a continual present. They have little time. Later on, Antonio’s wife dies. In an extraordinary scene, Gavaldón shows us the married couple, the wedding cake celebrating their anniversary in the foreground, the statue that threatens the marriage behind them in the background. In seconds, Antonio will put poison in a drink. His wife will see him put that poison in one of two drinks. Is the poison for her or for himself? We don’t know but in the next shot an obit shows us the wife’s already a goner.

Raquel believes he may have done it out of love for her. This rather thrills her. It might be what made him go to Panama, to get drunk watching her sing of the treachery and uselessness of love and marriage and allowing herself, like Gilda, to be felt up by the men in the audience. When she asks him why he’s followed her to Panama, he, drunk on the floor with alcohol, and drunk in the head with desire for her, cups her breasts and then moves his hand up her throat and tries to strangle her. Time as feeling in the film stands still; time as narrative gallops along at an insatiable pace.

The question of time is uttered constantly in stylised language and shown to us through a symbol that encapsulates so many of the film’s themes. A lighter (see below), that is also a watch, and that has a secret compartment which can carry poison. Thus, a desire that sparks, that will burn, with an intensity that can only ever be delimited before it is extinguished, and that carries a poison through which one can kill oneself and possibly others. All encased in time. It’s brilliant.

Like in a musical, the songs in the Panama Paradise sequence are used to comment on the story. The first part of the number, starts with Raquel partner’s singing to us: ‘I just screwed up, I got married, and fell into the woman’s trap’. She in turn begins her song by saying how women have to act submissive and be smart to catch a man. ‘I confess I don’t know what love is’ ‘You have a heart of crystal,’ sings her partner.

Then the tone changes and Raquel goes onto perform her solo which begins in the talk-singing style later made famous by Rex Harrison and which begins the clip above. ‘I’ve known love. It’s very beautiful. Burt for me it was fleeting and traitorous. It made dishonest what was once glorious. My law is pleasure…for money,’ and then she begins the song proper. Love was her cross and her religion but love’s revenge was marriage, after which their love became only pretend, a farce they’re now condemned to keep on repeating.

The last bit of the number, a duet once more, sings of the glories of not getting married and that to be happy one must never listen to one’s heart and forget about love. Something that Antonio, in the audience, and having drunk his way to unconsciousness due to his feelings for her, is beginning to learn. But as the song ends, a coochie dancer appears, shakes her bum, and lets the audience in the scene and the audience watching the film know love’s got little to do with anything: that it’s all about the sex.

David Melville notes the comparison to Von Sternberg in this sequence: ‘This whole nightclub episode builds to a fetishist frenzy that’s worthy of Josef von Sternberg. María’s sleazy manager and co-star (Fortunio Bonanova) scrawls a message in lipstick on her dressing room mirror (Morocco). It’s New Year’s Eve, and the air shimmers with balloons and paper streamers (Dishonored). He wears a white tuxedo (Blonde Venus) and she sports a white silk gown decorated with fringe (The Devil Is a Woman). María Félix, to be fair, is far more Maria Montez than Marlene Dietrich – but she throws herself into the melodramatic absurdities with a gusto that many a more gifted actress might envy’.

Raquel only begins to be sure of his love once she suspects he may have killed for her. This paves the way for getting married and the return to Mexico,. As you can see in the fantastic sequence above, the film turns quasi-Gothic, like a combination of Rebecca and Suspicion. She wears black, wonders around the house at night, finds his bedroom locked to her. She sees that the portrait of Antonio’s dead wife dominates the living room, that her reminder is everywhere in the house. He in turn spies her contemplating his dead wife’s painting, which he then becomes obsessed with. This is dark, murky, territory, where the darker feelings that edge and constantly pull on desire — guilt, disgust, fear, jealousy — are symbolically visualised.

The picture of Raquel that drives Antonio so wild with desire, The Kneeling Goddess, is meant to be of Diana, the Goddess of the Hunt. And María Félix is often adorned with feathers, beautiful, but a bird of prey (see examples above).

Raquel is also often associated with animals. The Giraffe print in the Schiaparelli-esque dress on the left, the mermaid or siren look in the picture on the second from the left, the spider web dress in the second from the right, and of course in fur on the right.

As Moviediva argues, ‘La diosa tackles one of Gavaldon’s recurring themes, death, in this case the death of a man’s spirit, as he is corrupted by his love for a femme fatale. He loves the use of mirrors, used to demonstrate duality, and here, also the decay of the hero’s morality. Because there was no Production Code in Mexico, this film is surprisingly sexy for a 1940s film’. Indeed as you can see in the images above, whereas the wife was always associated with high culture, refinement and respectability, Raquel is constantly associated with sex, a Circe who will drive men to ridicule and ruin. As J. Hoberman writes, The Kneeling Goddess ‘is the most outré of melodramas, it’s a movie of flagrant symbols, blatant coincidences and astounding scenes …(and María Félix is) a femme fatale to rival any from 1940s Hollywood, Félix embodies a moral ambiguity beyond good and evil.’

Paco Ignacio Taibo has written that when the film came out in Mexico it was denounced as an ‘insult to the morality of the country’, an attack on Christian morality, There were demonstrations. Taibo is particularly harsh on the film’s wardrobe, which as you can see from my comments above, I heartily disagree with; and also with the film’s dialogue: ‘I’ve had to fight very hard to win your heart’; ‘I’ve tried to fight a fire with a sea of dynamite’; ‘You either give yourself to me or destroy me’.

I see the dialogue as one of the film’s strengths. It is like opera, it is meant to ‘sing’ a realm of feeling. External realism has very little place in film’s of this type. Like in many film noirs, melodramatic passion is what’s on visual display; how desire can drive a man to his doom, desire for whom, and how. As we can see in the final sequence, where Raquel runs to the jail to inform her husband that he’s been declared innocent, that the night is gone forever, all whilst images show her and then him and then them, imprisoned by their past, their desires, their actions: the dream they wanted to hold onto by closing their eyes turned into a nightmare, his fears regarding his desires, being proved all too true. And then the film, rather than ending on him ends on her, in the mansion that is now hers, looking at the statue that she posed for, and pondering that power of that which it represents. What is the significance of her look as the camera follows her gaze and tracks into a closer look at the stature? It’s a great sequence in a truly great movie (see below)

José Arroyo

La Diosa arrodillada/ The Kneeling Goddess (Roberto Gavaldón, Mexico, 1947) From the very beginning of La Diosa arrodillada, the viewer is plunged into a heightened world of dreams and desires, a world of feeling which the characters express through diaries, letters.

#Arturo de Córdova #film noir #Gilda #La Diosa Arrodillada #Maria Felix #melodrama #Roberto Gavaldon

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